all along, but she couldn’t. In just a matter of weeks all her resolve had fallen away. Her own gaze was as intense and passionate as Reuben’s, but still she had difficulty with the words.
“Smile, Mickey,” Reuben said quietly. “At me, not at the postman.” And she’d rewarded him with a dazzling smile that warmed his heart.
“Numbers,” she murmured as she sifted through the pile of letters.
“Only if you make it an issue,” Reuben said forcefully. “You know it doesn’t make any difference to me. When are you going to get that through your head? It doesn’t matter,” he said, enunciating each word carefully.
“For now, no, it doesn’t matter. But later?” She shrugged. There was a desperation in her voice, a sadness in her eyes. She wanted to believe him and she did, for now. But later…what then?
As if reading her thoughts: “Later, you and I are going to have a talk, the conversation you always avoid because you are afraid to hear what I have to say. You, Michelene Fonsard, are a coward,” Reuben said heatedly when he saw her shaking her head. “Later, I want it settled between us.”
“Yes, yes. Later we will talk. It is a promesse. Continue with the Citroën while I take the post into the house. There is a letter from America which I must read. Would you like me to bring you an apple when I return?”
“Two,” Reuben said. “We’ll sit in the hay and eat them together.”
Mickey chuckled. “You are a hopeless romantic, my love. But I will bring them.”
Reuben continued his labors on the car, his movements fast and furious as his arms reached for the center of the hood. He wanted his position settled, once and for all. If Mickey wouldn’t or couldn’t come to terms with him, then he and Daniel would have to leave. He wouldn’t be jerked about like a puppet on a string.
His arms trembled with the exertion. The thought that kept creeping into his head surfaced again: He wanted to marry Mickey Fonsard. He didn’t care about age, all he wanted was to be near her, to be able to love her. To awaken beside her, to find her across the table from him, to reach out and touch her when they sat before the fire. And then the niggling inner voice attacked him: What happens to your dreams of making it on your own? Of becoming successful in your own right? You want power and wealth. Your own power and wealth. Someday you’ll want children and Mickey can’t give you that.
“There’re orphans!” Reuben shouted, the sound of his voice echoing off the side of the barn.
Which do you want more? the voice whispered. Mickey or the freedom to find your own future?
“Shut up,” Reuben answered through clenched teeth. “It’s not that simple. This is now. I have the rest of my life for all that other stuff.”
But what about Mickey? Every day she grows older…older…older.
Reuben shivered despite the heavy wool sweater he wore. His attention wandered from the polishing. Little puffs of vaporized breath escaped his lips into the cold air.
A parade of chickens trekked past him. He wondered inanely if it was a family or just a bunch of chickens taking a walk. He dropped the cloth he was holding and watched the chickens. Where were they going, and why were they in a group?
Numbers…Him and Daniel. Him and Mickey and Daniel. A unit, a family. Man didn’t do it alone. Somewhere, someplace, there was always a woman. That didn’t mean he couldn’t do it on his own. It just meant it would be easier if there was someone to share with. The chickens scattered; wings flapped, and gravel spurted behind them. Disgust showed on Reuben’s face. So much for chickens and families.
Mickey settled herself in the kitchen with a cup of tea. First she opened the letter from Sol Rosen. A vague feeling of foreboding washed over her as she unfolded the crackly paper. Bebe was due to arrive within the week.
Mickey straightened the pages on the table. The letter was in Sol’s handwriting, tight and cramped.
Dear Mickey,
I hope this letter finds you well. We were all relieved to hear you came through that bloody mess unscathed. Each day as word reached us about the war we thought of you.
I’m sending this letter ahead of Bebe’s departure and hope that it reaches you before she arrives in France.
Mickey, for this favor of taking Bebe, even if it is for a short while, longer if you want, I will owe you a favor in return. Know that you will only have to ask and it will be granted. You can call me on it anytime.
As I said to you in my last letter, you are my only hope. Bebe needs a woman like you in her life. She’s become wild and uncontrollable. She’s the darling of the newspapers here. They can’t wait to print what she does next. Each escapade is worse than the last.
I’ve tried to be both mother and father to her, but what she doesn’t need right now is more indulgence from me. As it is, when I told her I was sending her to you for a vacation she only agreed to make the trip if I bought her a Russian lynx coat. I don’t know any other sixteen-year-old girl who has such a coat! Like a fool I got it for her. That’s how desperate I am to get her out of here.
The enclosed bank draft should cover all Bebe’s needs.
Mickey, listen to this foolish man’s confession and don’t think me maudlin. I love Bebe so much it hurts me to see her carrying on like some two-bit floozie. Behind my back my friends call her a tramp. This is breaking my heart. I’ve made some bad business decisions because of the affairs in my house. You will put me forever in your debt if you take care of Bebe and return her to me a proper young lady, like her mother, rest her soul.
Warm affection,
Sol
Mickey read the letter a second and third time. It sounds, she mused, like Bebe needs a keeper. Sol must be in quite a state. To admit he had failed with his daughter and had made some bad business decisions made the matter doubly serious.
For a moment Mickey almost forgot the jealousy she’d felt at having a pretty young lady as her guest. From what Sol was saying, Bebe didn’t sound like she’d be much of a companion for serious-minded Daniel. What in the name of God was she to do with her at the château? Paris and the town house would undoubtedly suit Bebe better, but there she’d need a chaperone. Mickey shuddered to think how that would shatter her present blossoming idyll.
Curious now, she turned the bank draft over in her hands. Money enough for two years! Mon Dieu! Sol must be desperate.
Her head was beginning to pound, the usual painful indication that she was upset. First Reuben with his need for a commitment, and now this. Perhaps she should settle things with Reuben first and go on from there. Reuben would be happy. She would be…happier?
With a sigh, Mickey rose from the table and stuffed the letter, envelope, and all behind a stack of heavy mixing bowls in the cupboard. Reuben would come looking for her soon, and she didn’t want him to see her agitation. She was supposed to take something to him. What was it?…Ah, yes, apples. Ripe, juicy apples.
“It’s about time!” Reuben called cheerfully as he watched her walking toward him, rubbing the apples on her sides to bring up their shine. “I was about to call out the gendarmes.”
“I had
