will be good for your French, David and Miriam, since they speak nothing else.”
The four young people now faced one another, none knowing how to begin. Then Fanny, somewhat bolder than her brother, smiled at Miriam. Blaise stood with downcast eyes, while David, flushed with embarrassment over his own awkwardness, as well as for other reasons not yet quite clear to him, struggled for something to say. But at that moment Pelagie came upstairs with Eulalie and dismissed the servants.
“We’ll call you when we’re ready to retire. The men are still playing dominoes,” she told David, “but I’m too tired. Shall we sit out on the balcony awhile?”
They passed through a series of bedrooms. “Mama must get a
lit de repos
for you, David, so you don’t ruin the bedspread when you take your afternoon nap.”
“But I never sleep in the afternoon!”
“You will here. Everyone does. Our afternoons are so languid,” Pelagie said, drawing out the syllables.
Unconsciously she smoothed a rising bulge above the circle of her skirt, and Miriam, observing the gesture,inquired directly, “When are you going to have your baby?”
Eulalie drew in her breath. “What can the child be saying?” she cried over Miriam’s head.
“Oh, I know Pelagie’s going to have a baby,” Miriam said wisely. “I can tell. I’ve seen that at home. When are you going to have the baby?”
“In November. I should like to talk about it,” Pelagie said softly. “I’m so happy. But my sister thinks it’s shocking to take notice of it. I’m sure I don’t know why, when Mama had nine after us, counting all the ones who died, that is.” And she went on in a kind of quiet defiance of her sister, who was already halfway out of the door. “My baby will be born right here in my room on the borning bed. The napping sofa has more than one use, you see.”
There was a gentle silence among the three until the young woman spoke again. “I hope you’re feeling a little bit better about being here, David.”
David flushed. “I feel fine, really I do.”
“You weren’t happy at all the first few days.” When he did not deny that, Pelagie continued, “You didn’t know this wasn’t a Jewish household. I understand.”
In the next bedroom through the open door, David could see the altar, or what the family referred to as the altar: a table covered with a lace cloth on which stood a vial of holy water and some small white plaster statues. His eyes traveled from these to the floor, which was covered with a summer matting of cool straw.
“I think your papa should have told you beforehand.”
He laughed shortly. “I’m just as glad he didn’t. Opa would have fought our coming here, and who knows, he might have won.”
“But on the voyage he should have said something—still,it’s over and done. But if there should be some questions you want to ask me …”
For a moment the awkwardness and the stammer came back. Yet for some reason David had to ask—not that the answer would make any difference now—but he had to ask: “How did my father marry your mother?”
“Where, do you mean? It was in the cathedral. The vicar general gave a dispensation because of the difference in religion. And Father Moni performed the ceremony. Oh, it was beautiful! I always love the cathedral anyway. Even a funeral is beautiful.” And Pelagie, rapt, made a pyramid of her fingers. “I was only a little girl when they held the memorial service for the Emperor Napoleon. Everything was draped in black, so solemn, and there was wonderful music, a French chorus. It was as if God Himself were there.”
It had gone quite dark outside. The three faces were blurred against the mild glow of the lamp in the adjoining room, so that one could only imagine the expression on Pelagie’s face as she half whispered, “But then, of course, God is everywhere, isn’t He? I always think it doesn’t matter which way you worship Him in your heart. I know some priests
The four young people now faced one another, none knowing how to begin. Then Fanny, somewhat bolder than her brother, smiled at Miriam. Blaise stood with downcast eyes, while David, flushed with embarrassment over his own awkwardness, as well as for other reasons not yet quite clear to him, struggled for something to say. But at that moment Pelagie came upstairs with Eulalie and dismissed the servants.
“We’ll call you when we’re ready to retire. The men are still playing dominoes,” she told David, “but I’m too tired. Shall we sit out on the balcony awhile?”
They passed through a series of bedrooms. “Mama must get a
lit de repos
for you, David, so you don’t ruin the bedspread when you take your afternoon nap.”
“But I never sleep in the afternoon!”
“You will here. Everyone does. Our afternoons are so languid,” Pelagie said, drawing out the syllables.
Unconsciously she smoothed a rising bulge above the circle of her skirt, and Miriam, observing the gesture,inquired directly, “When are you going to have your baby?”
Eulalie drew in her breath. “What can the child be saying?” she cried over Miriam’s head.
“Oh, I know Pelagie’s going to have a baby,” Miriam said wisely. “I can tell. I’ve seen that at home. When are you going to have the baby?”
“In November. I should like to talk about it,” Pelagie said softly. “I’m so happy. But my sister thinks it’s shocking to take notice of it. I’m sure I don’t know why, when Mama had nine after us, counting all the ones who died, that is.” And she went on in a kind of quiet defiance of her sister, who was already halfway out of the door. “My baby will be born right here in my room on the borning bed. The napping sofa has more than one use, you see.”
There was a gentle silence among the three until the young woman spoke again. “I hope you’re feeling a little bit better about being here, David.”
David flushed. “I feel fine, really I do.”
“You weren’t happy at all the first few days.” When he did not deny that, Pelagie continued, “You didn’t know this wasn’t a Jewish household. I understand.”
In the next bedroom through the open door, David could see the altar, or what the family referred to as the altar: a table covered with a lace cloth on which stood a vial of holy water and some small white plaster statues. His eyes traveled from these to the floor, which was covered with a summer matting of cool straw.
“I think your papa should have told you beforehand.”
He laughed shortly. “I’m just as glad he didn’t. Opa would have fought our coming here, and who knows, he might have won.”
“But on the voyage he should have said something—still,it’s over and done. But if there should be some questions you want to ask me …”
For a moment the awkwardness and the stammer came back. Yet for some reason David had to ask—not that the answer would make any difference now—but he had to ask: “How did my father marry your mother?”
“Where, do you mean? It was in the cathedral. The vicar general gave a dispensation because of the difference in religion. And Father Moni performed the ceremony. Oh, it was beautiful! I always love the cathedral anyway. Even a funeral is beautiful.” And Pelagie, rapt, made a pyramid of her fingers. “I was only a little girl when they held the memorial service for the Emperor Napoleon. Everything was draped in black, so solemn, and there was wonderful music, a French chorus. It was as if God Himself were there.”
It had gone quite dark outside. The three faces were blurred against the mild glow of the lamp in the adjoining room, so that one could only imagine the expression on Pelagie’s face as she half whispered, “But then, of course, God is everywhere, isn’t He? I always think it doesn’t matter which way you worship Him in your heart. I know some priests
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