Page 65 of Across Eternity

SARAH

The first day without Henri feels endless. Marie is upset too, and we avoid each other’s eyes as we get through the day. All our valuables—the money, the jewelry, my wedding ring—are packed, leaving us little to do. In a few days, we will watch Jeannette’s children while she goes to Paris to say goodbye to her dying grandmother, and I wish the children were already here—it would be good to have something to fill my head right now other than thoughts of Henri.

That night, as I sit down to dinner and begin feeding Cecelia a bit of mashed apple and ham, Marie’s eyes fill. I’ve spent the entire day trying not to cry, but if she starts now, I won’t be able to stop. “Please don’t cry,” I rasp, my voice beginning to wobble. “I’m keeping myself together right now for Cece’s sake, but barely.”

She presses her hands to her face. “I’m not crying over Henri,” she says.

I grip the spoon in my hand with unnecessary force. Henri may die, while Edouard is ensconced safely behind the walls of a church. It seems as if, just this once, Marie could think of someone else. “Edouard again?” I ask, struggling to keep the acid from my voice.

Her tongue darts to her lips and then her eyes close. “I’m pregnant,” she whispers.

The spoon in my hand clatters to the floor. I stare at Marie, unable to even process what she’s said.

“I didn’t want Henri to know,” she says, putting her forehead in her hands. “He’d blame Edouard.”

I shake my head, so dumbfounded it’s hard to find my voice. I thought they might have exchanged sweet words and perhaps a kiss. Never, ever, did I think Edouard would allow it to go this far. He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have slept with her, and should have been careful if he did and…I have so many criticisms, so much judgement, I don’t even know where to start.

“How could he have slept with you and then just left?”

“It wasn’t his fault,” she says. “He tried to stop it and I wouldn’t let him.”

Edouard is a grown man, and a priest. Marie was a twenty-two-year-old virgin who, as far as I know, had never even been kissed. I’m hard-pressed to imagine she’s solely at fault here. “There’s no possible way he doesn’t bear some responsibility.”

“He asked the church to relieve him of his duties and find him another position. They said no. All his training is in theology and he’s not qualified to do anything else. He’s been looking for teaching positions, but with the war, no one is hiring, and he won’t marry me until he can support me. He thought I would be safer in England with you until he found something.”

You’d also be safer if he hadn’t knocked you up. “Does he know?”

She shakes her head. “He’s only been able to get me one very short note because they’re punishing him for breaking his vows, but he’s still looking for a way out.”

Edouard and Marie were careless only in the same ways Henri and I have been—but this changes everything. Now there will be two babies to care for in the British countryside, where food will be scarce, and doctors even more so. Perhaps some of the bitterness is more selfish: I want nothing more than to have Henri’s child one day, something that will never happen, while everyone around me seems to get pregnant unintentionally.

I force myself to take one calming breath and then another, because Marie is not at her most rational and there’s no place for my unhappiness in this conversation. What now? It’s possible that this is the prophecy unfolding—that Marie is the hidden child and will now produce the circle of light. But even if she isn’t, Edouard deserves to know about his child.

“You need to let Edouard know before we leave,” I sigh. “Maybe he refuses to let a woman support him, but when he realizes it means his child will be raised fatherless, he might relent a little.”

“I don’t know how to find him,” she whispers. “I suppose I could ask Monsignor DuPree in Paris, but I’m worried I’ll get Edouard in trouble.”

I couldn’t care less if Edouard gets in trouble, I want to snap. Edouard deserves to get into trouble. But it’s not a response Marie will listen to. “Then lie,” I tell her. “Tell him Edouard is your cousin and you fled from Germany hoping to find him in Saint Antoine.”

“You want me to lie to Monsignor DuPree?” she gasps, wide-eyed.

“Oh, so lying to a priest is a greater sin than sleeping with one?” I snap. “I love you like a sister, Marie, and I’ll support whatever decision you make, but this isn’t the time to be quibbling over minor ethical dilemmas.”

She stares at her hands for a long time, saying nothing. And then she rises with tears in her eyes. She kisses Cece on the forehead, and then me, in turn. “I’m sorry,” she says, heading for the stairs.

32

SARAH

It seemed odd, Marie’s tearful apology.

But it all made sense when I found the letter she’d left the next morning. She wasn’t apologizing. She was saying goodbye.

Dearest Amelie,

I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I would not be doing this, but you and Cece no longer need me, and my place is here, or wherever Edouard is. I know he will find a way to be with me and take care of his child no matter what the circumstances, and even if it means I’m stuck in France during the war—even if it means I don’t survive the war— that’s preferable to an entire life without him. I’ll write you in England once I’m settled.

All my love,