Читать книгу Sins of Omission - Fern Michaels - Страница 9

It was just past noon when Reuben walked stiff-legged down the hall to Daniel’s section of the hospital clinic. His hands were in his trouser pockets and his fingers were crossed. He felt both relieved and anxious. Relieved because his eyes felt less gritty and he could see much better; objects were sharper and his eyes were watering less. But he was anxious for Daniel. Ignoring the pain of his leg wound, he hurried through the wards and was brought up short when he saw the doctor and a nurse with a basin in her hand standing beside Daniel.

I’m here, Daniel. The thought was so intense that for a moment he believed he’d spoken aloud. Reuben didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he noticed Daniel’s shoulders jerk and heard the doctor warn his patient not to open his eyes yet. Thick gauze-pad dressings beneath the swath of bandages were being unrolled, layer by layer. Reuben also hadn’t realized that his benefactress was watching from the far end of the corridor. When the heady scent of her perfume wafted toward him, he turned to face her. Even at this distance the apple red of her cape and the pure white of her hat stood out sharply against the gray-green of the clinic’s walls. He wanted to see her face, to see her eyes. Would they mirror that soft, solicitous tone of voice? Or would they be calculating and hard, waiting to see if Daniel was blind and judging what that would mean to her plans? Reuben turned again to Daniel, refusing to think about anything but this important moment. Everything depended upon what happened now; the outcome would govern the rest of their lives. He drew in his breath and waited.

Daniel’s moment of truth had arrived. The doctor moved so his back was to Reuben, blocking Daniel from his sight. There were no more offered prayers. The one he’d said the night before was of the miracle category. In the dark hours of the night God had either made things right or He hadn’t.

Reuben saw the round eyepads drop to the floor. He remembered his own agony at just this moment, and his innards twisted with fear. Daniel’s tortured cry of “I can’t see!” ripped through to Reuben’s soul. He tore across the space that separated them and was at Daniel’s side when the doctor issued his cautions not to panic and to give his eyes time to adjust to the dim light. Reuben placed a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder, calming him. “Another minute or so and then again—but slowly—open your eyes,” the doctor instructed.

The seconds ticking by were small, separate eternities. Reuben remembered his own tortured unveiling, and his thoughts then that no one was there to comfort him. Madame Mickey, he’d discovered later, had been standing exactly where she was now.

“Now, Daniel, open your eyes slowly. Your vision will be clouded and it will remain that way for some time. You’ll be able to see things, but not in detail and certainly not clearly unless you’re quite close to them. Open your eyes, Daniel,” the doctor urged.

Daniel’s head was turned now so that Reuben was directly in his line of vision. His eyes flickered behind reddened lids, then he squinted and blinked gently in his first efforts to make out what was in front of him. Daniel’s first thought was that Reuben looked beautiful, although sharp creases of concern tightened the line of his mouth and narrowed his heavy dark brows. He smiled at the blurry shapes before him and closed his eyes again. The sigh he breathed sounded like an explosion in the quiet. “I prayed, you know, for days and sometimes all through the night when I couldn’t sleep.” He opened his eyes cautiously a second time to confirm his sight. This time he smiled.

“Mazel tov!” Reuben shouted, squeezing Daniel’s shoulder. He looked down at his white knuckles and eased his grip. Wasn’t there something more he should do or say? Perhaps not. He’d prayed to Daniel’s God, and He had listened. Maybe there was a trick to all that praying after all. Pray for someone else and maybe then you had a chance of having your own prayers answered. His thoughts were interrupted by the doctor’s weary voice.

“I’ve decided you should keep the cast on for at least another week, Daniel. You can leave the hospital if you think you can manage. Madame Mickey is waiting to take you to her château. Most of the paperwork is done, so all you have to do is dress and leave. Good health, son.” He patted Daniel on the head and shook Reuben’s hand. All the rest of the day, as the doctor walked through the wards, he remembered the grateful look in Reuben’s eyes. He’d seen bonds form between men who’d soldiered side by side before. Often it was the most unlikely of pairings, like this one—Tarz, urbane, streetwise, and slick; and Daniel, innocent and trusting.

Daniel rolled back on his bunk, sweat glistening on his face. “I thought for sure…I’d hoped…prayed…but Jesus, I’m glad to see you. Did you pray before they took your bandages off?”

“Me? Pray?” Reuben asked in mock outrage. “It was the luck of the draw, kid. We were either going to be all right or we weren’t. The damage was done out in the field weeks ago. Praying would have been kind of silly.” He hoped his words of bravado were loud enough for Madame Mickey to hear, but when he turned to look at her, she was gone.

Reuben was annoyed. Why hadn’t he been able to tell Daniel that he’d prayed for him last night? The words had stuck in his throat, as if such an admission were impossible for him. Not for the world or all the Madame Mickeys in France would he admit that he’d been too afraid to pray for himself when he lay with his eyes burned by the gas and his head swathed in bandages. Something in Reuben made him feel undeserving of God’s intervention.

A smug expression washed over Reuben’s handsome face; his silver-gray eyes were made brighter by the drops. “It’s time to go, Daniel, so let’s put this place behind us and get on with our lives. Madame Mickey is waiting.”

Marchioness Michelene Fonsard could barely contain her excitement. She considered herself a lusty good woman who made amends for her sexual liaisons by doing good deeds for the parish curé. The curé prayed for her each Sunday because of her healthy donations to the church and for her generosity with her husband’s renowned Bordeaux wines. A true patriot to the very core of her French heart, she considered it an honor as well as a duty to minister in any way she could to the casualties of the terrible war that had been decimating her country. The soldiers she visited at several hospitals and clinics were the recipients of her generosity in many ways. She spent her days in her Citroën, covering distances along sometimes treacherous roads to deliver her cook’s homemade goods and preserves, to read to some of the men and talk with others, always ready to soothe with her gentle woman’s touch. Flowers picked fresh from her greenhouse were always welcomed by the convalescents. She brought cheer; she brought hope.

Some called her saintly and beatific, like the parish curé. Others insisted she had the classic features of an aristocrat from a long line of handsome royalty, which always amused her. The soldiers thought of her as a beautiful angel, larger than life, and it was said that a lover or two revealed that her hair reached almost to her ankles and always smelled delightfully of her perfume. She owned fabulous diamonds and emeralds but preferred to wear the least ostentatious. Although refined in her taste, she always kept up with the latest style and fashion; and as sedate and meticulously groomed as she was through her years with her famous and doting husband, at night, alone, Mickey Fonsard gazed into the mirror and saw the plain face of a peasant, open and honest.

She had been only fifteen when she married Jacques Fonsard, who was three times her age. True to his word, he’d given her wealth beyond her dreams, all from his famous wineries. She, in turn, had given him the best years of his life. In the end she held his naked body against her full breasts the way a mother would hold a suckling babe and watched his erection die for the last time. The smile on his face made her grieving bearable. He’d died exactly as he’d always hoped he would.

Each time Michelene spent a franc, each time she took a new lover or performed a good deed, she knew that Jacques, wherever he was, approved. Marchioness Michelene Fonsard never looked back, nor did she look ahead. And she lived each day fully, as though it could very well be her last. If nothing else, she considered herself a happy woman.

Soon she would be happier. There would be a young, hard body in her bed. She was happy that Daniel could be ministered to in a warm, loving atmosphere. Naturally she’d realized the way to get to Reuben was through his protectiveness for his friend. Such attention would win his gratitude, but humility…Ah, that was a different matter entirely. With her experience, she knew Reuben, young though he was, was not like all the others. This one, she mused, was a cut above the rest.

Madame Mickey had never been in love. She’d cared deeply for Jacques, of that she had no doubt. But so often of late, with death and suffering all around her, she wondered if she would ever truly experience that much talked and written about euphoria of being in love. Sometimes she ached for that warmth when her passions were spent and her lover rolled over to drift off to sleep.

In so many ways Reuben Tarz was a boy. Yet when those boys came out of the war they were men—men in the world of men, but boys in the ways of a woman and the boudoir. Her mission—and she accepted it gladly—was to make a man of Reuben. When they went their separate ways, Reuben would be a man to be reckoned with. She would instill in him a sense of confidence, integrity, loyalty, and motivation. And—equally important—she would teach him that whatever he wanted was within his grasp. All these qualities she admired in men, knowing she possessed each of them herself. As for social polish, Reuben had much to learn, of course, but she knew he would be a quick study. The proper haircut, the right tailor, exposure to correct etiquette, and he would be magnificent.

In the early days of her marriage, while they waited for the grapes to ripen, Jacques had taught Mickey languages and geography; she had a natural ear for one and a thirst for the other. Now she could converse easily in seven languages, and her favorite, after her own native tongue, was English.

What wonderful plans she had for Reuben! She’d motor to Paris with him and show him her beautiful house, where Jacques liked to play after the first planting of the young vines. Reuben would love Paris, especially when this damn war was over and things returned to normal. General Pershing had confided to her personally that they were only weeks away from an armistice, but she needed no confirmation that the Germans would be suppressed. From the beginning, Michelene had every faith in her countrymen and the Allied forces, and that life would always go on as it had: wonderful, beautiful, and pleasurable.

Her mind, agile as always, devised a series of divertissements to please the senses and delight the soul. The Loire River, the only true French river, would be of interest to Reuben. The Mer de Glace would be a must. She’d introduce him to the Matterhorn and Mont Blanc. A two-or three-hour drive with picnic baskets to Rouen to see the quaint, gabled houses and the crooked streets would be another treat. The cave at Peche-Merle on the Sange River—now a chapel—would add to Reuben’s French education. And she must not forget the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Her second favorite spot was the site of Grosse Horloge, the big clock whose single hand had told time for more than four hundred years.

Michelene Fonsard’s long, tapered fingers tapped the steering wheel impatiently. Her thighs tingled and tightened when she saw Reuben, accompanied by Daniel, approach the Citroën. Her smile embraced them, warmed them like a cloak as she settled them into the backseat. On the way home she kept up a running commentary on the conditions of the war whenever they asked specifics; otherwise she kept the conversation light and vivacious, telling them funny little tales of the villagers near her château and the eccentric ways of her friend, the curé.

Daniel loved listening to her and complimented her on her exquisite English, but while they both were amused by her little stories, it was news of the war and the German advance that occupied their thoughts. The frequent German raids and intensified activity all along the front in the north of France indicated that a great German offensive was close at hand. The French thought the Allies would be able to hold without difficulty until the Americans could gain position and provisions. Provisions…That was the key word in this chaos. With all of America’s wealth, manpower, and ability, there was still the inescapable fact that the great country had been totally unprepared for war. American forces had been confronted by the mighty German military offense and compelled to stand by almost helpless and see the Allies suffer unspeakable losses. Provisions, the lack of them, the inability to move them across France to where they were needed most, could be their undoing.

“Mon Dieu! I am sorry!” Madame Mickey’s apology broke into the worried thoughts of her two passengers. “This road is abominable, so rutted and bumpy. It is beyond repair, I am afraid. All the young men are gone from the village; there is no one to repair it. Hold tight to the straps, it gets worse before it gets better.” Her voice in melodious apology held a chuckle.

A flock of scrawny winter birds took flight, seeking refuge in the bare branches of the trees as the Citroën chugged along. Overhead the sky was heavy with angry clouds. Daylight was fading, bleeding into night. Reuben sat beside Daniel, bundled in thick lap robes. Mickey had the headlamps on now, their eerie light casting long shadows onto the road. The drive from the clinic was longer than he’d expected. For some reason, he’d thought the château was no more than a few miles away. Already they’d been driving for almost two hours. Now, more than before, he appreciated the woman’s generosity and dedication in visiting the hospital.

“Here we are,” Mickey announced as she turned the car and continued driving down a side road that was bumpier than the last. “We’re on my property now and the château is still quite a few minutes from here. Tomorrow, in the light, I will show you the boundaries from the top floor. The view is magnifique and one can see for miles.”

Both Reuben and Daniel craned to get a good look as they caught sight of the impressive estate Mickey was fast approaching. Daniel’s thoughts turned inward. Just another short while and he could rest. In the trenches, at the front, he’d been bone tired, but it couldn’t compare with the exhaustion he was feeling now. The concern for his eyesight, the pain of his broken shoulder, the grim uncertainty of the future, and the possibility of having to return to the front—all had taken their toll on him. Such exquisite relief he felt, to know he wouldn’t be blind; he felt as though he could sleep for a week. Surely his company would not be missed this evening if he asked to retire early. Reuben would entertain Madame Mickey. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. When would Reuben have time for French lessons?

Reuben’s thoughts turned inward: What would be expected of him?

“We have arrived, my darlings,” Madame Mickey announced gaily as she brought the Citroën to a stop. “When you are fully recovered, Reuben, we will begin the driving lessons.”

Reuben felt a moment of sheer panic, the same immobilizing fear he’d experienced when at eight years old he was caught stealing apples from the neighborhood greengrocer in Brooklyn.

“Come, come, I want to show you my home. Reuben, help Daniel. He appears tired, pauvre petit. We must get both of you indoors and into warm, dry clothing.” Her eyes were on Reuben the entire time she spoke. “Chéri, you are limping. It is the cold,” she advised. “A warm bath, warm clothes, dinner, and a nice fire and you will be fixed. No? We will have soft music—Brahms, I think. I will play the pianoforte for you. If you beg, I might even sing.”

“I’d like that,” Daniel said wearily.

Reuben smiled. “So would I.”

“It is settled, then. Come, come, I, too, have the chill.”

Reuben wished he could see better in the dim light as they climbed the stone steps to the great carved doors. Well, tomorrow was another day. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so busy entertaining Madame Mickey and could go off for a walk to acquaint himself with his surroundings. His eyes widened at the splendor of the château as he looked over his hostess’s shoulders. An old woman with a white cap and apron stood holding open one of the two fan-lighted doors. Inside, the entry foyer was warm and well lit. A spectacular chandelier—the likes of which Reuben had glimpsed only in the lobbies of New York’s grand hotels—hung from a frescoed ceiling across which paced horses and hounds against a woodland background. A graceful curving stairway led off to the left, while a patterned Persian carpet ran its full length to the upper floor. His sensitive nose picked up the aroma of something delicious baking in the kitchens. Against the side of the staircase nestled a divan the same bottle green as the carpet, its watered-silk fabric inviting to touch. Dark wood tables held vases of flowers from Mickey’s famed greenhouses. Reuben wanted to know it all, see it all, but he was being whisked down the corridor that was concealed behind the stairs to a makeshift bathing room. Later he would examine his surroundings. Someday it might be helpful when he made his own selections in furnishings and style.

Two old women and a boy of about twelve stood ready when Reuben and Daniel arrived for their bath. In the middle of the room stood two huge wooden tubs, half-filled with steaming water.

Reuben stripped down to his bare skin, and his cast-off uniform and boots were immediately removed by the boy. Boldly he stepped in front of the old servants, who eyed his naked body admiringly. The older one pointed at the tubs, urging him to pick one and get in. He settled himself luxuriously as pail after pail of hot water was poured over him. The woman handed him three cakes of soap and gestured. One was for his hair, one for his face, and the other was for—Jesus! She’d grabbed herself in the crotch to make sure he understood. Weakly he smiled his understanding and nodded. She cocked her head to the side, sharp eyes questioning like a crafty New York pigeon.

“I’ll do it!” Reuben said loudly. Misunderstanding him, the old woman reached for the washcloth. “No!” he cried; and immediately began to lather himself. He knew he’d used the wrong soap on his genitals when she and the others began to laugh. The sound was so genuine and good-natured that Reuben could only join in, sharing the ridiculousness of the moment.

Cackling to herself, the old woman joined her companions to help remove Daniel’s clothing. Reuben watched out of the corner of his eye as the trio stripped Daniel down and helped him into the second tub. He grinned, observing as he had so often in close quarters his friend’s generous endowments. Madame Mickey had chosen the wrong man. While he himself was standard issue, Daniel was gigantically hung. Someday he was going to make some lady very happy.

An hour later Reuben emerged from the tub, the skin on his hands and feet puckered but squeaky clean. Someone had laid out clothes for him—soft wool trousers in a gentle shade of tan, slippers that looked like shoes and fit perfectly, soft white underwear, and a crushable sweater the color of the sky on a summer day. None of the items were new, which he supposed accounted for their comfortable softness. After slicking back his dark curly hair and shaving, he examined himself in the mirror. “Reuben Tarz, you are a handsome devil. Daniel, I can truthfully say I feel like a freshwater eel. How are you doing?”

His face scarlet, Daniel mumbled something that sounded obscene. Both women had the third bar of soap and were scrubbing him industriously as the young boy stood ready with the towels. Daniel, his bad arm draped over the tub so as not to wet the cast, was holding on with the other so he wouldn’t slide beneath the surface.

Reuben turned his head so Daniel wouldn’t see him laughing. “That’s enough, ladies,” he ordered. “Out! Enough! Help him out!” He waved his hands, making scooping motions. Both old women cackled gleefully.

“You son of a bitch!” Daniel cried. “I saw you laughing! Do you know what they did to me? Should I tell you?”

“Only if it felt good.” Reuben grinned. “Well, did it?”

“Dammit! Now they’re going to dry me. Reuben, get them off me!”

“I can’t. They have their orders. You wouldn’t want Madame Mickey to be displeased with them, would you? They’re old, like grandmothers. Let them have their fun. They’re remembering what it was like. How can you deprive them of a little enjoyment?”

“I don’t like it,” Daniel muttered, his face flaming.

“Yes, you do. Don’t ever lie about things like that. It feels good, let it feel good. They aren’t taking anything away from you. Come on now, get dressed and let’s find our hostess.”

Dinner was a wonderful experience visually, and exquisitely gratifying to their taste buds. The dining table had to be at least eighteen feet long according to Reuben’s calculations. Six candelabras gleamed in the reflected surface of the polished mahogany. High ceilings, tapestried walls, crystal, china, and a fine silver service complemented the sumptuous meal. Reuben’s attention wandered constantly from his meal to the room, then to Madame Mickey. In this soft lighting her features gave off a warm radiance, and her eyelashes appeared to be soft shadows outlining her sparkling eyes. The gown she had chosen to wear was a simple black sheath that swung to the floor, skimming her hips and rising to a deep scoop revealing her generous bosom and the unexpectedly graceful arch of her throat.

Reuben sighed with contentment at the meal’s end. Noticing Daniel’s discomfort, Madame Mickey took charge. “Come, my darlings, we will have coffee in the drawing room and then it is bed for both of you. Tomorrow, if you like, I will show you around.” The slim black ribbon at Mickey’s throat held a modest gem. A diamond, Reuben guessed, and probably quite valuable.

There had been pictures in magazines of rooms like this, and once or twice he’d gone to the nickelodeon and seen lavish movie sets on the silver screen. Unlike the heavy Victorian furniture he was used to in the States, Mickey’s furniture seemed to Reuben the essence of lightness and space. The richness came not from bulk, but from style and fabric. This room was decorated in faded gold and pale blue, so different from the red and Oriental patterns back home. Flowered chair cushions, long, luxurious curtains in that same faded gold, all conveyed a feeling of age and permanence and comfort. Security. That’s what this represented, he decided. Nothing seemed new or was deliberately ostentatious. These furnishings gave the impression that they’d been collected over hundreds of years. Tomorrow, when he wasn’t so tired, he’d come into this room and dig his bare toes into the lush carpeting.

A log snapped in the fireplace, shooting sparks upward, Mickey smiled, reflections of the flames dancing in her eyes. “This, Reuben, is my favorite part of the day. More so now that I have two charming companions with whom to share it.”

Reuben’s stomach churned. The evening was almost over. The languid, inviting expression in Mickey’s eyes was doing strange things to him. Suddenly he realized she’d mentioned bed for both of them, but she hadn’t specified where they were to sleep.

“Now isn’t this better than the hospital at Soissons? Ah, how forgetful of me. Cigarettes. I have American cigarettes. Lucky Strike, I believe. Please, help yourself. Americans like and expect a cigarette after dinner, isn’t that so?”

“Allow me,” Reuben said gallantly as he struck a match to the heel of his shoe.

“There is an easier way to do that, chéri. See, on this little table beside the cigarette box is a tinderbox. Strike it on the side. Gentlemen do not use their shoes in polite company.”

Reuben’s neck grew warm, and Daniel sniggered. He had blundered—a gaffe, Mickey would have called it. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He turned to light Daniel’s cigarette only to hear Mickey admonish him a second time.

“Never three on a match, chéri. What is the warning in the battlefield about lighting a match? Ah, yes…it gives just enough time an enemy needs to put you within his sights and shoot. Ah, I see by your faces that you believe women do not know about such things. I frequent the dressing stations and hospitals, remember? As a matter of fact, the very first time I learned about the danger of lighting a match on the battlefield was in a poem written by a young Canadian who was attached to the Red Cross. I became so enamored with his work that I helped him find a New York publisher. I have a copy of his work, if it interests you.”

“Canadian, you say?” Daniel asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Oui, chéri. You know, they have been here even before you Americans. Would you like me to read something?”

“Please. Don’t you want to hear something, Reuben?” Daniel asked hopefully.

“Then it will be my pleasure.” Madame Mickey searched the bookshelf beside the fireplace for the thin volume bound in leather and autographed especially for her. She spoke briefly of the author as she scanned the volumes. “His name is Robert Service, a Canadian attached to the Red Cross. Being part of a mobile unit, I met him several times at different dressing stations and hospitals when he brought in the wounded.” She rifled through the pages, searching for a topic that would be of interest to them. “Ah, I think here we have it. It is something he wrote and titled ‘My Mate.’” When she read, it was in a rather adept Cockney accent.

I’ve been sittin’ starin’ at ’is muddy pair of boots,

And tryin’ to convince meself it’s ’im.

(Look out there, lad! That sniper ’e’s a dysey when ’e shoots;

’E’ll be layin’ of you out the same as Jim.)

Jim as lies there in the dugout wiv ’is blanket round ’is ’ead,

To keep ’is brains from mixin’ wiv the mud;

And ’is face as white as putty, and ’is overcoat all red,

Like ’e’s spilt a bloomin’ paintpot but it’s blood.

Daniel and Reuben listened intently, both of them moved by the pathos in the poem. But it was the next stanza that choked them.

Now wot I wants to know is, why it wasn’t me was took?

I’ve only got meself, ’e stands for three.

I’m plainer than a louse, while ’e was ’and some as a dook;

’E always was a better man than me.

’E was goin’ ’ome next Toosday; ’e was ’appy as a lark,

And ’e’d just received a letter from ’is kid;

And ’e struck a match to show me, as we stood there in the dark,

When…that bleedin’ bullet got ’im on the lid.

Reuben and Daniel were silent, too moved even to look at each other. They understood the kind of friendship Robert Service wrote about. They had seen it, and they had experienced it.

Mickey crushed her half-finished cigarette in a crystal dish. “I must say good night, my darlings. I’ve had a busy day and I’m tired. I feel the headache coming on. My servants will see to both of you. You have only to ring this little bell. They have all your medications, your nightclothes, and will turn down your beds.” She glided from her chair to theirs and kissed both of them lightly on both cheeks. “Sleep well, my brave warriors. And sleep as long as you like. I think you’ll find my beds quite comfortable.”

Reuben was flustered, uncertain of himself. Was he supposed to follow her? Was it possible he’d misinterpreted what he thought was to happen? Would she come to him later when Daniel was asleep? Was he supposed to go to her? Damn, why hadn’t some rules been set down? Did she think he was accustomed to these circumstances and knew what to do? He found it difficult to look at Daniel, who was busy arranging the cigarettes into neat rows in the little enamel box.

Best to pretend indifference, he decided, to behave as though he knew the score. Simply yawn, get up, and stretch, and somehow convey to Daniel that something would transpire later. If nothing else, he wanted to appear worldly, but how? The hell with it, he thought, angered by his own insufficiencies. He’d made a deal to come here and do—what? The exact conditions of his stay had never been explained. It was his bunkmates in the barracks who said he’d be “servicing” the legendary Madame Mickey.

A strange sensation descended upon him, something akin to fear. Perhaps there was something wrong with him. Perhaps he didn’t measure up. Screw it, he decided. I’ll take the R and R.

“I’m ready to turn in, Daniel. Who’s going to ring the bell?”

Daniel grinned. “You’re the man around here, you ring it.”

“I don’t like that smirk on your face,” Reuben said coolly.

“Smirk? Sorry, my friend, that’s a grimace of pain. My eyes are aching and burning. Aren’t yours? And my shoulder itches. All I want is a bed and sleep. Ring the damn bell and let’s hit the sack.”

In her room directly above the drawing room, Mickey heard the tinkle of the bell. Footsteps followed, muffled on the carpeting. They’d be undressing now. The beds were already turned down. The hot chocolate would be placed on the little bedside tables in exquisite porcelain cups. Then the eyedrops, the ointment, the little pills with a swallow of water. Minutes ticked by. The chocolate would be finished, the lights would go off, the covers pulled up. Ah, in seconds Daniel would be asleep, and Reuben would…

She’d never waited like this with any other lover. Always she’d brought them to her bed upon their arrival. Of course, they’d been experienced lovers, eager to please. Again and again.

In the dark comfort of his bed Reuben refused to admit that he couldn’t fall asleep—refused to accept that he was waiting with anticipation for his door to open, waiting for the invitation to go to Mickey’s bed.

In his first restless sleep he dreamed he was running around the room in his skivvies. Mickey was laughing, mocking him, calling him a boy, a little boy. The dream passed. A little before dawn he reached out and grasped the deep restful sleep his body desperately needed.

Reuben woke at noon, crawled from beneath the covers, and noticed that a fire had been started in the fireplace at the foot of his bed, that the room was warm and cozy as well as luxurious. A ewer of hot water had been prepared and left for him to wash and shave. Ready to face the day, he assumed an attitude of nonchalance when he descended the stairs to search for Daniel. Both his friend and Madame Mickey were seated in a small alcove off the dining hall, talking quietly over coffee. A breakfast setting had been put out for him, he noticed, but the others were finished eating.

“Did you sleep well. Reuben?” Mickey asked, concern in her voice.

He smiled. “I think I had the best night’s sleep I’ve had since leaving the States. How did you sleep, Daniel?”

“Very well, and I think I’ve just put a big dent in Mickey’s larder. Wonderful breakfast. Don’t look so disapproving. Mickey asked me to call her by her first name. We’re not being formal.”

“But, of course, you must also call me Mickey. All my good friends ignore my title. It is of little importance. Only bank accounts are important in France. Now, what will you have for breakfast?”

“Eggs?” Reuben asked hopefully.

“And ham and sweet rolls and fresh juice. Fresh fruit also, if you like. We must have you healthy again,” she said, smiling. She rang the bell, speaking rapidly in French when the maid appeared. Minutes later, a platter of golden eggs and pink ham stared up at him, accompanied by sweet rolls dripping with creamery butter. He gulped the refreshing juice and didn’t question the miracle of fresh fruit in a war zone.

“I’m pleased, so pleased,” Mickey said. “You’ve both slept well, you’ve eaten a hearty breakfast, and now you’re going to rest. I must leave you darlings for a short while. I’m off to Marseilles. I’m certain you can find ways to amuse yourselves. I’ll return before dinner. We’ll have time to talk then. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Both men stood. Reuben made a grimace that passed for a smile. Daniel grinned. Mickey called over her shoulder, “If you wish to brave the outdoors, ask Nanette for warm coats. Don’t get chilled.” Then she was gone, and all that remained of her was the scent of her perfume. Reuben rang the bell for a second cup of coffee. Daniel held his cup aloft for a refill.

“Tell me, how was last night, Reuben? Not details,” he said, flushing a rosy red. “Was it good? Did…did you make her happy? What was it like with her? Where did you spend the night?”

Reuben was tempted to lie, but he didn’t. “I spent the night in my own bed, alone. Nothing happened. I’d tell you if there was anything to tell.”

“But I thought…nothing?” Daniel exclaimed.

“Nothing,” Reuben affirmed. “I’ll tell you the truth. In a way I was relieved and in some way I was disappointed. Now, can we drop the subject? I know you’re itching to get into the library, so let’s do that first. I’ll read off the titles, but you aren’t to try to do any reading yet, agreed?” Daniel nodded happily. An entire room filled with books. What could be better?

Across the foyer from the drawing room they found the library. The tall windows allowed daylight to spill into the room, illuminating every corner. The room was cold, no fire had been laid in the hearth, but it was cozy despite the temperature. Leather chairs and chaises and small tables with reading lamps, a massive desk near the glass-paned doors leading to a small garden outside, and a dark Turkish carpet were all the furnishings necessary. The vaulted atmosphere was created by ceiling-high bookshelves, each holding a burden of leather-bound books, their spines lettered in gold. There were books in several languages, but Reuben was happy to note that an entire section had been devoted to English.

Daniel came to a dead stop in front of one shelf.

“Reuben,” he faltered.

“What is it, Daniel?”

“I…even close up, I…can’t make out the letters. I’m scared. I thought I’d be able to see better today than yesterday.” He tried to hide the quavering in his voice, the trembling of his hands. How he hated feeling this way! He was supposed to be a man now and accept things that couldn’t be changed.

“It…your eyes will be fine,” Reuben assured him. “It was exactly the same for me, too. I kept thinking I’d end up selling pencils on a street corner. Don’t forget our eyes were burned. It will ease, I’m telling you. Just don’t forget to use your eye drops. I just wish there were something I could do to make it easier for you.”

“Why? Who was there to make it easier for you? You had to go through it alone. If you could, then so can I,” said Daniel.

“That’s the right attitude. But you’re wrong. I did have someone. Madame Mickey kept me sane, kept me hopeful. She talked to me for hours, she made me believe I would see. The will is half the battle she would say. It wasn’t just me she encouraged, either. I’m very grateful to her.”

“When did she get smitten with you, Reuben? You never told me.”

Reuben laughed ruefully. “I don’t know that she is smitten with me. She talked to me for hours about her life with her husband. She said I was a good listener. She loves life. I can’t pick a time, really. One day she came up to my bunk, we talked of ordinary things, and then she invited me, just like that.”

“How did she find out about me?”

Reuben grinned. “From me, of course. I asked her to check on you and let me know how you were doing. Every day she brought me a report on your progress.”

“She could have invited anyone, Reuben. Anyone! She picked us. I hope she’s right about the war being over soon.”

“I hope so, too. I’ve had enough, we’ve given enough. I want to put this war behind me and go on. With or without Mickey’s help.”

Reuben wasn’t ready to discuss the Mickey issue further, not even with Daniel. He hadn’t figured it out in his own head yet. All he knew was whatever happened, however it had happened, he and Daniel were now a team. With will and motivation, he would succeed one way or another. Daniel would ultimately get to law school, that much was definite. “Why don’t I put a record on the phonograph for you,” he offered. “You can sit here and rest your eyes. You’ve been up for a few hours now, so you should have some compresses for at least an hour. What do you say?”

“Fine with me. What will you do meantime?”

Reuben smiled. Daniel’s anxiety was something they were both going to have to deal with. One way or another he had to wipe away Daniel’s fear, but he didn’t know how…yet. Maybe as Daniel’s eyesight improved, his confidence would return. “First I’ll go outside and get some air. Walk around this little country house and see how it looks from the outside. Then—hey, how much of the house have you taken in so far? Did Mickey show you around this morning?”

“Just as much as you, I guess. She was waiting for me when I came downstairs and took me right in for breakfast. Why?”

“Good! Then I’ll reconnoiter while you’re resting and report back with the details of my mission. Okay?”

When Reuben returned an hour later he found Daniel stretched out on the leather sofa with his slippers off and his feet propped on cushions. His good arm lay across the cast of the other, and for one crazy moment Reuben thought he was dead. Daniel stirred at the sound of his footsteps.

“Reuben?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been gone?”

“Only an hour.”

“It seems longer.”

“Yes. Keep the compresses on a few minutes more,” he urged when his friend began to rise. “It’s not as though you have somewhere to go. They help, so keep them on as long as you can tolerate them.” Did his voice sound as paternal to Daniel as it did to himself? He burst out laughing when Daniel spoke.

“Yes, Father. I know you mean well. That’s how a father would sound, isn’t it, Reuben? Since I never had one, I have to rely on stories I’ve heard and my books.”

“I wasn’t trying to sound paternal. Brotherly, perhaps. As little as I can recall, my own father wasn’t a man of many words. Months went by and he hardly spoke to me.”

“Do you know how often I wished I had parents? I mean, I had them, but I don’t know who they are. I kept thinking all the time we were at the front that if I died there wouldn’t be anyone to send the telegram to. That thought was terrible. To come over here and fight and die and be buried or left somewhere in the trenches to rot and no one would care.”

“Yes, but neither of us has to worry about that now. We’re alive and we buried our savagery back there in the trenches. I didn’t save your life for you to fret and stew about yesterday. It’s behind us, Daniel.”

“Did I ever thank you, Reuben? You know what I mean—a real thank-you? Someday I’m going to be able to thank you properly. I know you think I’m just a dumb green kid, and I guess I am. I’ll grow up, though.”

Reuben let his shoes scuff the carpet. To cover his embarrassment, he lit a cigarette and put it in Daniel’s hand and then took one for himself. “Someday I’ll take the thanks out of your hide,” he joked gruffly. For some reason the words didn’t sound like a joke when he uttered them. To cover his confusion, he asked, “Well, do you want to hear about what I saw or not?” He placed a little crystal ashtray on Daniel’s chest.

“First I walked through the house. I counted twelve rooms, and that doesn’t include where the servants sleep—that’s a separate wing. They have four rooms off the kitchen. There’s a lot of color here. Color makes a difference somehow. I never gave it much thought before, but it can make something look big or small. It’s amazing, Daniel. The furniture is kind of spindly, as you know, fragile-looking, but I tested out a couple of the chairs and they hold my weight just fine. I saw furniture like this in a moving picture once, it was about the French Revolution and the women wore these high white wigs.” Reuben knew that Daniel liked details.

“There are mirrors everywhere. Over the fireplaces, over little tables lining the hallways, like the one over that long piece of furniture in the dining room, I think I heard Mickey call it a buffet last night. And there are paintings, and the walls are all covered in tapestry where they’re not painted with hunting scenes like in the foyer, and countrysides and, get this, some kind of goddesses with their breasts exposed and men with all their equipment hanging out in this room that’s big enough to hold a ball—band and all!”

Daniel was impressed. “I hadn’t realized it was so big. Imagine one person having twelve rooms all to herself.”

“Mickey didn’t always live alone. She said they entertained a lot, and most of the rooms are bedrooms. Almost every room has a fireplace. There are hundreds of little statues and dishes and bowls full of Mickey’s flowers, and draperies. Maybe they’re junk, maybe they’re treasures. I don’t know. There’re oil paintings everywhere. Every one is signed.”

“Are they beautiful?”

“I guess so. They’re just pictures to me. There’s a sunrise and one with ladies in a garden and another of two naked ladies lying side by side. They didn’t make me want to hurry out and buy a paintbrush, if that’s what you mean. Besides, I’d be lucky if I could draw a straight line.”

Daniel chuckled. He couldn’t wait to go around the house on his own when his eyes were better to see how apt his friend’s descriptions were. “What else?”

“Mickey and her husband must have loved clocks. There’s one or two in every room. For as long as we’re here we’ll know what time it is every second of the day. I walked through the kitchen and my mouth watered. Good smells in there, Daniel. Dinner tonight is going to be tasty again. I checked out the wine cellar and it’s stocked to the brim. There’s a root cellar and a storehouse as well as a dairy. Madame Mickey could feed a division of men if she wanted. We’ll never starve, I can tell you that!”

“How rich do you think she is?”

“I think the lady has more money than you or I can ever dream of having. The Fonsard Wineries are the largest in all of France. At the clinic she used to talk about shipping their wines to the States. Maybe when the war is over she will. We really stepped into it, Daniel.”

“Is there a stable? I’ve always liked horses. Actually, I like all animals. Someday I’m going to get myself a dog. Not one of those squeaky little things, either. I want one that howls and barks and craps where it shouldn’t. I want it to beg for food and lick my face and come when I call it. Someday,” Daniel mused softly. So many somedays. Would they ever come?

“You got a name for this mutt, too?” Reuben laughed. “Male or female?”

Daniel snorted. “A boy dog, of course. I’ll call him Jake, after my best friend at the orphanage. Well, he was my best friend before someone took him to work in their factory. I really missed him. I think about him a lot and wonder if he signed up when I did.”

Something pricked at Reuben, something he couldn’t identify at first. And then he had a name for it: jealousy. Daniel had never mentioned Jake until now. Here he was going to name his dog after this fellow. Well, he’d go Daniel one better: he’d get the dog for him. It would be his flesh-and-blood gift, more important than a silly name.

When he began to describe the exterior of the château to Daniel, he forced a lightness he didn’t feel into his voice. “It looks smaller than it really is from the road because the major part of the house is in the back. Reminds me of a fairy-tale house; you’d almost expect gnomes and elves to come running out. The roof is tiled, real clay tiles, those half-round gray ones. And most of the windows are stained glass, the top of them anyway. That’s another thing—when the sun shines through them there’s a rainbow in the room. And some of the windows have designs on them. We couldn’t see them last night when we drove up, but the entrance leading to the house has huge stone columns that have frescoes on them. See, I know that word because Mickey uses it. They’re kind of weathered and the paint is peeling, but they’re still elegant-looking. In the spring, flowers and rosebushes must surround the house. I didn’t look in the greenhouses yet. Well, that’s it, Daniel. Someday I’m going to have a house like this. I’ll call it my summer home, just like the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers I read about in the newspapers back home. I’ll pattern the house after this one. I can smell money here, pal. And when you have money, you have power. I think that’s what I want more than the money, but they go hand in hand. Power! I even like the sound of the word.”

Daniel flinched under his compresses. The reaction rose from a combination of things. First was the intensity in Reuben’s voice. Daniel believed that Reuben would indeed be powerful someday. Wealthy and powerful, an awesome combination. But the second reason was personal: his life was in Reuben’s hands, and his friend’s words served to bring everything he had been thinking about right out into the open.

The truth was, Daniel had never before slept in a room such as the one he had slept in last night. Large, luxurious, and, best of all, private—the fact that it was all his made him want to run back upstairs and look at it and touch it to make sure it was real. He was overwhelmed by the sumptuous environment Reuben had just described. Mickey was a dream come true for both of them, but to Daniel she was truly the angel he had heard about, more nurturing and generous and bountiful than he could ever have imagined.

It was a miracle being in this house, and when his eyes were closed he was desperate to open them again and feast on his surroundings. With all his heart and soul, he hoped that Reuben knew what he was doing.

The road back to where he came from rose eerily in his mind. It was studded with places like his spare cot in the barrackslike dormitory of the orphanage, the deathly lonesome, seemingly eternal holidays he had endured there, in the place where he had felt utterly lost from God’s eyes. From there he’d moved even further, into the black hole of the war…. The thoughts began to paralyze him with sadness, especially now that he was finally experiencing the real thing: a home.