The Winemaker's Wife(85)

In the morning, just as dawn began to leech over the horizon to the east, there was a knock on their front door. Céline’s whole body tensed. Had the Germans come after all? Theo yawned and stretched, oblivious to her terror. “Who could it be at this hour?” he asked, getting out of bed and heading for the door without waiting for an answer.

Céline opened and closed her mouth, but no sound came out. She heaved herself out of bed, cradling her heavy belly. Was this it? She slipped her feet into boots, a sweater over her shoulders, and tried to brace herself for the worst. But as she made her way out of the bedroom, it was only Michel’s voice she heard, unnatural, strained. His eyes flicked to hers as she appeared behind Theo in the doorway.

“Céline, good morning,” he said, nodding formally as if he hadn’t just held her naked last night, as if he hadn’t created the baby swimming in her womb, as if he didn’t know her as well as any man had known any woman. “I was just telling Theo that Inès took the car.”

Céline swallowed hard, but she found she couldn’t speak.

“Any idea why?” Theo asked.

Michel hesitated. “No.”

“She’s going to get herself killed one of these days,” Theo grumbled, and Céline and Michel exchanged a quick look of guilt.

“Well, yes, that’s what I’m afraid of,” Michel said. “So I’m going to go over to Monsieur Letellier’s domaine and see if he will let me borrow his car so that I can try to find her.”

“I’m sure she went into Reims,” Theo said, “to see that friend of hers. You’ll find her at their brasserie, surely.”

“Yes, probably,” Michel agreed. He shot another glance at Céline. “In any case, I just wanted to let you know where I was going.”

“Good luck,” Theo said, but Céline still couldn’t speak past the hard lump of guilt lodged in her throat.

Later, with Theo gone down into the cellars to rearrange some of the newly filled bottles, Céline was moving around the house like a ghost, waiting for news from Michel, when there was a sharp twist in her belly, and then suddenly, liquid was gushing down the inside of her thighs, soaking her dress and shoes. She gripped the back of a chair for support and stared in horror at the puddle forming beneath her. It was too soon, wasn’t it? The baby shouldn’t be here for another month and a half. This couldn’t be happening.

But it was. Her water had broken, and she needed to get help. Her hands under her belly, her heart thudding, she made her way to the entrance to the cellars as quickly as she could.

“Theo!” she called into the open door.

What if God was punishing her?

“Theo!” she cried.

What if her baby was in danger?

There was no answer from her husband, so Céline gripped the rail and made her way carefully into the caves. “Theo! I need you!”

What if Theo knew, just from looking at Céline, that she’d been lying all along?

“Theo!” she screamed, and then suddenly, there he was, emerging from a cave and wiping his hands on a small rag.

“Céline? What is it?”

“The baby!” she managed. “The baby is coming.”

“Now? But it’s too early!”

Her body was wracked by a sudden contraction, forcing her to double over in pain. “Please, Theo, help me.”

His face was white with fear as he scooped her into his arms and began to carry her toward the stairs. “I’ll have to go get help.”

“Madame Foucault from the vineyard down the hill is a midwife,” she said.

“But we don’t have the car. Damn it!”

This, too, was Céline’s fault. What if her baby died because she’d driven Inès away? “Can you go on foot to fetch her?”

“I can’t leave you,” Theo said as he carried her toward the house.

“You must, Theo. We need help. I’ll be all right.” Céline wasn’t sure of this, but the baby would have a better chance if a midwife was here.

He nodded reluctantly. Inside the house, he gently placed her atop the bed and brought her another blanket, a glass of water. She tried to focus on inhaling and exhaling evenly as she rode out another contraction.

“I’ll take Michel’s bicycle. I’ll be back as soon as I can, Céline. I promise.”

Céline forced a smile at him through tears. This was all wrong. Michel was gone. Theo still believed the baby was his. Céline was a monster, and this was the beginning of her penance.

“I love you, Céline,” Theo said before he left.

“Go, Theo,” Céline replied, because she couldn’t lie anymore, not now. She needed all the help she could get from God.

? ? ?

The baby arrived, tiny and purple, just past three o’clock that afternoon with Theo looking on as Madame Foucault, a gossipy woman with severe white hair and an enormous waistline, coached a screaming Céline through breathing and pushing. It was a boy, hardly longer than Céline’s forearm, weighing around two kilos, less than a small bag of sugar. But Madame Foucault massaged his chest and pumped his lungs, and after a terrifying minute of silence, he finally cried out, the tiny sound like the mewl of a cat, and Céline wept with relief.