House of Rougeaux(64)

Papa and Auntie looked at each other, and Papa ran his hands over his head. He always did so when he wished to clear his mind. “Every family has its secrets,” he said.

“And that’s our business only,” said Auntie. She stood and beckoned the rest to do the same, declaring with the gesture that their meeting was finished. “You are tired,” she said to Eleanor. “You need your rest.” And then she added, “The Holy One doesn’t make mistakes.”

Eleanor and her sister and brothers had heard this refrain from Auntie countless times, but now it struck her ears with some thunder. Even this? Auntie read her face. “Yes, chère,” she said, “even this.”



* * *



Ross and Tilly came to the house the next evening, and sat drinking coffee with Papa in the kitchen. Auntie thought it best to let them discuss it alone, and kept the girls busy upstairs sorting scrap cloth to make baby clothes. Dax she sent out to do some chores in the stables. They heard Papa at the foot of the stairs.

“Josie, bring Eleanor down, would you?”

Eleanor rose and Melody squeezed her hand.

Down in the kitchen Ross and Tilly’s little girl Sarai toddled over to her and Auntie, clutching at their skirts. Eleanor reached down to hold her tiny hands. She couldn’t look at her brother or sister-in-law.

“We’ll take the baby in, El,” Ross said. She glanced up at Tilly, but her sister-in-law had turned her face away. She and Mathilde had never been close.

“Thank you Ross,” she managed, “thank you Tilly.”

Mathilde looked at her with a face composed but edged in anger. She was not pleased at all.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Eleanor promised desperately.

Ross looked from his wife to his sister.

“Take Sarai,” he said to his wife. When she had left with the child he turned to Eleanor. “She’ll come around,” he said. “Sarai had a bad croup when you were away, it was hard on Tilly.” He looked at their father. “Deliveries in the morning, I’ll be there early.” He meant the shop next door, and that he would take everything in stride, two things that made Papa proud.



* * *



Eleanor had inherited something of her father’s broad frame, and her mother’s curves, features that readily hid some extra weight. As October deepened into November, heavy coats concealed her growing belly that now strained at the buttons of her dresses. Auntie Josephine, with Eleanor and Melody’s help, widened her coats, saying they could be taken in again later. Eleanor wrote to the Conservatory to say that she would gratefully accept their invitation, but that she must wait until after the winter holidays. When the letter came from the Conservatory to say they would expect her at classes March 1st, Eleanor sensed that she had been granted a reprieve straight from Heaven. She had the equal sense that she must never take it lightly or make such a grave error again. Any sign of frivolity on her part would send down a judgment both swift and harsh. A second chance was in her hands, a third chance would never come.

Papa engaged in a discreet search for a place where Eleanor could go, a place with someone who was known well enough but who could also provide her an anonymous existence. Mr. Hathaway, Papa’s English friend whom the children had come to regard as an uncle, knew such a person. Mrs. Isabelle Delaney had been his housekeeper years ago in Toronto. He sent a letter to her and she wrote back to say she could receive Eleanor, and that she knew a midwife in the area who could assist when the time came. And so it was arranged. At such times as anyone inquired, Eleanor had returned to the Conservatory to continue her studies. There had been an opening and to secure it she’d had to leave without saying goodbye to anyone but the immediate family.

The day of her leaving Ross came again, and Albert with his family. Eleanor’s other brother Jonty had work and had said goodbye the night before. Dax was a big chap of eleven years old now, but still he hugged her as he always had, and Melody kept close, helping her with everything, even when she didn’t need it. Mr. Hathaway came too, bearing a rectangular parcel under his arm, wrapped in paper and about the size of one of Papa’s ledgers. He gave the parcel to Eleanor, saying it was an early Christmas present. Papa gave her a fine new valise from the shop and Auntie oversaw all preparations. She asked Papa if he would take her alone to the station. When night began to fall it was time to go.

It had snowed two days before but the roads were clear enough and the buggy rolled smoothly behind their horse. They were quiet most of the way. The wheels of the buggy crunched softly over bits of snow, and the horse blew out through his lips now and again, resigned or satisfied or hungry, or whatever it was that made horses do that. A horse’s life was simple at least. Eleanor kept a hand on the valise, feeling as if the weight of it lay heavily on her chest. She didn’t deserve presents, she knew that. A question burned in her throat.

“Papa,” she said, feeling terror steal over her again, “would Mama have been ashamed of me?”

He thought a long moment.

“No, chère,” he said at last. “I don’t believe so.” He recalled to her when Jonty once hit his head on the pump, jumping down off the fence. Mama was furious. She heard Jonty, all of eight or nine years old, howling in the yard, and shouted Damn you! She marched him inside to bandage him up, then she sent him to bed. Once the floor and clothing were cleaned up and supper was ready she left everyone downstairs and took a bowl of soup up for him. He could have fed himself, he wasn’t so bad off, but she gave him the soup spoonful by spoonful. Then she made him lie down and lay right beside him, singing his favorite lullabies until he went off to sleep. That was Mama whatever the case. She forgave her children everything.