Though Mariette could speak English, she had never learned to read it, and as she passed the
letter to the doctor she asked, ‘Can you read English?’
‘Yes, a little.’
‘Well, it was something in the letter she received this morning that brought this on.’
The doctor scrutinised the letter, got the general gist of it, and told Pierre, Mariette and Yvette what it said.
‘So, why didn’t the Military inform her, as Gabrielle said they would?’ Yvette asked.
‘Oh, this Christy Byrne explains that too,’ said the doctor. And he went on to tell the Joberts of the company moving off straight after the marriage. ‘I think it was just general lack of communication, which often happens in wartime. According to his friend, this Finn left a letter with Father Clifford, the priest who had married them explaining everything to his parents if anything should happen to him. But the priest was killed before he could send the letter.’
‘So the Army would have contacted Finn Sullivan’s parents?’ Mariette said.
‘Yes,’ the doctor said. ‘They did. That’s what this man Christy says.’
‘So as far as the Army is concerned, and the Irish family in Donegal, Gabrielle doesn’t exist and neither does the child she is carrying?’ Pierre asked. ‘And the only proof she married him at all is her marriage certificate?’
‘That’s the way it looks,’ the doctor said. ‘That is something to go into later when Gabrielle is
more able to cope with it. But now we have another problem on our hands.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Well, unless I am very much mistaken, Gabrielle’s child doesn’t want to wait any longer,’ the doctor said. ‘And her body will be sluggish because of the draught I administered. She might be safer in hospital.’
‘Doctor,’ said Mariette, ‘Gabrielle isn’t just having a baby; she’s also coping with the news that the baby’s father is dead. A hospital who knows nothing of her heartbreak will do her no good at all.’
‘You’re right,’ the doctor conceded.
‘So can you do it if I help you?’
‘Yes,’ the doctor said. ‘I need hot water and towels.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ said Mariette. ‘And, Yvette and Pierre, be about your business while we get on.’
Pierre went willingly enough. It wasn’t a place for any man, except for a doctor. Yvette would have liked to linger but she had to be in the shop. She’d had the foresight to put the bolt on the door before she had sped up the stairs and she wouldn’t be at all surprised if she had a queue of people down the street.
At first, Gabrielle was able to sleep through the contractions because of her drugged state, and the doctor felt confident to leave her in the capable hands of her mother and attend to his
other patients. By the time he returned in the early evening, the contractions were strong enough to have jerked Gabrielle awake.
She was still disoriented, however, and in more pain than she could ever remember. It was invading every part of her. She cried and screamed and writhed on the bed, and Mariette, who had seldom left Gabrielle’s side all day, mopped her glistening brow.
‘Hush, child, it will soon be over.’
‘What’s happening, Maman?’
‘You’re in labour,
ma petite
. The baby is in a hurry to be born.’
Gabrielle lay silent. She was giving birth to the baby and soon she would hold in her arms part of her beloved Finn and feel closer to him because of it. She no longer wanted to die, but live to cherish the child made with the rapturous passion that they had shared for such a short time.
She groaned with the power of another contraction. ‘Does it always hurt like this, Maman?’
‘Yes,’ Mariette said. ‘But afterwards you will not think of it. Trust me. Hold tight to my hand. You are doing so well.’
Gabrielle held on so tight that when the next contraction was at its height Mariette’s bones crunched together. Suddenly, Gabrielle cried, ‘I want to push.’
Mariette glanced at the doctor, sitting towards the end of the bed, and when he nodded, she said to Gabrielle, ‘Then push,
ma petite
. Push with all your might.’
The doctor cried out, ‘Good girl, go on. One more push. Come on, Gabrielle. I can see the head.’
Gabrielle feeling like she was giving birth to a cannonball, gave another almighty push and another and another. Suddenly Gabrielle felt the baby’s body slither out from between her legs, and newborn wails filled the room. She was exhausted, yet filled with elation, and she exchanged a weary smile with her mother as the beaming doctor said, ‘Well done, Gabrielle. You have a beautiful, bouncing baby girl. Slightly small, but she will grow and she certainly looks healthy enough.’
Gabrielle’s emotions rose and plunged in the few days after the birth. One minute she was in black despair because of the death of her beloved Finn. Then she would lift her daughter and hold her close and feel the love for her seeping into her very being, until she remembered that Finn would never see or hold his baby daughter, and then she would sink once more into despondency.
On the fourth day the doctor called to see her. As he examined her he could almost feel her inner sadness, which was reflected in her large dark eyes.
‘Have you a name for the baby?’ he asked.
Gabrielle nodded. ‘I want to call her Bridgette, for Finn’s mother, though I daren’t tell my father why I want the name, but I am determined on it despite him. I know my mother will support me. I have never known her stand against my father
before, but I’m sure she would wrestle with the fiercest lion for the sake of Bridgette.’
The doctor smiled. ‘I often find that a small and quite helpless baby born into a family suddenly has immense power over the adults,’ he said. ‘And who have you in mind for the godparents?’
‘Well, Yvette is to be the godmother,’ Gabrielle said. ‘And because you have been so kind to me I was going to ask you, Doctor, if you would consider being the baby’s godfather? I know that’s asking a lot of you.’
The doctor was surprised at the request. ‘No, it’s not asking a lot,’ he said. ‘I would consider it an honour, but haven’t you someone in the family who might be a better choice?’
Gabrielle shook her head, ‘The only male relative I have is my uncle Raoul, but he is older than my aunt Bernadette, and she is some years older than my mother. There is truly no one else, and you have been more understanding than I expected.’
The doctor knew too that if he were to agree to be godfather to the child it would put a veneer of respectability on the occasion and that would help the girl in the bed and probably her parents too. So he said, ‘Then I will be delighted to be little Bridgette’s godfather when the time comes. When were you thinking of?’
‘Oh, I hadn’t thought,’ Gabrielle said. ‘Is the time a problem for you?’
‘Not if it is close,’ the doctor said. ‘But after reading about the injuries at the Somme and the like, I have
volunteered to join the Medical Corps of the French Army.’
‘Oh,’ said Gabrielle a little dismayed at the news. ‘So when will you go?’
‘I must report the end of next month,’ the doctor said. ‘That gives me time to find a replacement doctor for the town.’
‘And time to be godfather to Bridgette Mariette Sullivan,’ Gabrielle said with a smile.
‘That too,’ the doctor agreed.
‘We must get on with organising the christening without delay,’ Gabrielle said. ‘Just wait until I tell my mother that you have agreed to be my baby’s godfather.’
Mariette was surprised when Gabrielle told her who the godfather was to be, but Pierre was completely shocked.
‘I wouldn’t have thought the doctor would want to be godfather to a child like that,’ he said.
‘A child like what?’ Mariette snapped. ‘A child without a father. She won’t be the only one in France when this war is over.’
‘You know I didn’t mean that.’
‘Yes, I know exactly what you meant,’ Mariette said. ‘And I would say in agreeing to do it, the doctor has proved that he is a better and bigger man than you.’
With the godparents sorted out, Gabrielle invited her uncle and aunt from Paris to the christening. She wasn’t sure they would come, but she needn’t
have worried. She was to find, like many before her, that the birth of a baby, however it was conceived, healed many wounds. Gabrielle was pleased that the animosity between herself and her aunt appeared to be gone.
Pierre had told the priest all about the hasty marriage conducted at the camp and the reason for it, and that the young soldier concerned had later died at the Somme. The priest found himself feeling sorry for Gabrielle rather than outraged, as Pierre had expected.
The girl had done wrong. There was no denying that, but the man had at least married her so her shame was minimised, and it was tragic that he had been killed so soon after. But then that was war for you. Meanwhile the girl had to bring up the child and in that house, and he didn’t envy her at all for he found Pierre Jobert aggressive in his speech and manner, and he guessed that he had made Gabrielle’s life a misery over this business.
Pierre had still not come to terms with what Gabrielle had done. He had been aware that rumours about her condition had been circulating for some time and he had seen speculative glances in her direction as he had scurried the family home from Mass. His brusque manner had meant that no one had said anything out loud, and certainly wouldn’t dream of asking him such a thing, and the all-enveloping coat Pierre had insisted Mariette buy for Gabrielle, and the girl’s own slim form, had hid her shape very well.
Now the subterfuge was over and he knew the fact that Gabrielle Jobert, or whatever she called herself these days, had had a baby with no man in sight would be the topic of many discussions in people’s homes that day.
Just after the christening, Gabrielle thought she really ought to write a reply to Christy. He did, after all, have problems of his own with his injury, yet he had written to her and told her of Finn’s death. She thought it must have been a very hard letter to write, for Finn and Christy have been friends all their lives, and so she took her time over the letter,
Dear Christy,
Although it wasn’t news I welcomed, I must thank you for telling me about Finn’s death for if you hadn’t I might never have known what happened to him. I am very sorry that you were so badly injured too. It really is a dreadful war, with so many young lives cut short or damaged in some way. All we can hope is that right will triumph in the end and we might have a more peaceful world for, in that way, those lives lost won’t have been totally in vain.
Having said that, there isn’t one day goes by when I don’t miss Finn. I feel only half a person because he is not by my side. I know that you will feel this loss as well because you were his very best friend and that bond too is a precious one.
When you sent me news of Finn’s death I went into labour and have given birth to a baby daughter, who I love very much. She is part of Finn and so I have called her Bridgette after Finn’s mother because I thought that might please him. I am forbidden to speak his name in my father’s presence and yet I am determined that my daughter should know the fine man her father was. Thank you once more, Christy.
Best wishes,
Gabrielle
Gabrielle had to ask her mother for the money to buy a stamp and to post the letter for her. She had explained before how important Christy was in Finn’s life and Mariette was certain that Gabrielle had done the right thing in commiserating with him: he must have felt the loss of such a friend grievously. It also pleased her that, in the middle of her own sadness, Gabrielle should have such feeling for another’s suffering.
‘I’ll post it, my dear,’ she said, ‘never fret, though I will have to take the money for the stamp from the till. Don’t worry,’ she said, seeing the startled look flash over Gabrielle’s face. ‘I have had to do this on occasion because I am given no money of my own, just as you were never paid a wage. Your father will not miss a few coins for a stamp.’
Christy was surprised and pleased to get the letter from Gabrielle, though he wondered how gratified Finn would be that his innocent baby daughter had been named after his virago of a mother. They had talked about the coming child often after the wedding, and Finn had even asked him, his oldest and closest friend, to be the child’s godfather.
He brushed the tears away impatiently. It was nice of Gabrielle to write, yet he had no intention of replying. That was a period in his life that he would rather forget.
Not long after she returned to Paris after the christening, Bernadette sent Gabrielle a large and commodious pram that she said was the height of fashion in that city, wartime or not. It was black and sprung, with large wheels on the front and slightly smaller ones at the back. Gabrielle folded back the hood, with its brass hinges, and ran her hand over the padded cream lining of the interior and Yvette pointed out the white porcelain handle. Gabrielle had never seen anything so fine, and it was so large her mother declared it would accommodate four babies with ease.
She had sent clothes too: the softest little vests, everyday dresses of cotton, and others of silk and satin decorated with lace, ribbons and smocking, lacy knitted jackets to go over them and outer coats with bonny little bonnets and bootees.
‘With a pram like that Bridgette can be taken out each day whatever the weather,’ Mariette said. ‘And you can take that look off your face,’ she
said to Pierre. ‘Gabrielle cannot do any strenuous work in the bakery as her milk will dry up, and much of the day she will be attending to her baby.’
As the weeks passed Bridgette became even more enchanting and she had a ready smile for everyone. Gabrielle began to feel sad for Finn’s parents, who knew nothing about their grandchild in France. Maybe, she thought, they had a right to know about Bridgette.
She was still running these thoughts around in her head when a second letter came from Christy. Christy hadn’t wanted to write again, but he remembered Finn had asked him to look out for Gabrielle and the child if he could. After Gabrielle wrote to him it had begun to bother him that she might write to the Sullivan family, telling them about the marriage and the child. Finn had been underage, so when the truth came out the losers would be Gabrielle and that innocent little baby. He decided to write to warn her.
He thanked her for her letter and said that Finn was the best mate he had ever had or was likely to have. However, the real reason for writing the letter came later.
Finn’s brother Tom has been to see me twice since I came home. He’s a good man in that way, Tom, for time hangs heavy on me. I know to my cost that cobblestones and crutches do not go hand in hand and I have
fallen more than once, so I am always glad to see him.I never told him about you or the baby, though, and the reason I haven’t is because Finn confided to me after the marriage that he was underage to marry you without his parents’ permission. He wouldn’t have been twenty-one until June of this year but he told Father Clifford that he was older.
So on your marriage lines, Finn’s date of birth is false. He was never sure whether that meant your marriage is legal or not.
Gabrielle didn’t know either, but if it wasn’t then she wasn’t properly married, and her child was a bastard. She knew Finn had lied to protect her, and now she must do all in her power to protect her child. She would not allow the slur of illegitimacy to lodge between her shoulders and so she wrote back and told Christy that it was probably better to let sleeping dogs stay sleeping and she put out of her mind the idea of contacting the Sullivan family again.
By the end of March, Gabrielle was sure that her mother was ill. Her bouts of indigestion became even more frequent, although she always said she was fine. Gabrielle wasn’t convinced because Mariette also appeared to tire easily and her face had taken on a greyish tinge. Eventually, though, the week after Easter, Mariette admitted that she was in a lot of pain with indigestion.
‘Don’t you think, Maman, it is about time to see the doctor?’ Gabrielle asked.
‘How can I bother the doctor with something that has plagued me for years?’ Mariette asked. ‘It always goes off again and it will do the same this time, I’m sure.’
‘But maybe he could give you something to ease it?’
‘Don’t fuss,
ma petite
,’ Mariette said.
‘Yes,’ Pierre said, uncharacteristically. ‘Leave your mother be.’
Gabrielle and her mother, and even Yvette, stared at Pierre. He had seldom made any comment about Mariette’s complaint other than to moan about it now and again.
However, Pierre did not want Mariette to be sick just then because, surprisingly, Robert Legrand was as keen as ever to marry Gabrielle. He was well aware that if he married Gabrielle, he would inherit a thriving bakery when Pierre retired. He would also have a good-looking wife, who would, he was sure, be good in bed, and a mother for his son. He was as anxious as Pierre for the marriage to take place as soon as possible.
So the next day, Pierre waited until his family were all sitting around the table, eating their Sunday dinner before he announced to Gabrielle, ‘Last night Robert Legrand asked my permission to marry you, and I have given it.’
Gabrielle gave a gasp, hardly able to believe the words that had come from her father’s mouth.
‘I have no desire to marry Legrand, or anyone else, either,’ she snapped. ‘And it is my permission should be sought, not yours.’
She had lifted her chin in the air almost imperceptibly as she spoke but Pierre noticed the movement and it angered him. He thought Gabrielle had no reason for pride of any sort and he banged the table with his fist. ‘You, my girl, will do as you are told,’ he said firmly.
Gabrielle’s innards were quaking but she faced her father squarely, ‘No, Father, I won’t, not in this instance.’
She turned to her mother for support and saw the grimace of pain pass over Mariette’s face. ‘Oh, Maman, what is it? Are you ill?’ she said, moving towards her.
Mariette waved her away as she said to Pierre, ‘Now what’s all this nonsense about Legrand?’
‘I don’t happen to think that it is nonsense,’ Pierre said. ‘Best solution all round, I would say.’
‘Pierre, the man is too old for Gabrielle and they say he was less than kind to his late wife,’ Mariette said.
‘What people say is based on rumour and gossip,’ Pierre replied dismissively. ‘And who do you think will have her if Robert won’t?’ His eyes raked over Gabrielle with disgust. ‘Once she could have the pick of the town, but that is now in the past. Most men wouldn’t touch her.’
‘I don’t want any man to touch me,’ Gabrielle
cried. ‘I have no need for any man in my life. I can bring my daughter up alone.’
‘Of course you can,’ Pierre said sneeringly. ‘But you are not bringing her up on your own, are you? You are living on our bounty. And I am tired of providing for another’s brat, while Robert is willing to take on you and the child.’
‘Are my wishes of no account, Papa?’ Gabrielle asked. ‘I do not even like Robert Legrand.’
Pierre looked at Gabrielle with distaste as he said, ‘You ceased to be my daughter when you went behind my back to meet a soldier and then let him lie with you. You can redeem yourself by marrying a man of my choosing.’
Gabrielle was pained by her father’s words for she knew they were considered and spoken calmly.
Mariette too was shocked at Pierre’s words and she had opened her mouth to reply when she suddenly doubled over with pain and slid from her chair onto the floor in a dead faint.
‘Maman!’ screamed Gabrielle and Yvette in unison, and they fell to their knees beside her. Gabrielle wiped spots of blood from her mother’s mouth with her handkerchief as Pierre pushed between them.
‘Go for the doctor and tell him it’s urgent,’ he said to Yvette, as he lifted Mariette in his arms. ‘And you,’ he said to Gabrielle, ‘come with me and attend to your mother.’
Gabrielle went gladly and she was sitting by Mariette’s side, wiping her face with tepid water,
when the doctor, walked in. Dr Fournier was a replacement for Dr Gilbert, and a much older man. He knew little of the Jobert family, for they did not often need his service, but he was shocked at Mariette’s appearance. He guessed she had been ill for some time and she verified this as he examined her. She was very thin and he could feel the tumour in her stomach. When their eyes met Mariette said, ‘I thought it was indigestion at first, but then I knew.’ She shrugged and went on, ‘I nursed my mother with a growth like this. I hoped I was wrong.’
‘You have reached the crisis point,’ the doctor said gently. ‘I believe that it has ruptured inside you. Anyway, as you probably know, there is no cure.’
‘I know,’ Mariette said with a sigh. ‘I know what I face.’
‘I can keep the pain at bay.’
‘Well, I’ll be grateful for that,’ Mariette said. ‘My own mother suffered terribly towards the end. But I would like a little more time. Yvette is just a child yet and I would have liked to have seen Bridgette grow up.’ Her voice broke and tears seeped from between her lashes and she wiped them away impatiently. ‘This is not the time to cry,’ she said. ‘I imagine the girls will do enough of that, and I must be strong for them.’ She looked the doctor straight in the face and said, ‘I haven’t long, have I?’
‘It’s impossible to be specific.’
‘Come, come, Doctor, I am not a child,’ Mariette said sharply. ‘At this stage I deserve the truth, surely?’
‘You do, of course,’ the doctor said. ‘I’m sorry. In my opinion you have only weeks to live.’
‘Well, Easter is passed. Will I make it to Whitsun?’
The doctor avoided her eyes. ‘You may do.’
‘Look at me, Doctor,’ Mariette commanded. ‘You don’t think so, do you?’
The doctor shook his head sadly and said again, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you for your honesty, Doctor,’ Mariette said. ‘Will you tell the girls and Pierre for me? I don’t feel up to that yet.’
‘Of course,’ the doctor said. ‘And if one of the girls could come to the pharmacy later today I will have medication made up for you.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. I will be glad of it.’
Gabrielle and Yvette were both distraught and stunned when the doctor told them they were soon to lose their mother, but when a weeping Gabrielle went to see her later, she knew that the doctor spoke the truth. She castigated herself for not noticing before that her mother was so ill, and now there was so little time left.
‘Oh, Maman,’ she cried, ‘I can hardly bear to lose you.’
Mariette’s eyes were very bright and she took Gabrielle’s face between her hands, and said, ‘You must bear it,
ma petite
, for I must. I am looking
to you to care for Yvette and your father as well as Bridgette. It will be up to you now.’
‘I will look after them, Maman, don’t doubt it,’ Gabrielle said sadly. ‘But it is you that I will miss. Oh, Maman, I’m heartbroken.’
‘I too would like to have had longer,’ Mariette said.
Gabrielle heard the slur in her mother’s voice and guessed that that was probably the result of her medication, so she got to her feet. ‘Sleep now, Maman,’ she said, and she kissed her gently on her cheek as her eyes fluttered shut, and she turned the lamp down low as she left the room.
The whole ethos of the house changed with the illness of Mariette. Gabrielle knew that she would be bereft when her mother breathed her last, but she tried to lift the burden of sadness for the sake of her little daughter and her sister Yvette too, who was often awash with tears.
As the news filtered through the town, people came to offer not only their condolences but practical help too, though there was little that they could do. The priest called every few days as well, and he was deeply troubled to see how ill Mariette was.
Sometimes, Gabrielle sat with her mother, or read to her if she had the time to spare, or sometimes Yvette would do this. Mariette ate very little, and was sometimes sick, and had lost so much weight her cheeks were sunken, and her paper-thin
skin was tightly stretched across the bones of her ashen face.
This was the Mariette Raoul and Bernadette saw when they had been summoned from Paris. They were shocked to the core, Bernadette dreadfully upset, and yet Gabrielle was glad they were there. Her uncle, she thought, was looking quite frail himself.
‘Has Uncle Raoul been unwell?’ she asked her aunt.
‘No, my dear. He’s just getting old, like the rest of us,’ Bernadette said. ‘And the winter was a hard one. If the next one is as bad, we might spend the worst of it with friends who moved out of Paris and are now living just outside Marseille. But that is a possibility only, and for the future. Just now our place is with you. You have a heavy load placed on your shoulders.’
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I know Maman has very little time left and it will break my heart when she dies.’
‘And mine,’ Bernadette said. ‘But you have looked after your mother so well, you will at least have nothing to reproach yourself for when the time comes.’
Pierre, on the other hand, thought that there was plenty for Gabrielle to feel guilty about.
That night he said to her, ‘I asked the doctor today what caused this disease that is eating away at your mother. He said there are many factors; that we all have the potential to have such a disease
and anything could start it off. Some think even a shock or an upset might do it. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least if you hadn’t made your mother worse with the shock that you gave her when you said you were pregnant and with a soldier’s baby.’
The room was suddenly very still. Gabrielle was looking at her father with terrified eyes. Only Bridgette, in the highchair beside her mother, seemed oblivious to the charged atmosphere and continued to bang her wooden spoon on the table. Pierre continued, ‘How does it feel to be responsible for your mother’s death?’
Bernadette and Raoul immediately leaped to their niece’s defence, ‘Don’t be silly,’ Bernadette said. ‘Mariette has suffered for years. Our mother had the same complaint.’
‘That’s right,’ Raoul said. ‘I remember that well. None of this can be blamed on Gabrielle.’
‘Well, I think it can,’ Pierre said firmly, and he turned to face his daughter. ‘You will die with your mother’s death on your conscience.’
Gabrielle said nothing. It was true her mother had had the condition for years, though it had just rumbled on, giving her pain now and again, and it might have gone on that way for years more.
She, however, remembered the look on her mother’s face when she had gone into the room after Bernadette had broken the news of her pregnancy. Maman had been more than upset—she had been distraught—and that shock to her system could have caused the tumour eventually to swell
so much that it had ruptured inside her. Her father was right: she had made her mother’s condition worse, and she knew that she would blame herself to the day she died. First thing tomorrow, she vowed, she would beg her mother’s forgiveness.