Two Crosses (35 page)

Candles flickered by the window. She could tell that the students didn’t want to leave the party just yet. Stephanie was terribly homesick, and Caroline seemed bored with classes out.

“Girls, will you go to Mass tomorrow?” the older woman inquired.

“I doubt it,” Caroline replied casually. “I’m going to sleep late. Then I’m getting together with a few other girls for the afternoon.”

“And you, Gabriella. What are your plans?” Yvette asked.

Gabriella looked around, her face red with embarrassment. “I … I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t made plans. Church of course—”

David took her hand in his and interrupted. “I’m afraid Mlle Madison will be quite busy all day.” He lifted an eyebrow and winked at Gabriella. “
N’est-ce pas
, my dear?”

Yvette clapped her hands together. “Marvelous! Busy on Christmas, even so far away from your family. That is just right. I don’t want my girls to feel homesick.”

She bustled into the kitchen to meet Monique, who was clearing off plates and humming to herself. “Did you hear what M. Hoffmann said, Monique? Mlle Madison is going to be quite busy all day tomorrow.
Ooh là!
”

“Our Christmas meal has been a wonderful success, Yvette. We can leave in the morning
tranquilles
to see our families. Our boarders will be having a delightful time of their own.” The two widows giggled for a long time before they composed themselves and joined the young people in the salon.

It was almost two a.m. when the little party broke up. Yvette started back to her apartment with Caroline, Stephanie, and Gabriella.

David caught Gabriella’s hand before she left. Yvette pretended not to notice but nonetheless slowed down enough to hear their whispered conversation.

“I’ll pick you up at ten, Gabby. We can go to church together, and then you can come here for lunch. Mme Pons is leaving me all the leftovers.”

“You really mean it?” Gabriella furrowed her brow. “You want to go to church with me?”

“Of course. It’s Christmas.”

The Eglise Réformée, one of two Protestant churches in Montpellier, was tucked behind the place de la Comédie on a small side street.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Gabriella whispered as the worship service ended. “I need to stop at Mme Leclerc’s for a moment. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” They walked to where the deux chevaux waited patiently behind the large open square. David drove through the deserted streets back to Castelnau and stopped in front of Mme Leclerc’s apartment.

Gabriella left him in the dark stairwell as she rushed up the stairs and into the apartment. In her room she retrieved two brightly wrapped packages.

“What have you got there?” David questioned, amused, as she joined him on the stairs.

Suddenly Gabriella felt foolish. “Nothing much. Just a gift for Christmas.”

“I thought everyone exchanged gifts last night, at Mother Griolet’s.”

“Oh, yes, that was for the children and the students, but … but … you weren’t there.”

He put his long arm around her shoulder and held her close as they walked back to the deux chevaux. “You’re sweet, Gabby. Too sweet.”

Mme Pons’s apartment was dark and empty, and at once Gabriella felt awkward. David turned on the light in the salon and took her coat.

“May I get you something to drink, Mlle Madison?” he teased. “A
pastis
perhaps, or a
muscat
? For Christmas.”

“I’ll try a muscat. You said it’s really good.”

“That’s right, you never got to taste it in Aix. And would you like to hear a little Christmas music from the good ole USA?”

“You have some?” she asked, delighted.

He brought their drinks and sat across from her, raising his glass. “A toast to us, Gabby. Friends.” He tipped his glass against hers.

“Friends,” she murmured.

He disappeared into his room, emerging moments later with a record album in its folder. He held it out for her to inspect:
50 Favorite Christmas Songs
.

“This is great. Where did you find it?”

“I have connections,” he said with a wink. He placed the record on the phonograph and put the needle down. “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” began to play.

“Would you like to open your presents now?” she asked. She handed him a rectangular box.

He raised his eyebrows as he took it from her. “You shouldn’t have gotten me anything.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just … symbolic.”

“Symbolic of what?”

“Just open it,” she said, laughing.

Carefully he unwrapped the gift, laying the wrapping paper on the floor. In the background Bing Crosby serenaded them with “White Christmas.” David opened the box and reached inside, withdrawing the statue of the baker.

“A santon!” He laughed heartily, obviously pleased. “A boulanger!” He raised it in his hands and admired the clay figurine. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Gabby.”

“I found it at Les Baux, before all the problems. He reminded me of you. A lover of French bread!” Her eyes were shining with excitement. “I couldn’t resist it, and now … well, now that I know what you’re up to, it seems even more perfect.” Her left foot was jiggling nervously.

“Gabby.” He brushed her face. “I have never known anyone so thoughtful.”

“I’m glad you like it.” She glanced down at the other package that lay at her feet. “There’s something else, too.”

“Another! This is my richest Christmas yet.”

“You’re teasing.”

“Well, let’s just say that my father and I have never really celebrated the holiday.”

He ripped off the paper from the second present, uncovering a thick black leather-bound book. “A Bible?” he said, sounding confused. He ran his fingers over the new leather. “It’s a very handsome volume, but Gabby—”

“I know you don’t read it,” she interrupted quickly. “But I just thought it might remind you of me someday … of our friendship.”

“Yes, indeed it will.” He was quiet for a moment. “I
have
read it, you know. Parts of it I know by heart. There’s some very beautiful literature in the Bible. And some pretty far-fetched stuff, too, you have to admit.”

She didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry, Gabby. I don’t want to spoil your holiday. I know it’s an important day for you, the real significance. Thank you for the Bible. And I’ll read it again. Just for you. How’s that?” He patted her hand.

“That would be really nice,” she answered. “Start with the Gospels, why don’t you? Perhaps you’re not as familiar with the New Testament?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re Jewish, aren’t you?”

“Half-Jewish. Jewish enough to be put in a camp but not enough to follow the teachings. Not without a mother …”

“I’m sorry to bring it up.”

“Don’t be, Gabby. You seem to be finding out a lot of other things about me.” David suddenly seemed eager to talk. “You might as well know. My mother was a devout Jew, a God-fearing woman. I remember her praying by my bed at night, singing to me from the Psalms. But when you’re only six and you watch your mother die, something happens.

“After the camp, I couldn’t find anything to bring back the joy in life. And I was only a little boy! My father and I lived a tense, miserable existence, hating the sight of each other because it reminded us of the family we once were.”

He leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. “By the time I was ten, I was sure there could be no God. I’ve never been able to see as you see. To believe. The hate is too strong. And, Gabby, I’m afraid to forgive.”

She looked at him and felt pity. “Why are you afraid, David?” she asked quietly.

“Why? Because I don’t want to be reconciled with my past. I want to flee it, and yet somehow I keep finding it staring me right in the face.” He stood and walked over to a window.

“I wish I knew what to say to you, David, but I don’t. Only that in walking on through the pain, not avoiding it, there is a certain freedom over your past. At least, that’s what I’m finding.”

“Your freedom is found within the confines of your religion, Gabby. I don’t want that kind of confinement.” There was no anger in his voice, no accusation.

“I understand why you think religion is confining, but I’m not really talking about a religion, you know. I’m talking about a Person. My faith centers around a Person.”

The music swelled, and the choir finished with its last phrase:
Christ the Savior is bo-orn; Chri-ist the Savior is born.

The record turned silently round and round. David walked over to the phonograph and flipped the disk over to the other side.

“Excuse me for a minute,” he said as he slipped out of the room.

Gabriella walked around the den. It still smelled of the delicacies from the previous night. She felt a quick pang of homesickness and a sudden desire to be alone.

Then David reappeared, grinning sheepishly, the same vulnerable boyish grin she had seen once before. “I have something for you too.”

Gabriella could not hide her surprise or pleasure. “You do?”

He smirked. “You’re not the only one who likes symbolism, remember.” He handed her a thin square package.

Unwrapping it, she found a gold-framed print of Monet’s painting of the poppies. A card with her name on it was taped to the glass.

“Should I open this now?” she asked haltingly.

“Yes, why don’t you.” His voice was soft, tender, his eyes filled with quiet admiration.

She took the card from its envelope and read David’s script.

A wildflower, bright and red

Exuberance that softly spread

To capture fields of dreams and hearts

A silent splendor stops and starts

And I found pleasure in the touch

and smell of such

a wild and happy

crimson-coated poppy.

—David

Gabriella’s eyes brimmed with tears. She bit her lip, then looked up at him, a smile on her face. “It’s beautiful. The print and the poem. Thank you. I … I don’t know what to say.”

He was smiling too. “Funny how sometimes it is through pictures and poems that we express what we can’t say.” The record played on softly as the young man and woman gazed silently at each other.

They had eaten the leftovers and listened to the record three times. The afternoon was waning. David took Gabriella’s hand and led her to the couch. He put his arm lightly around her shoulder.

“Somehow it seems that we are more than friends,” Gabriella whispered, leaning against his shoulder.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No, not exactly. Only confused.”

He rested his head on the back of the couch. “You’re wondering if our attraction is not merely platonic, but romantic? Why I don’t kiss you? How we can share so intimately and yet leave out the physical? And you’re fighting with yourself, because you don’t want to want what you want.”

Gabriella blushed. “Something like that, yes.”

“And do you want to be my girlfriend?”

She didn’t know what to say to his blunt question.

“Gabby, I want to explain something to you. I think you’ll understand. I have enjoyed the presence of many women. I’m sure you’re not shocked. Brief encounters to bandage a deeper hurt. But I have rarely found a soul mate. Someone who looks deeper and feels. Someone who makes me question and care.” He stroked her hair.

“And then you came along, a welcome surprise for this cynic. A safe bet, an unwitting accomplice to my secret mission. I found you delightful. And off-limits. The friendship was possible, but our moral and spiritual outlook differed so …” He played with her hair. “An angel and a devil.”