I interrupted her before she had a chance to answer. “The boy is Papa.”
***
Some people claim the dying can sense when their end is near. And clearly this was the case with Marthe.
“I was not a mother to your father, Solange, but hopefully inmy death I can afford you both some financial security. The money in my bank account will ensure you have a far more comfortable life.”
I clasped her hand tightly. I hated to hear her speak of her death like this.
“But I must ask you something, and I know it will sound terribly selfish...” Her voice broke off and she reached for a glass of water from the nightstand.
“This apartment... the portrait above the mantel... promise me you’ll never sell any of it... that you’ll keep it the way I’ve always maintained it.” Her eyes wetted. “I know it must sound foolish, but it’s important to me.”
I was puzzled. “You want me to keep everything the same?”
“Yes, in this way, the best parts of me will still exist as I had lived.” She reached for the book by her bedside. “Pour vivre heureux, vivons cachés.” She whispered it as though it was a motto she had often repeated to herself. “To live happily, live hidden,” and a palpable sense of calm came over her as she said the words.
What I realized at that moment was that my grandmother believed that as long as the apartment remained the way she had created it—her portrait above the mantel, her collection of porcelains, and the other pieces of art she had hand selected—she was convinced her memory would also not be extinguished.
But what she failed to see was she had already ensured her immortality. She had shared her life story with me, and her words were pressed into me forever.
***
My grandmother died two days later, with Giselle and me by her bed after the doctor had arrived and given her a final dose of morphine.
I did not let go of her hand until after her body had grown cold.
Afterward, I wrote to father notifying him of Marthe’s death and imploring him to let me know if he was safe.
But again my telegram remained unanswered.
***
Giselle said she didn’t trust the undertaker to prepare Marthe as she would have wished for her burial. So she packed a small satchel full of Marthe’s favorite lipstick, her dusting powder, and her tortoiseshell combs.
She did not ask me to join her, and I was glad for that.
I was grateful for Giselle’s offer. She asked if she could use one of Marthe’s better dresses, and we both agreed it would be beautiful to send her off in the one of pale lilac that she had worn so often. We also placed Charles’s gold pocket watch between her folded hands.
But I noticed her pearls were missing from her neck.
“What happened to the pearls, Giselle?” I had never seen Grandmother without them, and I grew immediately concerned.
“I removed them and put them away for safekeeping.” Giselle walked over to the bureau and lifted a leather box from the marble surface. “Here, I was saving them for you. She would have wanted you to wear them.”
A wave of sorrow passed through me. Knowing that the pearls were in the case made Marthe’s death that much more real to me.
I reached for the box and gently opened the lid. The necklace’s original emerald-and-diamond butterfly clasp twinkled as if it were communicating a bit of Marthe’s mischief.
“Let me help you put them on, mademoiselle,” Giselle offered. “Now you’ll always have a part of madame close to you.”
I brought my hands behind my neck and lifted my hair. Giselle draped the necklace around my collarbone, and then fastened the clasp behind my neck.
The pearls felt cool against my skin, and the weight of the smallbutterfly clasp took me by surprise. Grandmother almost always hid it behind her hair, as though it were her little secret.
The memory of my grandmother’s unique and independent spirit flowed through me as I touched the pearls. The necklace, even though not the original strand Charles had bought her, was a tribute to Marthe’s strength and resilience. I would carry her memory proudly as I wore her elegant pearls. I would even keep the emerald butterfly behind my hair, a secret of my own, its jeweled wings resting against the nape of my neck.
***
