He gave a slight smile.“We won’t have to explain it at all.I will share a few salient snippets of the story with people like my aunt, and my friend Barney, both of whom are inveterate gossips.They will do the rest, all unwitting.Soon there will be a dozen different versions circulating in theton, and we will not deign to even discuss it.All you would ever need to say—and only if someone were ill-mannered to ask intrusive questions—is ‘We are raising Flora as our daughter.’ Do you think you could do that?”
She nodded eagerly.“I could.That would be perfect.”
“It will help matters that Flora also has blue eyes and blonde hair, like you.”
Tessa blinked.She hadn’t thought of that.“Oh, that’s why you were talking about her hair.Yes, and her eyes are very blue, like Louis’.”She thought for a minute.“Could we call her FloraLouise, after my brother?”
“An excellent suggestion.”He picked up his wine and drained the glass.“A good thing he wasn’t the brother called Edgar—Flora Edgarina or Edgarella would be quite a mouthful.”
She laughed.It was all happening, she thought.Becoming real.It was a good story—close enough to the truth for it not to feel much like a lie.And Flora would have a home with people who loved and would care for her.
And Tessa would have what she’d always wanted: a child to love.A family.And a home, even if it wasn’t Ferndale.
#
AKNOCK ON THE DOORsignaled the arrival of Clothilde with an armful of small clothes in a large willow basket behind her.“Nothing new, I’m afraid m’sieur,” she explained to Marcus.“The basket is for the little one to sleep in.I hope that is all right.”
When Marcus translated, Tessa hesitated.Clothilde, seeing her doubt, added hastily, “Everything is very clean, I promise you, madame.And nobody will be deprived—in fact they were grateful for the money.”
“But won’t they need these for their own children?Tessa asked.
Clothilde dumped the basket with the pile of clothing onto the bed, and shook her head.“Non, madame.There will be no babies born in this village now, not until the children grow up.”She added softly, with a matter-of-fact gesture, “No husbands or unmarried young men left in this village, madame.Only boys and old men.The war, you understand.”
Tessa bit her lip.
Clothilde placed the basket on the bed.“Choose whatever you want, madame.The women need the money.”
Tessa handed Flora to Marcus and came to examine them.Most of the tiny garments were mended and some were patched, but every one of them was clean and sweet smelling, of lavender, or soap and sunshine, and washed so often the fabric was downy soft.
She imagined each mother sorting through the small garments, deciding which ones she could spare, and realizing perhaps that the next time they would be needed it would be for a grandchild.And they needed the money now.
She picked one of the little garments up.It looked like a christening gown, beautifully embroidered, white on white.There were no patches, no trace of any mending.The fabric was fine, and though soft, it felt...new?
She turned to Clothilde, a question in her eyes.
The girl dropped her gaze and said quietly, “Never used, madame.Her baby died.”
Tessa needed no translation to understand that.She felt her eyes fill, and, blinking, turned quickly away.“If you’re sure the women want to sell these?”Clothilde nodded.“Then we’ll take them all.”
The girl beamed at her.“Merci, madame.It will make a big difference to their lives.The living must be fed and clothed, after all.Now, shall we put the little miss in this one?”She selected a tiny nightdress and passed it to Tessa.
With some difficulty, Tessa managed to get Flora into it.Clearly, she preferred being naked, and wrapped in just a towel, riding high in Marcus’s arms.
Next Clothilde passed Tessa a large square of well-washed flannel.Bemused, Tessa accepted it.What was it for?
The girl, recognizing her uncertainty, said, “For the little one.For bed.So she doesn’t wet it.”
“Oh, a napkin.Yes.”Wondering how to fasten the thing, Tessa tried to tuck it under the little girl on her lap.Flora resisted, kicking the cloth away.
“You permit, madame?”Clothilde said, trying to hide a smile.
“Yes please.”Tessa handed the child over.
Clothilde laid the cloth on the bed, placed Flora on it, briskly flipped the nightdress up and began to fasten the napkin around her nether quarters.Flora resisted mightily, arching her back, squirming and thrashing her little legs, doing her best to avoid being imprisoned by the evil cloth.“Non!”she said.“Non!”
“Her third word,” Marcus commented, amused.He leaned over Clothilde, caught the baby’s eye and said firmly.“Oui!”
“Non!”
