“Not well.” Marie allowed herself to laugh, giving Adele a welcome glimpse of the sister she remembered. “I told Fred you wouldn’t like the idea either. But selfishly, I want you here.”
Adele put a hand on Marie’s. “I know, but your home is here with Fred and Madeleine. Mine is with Maman and Guillaume in Petite Côte. I appreciate you wanting to take care of me, even though you don’t have to anymore.”
“True. You survived a war, after all.” She held Adele’s gaze. “Would you consider staying just one more night? There’s a temperance meeting tomorrow, and I thought you and I might go together.”
“I think by that time, I will be enjoying sherry with Maman,” Adele teased, ashing her cigarette.
Marie scowled. “I am kind of surprised that you aren’t concerned about what’s happening back home. Surely you know how dangerous alcohol is, disrupting businesses and families.”
Adele thought back to the nights she and the girls had huddled around a tiny lamp, toasting the end of a disastrous day or praying the next bomb would not find them, shaking so badly that the precious, clandestine whisky in their hands almost washed over the rims of their glasses.
“I suppose I see things a little differently now,” she said. “War can do that.”
“But what about all those men coming back from Europe now, drinking, being violent, staggering through the streets, causing trouble in—”
Adele stopped her. “I understand the dangers of alcohol, Marie, but I have to say, you do a disservice to the men with your exaggerations. And since we’re being honest, I will admit I enjoyed a glass or two when things got a little tense over there. I believe the men coming back deserve to let loose a little after everything they’ve been through.Ideserve to let loose. You can’t imagine what it was like over there.”
Marie’s cheeks flushed. “So because you went and I didn’t, you are more morally correct than I am? You know more than I do? More than the authorities?”
“I never said that.”
“We all have our own responsibilities. I have a family now. I have different concerns. I believe alcohol is bad for society, and as part of the temperance union, I have a duty to stand up for those beliefs.”
Adele looked at her teacup, the china unchipped. The sight of it felt unfamiliar, like it was from another era of her life. How simple it must be for Marie to let the truth pass unacknowledged while it ate Adele upinside. What a privilege to be able to discount something she knew nothing about. Marie was right: Adele did know more than her sister, at least about this. The fact remained that the same government that had banned alcohol had sent millions of men to war.
“I’m not saying I am better in any way,” she said, hearing her voice waver. “All I’m saying is that you do not know what we went through over there. Those men deserve to put their feet up with something stronger than a cup of tea, if only to temporarily forget what they will never forget. Those men who still have feet, that is.”
Marie was studying her with concern, all hostility gone. “Are you all right?”
She glanced down, uncomfortably aware that her hands were shaking. She laced her fingers together to still them.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I am.” She met her sister’s eyes. “One thing the war has shown me is how short life can be. And I don’t want to live my life depriving myself of the things I want. So please, let’s not do this. I’m just so happy to see you, and we have so much else to talk about.”
Marie’s expression softened. “I’m sorry. You know how stubborn I can get. I worried about you every single day, and I will always be proud of you for doing your duty out there. Maybe someday you can tell me about it.”
“Thank you.” Adele swallowed the lump in her throat. “Now tell me about Madeleine. What’s it like being a mother?”
Adele sat back to listen for as long as she could stay awake, warmed by the sight of Marie’s shining eyes every time she spoke of her daughter. But the journey was catching up to her, and her attention drifted more and more until Marie took notice and led her to the guest room for some much-needed sleep.
In the morning, Marie brought her back to the train station and they had a long, loving hug while Madeleine squirmed between them.
“Please think about coming to Windsor,” Adele said. “Before Madeleine is all grown up.”
“I’ll think about it,” Marie allowed. “I’d have to talk with Fred.”
“If anyone can convince him, it’s my beautiful, stubborn sister.”
Marie nodded, and after one last squeeze, Adele boarded the train, her heart a little heavy now that she knew something so unimportant in the grand scheme of things had caused a rift in their family.
Hours later, Adele arrived at the station in Windsor, and she bit her lip against tears as she scanned the faces waiting on the platform. She squeaked involuntarily when she spotted Maman and Guillaume in the small crowd, then she sprinted into their open arms as soon as the train stopped. After a long moment, she reluctantly pulled away. Their cheeks were sparkling with happy tears that matched her own. It had been three long years since she’d seen either of them, apart from in the photographs she had treasured.
“We missed you,chérie,” Guillaume said, picking up her trunks.
Her mother linked her arm in Adele’s. “I may never let you go again. Come, I’ve made your favourite,tortière. You’re skin and bones.”
Adele happily let them lead her to their car, and as they drove away from the station, past the winding roads and fallow fields, their crops cut to stubble, she peered out the window, eager for her first glimpse of the river.
Later that night, after they had toasted Adele’s return, she lay in her childhood bed, her stomach and heart full, and her head resting on an unimaginably soft down pillow. She breathed in the fresh scent of the wind on her quilt, and she knew her mother had hung it outside despite the cold, just so Adele could smell the clean air of Petite Côte. It smelled different from the air she’d breathed over there. Such a faraway place. Such a different world.
