Sins of the Flesh. Fern Michaels

I cry when I think about it. He…he…Jake, I mean…used to go to your room and…and sniff about, picking up your scent. When he did he would…he would just lay there…his eyes so big and sad…I’d talk to him about you…but I don’t know if he understood, and then one day I was cleaning the room you had while you stayed here and I found a sweater that you left behind. I made a bed for Jake and put it in as a blanket. It…it’s still in the closet….” Mickey howled her grief then, and Daniel joined her.

      Alone in his old room, Daniel shed his towel and dressed in the clothes Yvette had placed on his bed, his eyes centered on the closet door all the while he dressed. Unable to bear it another second, he pulled open the door and stared down at the wicker basket that held his old gray wool sweater. He dropped to his knees. He reached for the sweater, bringing it to his cheeks. His touch was reverent as he plucked several dog hairs from the collar. “Oh, Jake, Jesus…Oh, God, Jake, I didn’t want to leave you…Oh, Jesus,” he blubbered, hunkering down…the sweater a lifeline to his past. He slept then, on the floor, his sweater with Jake’s scent, after all these years, against his cheek.

      “It’s time to wake Daniel,” Yvette said quietly. “It’s almost dark, Mickey. Do you have everything ready?” Mickey nodded. “This is wrong, Michelene,” Yvette continued. She used Mickey’s Christian name only when she wanted to make a point. “You should have told Philippe before…. This is…it’s wrong. Now there’s no time for fancy words. You’ll have to blurt it all out and send him away in an eye’s wink. This is not going to be pleasant,” she said ominously.

      “Philippe knows he’s going. He’s pretending he doesn’t know….” Mickey called him then and he came to her, his face cold and frightening. “It’s time to…Do you have everything ready?”

      “I’m not leaving,” the boy said defiantly, tears shimmering in his eyes.

      “We’ve been through this a hundred times. You must leave. I am not giving you a choice; I’m telling you you must go with Daniel. I don’t wish an argument, Philippe, this is hard enough as it is. I don’t want to carry your angry face with me to Spain. I must know you are safe and sound in America with your father.”

      “You seem to forget, Maman, that I am no longer a child. You may ask me to leave, but you cannot order me to do so. I’m an adult now, and I don’t want to see my father. I begged you not to call Daniel Bishop. I’m too big to spank, so what will you do?”

      For the first time since leaving Paris, Mickey felt the cold prickle of true fear. “So, this is what I raised you for, to defy me to my face. Is this the son I raised? You are not of age, Philippe, and you will do as I say when I say it, and I say you are going with Daniel. Not one more word!” she shrilled.

      “I mean no disrespect,” Philippe blurted out. “But I can’t leave you. Who will look after you and Yvette?”

      “We’ve been looking after ourselves for a very long time, and we can continue to do so. I love you more than life, and I wouldn’t send you away like this if I…It’s for your own good. It’s time I turned you over to your father.”

      “I’m not going, and I hate him. Why isn’t he here instead of that man upstairs?” Philippe said.

      Yvette stepped forward purposefully. “Enough, Michelene, it grows late. Tell him now and be done with it!”

      “Tell me what?” the boy blustered, his eyes fearful.

      “The truth,” Yvette answered for Mickey. “You should have been told years ago, but your mother loved you too much. Too much, eh, Michelene? Now either you tell him or I will. We have no time for this!”

      Philippe sat down. “Somebody better tell me or it will take what’s left of the French Army to move me from this room,” he said belligerently.

      “Why don’t I tell him,” Daniel said quietly from the doorway.

      “No, I will,” Mickey replied. She held her son’s eyes with her own and spoke softly, haltingly. “I’m not your mother, Philippe, your real mother…I…it’s true that I raised you from birth and I…loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. For reasons…”

      “Bah, tell him! He’s a man, he says; he can stand to hear the truth,” Yvette stormed. “Your mother…Bebe Rosen was young when she gave birth to you. She told us to throw you out with the garbage; she wanted no part of you. She gave birth to you and walked away. Mickey took you and raised you. Your real mother is married to your father, and as far as we know, he knows nothing of your existence. That’s the beginning and end of it. There is no place for you here; you’re Jewish and you belong in America with your parents.”

      Mickey looked helplessly from her friend to Philippe and back again. “Yvette, surely there was a better way of…Philippe, I am so sorry; I’ve wanted to tell you so many times. As Yvette says, this is the beginning and the end of it. There’s no place here for you now. You must leave. Your parents will see to you once you reach America.”

      Seeing Philippe struggling for words to lash out at his mother, Yvette stepped into the foray again. “There is no time for recriminations. Daniel must leave in fifteen minutes. They won’t wait for you. Kiss your mother, Philippe, and bite your tongue if you are thinking harsh thoughts.”

      Philippe struggled with his emotions. He’d heard all the words, had watched his mother’s face, felt her pain on top of his own. And it was true: he had no choice; he had to go with the American. A sob caught in his throat when he took his mother in his arms. “I’ll be back,” he whispered. She clung to him, and it was Philippe who gently removed her arms.

      He embraced Yvette and again whispered, “Take care of her. And that tongue of yours is the devil’s own.”

      Then he was at the door, watching as Daniel wrapped both Yvette and Mickey in his arms. Mickey handed him a thick packet, which he stuffed inside his shirt. “How will we know if you are safe?” she asked.

      “Your Red Cross. If we can, we’ll get word to them.”

      “Take care of my son, Daniel, he’s all I have left. Tell Reuben I entrust him to his good care. Au revoir, my friend.”

      “There is no more time, Mr. Bishop,” Philippe called from the doorway.

      When the door closed behind them, Mickey fell into Yvette’s arms. “Why can’t I cry?” she asked brokenly.

      “Because you did the right thing, and Philippe knows it, too. He was never yours to keep, Mickey. You had him…on loan. Come, we must get ready ourselves.”

      “Yvette, I…I will go with you to the…But I’m not going to cross over. I’m staying here. I spoke to the curé yesterday, and there are people waiting for me two kilometers south of here. I’m—”

      “Joining the Resistance. Yes, I know. I said I would join you. What would I do in Spain by myself? I’m too old to fight bulls. They will take us, these Resistance leaders? What can we do? We’re old women.”

      “Chérie, we’re not that old,” Mickey said with a touch of her old sparkle. “We made it here on our own from Paris; that says a lot about our stamina and our will to live. We’ll be an asset to the Resistance. Come, my friend, we must start our new life so that someday we can come back here in peace.”

      Yvette’s eyes darkened. In her heart she knew she’d never see this château again or the farm where she’d been so happy. “Yes, peace. I’m ready if you are, Michelene.”

      Mickey smiled. Together they walked away from the château into the waiting arms of the Resistance.