Forever Waiting (2 page)

“Yvette, Jeannette?”

They tore their eyes from the engrossing commotion and looked down to find their father had already dismounted.

“Are you coming?”

As Frederic and his daughters approached, one man looked up, then another, until all work was suspended. Jeannette searched for Wade, spotting him near the tree line, speaking to a young woman. Her smile vanished. “Now where is this Mr. Remmen?” her father asked, puzzled by her glum face.

“Over there,” she pointed.

Frederic eyed the couple. The young woman was quite lovely, with straight black hair. She didn’t belong at the mill, and apparently Wade Remmen was telling her so, his voice raised in agitation.

“I don’t care if it
is
Saturday, nor that you’re bored, I’ve work to do!”

Dismissing her, he turned back to the mill, immediately spotting Frederic and the girls. His momentary shock gave way to a frown. He strode toward them with a determined gait. “Mr. Duvoisin,” he pronounced, extending a hand. “Yvette,” he continued with a nod, “Jeannette. What can I do for you, sir?”

“My daughters and I are abroad for the day, and having heard a great deal about you, Mr. Remmen, I thought it was time we met.” Frederic glanced over Wade’s shoulder to the edge of the forest, but the woman was gone. “We didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“No,” Wade replied, “that was my sister. She wanted to spend the day with me, but Paul asked me to work. She’s young, and I don’t like her going into town on her own. So what does she do?” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “She walks here instead.” He exhaled loudly, then shook it off. “Would you like to see the mill in operation?”

An hour later, they set off again, this time toward town and the warehouse, where they would reconcile invoices against lumber deliveries and finish up the day’s business at the bank. Frederic had something he wanted to show Yvette.

Stephen Westphal was astounded when Frederic stepped up to his desk. He scrambled to his feet, sputtering, “Well—isn’t this a surprise?”

“Yes, Stephen, the first of many.”

“What can I do for you today, Frederic?”

“The mill account—I’m going to put Yvette in charge of it.”

“Pardon?” the banker exclaimed loudly, his astonished query overpowering Yvette’s similar response. “But she is a mere child—a female!”

“She is also a Duvoisin and my daughter,” Frederic replied. “Like her mother, she has an acuity for figures. Now that Paul is preoccupied with Espoir, I’m going to make use of other resources.” He draped his arm affectionately across her shoulders and drew her close. “I’m willing to
gamble
on Yvette’s ciphering abilities and see if she is capable of handling the books. If her sister shows some interest, I’ll find something for her to accomplish as well. Now, if you’d be so good as to provide a ledger of this month’s transactions, I’ll go over everything with her this evening.”

They lunched at Dulcie’s, a place Yvette thought never to see again, let alone in her father’s company. The townsfolk stared openly at them, which made her feel important.
So this is what it means to be a Duvoisin
.

“Did you ever give that money to the poor?” she courageously asked.

“What money, Yvette?”

“You know what money.”

“Actually, no.”

When her father didn’t elaborate, she dropped the subject. Still, their banter was easy, and she truly enjoyed being with him.

“Papa?” Yvette asked as they rode home. “Will I really be in charge?”

“Of the lumber mill books? Yes.” She smiled exultantly. “But I warn you now, Yvette, it is not going to be easy.”

“Don’t worry, Papa,” she assured, “I’m capable. I won’t disappoint you.”

Frederic chuckled, unable to remain serious. For the first time in years, his heart swelled with pride.

“What about you, Jeannette? Would you like to take charge of something?”

“Well, I’m not as good with figures as Yvette is, Papa, but I’ll help if I can.”

“Only if you want to, princess, only if you want to.”

They arrived home by three o’clock. At the girls’ insistence, Frederic allowed them to groom their ponies in the paddock. He retreated to the house.

They had just finished currying Spook and Angel when their stepmother swept past them without so much as a word of greeting. Yvette eyed her suspiciously as Gerald rushed over. They exchanged a few words and the stable-master nodded toward the carriage house, where a chaise stood ready. Agatha climbed in, flicked the reins, and steered the buggy through the manor gates.

“That’s strange,” Yvette murmured.

“What is?” her sister asked.

“Auntie going out for a buggy ride.”

“Why is that strange?”

“When have you ever seen her riding out alone—without a driver?”

“Never?” Jeannette supplied thoughtfully.

“That’s what I thought.”

Agatha was in no rush to be on time for her customary three o’clock appointment. She was close to an hour late when the carriage rolled up in front of the tiny abode. She alighted from it and stepped up to the door, not bothering to knock. Her adversary sat at a small table near the hearth, pen in hand. He looked up, seemingly unaffected by her unannounced entrance. When he did not speak, she took charge. “This will be my last visit,” she announced.

“Your last visit? Why? You haven’t run out of resources, have you?”

Agatha looked around the room, noticing the bottle of expensive wine on the table, the well-stocked pantry, and the silk curtains adorning the windows. The man was living well at her expense. “My resources are of no concern to you. I’m through providing your finances.”

He was surprised. “What are you saying, Mrs. Duvoisin?”

“I’ve informed my husband of the small matter over which you’ve been extorting money,” she replied triumphantly. “He knows all the details and has been most forgiving. Your threats are inconsequential now.”

A low, deliberate laugh erupted from his unctuous smile. “Mrs. Duvoisin,” he started magnanimously, “I’ve grown quite accustomed to my stipend. It has helped offset my humble circumstance. Do you really think I would place it in jeopardy without insurance?”

Her eyes narrowed. She was not following him, so he hurried to explain. “I reflected for hours on your little lie, pondered your motives, puzzled over the role your brother played in it all. Robert’s situation has dramatically improved as well: his new house, lavishly furnished. Has his medical practice really grown that much? Or was he rewarded for assisting you?”

Agatha’s pulse throbbed, apprehensive yet irate over what was coming.

The man chuckled at her tight-lipped demeanor. “Yes, I’ve done some investigating, gleaned a bit of evidence that would be of great interest to your husband.”

“I don’t believe you!” she expostulated furiously. “You are bluffing.”

“Ah, but do you really want to take that chance, Mrs. Duvoisin?”

She stood before him in stony silence.

“I thought not. So, since you arrived empty-handed today, shall I see you next week at the appointed time? Oh, and by the way, my silence has become more expensive. Let us make your visits weekly ones from now on. So, do come prepared. Good day, Mrs. Duvoisin.”

After dinner, Yvette and Frederic disappeared into the study. Charmaine had been told all about their wondrous day. “Wondrous” was how they’d described it. Thanks to their father, their healing had commenced, and Charmaine was grateful. Her own heart was another matter.

An hour later, Yvette looked up at her father, who was reading over her shoulder. “This is not so difficult, Papa. I can cipher the rest tomorrow afternoon when lessons are over, and you can check my work in the evening.”

“I have a better idea,” Frederic said. “I think I can persuade Miss Ryan to substitute your arithmetic problems with this bookkeeping. After all, what is the purpose of education if not to benefit from its application?”

“You’re absolutely right, Papa.”

“I thought you’d agree,” he chuckled. “Shall we finish tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, Papa, I’m quite tired.” She rose, stretched, and placed a mild kiss on his cheek, but as she reached the hallway door, he called her name. “Yes, Papa?”

“You are quite a young lady—so very much like your mother.”

“Mama?” she asked in astonishment. “But Jeannette is much more—”

He didn’t allow her to finish. “No, Yvette,
you
are like your mother.”

She rushed across the study and gave him a fierce hug. Then, embarrassed, she raced from the room. With a heavy heart, Frederic watched her go. Not so long ago, Colette had sat at this desk doing the very same job.

The warm days of October turned unusually cool and blustery, heralding the onset of the Caribbean winter. Charmaine marveled at Frederic’s transformation. Most days, he ventured out with George to monitor work on the docks, at the mill, or in the sugarcane fields, master of his empire once again. When he was at the house, he was usually working in the study. He was hardier, his weak side growing stronger. Though he still favored a cane, his limp had also improved.

True to his word, he spent every Saturday with his daughters, and though it was a challenge at first, he managed quite well. In fact, Charmaine was impressed with the things he taught them, the engaging outings he embarked upon, all of which revolved around Duvoisin business. Although he and Jeannette had always been close, Yvette flourished under his guidance. Both girls looked forward to Saturday now, often speculating as to what the next excursion might be.

Charmaine remained uncomfortable in his presence, preferring to keep her distance. Though she tried to suppress them, she could not forget the revelations of that bleak October morning. Sadly, she could not regard Frederic with the same respect, despite his titanic effort to begin anew. She often contemplated the ugly word uttered only by John, though not denied by his father:
rape
. Had Frederic raped Colette or was it as
he
claimed—a seduction? Instinctively, Charmaine knew the latter had to be closer to the truth. She recalled Colette’s remarks:
I was attracted to him from the moment we met … He’s handsome still … I love him still
 … No woman would use such words to describe a man who had raped her; there had to be more to the story. Nevertheless, pardoning Frederic of rape did not acquit him of stealing Colette from John.

The frenzied pace Paul had previously kept abated when Frederic reassumed control of Charmantes. Espoir’s development was suddenly unimpeded, and he spent most weekdays there. But every Friday night, he ventured home.
She
commanded his Saturdays now. A stroll on the lawns, afternoon tea, even lunch at Dulcie’s became a ritual. She was amazed he chose her companionship over his fledgling enterprise. Their discourse was direct, free of the previous games and guile, and they chatted and laughed together as never before. His attentiveness was comforting, a welcome distraction from the grief over Pierre, a piercing emptiness that often gripped her unexpectedly.

Agatha was not pleased. Charmaine often caught her disapproving glare. The woman continued to ingratiate herself with Paul, mindful of her future and the comfortable lifestyle to which she’d grown accustomed as Mrs. Duvoisin. Clearly, she hadn’t forgotten her disdainful nephew’s threats to cast her out, so she curried Paul’s respect in an effort to secure her future in the manor. She certainly didn’t want Charmaine around to interfere.

To Agatha’s chagrin, Frederic postponed the christening of Espoir. She objected, but he would not be swayed, maintaining such a celebration was inappropriate so soon after Pierre’s death. Paul agreed, and so the affair was set for early April, before Easter, when the weather warmed. Better accommodations could be arranged, and travel to the islands would be easier.

There had been no word from John. The twins missed him fiercely and were downtrodden when ships arrived from Richmond carrying no letters. But Charmaine understood; the wounds were still fresh, the happy memories too painful. She often reminisced about that winsome time, especially the two weeks before Pierre’s death. They had been a family then, a loving family. She had lost more than Pierre in October; she had lost John as well. But even if he returned today, those carefree days could never be recaptured.

Pierre was gone forever. Far better to cherish her recollections than dwell upon what wasn’t meant to be.

In mid-November, a young physician arrived in town. Recently graduated from medical school, he’d jumped at the prospect of opening up a practice where there would be little competition. Charmaine had unexpectedly encountered Caroline Browning one day, who lost no time in asking whether John had made the arrangements. It was rumored he distrusted his uncle’s competency and was subsidizing the new doctor until a clientele of patients could be established. Charmaine didn’t doubt the assertions, the traumatic hours before Pierre’s death foremost in her mind, but she cut the conversation short when Caroline inquired about the accident, asking why Pierre had been left in John’s care.

Saturday, November 25, 1837