Sins of Omission. Fern Michaels
Often they’d walk for hours, their hands entwined, overseeing this task or that domestic problem.
It wasn’t only Daniel who was receiving an education. In subtle ways and often in blunt, forthright words, Mickey was teaching Reuben the ways of the world. The only difference between Daniel and Reuben was that Reuben didn’t ask questions. Everything Mickey said, everything she alluded to, every nuance, every warning, was tucked away—but not before it was categorized and filed in his brain. He had the wonderful ability to stop and search his mind for a second, then come up with exactly the right answer whenever Mickey quizzed him. He’d laugh when she showed surprise. “I never forget anything.”
“Elephants are like that,” Mickey joked.
The night before Thanksgiving, Mickey presented Reuben with a book that had arrived from America. She had things to do, she said, a surprise, and he should read while she finished her preparations.
Reuben accepted her offering—the latest Zane Grey novel—with pleasure and settled himself in the library with Daniel. He showed Daniel the new book. “It’s a tale of the joining of East and West by rail.”
Daniel looked up long enough to smile, then settled back in his chair, the reading lamp aimed at the book on his lap. Reuben shook his head and smiled at his friend—his learned, literary friend. Then he, too, began to read.
In the kitchens Mickey huddled with the bevy of extra cooks she’d hired from the village. “You understand now, it must be just the way they do it in America. The turkey is to be at least thirty pounds. We have that,” she said, ticking off items on her list. “Chestnut and raisin dressing and candied yams, white potatoes that are mashed, turnips that are also mashed, vegetables fresh from the root cellar, peas, beans, and carrots. I have secured some Echiré butter, the best in the world, and you will make light fluffy dinner rolls that melt in the mouth. They must melt in the mouth because that is what Reuben hungers for. The pies are to have a flaky, delicate crust—pumpkin, mince, pecan, and one berry. Blackberry, I think. We must use canned berries from the storeroom. Do you think he will notice the difference?” she asked the cook fretfully.
“No, madame. It will be perfection.”
“Mon Dieu, I almost forgot the soup. Noodle, and there is something called a noodle pudding that Reuben likes. I have it written down here somewhere. Nanette made the noodles last night. And we must have a garden salad of some sort. You will have to forage in the cellar. If you can’t come up with something that is going to be perfectly fresh, at least make it look pretty. Americans like fresh raw vegetables.” She shrugged to show she herself couldn’t understand. “Fresh ground coffee, but don’t grind the beans until you are ready to boil the water. Tell me, did I overlook anything? Will there be enough time for you to prepare all of this for three o’clock tomorrow?”
“There is no problem, madame. It will be a feast fit for a king!”
“I’ll select the wines now. There must be flowers on the table. The best linen cloth and finest dishes and crystal.”
In the wine cellar Mickey leaned back against one of the huge barrels that hadn’t as yet been tapped. She’d gotten so much pleasure out of arranging this special dinner for Reuben and Daniel. She’d do anything, anything at all to bring a smile to Reuben’s face and that warm, intimate look to his eyes.
These past days had been so exquisite. She would no longer fool herself.
She was in love with the young American, deeply in love. And expert that she was in the ways of men, she felt he, too, was in love with her—for now. Yet she refused to listen to his pleadings and his vows of eternal love. Of course, they were words she wanted to hear, words she would remember and dream about when he was gone. Because one day, all too soon, he would return to his own land, where he belonged. Until then each day, each hour, was to be lived to the fullest.
She wondered if the arrival next week of Bebe Rosen—the daughter of her American cousin Sol Rosen—would affect her relationship with Reuben. Certainly she and Reuben would have to give up most of their private time to entertain the visitor from California. Already Mickey felt jealous. Bebe would be vivacious and pretty. If she was anything like Mickey had been at her age, she would flirt with Reuben, try to play boy-girl games with him. And what would she, Mickey, do? Stand by and eat herself up with jealousy? Perhaps she was being unfair. Bebe might be a bookworm like Daniel, or she might be shy and keep to herself…. Not likely, since she was Sol’s daughter and—from Sol’s own description—spoiled rotten. Sol had said she was a brat, a willful, spoiled young woman who pouted and finagled and manipulated till she got what she wanted. In other words, a handful.
Bebe’s skin would be smooth and flawless without the need of rouge and mascara. She’d be lithe and shapely, wearing the latest in American fashion. And she’d be able to talk to Reuben about things in America. They would have so many things in common, mainly their youth.
What would Reuben think when he saw the two women side by side, the fresh-faced girl and the middle-aged woman he was living with? Her heart thudded in her chest. If it was going to happen, let it happen now before Reuben’s hold on her became so overpowering she’d do foolish things to keep him. At the beginning of the affair she’d sworn to herself that she’d never do anything to mar her dignity. As Marchioness Michelene Fonsard, she had an image to protect. When Reuben finally left her he’d remember her that way, not as some midinette begging him to stay, offering him money, anything so he wouldn’t leave. The thought made her cringe.
No, she would not let her fears run away with her…or her jealousy. Jealousy could destroy. If there was one thing she didn’t want to do, it was destroy what she had right now. She would treat Bebe kindly and gently, the same way she treated Daniel. Tonight she would pray that the young girl would find Daniel an engrossing companion.
Two weeks wouldn’t be an eternity. They would all survive young Bebe’s visit, then give her a rousing send-off when she was ready to leave for England for the second leg of her European visit. Mickey laughed. Here she was arranging for Bebe’s departure and she hadn’t even arrived yet.
Mickey deposited the wine bottles in the kitchen and ordered a pot of hot chocolate and a plate of cake. While she waited she wondered if anyone would ever go to this much trouble again for Reuben. Tears burned her eyes but she willed them away with a fierceness she didn’t know she possessed.
Reuben and Daniel put their books aside for Mickey’s late night snack.
Something was wrong, Reuben could sense it. Mickey’s eyes were too bright, her smile too tight. She’d been acting differently these past few days. Not exactly preoccupied, but she wasn’t always totally with him. Several times he’d caught her gazing through him as if he weren’t there. Once he questioned her, thinking he’d done something to offend her or that she was tiring of him. She’d wrapped her arms around him and looked deeply into his eyes. “No, chéri. If you did something to displease me, I would tell you. We made a bargain, did we not? Honesty at all times. Sometimes I think honesty between two people is more important than love.” He’d let it drop then, but the strange look was still in her eyes.
Maybe it was the young girl who was coming to visit. Mickey had joked about keeping her busy, entertaining her. She’d said something like “you young people will have much in common,” implying that she was old; the same old sore subject. He hadn’t seen it that way at all and told her so. Although she’d acted amused, her mood had changed and she’d been warm but silent after that.
It was Reuben’s first experience with jealousy, and he didn’t know how to handle it. If he had more experience…if he’d had women, girls even. Old George had said women fought with each other over men, pulling hair and scratching at each other. He’d called them cat fights.
Reuben’s eyes were questioning when Mickey pecked him on the cheek. She blew Daniel a kiss. “Good night, chéris. No, no, don’t get up. I will see both of you in the morning.”
Reuben nodded, thinking it must be “that time of the month.” He felt better almost immediately. Now he could spend some time with Daniel.
“Are