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9

Edouard

Marie lies beside me, her hair spread on the pillow, cheeks flushed, mouth red and swollen from kissing. No man could resist her, looking the way she does right now. Myself least of all – I just came and already I need to be inside her again.

For weeks now, we’ve done this. By day, we are scrupulously careful. I don’t look at her and we don’t speak. By night, we are far less so. It’s a risk we shouldn’t take but good sense abandons me when she arrives at my door. Want for her is like a sickness, one that only gets worse each time I give into the cure.

My lips press to her neck, to the tiny throb of her pulse. I know from experience that she will be prepared for more even before I am. And I’m halfway there already.

My hand runs over her breast and the nipple tightens. It’s a miracle, the way her body responds to mine, and mine to hers. I still have moments of guilt about abandoning my vocation, but when I see how it is with us, I feel certain she was always God’s plan for me.

“Have you had any news?” she asks suddenly.

“News?” It sounds as if I’m trying a foreign word for the first time, still uncertain of its meaning. My brain is only concerned with her smooth skin and her red lips and a desire to be inside her.

“About a replacement.” Her voice is cautious, edged with hope.

I wish I had the answer she seeks. I’ve written the archdiocese twice, asking to be relieved from my position. But there are not enough priests in France right now, and the war has shut down all the seminaries, so none are coming.

“They say there’s no one available,” I reply. “I promise I won’t wait for them forever. But jobs are scarce too...it’s not merely a matter of being replaced here. I need a way to support us.”

All my years of schooling are proving absolutely useless. The only thing I’m qualified to do, other than the priesthood, is teach...and with the war on, no schools are hiring. I think I’ve written every school in England to no avail. There’s always the army, but not only would it go against everything I believe in, it would separate me from the one reason I’m going through this at all.

She rolls toward me. My eyes flicker to the curve of her bare hip and my hand follows. “I...have money,” she says haltingly. “I could support us.”

I’m torn between laughter and confusion. I would never mock her intellect, but how could this possibly be true? The Durand farm is a broken-down relic. They’ve only a few cows, two horses.

“Marie...everything belongs to Henri.” And even what he has barely seems to keep them afloat.

Her teeth slide to her lower lip. “Not everything. I can’t say much about it, so you will have to take my word for it now. I can get as much money as we need.”

I don’t believe in witchcraft, but I know there’s something different about her, and Amelie as well. They know things. If she says she can do something, no matter how unreal it seems, I believe her. “I can’t allow my wife to support me, Marie. I’ll find something, I swear it. I just need more time.”

“Wouldn’t you rather spend that time together?” she asks, pressing her rosebud mouth to my chest.

I groan. A serious conversation and yet I’m hard as a school boy, simply from her proximity. I pull her closer, needing to feel the pressure of her skin against mine. “I can’t discuss this rationally when you’re naked.”

She laughs. “I know. That’s why I’m asking now. Shall I put my clothes back on?”

I roll her to her back and raise her arms above her head. She laughs and I grow harder still. She’s irresistible in moments like this. “No,” I reply, pushing her thighs apart. “Not just yet.”

* * *

I lead morning mass the next day, as always. I can rationalize what Marie and I are doing, but during mass I still feeling spasms of guilt. I’m just not sure what I can be expected to do instead. I’ve asked to be relieved of my position, and my only other options are to leave the town with no one here to see to its poor and elderly, or to stop seeing Marie until the situation is resolved. I’d have to be a far stronger man than I am to do the latter, and as this wears on, I’m seriously contemplating the former. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t imagine taking Marie and leaving. But that fantasy always leads to an image of us next winter, if I haven’t found work. I picture Marie with nothing to eat, in threadbare clothes, and reality sets in.

I’ve got to find a job. There must be something.

Mass ends and I walk around the back of the church to go to parish hall, though I have little desire to be there. Today is Bible study, which means I will not see Marie until tonight if I am lucky.

To my surprise, a crowd is forming outside the hall doors.

It’s March but the air is still bitter and the ruddy-faced parishioners look at me with resentment, as if I made them stand out here intentionally. Irene has normally unlocked the building and set up for the day’s classes by now. She’s never failed to arrive or at least send word in all the years I’ve known her.

“Is Irene ill?” I ask.

There are shrugs and averted eyes. No one seems to know. I unlock the doors and enlist everyone to help me get the chairs set up for class. They seem reluctant to help, which is fitting as I’m equally reluctant to teach. The words that used to fill me no longer bring the comfort they did. Yes, it’s because of Marie, but that doesn’t mean it’s her fault. It’s simply that I’m reconsidering things—wondering if it’s wise to put so much faith in words on a page if they contradict what’s inside my heart. God, after all, created both. Why should words written thousands of years ago be given more weight than a heart not three decades old?

I get through the class, gritting my teeth. The mood this morning is odd, everyone strangely quiet and a bit sullen. We’ve just broken for lunch when Anne, my secretary, comes in. Her face is pale, eyes wide. “Father,” she says, her voice mute with urgency, “can you come with me?”