💕Now and Forever💞 ~Chapter 6~ Family Matters

   Before they left the Inn the next morning, Virginie called the house to let Hilde know they would be home by noon. "One at the latest.  No, no, dear. We'll eat on the train. How's Madame?"
Poirot stopped folding his clothes when he didn't hear anything and then saw the the pained expression on Virginie's face. Then, a brief smile and a sigh.  "Tell her we'll be home for dinner.  Give her our love and take some for yourself.
Virginie hung up and stared ahead at the window, almost unaware of her surroundings.
"Virginie?"  Poirot stopped packing to sit beside his wife.
Virginie faced her husband.  "Madame has not been well.  Hilde is worried for her.  She was more relieved than just happy to hear we were on the way home."
Some time ago he recalled the beloved matriarch confiding that she didn't have much time left.  Whatever  'much time'  meant,  she exceeded the indefinite definition of that phrase,  but Virginie's husband was not about to wax philosophic when his wife's mind and heart were riddled with anxiety that were seen in her eyes.
"Let's go home."   Poirot said,  holding his wife's hand.

~~~~

The train ride home was enough to put a smile on Virginie's face and in her eyes,  that her husband hadn't seen since she put down the phone receiver after calling home.
At the station,  there was a cab waiting for them.  They saw the driver almost immediately upon getting off the train.  He was well-dressed, down to the driver's cap and held up a sign with the single name;  POIROT.   As soon as Hercule introduced himself and his wife,  and mentioned his brothers' names,  the driver was extra-courteous; loading the luggage with all speed as well as care.   They were home inside of ten minutes.
Poirot patted his wife's hand, "You go in. I will get help with the suitcases."
"Thank you."   Virginie kissed her husband and got out of the cab,  rushing up the stairs that lead to the front door.  In such a state,  Virginie fumbled for her keys.  When the door opened, and she saw Hilde smiling at her, a ton of weight fell off her shoulders.
"Hilde!  Madame... ?  Is my aunt...?"
"She's fine.  As soon  as you called,  she rallied with vigor.   She's in the sitting room. You go see her.  I'll help your husband."
Virginie kissed Hilde on the cheek and dashed into the house.  Unspeakable relief flooded Virginie to see her aunt,  sitting and knitting , listening to her phonograph.
"Auntie.  We're home!"   Virginie declared;  crouching down in front of the chair of  Madame Deroulard.  The woman did look a bit pale, but she didn't get a lot of outdoor exercise anymore, so that would account for it. Other than that, she seemed fine.  And the patches for the bed-shawl were building, so she was keeping busy.
The family matriarch smiled,  "So you are.  But where is ...?"
"He's out helping with the luggage.  Did Hilde tell you I called earlier? She said you weren't well and..."
The old woman chuckled and Virginie could hear the undertone of irritation.  "She told me.  And she also reported what she told you of my so-called condition. No doubt worrying you and Hercule into a full blown tizzy .  Honestly!  A person can't sneeze in this house without others being told you're at death's door. Well, my girl, as it happens, I'm not even in the neighborhood. Not quite yet.  But forget all of that,  how are you?"
"Now that I know you're alr..."
"Never mind all the over-dramatized foolery.  I want to know about you. Did you enjoy your honeymoon?"
There was no mistaking the infection on the word 'enjoy' .  Sitting in the chair she'd pulled a little closer to her aunt, Virginie  informed her, "The honeymoon was... LOVELY.  In every respect."
The old woman smiled,  "You DO love him."
What an odd thing to say.  "Of course I love Hercule, Auntie. I ..."
"Hearing voices , talk and laughter in the hall,  Madame Deroulard whispered to her niece, "We'll talk later."
Upon seeing his wife's aunt sitting up,  Poirot picked up the woman's right hand and kissed it and patted it with familiar affection.   "Madame! I am glad to see you in good health. We were worried."
Madame smiled at her niece's husband, "In the immortal words of William Shakespeare,  my lad, 'much ado about nothing.' Now,  Hilde,  why don't you take the newlyweds up to their new room?"
"New room?"  Virginie puzzled.
"Come on. Let me show you." Hilde gestured, hoping to lead Virginie and Hercule from the sitting room.
Madame Deroulard  waved them  off,  "Go on. Go on!  See what they did.  If you don't like it,  you can work out your own arrangement."
"Forgive me, Madame, but who are THEY?"  Poirot dared ask.
"All will be explained when you see your room. Let's go."   Hilde nudged them out of the room, down the hall and up the stairs.
To Virginie's knowledge, there were only Five  bedrooms upstairs. One of the two large bedrooms belonged to her aunt. The other belonged to her cousin, Paul, and his wife. With them...well...no longer living in, that room was empty.  Then there was Hilde's room,  her own room and a guest room. The scenarios that flew through her mind in the time it took them to get to the room were enough to make Virginie wish she and her husband were back at their little Inn in DePanne.
However, approaching the door,  Virginie noticed a few things.  The most obvious was noticed by them both;  A large card, festively  decorated,  declared,

Folded in half, the card  hung on a long stream of crepe-paper streamer,  that was tacked on either side of the door post.
Hilde explained,  "I kept some of the wedding decorations as a memento for you.   They're in the room.   Then I decided to use a bit of the streamer for the card."

Carefully removing the card from the decorative hanging,  Poirot opened it and smiled.  Virginie,  for her happiness at the declaration, had misgivings about occupying the bedroom of her deceased cousin and the wife he'd killed. Her misgivings were forgotten as soon as they tugged the streamer apart and opened the bedroom door.  The fresh paint was the palest blue.
The bed was made in brand new bedding; down to the bedspread, which was more of comforter,  in sky-blue and soft white 'clouds.   The curtains provided the matching theme.  The window, itself was opened just enough to allow a fragrant breeze that replaced the smell of paint.  The wardrobe closets were varnished and cleaned of the old clothes as well as the ghosts.  This could work.  Everything was new.  Fresh.  Around that newness,  there would be framed photographs and knick-knacks on the dressers.  Paintings would grace the walls.
Just imagining the possibilities drove all  trepidation from the newlywed bride.
Over an light evening  dinner of  ham and cheese sandwiches and cream of chicken soup, left over from the day before,   Hilde explained,  "The work, itself...painting and such, was carried out by Maxime.  Adelise and I saw to the re-arranging and the decorating, and the shopping for the new bedding and curtains.  I hope it meets with the couple's approval."
"C'est parfait!"  Poirot summed up their mutual sentiments.  "Lovely.  Thank you."
"I admit to being more than a bit anxious, at the very idea of  taking over Paul's room. I actually got it into my head that it was haunted." Virginie confessed,  giggling.
" Well,"  Madame spoke up.  "if such a thing was even possible, a good cleaning and re-decorating exorcised those ghosts.  The past is in the past,  my girl.  Enjoy the present, kids, and look to the future.  That's this old lady's advice, for all it's worth."
"Madame,  that advice, is it a king's ransom with the highest  interest any bank would offer ."

~~~~

By the time they were home for a week,  Virginie had cleaned and dusted pictures her cousin had relegated to the attic in favor of his wife's choices.  The painting  choices of the deceased Mrs. Deroulard had since suffered the same fate,  in favor of paintings that had once seen only the under-side of dust covers.
Where her 'cousin-in-law'  had preferred medieval scenes from classic literature,  Virginie's  taste ran to ....quaint.  Meadow scenes which evidenced  the painter's love for early spring dandy lions and pussy willows and Lavender wild-flowers.  Another painter favored rain scenes and Virginie loved one painting of a couple, walking, hand in hand in a rain shower.   As much as she liked the way the paintings spruced the room,  she was relieved when Hercule was just as happy with the new look.

   By day,  Virginie accustomed herself to the responsibilities of house-keeping for as a wife.  And even asked Hilde if she could take care of the evening meals on the days her husband was at the precinct.
"You can be waited on for a change."   Virginie said as they prepared dinner, sure the invite would be accepted.
"OR, "  Hilde suggested. "I can help and you can take the main credit."
"Well that would hardly be fair."  Virginie insisted.  "Besides,  eventually,  I'll be making meals for my children and you'll be retired. This place isn't so intimidating. I've practically lived here for most if not all of my life.  Half of it anyway.  It's just a matter of getting used to how  I go about getting things done, once I have to do it on my own or near enough to it. "
Basting the roast chicken they would have for dinner, Hilde, who'd become more as much of an aunt as Madadme Deroulard,  hinted,  "We'll work something out."

 ~~~~

  The Sunday, of their first full week at home, Virginie was up early.  Kissing Hercule on the forehead,  she reached for her dressing gown,  from the oak trunk at the foot of the bed and slipped her arms through the sleeves;  tying the belt as she walked down the hall to her aunt's room.
Wrapping softly on the door, Virginie waited for the invite to enter.  Madame was always up early on Sundays. She would do her devotions before breakfast and be chipper for the rest of the day.  Providing nothing drastic took away from the good mood.
"Auntie,"   Virginie spoke in a whisper upon opening the door of the bedroom carefully;  lest she interrupt Madame Deroulard in the middle of her Rosary.  But she was still in bed.   A tinge of panic rose in Virginie's heart, until she realized that she, herself,  had gotten up early.   No doubt, Madame's alarm hadn't gone off yet.
She was just about to pick up the alarm clock when it began ringing.  The shrill sound startled Virgine,  who was prepared to hear her aunt yelp with a start, to see her niece in the room. But ...nothing.  Not even as little  as the  sleeping motion of turning away from the sound of the alarm when it was ringing.  That twinge of fear was back.
"Auntie? Auntie?"   A choke arose in Virginie Poirot's throat as she placed a hand on the Matriarch's forehead. Warm-ish.  And yet, the woman didn't move,  even with a hand placed on her forehead.  Carefully reaching for the woman's right hand,  Virginie felt for a pulse. Slow tears slipped down her cheeks. Nothing. There was no pulse.