"Merci, Monsignor, Virginie will be home tomorrow. Today, she has a....treatment. ...." Poirot's voice halted.
"Monsieur Poirot?" The priest puzzled. "Is there something else you needed help with. Some way I can help?"
"Oui. Yes," Poirot nodded, staring at at the crucifix over Father Riechard's head, as the priest sat behind his desk. "You can tell me, if you please, why le Bon Dieu allowed this to happen? He knew how much Virginie and I , we were so looking forward to seeing this new child. So many hopes and plans, and they are all for nought. Pourqua? Why?"
All the priest could do was shrug. "I wish I could tell you, young man. I honestly don't know. I believe there's a greater meaning and purpose behind it all that we can't see. But I don't suppose that helps you right at the moment."
Hercule's throat hurt from tears he'd already shed and more that he wanted to. "One day, Virginie and I, we may look back on this and see ....something we don't see now. I do not know. Right now, all I see are clouds with few patches of sun."
"Appreciate those patches of sunlight, my son. It will help you to carry on."
Poirot thanked the priest for his help. "I will tell Virginie. She will be thankful."
"Pass along my best wishes, for all they're worth at the moment."
"Every good thing helps a little."
And it was true...to a point. While the words could not undo the emotional devastation from the loss, Poirot wanted to believe, as he was certain his wife would believe, that there had to be a higher reason to this. Though WHAT that purpose was, he couldn't begin to guess.
~~~~~
Virginie was released from the hospital on Thursday. As Hercule and Hilde helped her get things together, the doctor came in."Hello, " he greeted the group. "You seem anxious to leave. Didn't care for the food?"
Virginie managed a giggle. "The scrambled eggs were okay, but the toast was a bit cold."
"We have the same problem in the lunch room. Anyway, you're all signed out. And for the rest of the day, I want you to rest. You can introduce a regular routine as the week goes on. Physically speaking, you should be back to normal within a week or so. Otherwise, if you should want to talk to someone, I can arrange ..."
"Thank you, doctor. I have friends who've been coming by with chocolate and thermos mugs of coffee. We've talked and eaten and cried for days. I have to move on. Hercule told me that there will be a service at our church this Sunday."
"Glad to hear it. There needs to be a sense of...closure, for want of a better word. Eventually, there will be other..."
"I know, doctor," Virginie nodded. "I would rather not think about it. At least not now."
Her doctor's tone was sympathetic. "Understood. Anyway, I will let your family take you home. And I'll have the nurse call you tomorrow with a follow-up appointment."
"For what?" Hercule asked sounding anxious and a touch irritable. It was bad enough that there were no definite answers for this tragedy. Now the man was...what? Poking around to find out what he should have known in the first place!
"Nothing serious, Monsieur Poirot. I gave your wife an exam a few days ago. Something that's done after these ...situations, I just want to make sure we've covered all the ground and get everything back to rights again."
"I...I apologize," Poirot nearly stammered over his words. "It's just..."
"No apologies necessary. Anyway, I'll get on with the rest of my rounds and let you get home. I'm sure you've seen as much of this place as you care to."
The doctor left and Poirot, Hilde and Virginie were gone not long after.
The first night home, Virginie and her husband cried in their bed and fell asleep in each other's arms.
~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, Poirot came downstairs to see and hear Virginie and Hilde in the kitchen, talking and laughing. To look at her, she seemed a spot pale for lack of fresh air. Virginie had breakfast all made and on the table for them.
"My dear, the doctor said...."
"The doctor doesn't have a house to manage. And I need to get back to a routine. This morning, I got up and went to ...the baby's room, had a good weep and then read the Psalms. Hercule, our son is with the creator he had long before we came along. He'll be fine til we get there. Now you eat breakfast and get yourself to work."
"Are you certain?"
"I LOVE you, but you cannot wrap me in cotton, dearest. Apart from suffocating me, it will be very difficult for me to get around." Virginie giggled at her own witticism. " You have a city to protect and I have a house to keep. "
By the weekend, everything...just about everything felt like it was getting back to normal. Sunday, they went to Mass, and a brief but kind mention was given to their son, Michael Louis Poirot .
The priest pondered, "It is difficult for US to understand the why of what we feel is a wrong done to us. But the more I thought about the reason why things like this happen, the more I realize that what we see as a wrong might now seem like that from the child's perspective. Michael Poirot is with God and in a place that will never have sadness. He'll never scrape his knee while playing with the other kids. There won't be any fights or arguements over who gets to go first in a game. All will be well, always. Not a bad place to grow up in. And one day, he will meet his mom and dad and all will be completely well for all of you.
For the time being, we will cry our tears, but on that glad day, we'll laugh and wonder why were were so depressed and downcast. Think of the enjoyment your son has. All the multiplied blessings he has now, and not only will you cease to be sad, you might begin to feel a smidge jealous. I know I am."
The congregation, including Hilde, Adelise Poirot and Virginie, chuckled heartily, through tears.
That night, what time he wasn't sure, Hercule felt movement in the bed. He woke long enough to see Virginie reaching for her dressing gown.
"Where are...?"
"Oh, Hercule. Go back to sleep, love. I can't sleep so I'm going to make myself a cup of tea. I won't be long."
Kissing the index finger of her right hand, Virginie tapped her husband on the nose. "Love you."
"Love you back. Are you sure you don't want ...?"
"Chances are, Hilde or Adelise is already down there, if not both of them. You have work tomorrow."
It didn't take much convincing. By the time Virginie was at the bedroom door, her husband was already asleep.
Heading for the stairs, Virginie glanced at the room which, not too long ago, had been her aunt's. It was more wrenching than she thought it would be: parting with so many of Madame Deroulard's belongings, with the exception of the high dresser that would keep baby clothes. Nappies and little socks and whatever else a baby would wear.
Approaching the door, almost against her will, Virginie Poirot turned the knob and opened the door to a flood-tide of memories. Even to the day that might have been the last time she expected to see the man who was now her husband.
How kind he had been to Madame; even as he informed he of what he knew and she pieced the rest of the story...of how SHE had laced her son's chocolates with the poison that killed him. Not long after Paul Deroulard killed his own wife. Whether it was an accident that she fell, or his ambitious cruelty that forced him to choose a career over his wife. Virginie preferred to believe it was an accident, even though she could never convince herself of it.
Madame knew, though. She knew a great many things about her son that her face spoke of, if not her voice. Her aunt was well aware of how and why her daughter-in-law, Marianne Deroulard died as well. Madame had been privvy to secrets, even if her daughter-in-law didn't say anything.
"I'm nearly BLIND, Paul. I'm not deaf! No where near it, in fact. You would do well to heed your wife's advice and not let blind ambition take your heart and mind to places it shouldn't go." Virginie recalled an uncomfortable dinner with the four...well, three, after Marianne excused herself halfway through the appetizer.
"Oh, for God's sake, mother!" Paul had curse. "You are living under my roof, Paul. I will thank you to NOT use the Lord's Name in vain! An odd irony, considering where you want to take this country. Taking God out of the conscience of government will not serve us well, Paul. I'm seeing as much evidence in you. I hear it in your tone and your words. You want power and position in the halls of Parliament and heaven help you, you will stop at nothing to get it."
"Step into the twentieth century, mother. This business of God and whatever other medieval superstitions you practice has no place in our time. You and Marianne and cousin Virginie, here; you women are welcome to keep your little views and values if it makes you happy. But my wife is trying to keep me from doing what I feel necessary to keep Belgium moving FORWARD. Left up to you ladies, we might as well be living in caves! Well, you're right about one thing, mother, I won't this stand in my way."
Paul Deroulard cast a cold, harsh glare at his mother and then at his cousin, Virginie. That same night, Marianne was dead after falling down a long flight of stairs. An incident that was easy enough to chalk up to an accident. Only because Madame's silence defended her son. A few weeks later, and Paul was found dead at his desk, having eaten the first layer of his favorite chocolates. This couldn't be put down to an accident.
Had Paul been diabetic, such foolishness, as eating half a box of chocolates might have been seen as a bizarre attempt at suicide. Only it wasn't the chocolate that killed him. It took Constable Hercule Poirot a week ...if that, to put the pieces together, and ONLY because he was blocked. When the case finally went to court, the ruling came back, "Poisoning , by person or persons unknown."
Virginie had to giggle to herself ; realizing that, had she got her way in court, and anyone else had handled the case, Madame Deroulard might have been hanged for what she did. And, try as he did, Constable Poirot couldn't make himself heard, either. Thank heaven for stubborn Chief Inspectors.
"Would you have gone to the concert with me, if I'd managed to re-open the case?" Virginie recalled her husband asking on the last night of their honeymoon, as they lay in each other's arms.
"Probably not," she'd confessed. "Then there are times when failure is the greater success. I gained a lot more."
"As did I."
The memory slowly faded, and Virginie found herself standing at the crib of the child they wouldn't see. Not here, anyway. Leaning into the crib, Virginie picked up the little blanket that was folded and set at the foot of the bed. Hilde had finished her gift first and gave it to Virginie ....two days before.....
Holding the crocheted blanket to her chest, Virginie walked over to the rocking chair and sat down. Inhaling the cleanness of it brought to mind a more recent memory, of when the blanket was presented to her after church, one Sunday when she went up to change out of her Sunday dress for something more casual and comfortable. She loved the idea of putting on 'baby weight' but it was more difficult to fit into clothes that used to be a bit loose. She was just about to leave the bedroom when Hilde knocked on the door.
"Come in!"
In her longtime family friend walked, taking her left hand from behind her back, she presented the receiving blanket.
"I debated giving it to you now. Thought maybe it would be better just before you went to the hospital. Then I thought, "Oh, why not? She'll get plenty of gifts. Don't let on that I told, but I know some of the ladies at church are throwing you a baby shower. The baby's room will be floor to ceiling in nappies, teeny socks, blankets and baby bottles. Heaven knows what all else! I wanted this to be the very first thing..."
"It's beautiful!" Virginie held it by the corners and admired it. Small and yet so detailed in workmanship. The crocheted blanket was a tiny patchwork of pink and blue. Hugging Hilde, the mom-to-be gazed at it a bit longer before folding it. "Hercule will love it. And I'm sure our little boy will sleep comfortably..." They walked to the baby's room where Virginie placed it at the foot of the crib. "Hope I remember to take it with me. I want this to be the first blanket our little boy is snuggled in.
"You sound so sure the baby will be a boy. They do come in two sexes you know. I hope your husband is aware of that fact."
"Hercule is well aware of it. He wants a girl. A little me. I want a little him."
"Boy or girl; lad or lass, that's a blessed baby to have such good parents. Just remember to be thankful for a healthy wee one."
We will be. I just can't help but wonder what my husband would look like, as a baby."
"Have you considered how many little ones you want?"
Virginie shook her head. "I think we'll take it as it comes. I'm nervous enough thinking about this one." Virginie caressed her the bulging middle and felt flutters of life. "There are a million things to think about with a new baby. I don't want to do anything wrong."
"Darlin' you'll do fine. Most of it is good old fashioned common sense. The rest will be taught. If you know which end to feed and which end needs the nappy, you're ahead of the game."
"I want to be a good mother."
"And you will be. You love this baby and you love your husband. You will do them both proud."
"God help me, I hope so. "
"He will help you." Hilde assured the young mother to be.
The voice of assurance seemed a long way off as the recollection faded, and Virginie found herself alone, in the room of the child she longed for, so desperately, her arms ached to hold him. More than that, though, were the doubts she was ashamed to share with her husband. He was angry at God for this loss. Maybe even angry at her?
Clutching the blanket to her chest, Virginie leaned back in the rocker and prayed, quietly. "I have wanted to be strong for my husband, who is so hurt, but I don't understand this anymore than he does. Is it that we have done something wrong? We weren't ready? If that's the case, then why did you give us this child, only to take him away from us?"
She sniffled, wiping her tears on the baby blanket.
"I want to try to make sense of this but nothing is happening. I think about what Father Moran said about our little boy being happy in heaven and I'm sure that's true. But why give something so precious to someone, only to take it away,; knowing how much we wanted this child. As scared as I was, I would have taken good care of our son. Please, my Father, help me understand."
Virginie felt the tears run down her cheeks and didn't try to stop them. She held the baby blanket and closed her eyes; trying to imagine what the little boy would look like. How he would sound when he cried or giggled. She wanted to pray for another opportunity, and do it right. Not just yet, though. It was just too soon. It would happen when it happened. And when it did, she'd plead and pray as many Rosaries as it took to get her through the pregnancy so that she and Hercule could look down at the sleeping infant in the now-bereft crib.
"Virginie?" The soft voice came directly upon a soft rap at the door.
By the time she turned her attention to the voice, her husband was approaching her. Crouching before her, Hercule whispered, "Are you alright?"
Virginie drew a long sigh. "I am now. I just needed some time alone. To pray. To ask...." She sighed again and cleared her throat. "Am I wrong, Hercule?"
"About what?"
"Asking God WHY? I mean...I got angry at you when you insisted on knowing why God allowed this. And now, here I am. Hypocritical."
Standing straight up, Poirot took Virginie's hand and encouraged her to rise from the chair. "No, dearest. Not hypocritical. Confused. You need answers, and yet, you feel guilty for insisting on knowing. As do I. "
"I realized God, He is not angry at us for needing to know."
"When will we stop asking?" Virginie asked ; watching her husband's eyes as he lifted her hand to his lips.
Poirot shrugged, at a loss for words. "Let's go to bed."
The couple took one last look at the empty nursery a blink before the light was turned off and the door closed.
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