Now and Forever~Chapter 15 😢~The Most Bitter Pill~💊




  By the time Virginie and Hilde arrived home from church,  it was early evening. The women were in better spirits than when they left.  More calm at least.
"I didn't plan on anything big for dinner but I can...."   Hilde began to say, hanging up her shawl.   Virginie interrupted her with a simple shake of her head.
"I'm going up to bed. I'm sure Hercule's already had something but I'll ask."  Virginie was hardly two stairs up when she stopped and called over the banister to  Hilde. "Thank you for coming to church with me and letting me cry on your shoulder."
"I cried on yours as much,"  Hilde patted Virginie's hand.   "Not to worry, dearest girl. You have me and your Hercule."
Virginie was tempted to say,  "And God."   However, after narrowly averting a skirmish with Hilde at church,  she was in no hurry to start another debate.  Especially when Virginie, herself,  wasn't sure how she felt.
"Goodnight Hilde.  Thanks again."   Virginie headed upstairs and was on the way to her bedroom when she stopped short in front of the door of the bedroom she once had,  a whole lifetime past.  In that room, her own bed was as it was,  the last day of her life before she married Hercule.
Walking in, she noticed, with a smile, that the room was relative free of the musty smell a room got, when it was unused,  and realized, upon sitting at her dressing table, she saw that there was only the thinnest layer of dust.  As if it missed only a week of dusting.  Hilde.  For some bizarre reason,  Virginie avoided this room since she and Hercule returned from their honeymoon.   Right this minute, she would have given just about anything to go back to that day....the morning of her wedding, where she and her aunt talked, as woman to woman.
On days previous,  the older woman spoke, with surprising candor, about the differences between personal respect between people,  and intimate love between a man and a woman.  And how she, as a woman of a different time, was expected to marry.   On the day of Virginie's own wedding,  she recalled the smile on the matriarch's face.
"You love him,"  Madame Deroulard had declared.  The very sentiment echoed when she and Hercule returned home from their honeymoon.
"I love him!"  Virginie replied to the memory, and felt a familiar lump in her throat. "Oh, auntie!  I don't want Hercule to walk away from God because....."   She stopped short and glanced around the room.  It was empty.   Drying her tear-stained face with the sleeves of her blouse, Virginie just about flew from the room and headed to the bedroom she shared with her husband.  Stopping short,  she put her hand on the knob and slowly opened the door to find Hercule in bed,  holding her pillow, even as his head rested on his own.
Drawing a steadying breath,  Virginie went to their bed, gently removed her pillow to where she could use it, and settled in beside her husband;  letting his arm drape over her, as he had held the pillow,  she kissed it. He stirred and his eyes slowly opened.
"Virginie?"
"Yes, love.  Sorry to wake you."
"What time is it?"
She lifted her head to peek at the clock on her husband's bedside table. "Ten minutes before eight.  Hilde and I just got home from church.  Have you eaten?"
"Not since lunch, but that was big, and I'm not hungry.  I did the lunch dishes and came to bed."
"You must've been pretty tired. You didn't even change into your bed clothes. Get into your pajamas and...." She was stopped by the sound of low rumbling thunder in the distance and she smiled.  "It's going to rain."
"Why does that make you smile?"
Virginie rubbed her own nose to Hercule's.  "Silly. Don't you remember our wedding night? We barely got into the door of the inn."
"You told me..."  he said, a smile of fond recollection shining in his eyes.  "you told me you weren't afraid of the thunder because I would keep you safe."
"That's right. It was true then. And it's true now."
The smile faded and Hercule Poirot's vivid brown eyes filled with tears that spilled down his cheeks. "I could not  protect you from what ...."
"And you didn't keep the rain from coming, either, dear heart.   Sometimes love doesn't mean keeping us from the storms, but also  through the storms.  I trust you for that."  Virginie kissed the salty tears from her husband's cheeks as the rumbles of thunder grew closer.
"You know what I want? to do?"  Virginie said, sitting up. "I want to lie in our bed with you, as husband and wife, the way we did, on the first night we were married.  I want to forget about ....illness for a night and deal with life, as we do any other time;  just...day by day.  Because one day, you're going to wish you had taken this opportunity. I'm not going to let you miss it because I don't want to miss out on it."
"I'm just trying to make sense of why...?"
"Don't!" Virginie insisted. "Life is full of so many things that don't make sense."
"I thought that believing, trusting in God,  it would keep us ...safe from...what's happening.  But it hasn't. So why do we bother?"
"Because there is more to LIFE than now, Hercule!   Remember what we promised each other on our wedding day?  Now and FOR-E-VER.  Do you believe in the forever part, my love, because  I do. I believe that I'm going to see our son and you'll be there, too, in time.  For now, though...for right now, I just want to be with you.  We will deal with the rest like we deal with life any other time; as it comes."
Poirot wanted to argue about a child needing his father;  an opportunity he didn't have. Suddenly, the words were gone and he wanted, right then and there, to be with the woman he loved.
Leaving the bed, he went into the connecting bathroom to change.  By the time he opened the door to their bedroom, minutes later,  Virginie was sitting on their bed, with its bedspread turned to one side.  She was wearing the evening gown she wore on their first night with her hair pinned up . The window was opened a fraction, to allow the sound and fragrance of the rain to waft in.  Presently, it was tapping at the window, but the pace of those taps was becoming steadier.
"You're wearing the same robe you wore on our wedding night."
"And you're wearing the same gown."
"Let's begin from tonight, Hercule. Let right now be enough."
He didn't understand this idea, completely,  if at all.  At the moment, however, he didn't care.  He loved this woman.  For the time being, that would have to be enough.
That night,  as on the first night they shared, the rhythm of the rain was music that guided their love-making.  As if by magic,  the tragedy of the last months was forgotten and yet, not. Tragedy and pleasure bound them.  As ...exquisite as their first time was, there was an added dimension to their intimacy that couldn't exist on their first night simply because of time and all that had happened between their honeymoon and this night.  Fond memories and tears that were shared. Everyday moments not even thought of gained a special significance as much as each touch, sensation and kiss they savored and lived in.
As with their first night, husband and wife celebrated the after-glow of their pleasure in each other's arms, listening to the pattering rain until they dozed off.

                                                                     ~~~~~~~~~~
In the days and weeks that followed Dr. Doyle's dire prognosis,  little,  if any change was seen or felt.  Poirot was long since back at work, making Brussels Belgium a safe place for its citizens.  Poirot forgot, or chose to forget why he didn't want to go to church.  Virginie was well and so that was good enough.  He would pray silent prayers that his beloved would remain in good health,  or better yet, that the doctor's prognosis could be, altogether,  drastically wrong.  In which case Poirot decided he would easily forgive the man.
Hardly a week later,  so much would change.
Hercule arrived home, just before dinner;  happy to see his family and rejoicing to declare,  "A good friend,  Constable Miechelle,  he requested a change of schedule with me. He wants to work my shifts this weekend so that he can have two days free for the event de le famile.  His parents' fiftieth anniversary that is next week. Two days. His is a large family, coming in from all round.  In any case, I have the weekend to relax and attend church with you fine ladies!"
Hercule kissed his wife as she set the table.  "That IS good news, love!"   Virginie pecked her husband on the nose. "Hope you're in the mood for some international cuisine.  Hilde and I have worked most of the afternoon ...okay, Hilde worked most of the afternoon on Spaghetti Casserole,  whilst I did most of the housework."  She surveyed the front window and shook her head,  "I thought about tackling the inside window and it just wouldn't go.  I'll have to hire someone to do the inside and outside. Because once you do the inside you have to do the outside, and we don't have that sort of ladder."
"Are you alright,  Virginie?  You seem tired?"
"Probably am, from all the trapsing I've been doing, up and down the stairs.  I'd think I remembered to do everything and then I'd remembered what I forgot to do."  She shrugged the matter off but her husband was not so easily placated.  Hercule was about to speak up when Hilde walked in from the kitchen.  "Dinner's nearly ready.  You two get washed up."
"I hear dinner is to be the international affair,"  Poirot asked Hilde. "Are we having Italian white or red wine?"
"Only if you use your imagination and pretend tap water on ice is white wine.  Last thing I need is to get into trouble when you can't make it to work, for the hangover."
"I thought it was red wine with pasta?"  Virginie wondered.
"I don't go by rules, love.  If I like it,  I'll have it."   Hilde said. "Now scoot or we'll be having dried over casserole and you can't blame me for that."
"Race ya!"  Virginie teased, heading for the stairs while the musical dare still rung in her husband's ears.  The Mrs Poirot was half way up the stairs with her husband about to catch up,  when she stopped short, moaned low and took a long breath.
"Virginie, love?  What is the matter?"  Stupid question.  Hercule realized that as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
"Oh, Hercule. I didn't realize you were behind me. I'm okay.  Just out of shape I guess. All those hospital stays.  Pampering will get a girl out of shape when there's someone else doing for you."  She stood to one side of the step she was on. "You go ahead. I'll catch you up."
But Poirot had no intention on passing his wife.  Especially when he heard the pained discomfort in her voice that  she thought she had successfully hid.  And even if she had succeeded in hiding the pain from her voice,  her face made plain the evidence that there was something very wrong.  The beautiful smile and lovely eyes were covered by a paleness he did not want to see.
"Come on, I am going to take you to our bed. I will bring up to  you the dinn..."
"NO."  Virginie declared before her voice lowered,   "Hercule, love. I know what is happening and that is exactly why I do not wish to waste what good days that remain.  I promise to go to bed right after and get some rest.  Please allow ...."
Poirot quickly acquiesced and walked  no more than two steps behind his wife for the rest of the trip.  "You use the bathroom first, Virginie. I have to change out of my work clothes."
By the time it was Hercule's turn in the washroom,  he was able to check for evidence of what had been nagging at him for more than a few days.  The medication Virginie's doctor prescribed after her last hospital stay,  was being used.
The last few nights, late enough so that she assumed he would be asleep, she would carefully leave her bed for the bathroom and take a pill with a glass of water and then quietly return to bed.  If she suspected he was awake, she would fib, "I was just thirsty, love."   And yet she accepted her husband's embrace with more than mere romantic intent.
Over dinner,  which was more agreeable than Poirot was anticipating.  Virginie sang the praises of the layering of the casserole which persuaded her to eat a vegetable she didn't usually care for.  All the same, she didn't eat much.  Half the meal was still on the plate by the time dinner was finished, and she turned down dessert of Cherry pie with coffee.  "I'm sorry, Hilde.  Dinner was delicious but I'm just....tired."
As a general rule, Hilde didn't care to see food left on plates, by the time a meal was finished. In this case, however, there wasn't the first hint of rebuke in her reply,   "You've worked hard today, sweetie. I shouldn't wonder why you're worn. No matter.   If you get peckish tonight, you can enjoy the pie as a midnight snack."
"That you can be sure of!"  Virginie replied with a confident smile as she rose from the table. Setting the cutlery on the half empty plate, and picking up the water glass, she politely turned down her husband's offer to take the plate for her.  "I'll do it,  love. It's okay."
Poirot acceded and merely stood out of politeness as his wife left the table.  A glance in Hilde's direction told him that she was as aware of the situation as he was.   Neither of them had to say a word, and neither would have,  for fear they would only confirm the other's fears.
"Virginie tells the truth, Hilde,"  Hercule began to say, upon finishing a forkful of the casserole.  "I did not know spaghetti could.."
His words were cut off by a crash from the kitchen.  Both were out of their chairs and in the kitchen in barely a blink;  finding Virginie crouching in the middle of the room, moaning and nearly weeping.  On the floor,  her broken water glass,  and the remainder of her dinner on the floor.
"I made a mess!"  she wept.  "I'm sorry, Hilde!"
"Never mind that! I'm calling an ambulance."  Hilde made a beeline for the phone as Virginie's husband set a chair behind his wife and slowly guided her wife into the chair.
"No, Hilde!"  Virginie pleaded through a spasm of pain that she groaned through. "I took a pill before I came down for dinner. It's just beginning to kick in. Maybe I should have listened to my dear husband and taken dinner in bed. Apologies, Hercule. You ..." she was cut off by another stab of pain and she gripped her husband's hands.   Thankfully, it ebbed quicker and Virginie finished what she started to say as she sat a bit straighter in the chair. "Sorry, love" Virginie found reason to giggle.  "First, I don't listen to your advice. Now I'm squeezing your hands off."
"Don't worry about my hands, Virginie. Squeeze as hard as you have to."  Hercule raised his wife's right hand to his lips and kissed it, even as his vivid brown eyes met hers.
"I hope I don't make you regret that sacrifice. You do need your hands in your job, you know."
With the pain abating,  Virginie recalled what she began to say to Hilde, who had since moved from the phone to get the broom to clean up the mess, even as Poirot seemed almost oblivious to the mingled confusion of food and broken glassware.  "Please, dear,  don't call the ambulance. Not yet.  If it gets worse, I'll let you know.  It's just that I barely got home from my last stay and  I don't want to go back anytime soon. Nice as the staff are, the very idea of looking at a white room makes me sick.  If you would just let me go to bed, I promise I'll stay there when I'm not feeling well so I don't break anymore dishes."
A few minutes later,  Poirot walked his wife up the stairs and to their bed.  Once she was settled in, dressed in her evening clothes,  Poirot got assurance that his beloved was comfortable before he left the bedroom.  "Do you need another tablet?"
"Oh no, love. The one I took before dinner  is having its desired affect."  Virginie said, sounding like she was half asleep as she spoke.  "It takes time , but when it gets to work, it works."
"You sound tired",  Hercule said,  hoping that 'tired'  was all she was and not worn from pain.
"Hm hmmm",  she hummed with a contented smile. "Night, love."
Hercule found a reason to smile. "Goodnight, my love."   Bending over,   he kissed the crown of his wife's head.
By the time Virginie's husband reached bedroom door and glanced back, Virginie was sound asleep.

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