Virginie slept into the night. However, by the middle of the night, she was awakened by acute pains that came in progressively closer waves, even after taking the medication Poirot brought to her, with a glass of water. A little over an hour later, she was asleep again. As she dozed off, Virginie murmured, in a one-word mantra; "Pray, Hercule. Pray. Please pray."
He couldn't bring himself to pray. Gazing down at the woman he loved more than his own life, it made NO sense to Hercule Poirot that God could have a single justification for hurting her. Not like this! And what he expected to see in the foreseeable future was not likely to soften his position.
In the space of a mere week, Virginie's apetite waned to just about nothing. Hilde could get her to take soup, but only a few spoons full, and that was only because Hilde made it. "I want to eat your stew all day," the young woman said as she sat up in bed; a feat managed by Hilde's arranging her two pillows. "I'm just too tired to eat."
"That's okay, sweetie. Maybe this will help to restore a bit of your vitality. Going into her apron pouch, Hilde pulled out a chocolate bar and handed it to Virginie. "You don't have to eat it all. Just a piece when you feel like it. That should help. Heaven knows, all I have to do is LOOK at chocolate and I put on five pounds."
Virginie Poirot smiled before wincing in pain. "I wonder," she whispered until the pain ebbed. "do you think my husband would bring home one of those chocolate cakes from our favorite bakery if I asked nice."
"My dear, your husband would bring you home the moon if you thought it was made of cheese. I'll call his precinct...."
"No. Let me. If you call, he might panic and think... " Virginie looked to the phone on her husband's end table. It had been installed when she got too sick to come down to dinner, while refusing to go to the hospital. Hilde set the phone in Virginie's lap and she placed the call to her husband's precinct and was surprised to talk to him.
"No, no. love. I'm fine. Hilde and I are just talking. She brought me a bar of chocolate and that got me thinking....if you can, would you bring home one of those lovely cakes from the bakery? I ...I did. A bit. But chocolate puts weight on faster and I don't have to chew. The less work I have to do..."
Hilde didn't hear what Poirot said, but it tickled Virgine so that was enough. "Thank you, love."
She set the receiver down and Hilde replaced the phone onto the bedside table. "What did Hercule say to get you giggling?"
"Only that I'm putting up a lot of fuss to get out of washing the windows."
Hilde's eyes became wide with shock but Virginie prevented an angry tirade. "No, Hilde. Don't be angry. You did not hear my husband's voice. He teased in hope that this would be nothing more than a ploy. And believe me, I would love nothing more than to..." Virginie pursed her lips from another stab of pain. It's residual pain took its time subsiding.
"I do wish you would let me call an ambulance, or at least have Dr. Doyle come over."
Virginie waited for the spasm of pain to pass before answering in what was as good as admission; "Tomorrow, perhaps. I just asked my good husband to bring home chocolate cake from our favorite bakery. Oh why, dear Hilde, would I trade the most delicious chocolate cake in Belgium if not all of Europe, for hospital food? Much as I don't mind apple sauce, I wouldn't trade chocolate cake for something I can buy or make any old time." Virginie paused and closed her eyes, and Hilde went for her pills, which were now on her bedside table, but she was stopped by a brief giggle which sounded as if it came with effort.
"No, no, darling. I'm okay. Just....thinking. I do want us all to enjoy a meal together...maybe dinner up here. Like a picnic. You did that for me in the hospital. This time, it will be in my bed. I want to....remember ...take in all of this. You. This room. Even the fragrance of my husband's pillow. And the ....heavenly taste of that cake."
"I could make...."
"Yes you could, and it would rival the flavor of that bakery. IF they knew how you could back, good lady, they'd snatch you away from me".
Sighing, in an effort to keep her tears at bay, the plump, middle aged Hilde chuckled, "Let them try! Since the kids were up and out of the house, my joy has been to make a home for you and your Hercule. Before you, Madame".
"Don't you want to retire at all? Just go somewhere to relax and let someone else worry about kitchens and house work? You have the money my aunt left you".
Hilde only shrugged. "I think about it. Just getting up, ordering room service and reading or working on quilts with my group of gossipy gals from the church. I think I would go OUT OF MY MIND inside of a month".
Virginie's giggle was a bit more hearty. "As would I. I do want to help you around the house. I just lack ...."
"You never mind about all of that. If it will do you any good at all, then you lie there and eat chocolate cake until your doctor's biggest complaint is your waistline. Anyway, Hercule informed me that Adelise is coming in by train. Her mother-in-law is helping with the two kids but she's bringing the youngest".
Virginie only nodded. "Hercule did mention that. It would be nice to see Addie again. I've only seen pictures of her children, as has Hercule, Maybe....a while later, he can move closer to his sister, brother-in-law and the kids".
Hilde couldn't help but notice that the young woman left herself out of the equation, and corrected her, even knowing the reason why. "I think a trip out of the city is exactly what the pair of you need".
Virginie didn't argue. Instead, she hinted that she needed to rest. "You take a nap, too, dear Hilde. The way you and Hercule have been fussing over me, you need to rest. If I need you, I'll ring that little bell your got from our ....Christmas ornaments. So cute." She pointed to the little bell with the red and green ribbon on the handle.
"That bell's been in this family since.....forever! I think Paul was a boy when Madame's husband bought it for her".
"She did tell me the story behind it. Told me every year since I'd moved in. Paul got ....." Virginie couldn't prevent a cry of pain from escaping and accepted the pill from Hilde, with fresh water from a metal pitcher into a glass. When the wave of pain passed, Virginie finished the story she was telling; hardly skipping a beat. "Paul got tired of hearing it. He never did have the greatest relationship with his father. He and Madame would get into some loud arguments over it. What he didn't see was that he was treating his wife the same way Monsieur Deroulard's husband treated her. I am so blessed to have Hercule. I wish I could have met ....his ...parents".
"Enough with all that. You're falling asleep as you talk. Get some sleep and I'll work on dinner. By the time Hercule gets home with your bakery cake, you'll float downstairs with the fragrance".
"That sounds lovely". Virginie replied, half out of it already with the affects of the medication. "G'night, Hilde."
"Good night my dear", Hilde replied as she closed the door behind her. It was hardly after one in the afternoon.
On the way downstairs with the tray of hardly finished soup, Hilde sniffled. Upon emptying the contents down the kitchen sink, Hilde gave way to a loud sob. Taking the tea-towel from the refrigerator door, she sat at the small kitchen table and sobbed until her throat was dry and her tears had run out. Then, going into the sitting room, she put a record on the Victrola and played music as she prepared dinner.
~~~~~
Dinner was a somewhat more pleasant meal. As per request, Hilde did put together a picnic basket of the evening meal; chicken pot pie , the pastry for which had been prepared the previous weekend. She brought up the picnic basket while Hercule brought up the cake and coffee on the tray.
They found Virginie reading her little pocket Bible with a magnifying glass. To Hercule and Hilde's delight, Virginie finished almost all of the pot pie on her plate. It wasn't a big helping but it was more substantial than she'd eaten for most of the week. Dessert, of course, was a triumph. And Hilde could not help but joke, "I see. You LIKE my dinner but you much prefer dessert".
"If you could combine chicken pot pie and chocolate cake...."
Both Hilde and Virginie's husband cringed at the very thought and everyone laughed.
After dinner was over, Hilde helped Virginie into a new bed dress as virginie called it. "Tomorrow, I will change the bedding", the older woman said, hiding the alarm of how much weight Virginie had lost in such a short time. "Damn disease!" Hilde mumbled under her breath as the brought Virginie's used bed dress into the laundry hamper in the bathroom.
"Dear Hilde! I want you to promise me something", Virginie said with a tone of firm insistence in her voice, as she got under the covers. "When all of this illness mess is over, you will take a holiday. Anywhere you want. Just go. Be lazy. Let someone serve you breakfast in bed, or on a balcony. Go to Paris and look at the Eiffel Tower from your balcony, as you dip strawberries into chocolate and whipped cream and drink the richest coffee you ever had! Promise me you'll do that, or something like it. You have been an absolute saint to put up with me and all this...." Virginie sniffled. "I hate this! I hate feeling ....helpless. Too weak to go downstairs for meals. Too tired to even eat!"
"You did good at dinner time," Hilde reminded her.
"I love your cooking even more than I loved that chocolate cake Hercule brought home. And I do love you, dear Hilde. Don't ever forget that."
"That medication is making your wonky," Hilde declared with tears in her voice. "But for all it's worth, darlin, I love you, too. You're a daughter to me, without the teenage aggravations."
"I'm amazed Madame never told you some of the ..."
"Oh, stop," Hilde had to laugh. "You have been a good help to her. And you did what she most wanted, you married the man you loved, rather than the man who would give you status. She was most happy about. Relieved. She let herself go after she knew you were safe and happy." Hilde said, sitting on the side of the bed.
"I only wish I could have made Hercule happy with the child we both wanted."
"You did. The rest was not your fault! So don't go blaming yourself!"
"I'm not. Not completely. I just wish I understood why. I want to assure my husband and plead with him NOT to lose faith, but I'm not even sure how I feel right now."
Getting up from the bed, Hilde went to the window to the right of the wardrobe closet. "Nor am I, if we have to be honest. NONE of this makes any sense. But then, I look at the alternatives, like telling God to jump in the lake while I figure things out on my own and I'm not sure I want to do that. Maybe, like a good detective, He has it all sorted while we're still trying to figure the how, let alone the WHY. And I'm not sure I want to tell off the one 'person' who can make sense of it."
Virginie nodded in agreement. "We do live in a fallen world, and that's humanity's doing. But all of that is so ....abstract. I want to know "WHY ME? What did I do?! But then I think....why not me? What did I do that was so good that I'm entitled to be spared the harsher things in life? Hercule tells me stories of people who don't want the very kids we were deprived of and I cannot make sense of any of it."
"Be honest with your husband, Virginie. You don't have to be brave all the time. Tell Hercule you're hurt and angry, too. That way he doesn't feel like he has to be brave."
The conversation was interrupted by a soft knocking at the door. "Are you ladies decent?"
"Never!" Hilde declared. "But come in anyway."
He saw Hilde at the window and Virginie in fresh bed clothes, brushing her hair. Even with the dramatic loss of weight, her eyes, her smile were still something that drew him like the proverbial moth to the flame. Hilde excused herself right after Virginie called to her, "Remember what you promised!"
"I will do. Promise." the woman's smile was sincere but brief.
"Hilde, I did, for you, the dishes. They are on the drainer."
Hilde kissed Virginie's husband on the cheek. "Thank you and have a good night."
"What did you promise?" Hercule inquired as he took his pajamas from the hood of the hope chest at the foot of the bed and made his way to the bathroom.
Virginie sounded as light and optimistic as she could, "Only that Hilde would take some time away as soon as all this...fuss was over. Poor dear's been run ragged! I recommended Paris. A nice hotel or villa where she could look out on the Eiffel Tower when she was enjoying her breakfast. It's high time she let someone else serve her."
As he dressed for bed, Poirot could hear water being poured from the metal pitcher and a dull thud of the pitcher being replaced.
Opening the bathroom door a crack, Poirot asked, "Are you alright, Virginie?"
"Yes, love. I just needed to get a bit of water. I can't believe how heavy that thing is! I'm amazed I didn't spill anything."
Upon finishing his own bedtime rituals, Poirot asked if Virginie needed any help getting to the bathroom.
"Oh no. Hilde helped me see to all of that. Thank you, though."
Poirot nodded and closed the light in the bathroom before getting into bed next to his wife, who cuddled up to him. "Hercule, I have an apology to make," Virginie playfully tapped her husband's nose to lighten the on-coming mood. "Lately, when things began to get...bad for me, you tried to express your hurt, but I wouldn't let you. I acted as if I understood and accepted everything and so you felt forced to act brave for me. In truth, love, I am not brave. I am angry and scared and I feel..." she searched for the word that would best fit. "BETRAYED. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's how I feel!" Virginie sighed to calm herself and hold back the tears, which came in spite of her best efforts. "I don't understand any of this. I can't make sense out of it! When you skipped going to church last Sunday, I tried to put up an argument as to why you should go, but I couldn't think of anything, so I just let you win and we slept in."
Poirot couldn't help but chuckle. "You LET me win?"
"I can be a very persuasive arguer, Hercule Poirot, and you know it."
"I do know it." he conceded, kissing the crown of her head. "And I also know that I do NOT want be this angry and ....resolute in my anger. I want answers. But I ask. I do pray, my love. When I wake in the morning, before I leave our bed, I ask Le mon Dieur for answers. And I am even polite. So far, I have ....nothing and I do not know how to interpret the silence. Perhaps it means that we need to wait or ...."
"Or...?" Virginie asked.
Poirot, regretting having opened the theological can of worms, brushed off the issue. Just as well, since Virginie had become too tired to insist her husband finish what he wanted to say. Kissing his wife on the crown of her head, caressing her hair, Hercule Poirot prayed in a whisper, "God, if You do exist, spare her! There is no reason for this illness. No just cause. If my wife, she is not spared, I will know that I am pleading with NO ONE and dismiss you for the myth you are."
~~~~
Little over a day later, Virginie woke her husband in the middle of the night with tearful pleadings for his help that consisted of three words, "Help Hercule!" and "Pain!"The very first thing Poirot did was call for an ambulance. After which,he rushed to his wife's side of the bed and got her to take her medication and supported Virginie's head so she could wash the pill down with water. The pill made her tired, but did little to stem the pain.
He was just about to put on his bath robe on when a knock at the door pre-empted the necessity. Opening the door, he was faced with not one but two faces; Hilde's and his sister, Adelise, who had arrived a day earlier, with her daughter. The sight of the two cheered Virginie considerably and they played card games and drew on paper Adelise brought with her. And, for the second day in a row, Virginie ate at least half the food on her plate. Apart from the pill she took before bed, Poirot's ailing love seemed almost healthy. That she might, please GOD, be turning a corner in the right direction. And now, mere hours away, she was weeping in pain.
"We heard whim....that is, I heard whimpering and just about ran over your sister, who was on her way to my room. What...?"
"Virginie," Poirot got the words out. "I have called for an ambulance."
"Do you want me to wait downstairs?" Adelise asked.
Her brother, just about white-faced with panic, could only nod.
Adelise held her brother's hand briefly and told him, "I will pray for her."
Poirot didn't want to give voice to the anger he was feeling and only nodded and managed a weak-voiced, "Merci,"
In a blink, his sister was out of the room and down the stairs. When he turned to get dressed, he found his wife being rocked in the arms of her long-time friend, Hilde, who recited the twenty-third Psalm. This stopped Virginie's weeping, but now Hilde was crying silent tears. She did not wish to wake the dear girl from the fitful sleep she was just now slipping into.
"You ga...gave her the medication?" Hilde managed to say.
"Yes!" Poirot insisted. "But I fear it no longer works as it once did."
By the time Hercule was dressed, he could hear the voice of his sister and the rapid footsteps of ambulance attendants ascending the staircase. Exiting the bathroom, Poirot met the men at the door and gave them the half empty bottle of pain medication; explaining things to them as if he was talking about someone else. Poirot felt almost detached from the crisis taking place before his very eyes.
"May I ride with her, gentlemen?" Poirot asked.
The attendant taking Virginie's pulse glanced at the other, who was unfolding the canvass stretcher and setting it on the bed. The other attendant nodded and Hilde told Poirot she would get dressed and accompany him to the hospital in her car.
Poirot just about decided that he should ride with Hilde but she protested, "Nonsense. Your place is with your wife. You go with her."
"Hilde is right, Hercule." Adelise added and Poirot went to embrace her.
"How foolish of me, dearest! You have been a multiplied blessing to us. You may come with us, but who....?"
"I was about to say, little brother. I have a child to take care of. Hilde volunteered to stay but in a strange environment, Clairese would not be calmed. You just call to let me know when the crisis has passed."
It was an odd thing to say since both knew it was unlikely Virginie would even be returning home, barring a miracle. Still, Poirot nodded and hugged his sister and then raced down the stairs to open the door for the attendants, who carried the stretcher with his wife with utmost care.
The ride to the hospital took just shy of an eternity. On the way, Poirot pleaded with the attendant to give his wife something to ease the pain that was etched on her pale complexion.
"I cannot do that, Monsieur Poirot. You said that you had already given your wife a pill before we arrived. To give her anymore would do more harm than it would do good."
A minute or so before the ambulance turned into the emergency entrance of the hospital, Poirot felt a squeeze on his hand and was amazed to see a smile on his wife's face. Even as much as the cancer had taken from her, in such a brief time, he lived for that smile. "What is it, love?"
"Michael, love. I'm going to see Michael." Her voice was just above a whisper but both men heard her.
The attendant glanced at Poirot, who could not hold bad tears.
"Michael?"
"Our son. After he died, we learned of the....illness."
As soon as the ambulance came to a stop, both attendants were at the helm. First, helping Poirot out of the ambulance and then taking the stretcher, from both ends, and loading it onto a waiting girney that went through the hospital doors. From that moment on, everything went in waves of dizzying speed and yet slower than slow motion. Poirot went to the front desk and gave his name, his wife's name and her physician's name.
The woman, in the regulation uniform nodded in sympathy and Poirot realized he'd seen her on a past visit, though her name escaped him.
"Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, Monsieur Poirot?"
"No. No merci. Will the doctor give to Virginie something for the pain?"
"I'm sure he will. I'll let you know when you can see her. It shouldn't be too long."
Finding a chair in the waiting area, Poirot saw a few people in states of semi-comfortable sleep while they, too, waited news. Once upon a time, he wondered how people could sleep when they knew a loved one was in surgery or in some sort of discomfort. Now he understood. The physical and emotional toll on a person waiting for news necessitated the escape, if only for a short time.
~~~~
"Michael?" A voice jolted Hercule Poirot , who woke to find Hilde standing over him, holding a pillow. He apologized for startling her and accepted the pillow she offered."What time is it?"
"Just after five in the morning. The nurse at the front desk gave this to me for you." Hilde said, taking the seat next to Hercule. "Have you heard anything yet?"
Poirot shook his head. Then, in a sudden realization, he cursed and promptly apologized. "I need to call the precinct...."
"I'll do that. There's a phone in the main entry."
"Thank you, dear Hilde. You have been a saint to put up with me these days."
"I'll quote you on that."
She headed up the hall to where she saw the phone. It was a difficult call to make, even though Hercule's colleagues were aware of the situation.
By the time she rang off, Hilde was assured that Poirot's fellow officers would do what they could for him.
"Thank you. I will pass along the good wishes."
By the time she returned, to the lounge, she was relieved to see a man in a lab coat. It wasn't Dr. Doyle but a physician well acquainted with the case. She approached and apologized for the interruption. "I called your precinct. The night officer will pass the word and you have the good wishes of your colleagues."
"Merci beaucoup. Hide, this is doctor Ari Schindler."
"Hello," Dr. Schindler shook the woman's hand. "How about we go to my office. It's private there."
Dr. Schindler's office, a few doors down from Dr. Doyle's, was a little bigger. "I'd offer coffee but my receptionist isn't here yet and my coffee could land you in the hospital as a patient."
Hilde managed a brief smile but it was clear that Poirot was in no state of mind for humor, however well-intended. "I'm afraid, Monsieur Poirot, Madame, that Virginie is in an advanced stage of the ...Cancer. You knew this was coming."
"It isn't any easier for the knowing," Hercule replied and, again, apologized for the anger.
"That's alright, Monsieur Poirot. I completely understand. I have had to deliver bad news of this sort any number of times. It doesn't get any easier. I've had my desk over turned a couple of times. Been told to take back my tragic prognosis at gun-point once. A harsh tone is the least of either of our problems I think. In any case, your wife is on the fifth floor in Palliative Care. We have her on an intravenous morphine drip so she will be a bit...wonky, but I believe she'll know you're there."
Clearing his throat once and then once more, Poirot found the words, "How long does...?"
"That's not easy to say, Monsieur Poirot. However, I would put it at days. I don't want to put a number on it because we've been proven wrong one way or the other." The doctor stood up from behind his desk, "I'll take you up now."
The floor, though somber, had a soft feel to it. The walls were not institutional white but had murals along the walls. White, fluffy clouds that spoke of comfort. Blue skies. Rainbows. Rivers. One brief hall lead to a chapel had the words to the 23rd Psalm in calligraphy that ran like a brook. To one side of the Biblical brook was a grassy hill where two people sat under an apple tree. Utter contentment.
"See? It is not all gloom and sadness, Monsieur Poirot. For now, some, but not forever."
Recalling the words he and Virginie declared on their wedding day, (Now and FOREVER) Hercule Poirot clung to those words like a drowning man, having found a life raft.
At the door of Virginie's room, the numbers were painted by little angels. 👼Room 21 👼 "Why do you not go in first, Hilde. I need a few minutes to ...to think." He nodded in the direction of the chapel. "Doctor, is the chapel open?"
"Always. The pastors here are just about staff. They change every eight hours. In a way, they may even have the more difficult job. People have very difficult questions."
Poirot nodded, "I know."
"I'll leave you then," Doctor Schindler said. "Unless there are any other questions."
With negative replies from both, the physician bid them farewell, and Hilde asked Virginie's husband, once more. "Are you sure you don't want ..."
"No. You first. Please, Hilde."
It dawned on the older woman, then. They had their own reasons for needing to see Virginie on their own. Hilde very nearly raised the girl. She had her observations from years gone by. And Hercule would have his own moments as a husband remembers with his wife. She nodded her understanding and opened the door to the room. Poirot heard her say, "Hello, Virginie, " in a quiet voice and nearly fled from the door and to the chapel.
~~~~
For a long time, all he could do was stare at the solid oak door with its chocolate staining and the cross etched into the design of the window in gold trim. Across from the chapel door Poirot found a bench and sat down; looking at the chapel door. "I do not know if I have anything left to say to you. I want to believe in forever with my dear wife, but where would this forever be spent? All my years, studying police work, and learning about clues and evidence and where it all leads. I cannot see a single clue that would lead me to believe what I've been told about you. What, after all, is LOVING about causing the suffering of one who has none no one any such harm? What have I done to deserve to lose her? What has Hilde done?"
"Monsieur?" A voice brought Poirot out of his train of thought. The man, in his mid-thirties, was carrying a mug and about to enter the chapel. He was dressed casually, in trousers and a sky blue turtle neck sweater. "Were you waiting too long?"
"No," Hercule confessed. "I was only...sitting."
"Would you like to come in and talk? I just got some coffee from the staff room. I could get you.."
"No, merci. I do not have the stomach for anything right now."
"Come on in. We can talk in the chapel. You look like a man who has something he needs to get off his chest."
"Oui. I certainly do."
The young-ish man let him into the chapel and to the front where there was a pulpit in solid wood and a cross etched in. But there was no one on it. The very front pew had a small table where the minister set his coffee. "Maybe I should introduce myself. I'm Pastor Craig Martin."
"I am Hercule Poirot."
Pastor Martin invited Poirot to sit down . He sat where he was in no danger of kicking over the little table the coffee mug was sitting on. "I'm assuming you have someone on this floor."
Poirot nodded, "My wife."
"And you don't understand why she's here?"
Hercule Poirot glanced at the man. "You sound like one who has had a similar experience."
Sipping his coffee, Craig replaced the mug onto the table. "Oh yes. My sister and brother in law. They were on their honeymoon. My brother-in-law had been assured of a management job in retail. Of all the luck, they were sailing with the very people who had given him the opportunity; the Strausses of Macy's Department store. My sister wired us and sang the praises of the good people. It's ...daunting being a newly wed couple just getting started."
"They were on the Titanic?" Hercule guessed. "I have read much about the tragedy. So much hope of so many people."
"And all that hope was placed in the steel and effort of so many men. If I had known they were going to be sailing on the Titanic, I would have tried to prevent it. I'd heard stories. Things said about that ship. 'God, Himself cannot sink this ship.' some fool up and says. It's on par with waving a red flag in front of a charging bull or dangling your feet in water where sharks are known to feed."
"You are saying that you believe that God, He is no more caring than a shark or a charging bull?"
"No. I'm not saying that, Monsieur Poirot. Please don't misunderstand. I do believe that God loves us. But there are those who believe that we, as the human race, have outgrown God. We can do what we want and that's that. The ....IDIOT who made that statement is one such believer. He thought that thousands of tons of steel could out-power whatever God could throw at us. Well, he found out wrong. As did over fifteen hundred people, including my sister, brother-in-law and the Strausses. God forgive me, I hope that ....damned fool (Forgive me, Lord) was on that ship to learn how wrong he was!"
"But you do not wonder why God..."
The pastor jumped up, nearly knocking over his miniature coffee table. Pacing back and forth, in front of the pulpit, Pastor Craig Martin declared, "Oh, but I did, Monsieur. I did. See, in spite of how angry I was at that man, I also shook my fist at God for letting such an imbecilic statement mean death for so many who did not believe such foolishness. I've since learned...how true this is, I don't know, but I've heard that the Strausses wanted to stay together. And since Mr. Strauss was not permitted into a lifeboat before the women were off, Mrs. Strauss stayed with her husband of over four decades. My sister, I think followed suit; staying with her husband, rather than getting into a lifeboat. I'm certain that neither Mrs. Ida Strauss or my sister, Eliza, believed the ship would sink. And who could blame them, given the size to the thing!
The problem is, Monsieur Poirot, there is NOTHING built by the hand of man that God cannot bring down. And to challenge God with the lives of thousands of people at stake, was the single most fool-hardy wager anyone can make! In the days and weeks after learning that my sister and brother-in-law died on that ship, I sunk into a personal HELL I never imagined I'd get out of. I drank myself stupid; wanting to forget, or trying to convince myself it didn't happen."
"How did you find your way out of your personal hell?"
Chuckling, the man sat back down and finished his coffee. "I'm not sure I have, completely. But I did learn that I could talk through it with God, rather than drinking myself to death, which is what I very nearly did. My doctor gave it to me, straight between the eyes. I could keep drinking until my liver gave up and took me with it, OR I could have it out with God and find something less toxic to drink in the meantime." He held up his mug and set it down on the table.
"I do not drink," Poirot spoke up. "but I feel sorely tempted. You see, I did not dangle my feet in the water with the sharks or wave a red flag before a bull. All I did was fall in love with a lovely young woman and make plans for a future together. Home. Children. Maybe, one day, grandchildren. The good home. I do not believe I was tempting God. Nor did Virginie. And yet...." Poirot shifted his focus to the cross embedded into the sold oak pulpit. "yet, my good wife is in this hospital; with hours or days left. We lost our child and now I'm losing her and, so help me, Pastor, I do not know whether I can find the will or desire to even believe in God anymore."
"My God, My God! Why have You forsaken Me?" The pastor quoted. "Jesus said that. Even KNOWING what awaited Him, in His humanity, He couldn't make sense out of why His Father would turn His back. In the greater sense, He knew, and yet, right then, as Jesus took our sins, He couldn't comprehend why His Father would turn His face from Him, knowing the WHY? So if Jesus could ask, He understands why we ask. We don't know at all, but there is a bigger reason that we can't see. Can you imagine any reason why God would take your wife and son?"
"No." Poirot's head shook. "And I have asked. I have pleaded for answers without a word in reply!"
"Pardon me for sounding nosy but I recall you mentioning something about 'forever' , Monsieur Poirot. Now if you believe in forever, then surely you had to know that you would not live here forever."
Poirot started to rebut the statement but stopped short. "I just thought we would live together, she and I, for a long time before....."
"And if you had, it would be that much harder to lose her or for her to lose you. What is your profession, by the way, Monsieur, Poirot? I think I can guess, though. You have a name of good reputation within the Belgian police force. Am I correct?"
For the first time that night, Poirot smiled, even momentarily. "Oui. You are correct."
"Okay then. Police work can be dangerous, can it not? You could have walked into a dangerous situation that you weren't expecting. Next thing, your wife gets the dreaded phone call; you are in the hospital in critical condition, or you died on the way to the hospital after walking into an ambush."
"Ambush?"
"I read detective novels." The pastor replied. "Anyway, how do you think your Virginie would feel, hearing that news over the phone? You're dead. She never even had the chance to tell you that she loved you. Strange as it sounds, this is a blessing. At least you can tell your wife that you love her. AND, even better for her, she will waiting for you with your son, in a place where there is no more pain. And one day, if you can get passed the pain and resentment of this point, you will see her and your son again. Never more to part."
Sighing through tears, Poirot replied, "I NEED to believe that. I'm just not sure if I can."
"Look at it this way, you have two choices; You can cry because you will miss your wife and then move on with the rest of your life, knowing what awaits, OR you can stew in resentment and eat your liver to death in booze and wishes that you can't make happen. I know I will see my sister and brother-n-law one day. That is what gets me through. See, it was her constant talk about God and mercy that finally brought me to this place. I knew what she believed, and in Whom. Drove me nuts for a long time and I even told her to knock it off. It was at my lowest, rock bottom point that I let God bail me out rather than pushing Him away because of the actions of some idiot who thought he had life figured out."
"It still does not make sense to me, Pastor Martin. Why would God allow the ship to run into that iceberg, just on the saying of one, as you say, idiot?"
The pastor's smile was brief and a tad facetious. "God didn't. I learned that in reading the result of the British Board of Inquiry The men in the crow's nest didn't have binoculars. Had they been properly equipped, the berg might have been spotted in time for the ship to turn wide enough and avoid the collision all together. Titanic was also moving too fast through a field of ice in the Labrador current. Ice warnings that weren't considered or that were never even seen by the captain for whatever reason. The list of What If's is as long as your arm or mine. HUMAN ARROGANCE , in other words. The minds that believed human ingenuity had outgrown God. Fifteen hundred plus people had to die to make that point. None of the people who died on that ship had time to call family and friends to tell them goodbye. We got the news by the newspaper or phone call or telegram.
Monsieur Poirot, you don't have to understand everything now. You can let yourself grieve. But don't let the temporary loss be an excuse for a permanent rift between you and the God Who, odd though it may seem right now, DOES love you and wants to walk with you through all of this. Remind yourself of the wife and son who will be waiting for you and you can have it out with God without losing touch with Him."
Poirot had himself ready to argue the point when the sound of the door opening distracted them from the conversation. "Hercule?"
Poirot replied, "Hilde! Up front."
Hilde walked to the front of the chapel and Poirot introduced Hilde to Pastor Craig Martin. "What is wrong?"
"Virginie is asking for you."
"I must go now. Please forg..."
"Go," Pastor Martin insisted. "I can talk to Hilde, if she wishes."
Poirot was out the door in a blink; leaving Hilde to talk to the Pastor. By the look of the chapel, and the lack of candles or statues, it was evident that this was not a Catholic chapel.
"I'm not sure we'd be good at communicating," Hilde confessed. "We're obviously from two very different backgrounds."
"You might be surprise, dear. Monsieur Poirot has told me a lot, but I'm sure there are things he doesn't know. Your relationship with Hilde, as a friend and as a woman is different than his relationship with her has her husband. Kinda like we might see things differently as a....for lack of a better term, 'Protestant' and Catholic. Personally, I prefer non-denominational. Less fractious." Pastor Martin invited Hilde to sit down where Poirot had sat. In minutes, the two were talking.
~~~~
Approaching the door of Virginie's hospital room, Poirot carefully opened it and approached, "Virginie?"The woman's eyes, foggy as they were with the strong pain killer, lit up to hear her husband's voice. "Hercule, please, lie next to me. I trust you to keep me safe."
"Oh, my love! I wish I could have." He sobbed without shame. "I am so ..."
"Sssshhhh!" Virginie held to her husband's hand, as his hand gripped the railing of the hospital bed. "Remember what I said when we learned of this? Protecting me did not mean preventing the storm but keeping me safe through it. That is what I have been so silly to forget. God does love me, Hercule. He gave me you. Please, love. Lie beside me. Protect me through the storm."
Taking off his shoes, Hercule got into the hospital bed beside his wife and let her rest her head on his chest. He was careful not to lie on the tube that fed his wife the painkiller. Oh, how much of that would it take to kill the pain of losing her?
"I'm safe now," she whispered, smiling up at him. He kissed her on the nose and for the briefest second they felt like they were on their honeymoon again.
"I cannot wait to tell our little boy about his papa," Virginie regaled Poirot with stories he would not see. "I have imagined what I will tell him about you. He will be anxious to meet you."
"I want to see him."
"You have... a job to do, my love. That is what we have to wait for. God has another job for you. A bigger job than even what you have now. One day, you will finish your work and we will ....we will all....be together again."
"What if I don't want the job?" Poirot sighed.
"Silly you," Virginie declared with effort. "Le Bon Dieu gives an assignment, you cannot back out. You will... have people to protect and help. And you will do a good job. Just don't let it... go to your head."
"I will try," Poirot promised. "What else did Le Bon Dieu tell you about my new assignment?"
There was talk of a different world. Travels. New people. Friends. "The world needs you, Hercule."
"I need you!" he murmured, not apologizing when the tears dropped into her hair.
"You have me. Now and forever. Remember, too, my love that we have to wait for you."
Deciding against arguing, Poirot played along. "So? What does this assignment of mine involve? Did Le Bon Dieu fill you in on that?"
"You will learn as you go. If you knew everything you might not want to go."
"Will you and our son watch out for me? Maybe it will be easier if I know that."
"Of.. course. So do not worry. I love you,.. Monsieur Poirot."
"And I love you, Madame Poirot. Now and Forever."
Eventually, they fell asleep.
When the morning nursing staff began their rounds, one of the nurses looked in on Virginie and found her husband in the bed with her. Virginie's head resting on his chest, with an expression of utter contentment.
"Monsieur Poirot," the nurse whispered. "Monsieur Poirot."
Stirring, Poirot slowly opened his eyes to see the nurse. "We fell asleep..."
"I'm sorry, monsieur. Virginie is gone."
Gazing down at the woman so peacefully 'resting', Hercule Poirot inhaled the fragrance of her hair, and sobbed; not sure he would ever be able to stop crying and not sure if he cared.
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