The Promise of Provence (Love in Provence Book 1) (6 page)

“So how’s it going, Kat, really?” Andrea asked. They were walking down the snow-covered lane through Andrea’s country property in the aftermath of their first real winter storm. The fields sparkled as if sprinkled with silver sequins.

It had been almost two months since the anniversary disaster.

Squinting in the brightness, Katherine replied quickly, “Mom is so happy to have me with her. I think she feels safer now, more secure, as she becomes frailer, and I’m happy to be able to help her and have this time with her.”

“Yup, that I can see, but that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Katherine bit her lower lip as she considered her reply. “I’m not feeling good yet. I’m still dealing with a lot of unpleasant emotions, but the counseling is helping. Thanks for pushing me to go.”

“What’s the worst part right now?”

Katherine took her time responding, picking up a handful of snow and scattering it as she walked.

“Two things. Uncertainty and identity—at least, that’s what we’ve narrowed it down to in counseling. I have no sense of the future at the moment, where I’m going to live, what I’m going to do when I’m not at work. I can’t live with Mom forever. I feel like I’m stuck in limbo right now.”

“It’s early days,” said Andrea. “Everything happened so fast.”

“Right, for sure,” Katherine agreed. “But that doesn’t stop the fear of the unknown, and that kind of ties into the second part. I feel like I’ve lost my identity somewhat. I’m not Mrs. Katherine Price anymore. I mean, I am, but I’m not. Like a lot of women, I kind of got tied up in James’s identity. Y’know, the successful, smart lawyer . . .”

“But you’re successful and smart too, Kat. You know that.”

“That was partly tied up with the security I got from being married to James too. No financial worries, respect and recognition from his colleagues when we socialized—which was fairly often. I know it sounds kind of petty, and it’s hard to explain. When I say it out loud, I think it just sounds stupid.”

“No, no, no. Not stupid at all. Quite normal, I would imagine. It’s a big shift.”

“Yeah, a big shift, and I’m still just kind of in shock . . . I think.”

“It came at you out of nowhere.”

“Well, I’ve done a lot of thinking about it, and looking back I can see clues that we were drifting apart. I just didn’t pay any attention to them.”

“Aha! It’s the old couldn’t-see-the-forest-for-the-trees story . . .”

“Exactly,” agreed Katherine. “We had our routines . . . and I was okay with them. Obviously he wasn’t but never said anything.”

Andrea laughed cynically. “Communication, good old communication . . . it’s the key to everything. So simple and yet so difficult for so many.”

“For sure, I guess we might have dealt with whatever the issues were if we had talked about them. But I’m also feeling like I was traded in for a new model—not much I can do about that . . .”

Her voice trailed off and she gave Andrea an exasperated look before continuing. “So here I am—single, fifty-five years old, more wrinkles appearing every day—not exactly sought-after dating material. Which really doesn’t matter, because I’m not the least bit interested in dating. The thought of it repulses me! But still, the prospect of aging alone isn’t particularly joyful.”

Andrea listened quietly to this point. “And what does your counselor say about that?”

Katherine gave a snort. “Can you believe she actually insisted I go to my doctor and get an AIDS test?”

Andrea looked astonished. “And her explanation was . . . ?”

“It makes sense, actually. She explained that James put me at risk because he slept with someone else at the same time he was sleeping with me, and we have no idea of her sexual history.”

“Smart thinking,” Andrea agreed.

“I still felt very weird speaking to my doctor about it,” Katherine said, biting her lip and scrunching her face to express her displeasure.

“I hear you. But it’s all valid stuff that you have to keep working through. Just don’t forget to think about the positives in your life too—remember your mother’s famous piece-of-paper therapy!”

Katherine chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ve got pages all over the place. I’m working on it.”

Andrea had often thought about Katherine missing out on having a houseful of kids and all the activity and energy that goes with that. Her own kids adored Aunt Kat, and the feelings were very obviously returned as she spent so much time with them through the years. Andrea knew how much her cousin had hoped for a family in the early years of her marriage.

“It’s hard to understand how things work sometimes, but isn’t it nice that you have your mom right now and she is such good company?”

Katherine nodded, looking serious. “That she is, thank goodness. You know, we’d become a bit distant after she suggested a few years ago that James was turning me into a different person. I got my back up and defended him and accused Anyu of being overly critical. That in itself was such a wrong thing to say on my part.”

“Yeah, you know she’s the last person to be like that.”

“I’ve felt terrible ever since, but I still had to be loyal to James. Ha! I’m glad we’ve had this time together to patch things up.”

“She cracks me up on a regular basis,” agreed Andrea, “and she’s so interested and informed about everything. The cup is always half full with her.”

“She’s still sharp as a tack, that’s for sure. She appreciates every day, and I know she’s trying, in her own way, to help me do the same. This whole split upset her terribly, but she has dealt with it. She tells me she doesn’t have the luxury of time to let it consume her.”

Andrea nodded. “Absolutely right too. We all should think that way no matter what our age, but we get too caught up in our dramas.”

“She keeps saying how wonderful it is to know I’m going to be there every day. It has made me realize how lonely she was. I’m getting a whole new perspective on what it means to be old and alone. It’s not as if I didn’t think about it before and try to be attentive, but I’m truly understanding it now, and it is a powerful experience. It’s a strong reminder how important a simple phone call can be.”

“And yet,” said Andrea, “she insisted you come up here alone this weekend even though I invited her too.”

“Well, that’s classic Elisabeth, isn’t it? She knew it would be good for me to have time to just hang with you.”

Andrea’s voice took on a serious, softer tone. “I know you and I have shared this thought all of our lives, but I can never get it out of my head. After all the horror your parents and my father experienced during the war, they came out the other side of it with such grace and positive appreciation of life. It’s been their greatest gift to us. Gosh, I miss my dad . . . and yours . . .”

“So true,” Katherine said, sighing. “I miss them too. You know, Mom has actually made a few comments to me about the war years during these
past weeks. I’m hoping she may finally talk with me about it. We’ve always
wanted to know their stories, to keep that alive. Your kids should know.”

“Yes, we all should. That carpet of your mom’s that hangs on the wall, I know there’s a real history to that, but she hasn’t told you the details ever, has she?”

“There is a story, and I should know it. All she has told me is her father gave it to her for her seventh birthday. That would have been 1932. It’s a Persian carpet with the Tree of Life pattern, full of animals and very sweet. How she saved it through the war is a mystery.”

“That village, like so many over there,” Andrea said softly, “where the large Jewish community was virtually decimated in the latter years of World War Two. This we know. Somehow she survived . . .”

“By hiding in plain sight. I heard that comment once from Dad and never forgot it. It sent chills down my spine . . .” said Katherine, her eyes welling up. “No wonder she can’t bear to speak of it . . .”

The air was quiet and still, as it can be after a wild storm, and the women’s breath hung in the air as they spoke. Turning back toward the house, the smell of smoke from the wood-burning stoves made them quicken their pace.

“Pancakes and that scrumptious Mennonite sausage are calling. With any luck, the kids will have them started.”

“I always loved that weekend tradition here!” Katherine said, putting her arm around Andrea’s shoulder. “The kids have grown into such fine young people. I’m so proud of them and the great job you and Terrence have done raising them!”

“Thanks! Hey, I’m supposed to be the one doing the hugging!” They stopped to give each other a long squeeze.

As Christmas approached, Katherine wrestled with her emotions. She typically loved that time of year and all the traditions. Although her mother was Jewish and held close the traditions with which she had been raised, she had not practiced her faith since the war. She always told Katherine the roots of her upbringing would stay with her forever, as being Jewish was so much more than a religion. Faith, however, was not an active part of her life. It was complicated, she would say, before the sorrowful expression on her face and break in her voice ended the conversation.

Katherine’s father had been raised a Roman Catholic, but typical of most Hungarians at the time, religion was not a big part of their life. As he had explained to her many times, the war caused him to walk away from many of his beliefs as they were ignored, trampled upon, and twisted, causing more pain and horror than he could have imagined. When the topic of religion arose, he would be overcome with emotion and the discussion would abruptly stop.

In spite of all this, as long as Kat could recall, Christmas had been celebrated as a joyful time of year, albeit a private one, with just Uncle Andrew and his family involved.

The small special Christmas tree her father put up on those first Christmas Eves when she was little eventually became an enormous tree covered in homemade decorations and others collected on special vacations as the years went by. Jozsef called it a memory tree.

The celebration would begin with the first Sunday of Advent, four weeks before Christmas. Andrea’s family would share in the tradition as they made an Advent wreath from evergreen boughs. That first evening, after dark, a candle would be lit and fixed on the wreath as they sang a Christmas carol. The same procedure would occur on the remaining three Sundays before Christmas, and the wreath would be the centerpiece of the Christmas feast. On the Eve of St. Nicholas Day (December 6), Katherine would put her best, newly polished shoes outside her bedroom door. She would fall asleep wondering if Mikulas (St. Nicholas) would leave her sweets or stones, although she was always such a good child there was little doubt which it would be. Nevertheless, that small doubt made the anticipation exciting to a child.

Every day after that, more decorations were added to the house. A pine bough here, a painted bell there, ceramic Christmas figures, and beautiful tablecloths and runners stitched and embroidered by Elisabeth’s talented fingers.

Until she was eight years old, her father would disappear into the living room, which had been curtained off on
Szent-este
, Christmas Eve. While Katherine helped her mother in the kitchen making
palachinta
, the delicious sweet crepes stuffed with apricot preserve, he worked his magic.

The melodic tinkling of little bells would signal Kat’s permission to come to the living room. Pulling aside the curtain, she never ceased to be astonished and delighted at the beauty of the tree with its candles, lights, and sweets hung in bright foil wrappings. She was saddened when she was old enough to realize it was her father and not angels who delivered the tree, as he had always assured her.

A few simple gifts would be under the tree, and they would open them that evening as they enjoyed their Christmas cookies and crepes.

Hanukah was remembered as well, with a beautiful but simple menorah on the mantle and a candle lit every day of that holiday. As joyful as her parents made the season for her, the lighting of each of these candles was tinged with sorrow she could feel and see in her parents’ eyes. It wasn’t until she was a teenager that she began to understand.

Even though the holiday time was bittersweet, it was the positive that Elisabeth and Jozsef unfailingly emphasized.

“Anyu,” said Katherine one evening as they rolled out cookie dough, “I know I don’t say this out loud often enough. Thank you for all the memories you have given me . . . my entire life. I want you to know how much I treasure them.”

“It’s the greatest gift a parent can offer a child. Good memories build strong foundations. What do you think keeps me going?”

The conversation returned to recipes as Elisabeth went on to demonstrate her expertise in mixing the shortbread dough. Somehow hers always turned out better, Katherine told her.

“You don’t have to spend every evening with me, you know,” her mother told her. “If you want to go to a party or something, you should be doing that.”

To Elisabeth’s surprise, Katherine’s eyes suddenly teared up.

Her mother immediately put her arms around Kat, holding her dough-covered hands at an awkward angle.