Page 7 of A Late-Blooming Rose
“Of course, I am. Death comes for all of us,mon fils.I’ve been living on borrowed time ever since my heart attack landed your mother and me in Sweetwater Springs.”
“I don’t want you to die,” Micah said in a plaintive voice.
Andre sighed. “I don’t particularly want to either. Now that I have a family, I’ve too much to live for. I’ve never been happier. So, in a sense,youare keeping me alive.” His tone sobered. “I couldn’t ask for a better grandson.”
“But what about the baby? If it’s a boy, he will be your grandson—one of your own blood.”
Tears welled in Andre’s eyes.I surely am a sentimental old fool today.“I will dearly love the baby, too. But in a different way, a love that belongs only to him or her, just as the love I bear for my daughter is different than my love for you or for your father, or my old friend Marty.”Or for Rose.
Micah tilted his head, obviously absorbing Andre’s words.
“Love changes to fit whomever we love. Don’t you love your Grandfather Norton differently than you love me? Although, of course, you have good and deep feelings for both of us.”
“I s’pose so,” the boy said with a scrunch of his face.
“And you love my daughter differently than you loved your mother?”
Micah shoulders slumped, and he hung his head. “I didn’t love my mother. Well, I did. But she was always sick and cranky. She didn’t want me around.”
“Illness can change people. Sometimes for the better.”I’ve known people who handled the waning of their health, of their pain, with the patience of a saint.“Often for the worse.”
Andre couldn’t help but think of that long-ago bout of mumps that changed his relationship with Rose. “I’m sure if your mother had been well, she’d have been a different person—more loving.”Well, that’s practically a lie.From what Joshua confided, Esther Maynard Norton had never been interested in her son, reserving all her zeal for converting the African natives. But Andre wasn’t about to say so to Micah.
The boy shrugged.
Best veer back to the original topic.“If I have my way, I’ll be around to see you graduate from the university, get married, have children, and make me a great-grandfather. But if I die tomorrow, remember, I’ve left this earth a happy man. There are many who can’t say the same.”
The wrinkle of his nose indicated what Micah thought of that concept.
To lighten the seriousness of their discussion, Andre poked the boy’s side with his elbow. “Besides, I’ll have a front row seat in the heavenly window that looks down on earth. You can be sure I’ll be sitting there and watching you and your parents and any other of my grandchildren.”
“Micah!” From another part of the house came the sound of Delia calling the boy. “Bedtime.”
Andre tapped the letter in Micah’s hand. “Don’t forget to mail this tomorrow.”
“I haven’t forgotten one of your letters yet.” The boy bounced to his feet.
“Which is why I’m depending on you, instead of taking it myself or giving the letter to Sam Coachman to mail.” He playfully swatted Micah’s backside. “Don’t keep your mother waiting.”
With a grin, the boy ran out of the room.
Andre stared after him, realizing the letter just began the first leg of a long journey to Marty.Will he be strong enough to read it himself or will Rose read my words to him?
What if she takes me up on my invitation?His chest contracted. The idea was almost enough to cause another heart attack.
* * *
Two weeks after Marty’s death, Rose sat on a stool in her brother’s library surrounded by stacks of books and wooden crates. She glanced at the booklist in her hand and frowned. Exasperated, she reread the list of titles intended for Andre Bellaire. Bad enough she had tothinkof the man, whom she preferred to keep buried in the back of her mind along with other painful old memories. But having to track down books intended for him in her brother’s extensive and disorganized library was even worse.
No, writing that stiff little note to inform Andre of Marty’s death was worse.
Still, shouldn’t I have gotten over the man’s betrayal by now?
Perhaps I’m just lonely and vulnerable because of Marty’s death.After all, my grief is still fresh.Rose firmly returned her thoughts to the task at hand—clearing out her brother’s books.
Many a time, she’d tried to persuade Marty to allow her to organize his library. But he’d steadfastly refused, claiming he knew the location of every single book. From long familiarity, Rose knew where many of them were, too, though, they weren’t neatly categorized as her tidy librarian’s soul preferred.
Furthermore, during his illness, Marty had taken books out of the room and never returned them, or, if he did, her brother seemed to have shoved them onto the nearest shelf. So, some of the places she’d thought certain volumes resided were empty, or she found another book in that space. After hours of searching for the volumes bequeathed to Andre Bellaire, she’d found all but two.
