Sins of Omission. Fern MichaelsЧитать онлайн книгу.
flock of scrawny winter birds took flight, seeking refuge in the bare branches of the trees as the Citroën chugged along. Overhead the sky was heavy with angry clouds. Daylight was fading, bleeding into night. Reuben sat beside Daniel, bundled in thick lap robes. Mickey had the headlamps on now, their eerie light casting long shadows onto the road. The drive from the clinic was longer than he’d expected. For some reason, he’d thought the château was no more than a few miles away. Already they’d been driving for almost two hours. Now, more than before, he appreciated the woman’s generosity and dedication in visiting the hospital.
“Here we are,” Mickey announced as she turned the car and continued driving down a side road that was bumpier than the last. “We’re on my property now and the château is still quite a few minutes from here. Tomorrow, in the light, I will show you the boundaries from the top floor. The view is magnifique and one can see for miles.”
Both Reuben and Daniel craned to get a good look as they caught sight of the impressive estate Mickey was fast approaching. Daniel’s thoughts turned inward. Just another short while and he could rest. In the trenches, at the front, he’d been bone tired, but it couldn’t compare with the exhaustion he was feeling now. The concern for his eyesight, the pain of his broken shoulder, the grim uncertainty of the future, and the possibility of having to return to the front—all had taken their toll on him. Such exquisite relief he felt, to know he wouldn’t be blind; he felt as though he could sleep for a week. Surely his company would not be missed this evening if he asked to retire early. Reuben would entertain Madame Mickey. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. When would Reuben have time for French lessons?
Reuben’s thoughts turned inward: What would be expected of him?
“We have arrived, my darlings,” Madame Mickey announced gaily as she brought the Citroën to a stop. “When you are fully recovered, Reuben, we will begin the driving lessons.”
Reuben felt a moment of sheer panic, the same immobilizing fear he’d experienced when at eight years old he was caught stealing apples from the neighborhood greengrocer in Brooklyn.
“Come, come, I want to show you my home. Reuben, help Daniel. He appears tired, pauvre petit. We must get both of you indoors and into warm, dry clothing.” Her eyes were on Reuben the entire time she spoke. “Chéri, you are limping. It is the cold,” she advised. “A warm bath, warm clothes, dinner, and a nice fire and you will be fixed. No? We will have soft music—Brahms, I think. I will play the pianoforte for you. If you beg, I might even sing.”
“I’d like that,” Daniel said wearily.
Reuben smiled. “So would I.”
“It is settled, then. Come, come, I, too, have the chill.”
Reuben wished he could see better in the dim light as they climbed the stone steps to the great carved doors. Well, tomorrow was another day. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so busy entertaining Madame Mickey and could go off for a walk to acquaint himself with his surroundings. His eyes widened at the splendor of the château as he looked over his hostess’s shoulders. An old woman with a white cap and apron stood holding open one of the two fan-lighted doors. Inside, the entry foyer was warm and well lit. A spectacular chandelier—the likes of which Reuben had glimpsed only in the lobbies of New York’s grand hotels—hung from a frescoed ceiling across which paced horses and hounds against a woodland background. A graceful curving stairway led off to the left, while a patterned Persian carpet ran its full length to the upper floor. His sensitive nose picked up the aroma of something delicious baking in the kitchens. Against the side of the staircase nestled a divan the same bottle green as the carpet, its watered-silk fabric inviting to touch. Dark wood tables held vases of flowers from Mickey’s famed greenhouses. Reuben wanted to know it all, see it all, but he was being whisked down the corridor that was concealed behind the stairs to a makeshift bathing room. Later he would examine his surroundings. Someday it might be helpful when he made his own selections in furnishings and style.
Two old women and a boy of about twelve stood ready when Reuben and Daniel arrived for their bath. In the middle of the room stood two huge wooden tubs, half-filled with steaming water.
Reuben stripped down to his bare skin, and his cast-off uniform and boots were immediately removed by the boy. Boldly he stepped in front of the old servants, who eyed his naked body admiringly. The older one pointed at the tubs, urging him to pick one and get in. He settled himself luxuriously as pail after pail of hot water was poured over him. The woman handed him three cakes of soap and gestured. One was for his hair, one for his face, and the other was for—Jesus! She’d grabbed herself in the crotch to make sure he understood. Weakly he smiled his understanding and nodded. She cocked her head to the side, sharp eyes questioning like a crafty New York pigeon.
“I’ll do it!” Reuben said loudly. Misunderstanding him, the old woman reached for the washcloth. “No!” he cried; and immediately began to lather himself. He knew he’d used the wrong soap on his genitals when she and the others began to laugh. The sound was so genuine and good-natured that Reuben could only join in, sharing the ridiculousness of the moment.
Cackling to herself, the old woman joined her companions to help remove Daniel’s clothing. Reuben watched out of the corner of his eye as the trio stripped Daniel down and helped him into the second tub. He grinned, observing as he had so often in close quarters his friend’s generous endowments. Madame Mickey had chosen the wrong man. While he himself was standard issue, Daniel was gigantically hung. Someday he was going to make some lady very happy.
An hour later Reuben emerged from the tub, the skin on his hands and feet puckered but squeaky clean. Someone had laid out clothes for him—soft wool trousers in a gentle shade of tan, slippers that looked like shoes and fit perfectly, soft white underwear, and a crushable sweater the color of the sky on a summer day. None of the items were new, which he supposed accounted for their comfortable softness. After slicking back his dark curly hair and shaving, he examined himself in the mirror. “Reuben Tarz, you are a handsome devil. Daniel, I can truthfully say I feel like a freshwater eel. How are you doing?”
His face scarlet, Daniel mumbled something that sounded obscene. Both women had the third bar of soap and were scrubbing him industriously as the young boy stood ready with the towels. Daniel, his bad arm draped over the tub so as not to wet the cast, was holding on with the other so he wouldn’t slide beneath the surface.
Reuben turned his head so Daniel wouldn’t see him laughing. “That’s enough, ladies,” he ordered. “Out! Enough! Help him out!” He waved his hands, making scooping motions. Both old women cackled gleefully.
“You son of a bitch!” Daniel cried. “I saw you laughing! Do you know what they did to me? Should I tell you?”
“Only if it felt good.” Reuben grinned. “Well, did it?”
“Dammit! Now they’re going to dry me. Reuben, get them off me!”
“I can’t. They have their orders. You wouldn’t want Madame Mickey to be displeased with them, would you? They’re old, like grandmothers. Let them have their fun. They’re remembering what it was like. How can you deprive them of a little enjoyment?”
“I don’t like it,” Daniel muttered, his face flaming.
“Yes, you do. Don’t ever lie about things like that. It feels good, let it feel good. They aren’t taking anything away from you. Come on now, get dressed and let’s find our hostess.”
Dinner was a wonderful experience visually, and exquisitely gratifying to their taste buds. The dining table had to be at least eighteen feet long according to Reuben’s calculations. Six candelabras gleamed in the reflected surface of the polished mahogany. High ceilings, tapestried walls, crystal, china, and a fine silver service complemented the sumptuous meal. Reuben’s attention wandered constantly from his meal to the room, then to Madame Mickey. In this soft lighting her features gave off a warm radiance, and her eyelashes appeared to be soft shadows outlining her sparkling eyes. The gown she had chosen to wear was a simple black sheath that swung to the floor, skimming her hips and rising to a deep scoop revealing her generous bosom and the