Chapter Text
Chapter 1: In Heart of True North, 1948– Paint It Black/Sympathy for the Devil
‘Paint It Black/Sympathy for the Devil’ from the album ‘Infernal Violins’
Composed by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, arranged by Angèle Dubeau
(Angèle Dubeau & La Pietà)
Therese stood by the window, looking westward. The glass wasn’t as clean now, not like how she’d kept it. Back then, she would regularly take a rag from the tiny en-suite bathroom and wash the individual glass panes. Once, she even dared to partially hang out the open window on a fine spring day, dangling quite awkwardly as she stretched and reached to the outside glass, scrubbing off the residue of Father Winter.
And now? Now she didn’t care if the weather had marked the window with the past season’s grime and haze. Not really. Truthfully? Not at all. Besides, she didn’t have the stamina. She felt sapped. Lifeless. A barely upright ghost of a young woman. Unable to raise her arms or swivel her head. She gently slumped against the window frame, her eyes straight ahead, seeing little. When her strength became too depleted for her legs to hold her weight, threatening to collapse, she debated dragging the room’s straight back wooden chair so she could sit. But that action required a determination within her that she couldn’t muster. Not today. Maybe never again.
Consequently, she remained a silent statue– a sentry, a diminutive sentinel.
Today was such a pretty day. Yet honestly? Honestly, she would have preferred it dark and stormy. Something in keeping with her mood. A day torn from the pages of Wuthering Heights or maybe The Fall of the House of Usher. Jane Eyre. In the back of her head, she heard that damn little childhood melody, the one about the wolf. It had gone round and round her head for days.
She paused in her listless state. What was this confounding turmoil that upended her life? She thought she had turned the page, closing the book on fears, anxieties, loss, and heartache. So why had she returned here? Here! To this very room of all places? Back… Back here? Why? What had compelled her?
Earlier, before she had run, Therese had stepped out to the bakery downstairs. She needed another baguette. Maybe two. That’s all. It was an easy jog down the staircase or a quick ride in the refurbished elevator. Rindy had asked to go, but she’d diverted her attention, asking her younger sister to– to… She couldn’t remember. Had she known at that point her destination? No. No, not then. Instead, the nursery rhyme kept her company on her route. It had popped into her head from a long-ago memory… and stayed:
Promenons-nous dans les bois
Pendant que le loup n'y est pas
Si le loup y était
Il nous mangerait
Mais comme il n’y est pas
Il nous mangera pas
Loup, y es-tu? Entends-tu? Que fais-tu?
Yes. The wolf. But why? Who? All she had to fight back with was her lucky rabbit’s foot that had been in her jacket pocket. The one Dannie had given her.
Now that she was here, the churning in her mind had slowed a bit, but the infernal buzzing lingered; it had been relentless the past few weeks leading to her confounding run. Just thinking about the disquieting hum and ringing, reminding herself she couldn’t block it out, made her press her palms to either side of her head, willing it away. She must remain alert. Ready. Prepared. Nothing could leak out into the world. John Aird’s world. Not a shred of anything could slip beyond these walls.
An abrupt realization shook her petite frame.
Remain alert? Ready? Prepared? A guardian? Why? Why was she doing this?
Therese blinked. Once. Twice. She scrunched her shoulders forward. Hadn’t John Aird died? The end of last year? He should no longer take up so much space in her head. But he had warned her: “You must guard your identity. You must secure your place as an Aird heir. Be on guard, Therese! Guard everything with your life! You must not fail me. Understood? Understood!”
Her head thumped to an imaginary syncopated beat, and she pinched and dragged a thumb and finger across her forehead. When it didn’t help, she rested her fingertips across her closed eyes, pushing back the pain. Weariness beat down on her.
But her mind circled to a snippet of a thought: Guard. What exactly was she guarding? Now? Right now! In this minute? This second?
The Plan?
Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Of course. It was always about–
Wasn’t it about The Plan? Isn’t that why she was here? No! No. no no no no. She wasn’t in Rumson. She had left.
Think! Think, think, think. What was the reason she’d run? It couldn’t be because of her plan, that safely guarded, all-consuming secret. That was… over. Wasn’t it? She had cautiously waited. And at the precise moment, when all the pieces coalesced, she’d set The Plan in motion! Brava! She’d outwitted Hargie. Single-handedly, she’d swayed Jennifer to her side in the epic battle among John Aird’s heirs.
While she hunkered down here, a growing gathering of bankers, lawyers, consultants, bookkeepers, and contractors sprang into action. It was underway. All that remained on her end of the Plan was to reappear now and again to sign addenda and other changes, and to approve spending overages. Even there, she was confident that between Lorenz Leonard and the banker, Clark Emory, she would move seamlessly through the maze. So, no. The Plan need no longer be front and center in her life; it no longer weighed her down as it once did.
That thought brought equal parts relief and consternation to Therese. She was exhausted, yet the final resolution left a… Oh, God! There was a gaping void in her life. Cavernous. Frightening. Was there a place in the world for a girl without a plan? She felt she was in a freefall.
Wait... Therese’s mind refused to move on, move forward. There was a nagging tickle in her mind, almost feverish. It dwelled on one word– those four letters: P•L•A•N.
Had Lisette launched The Plan? Was she the one who had established the Carol Ross Aird Foundation for the Arts at the Museum of Modern Art? There was another one, too. One in her tiny sister’s name at the Central Park Zoo to preserve and protect wildlife. A third was a charitable donation to a hospital that had saved Jennifer Aird’s life. But the cornerstone of The Plan was transforming Aird Manor into a music conservatory providing a specialized education and advanced musical training for girls and young women– ones like her, ones who had known adversities and traumas. Agape House would be tuition-free, funded by the Aird Foundation.
But Lisette couldn’t have managed the elaborate blueprint. It wasn’t possible that Lisette was the architect. Lisette was an ordinary girl from an ordinary family. Nothing special; nothing grand. Sadly, Therese shook her head no.
So, had her friend, Therese Aird, conceived all of this? Therese licked her bottom lip, pondering it. Hmm, no. How could she have? That girl? That Therese had… “Don’t touch that memory,” a voice hummed in her head. Something had happened to that Therese from multiple injuries after the blast in Southampton. Therese shrugged and rubbed her forehead. Good Lord! The entirety of that portion of her life still caused her nightmares.
Could that mean she had? Therese Belivet Aird. Had she devised this grand strategy for the wealth? That took a moment of thought. No. After all, wasn’t Therese Belivet Aird merely a creation of Táta’s bold machinations? A fantasy child. Something conjured during a moment of a man’s extreme emotional pain. No. Therese Belivet Aird wasn’t real. Indisputably, she was a make-believe youngster dressed up to appear as another.
That left… Therese bit the inside of her cheek, lost in those war years in England. However, the metallic taste of blood in her mouth instantly brought her back with a startle. Alright. That did leave… Lisette Freyer, an orphan! An unremarkable youngster thrust into a remarkable situation! A girl who wouldn’t even be assigned a footnote in the annals of Life? She would have never garnered a glance from John Aird had she not resembled Therese Aird. It was Lisette Freyer who had dreamed, designed, and teased out the details of The Plan. Yes!
Her plan. Therese took a long, steadying breath despite her confusion. Okay, it wasn’t her highly protected plan that had landed her here, then. Nothing had gone wrong, except for those few weeks where she thought she might lose Carol.
So what was it? Therese crooked her hand, bending her thumb toward her mouth, all the better to chew on her nail. Well, it certainly wasn’t Carol who placed her in her current position. Their reunion at Penn Station was dream-like. Perfect. She comforted herself, reminiscing:
Therese had been waiting outside on the sidewalk in front of Penn Station that April 17th evening. She had obsessively checked her wristwatch, her stomach churning. Carol wasn’t coming to meet her. Mary March had touched her shoulder, trying to stem the sadness and hopelessness Therese knew was radiating off her in waves.
Mary had said, “I’m sorry, my girl. But you’ll be back in New York and New Jersey sooner than it seems. Chin up. I’ll help you through, Darling.” And Mary had looked at her with such devotion that all Therese could do was hold back her tears, hesitantly agreeing.
She had felt like crying, stopping right there on the pavement and breaking down in gulping sobs; she’d been so sure that Carol would show with Rindy, suitcases in hand. Walking along the platform, Therese had found herself sniffling, throwing backward glances over her shoulder every third or fourth step, hoping for a miracle, but realizing it wasn’t about to happen.
Then, she heard it: “Therese.” The breeze carried her name, light and ethereal. And though but a whisper, Therese had turned in that moment, at the sigh of her name. One of her hands had already been on the railing, her fingers gripping tightly, one foot poised on the first rung, ready to board. But she heard Carol call; she recognized the lilt in her voice. Their eyes locked, staring at one another across the masses crowding the train station; Therese and Carol remained frozen, as the scene around them– frenetic travelers bumping and jostling, hurrying along the platforms – all gradually faded. Therese had leaned back from the train car, nodding and smiling at Mary March, and hopped down from the train vestibule step.
“You came!” she excitedly cried out to Carol.
Too much happened at once: Rindy enthusiastically charging into her, and Abby suddenly there, kissing her on the cheek, saying goodbye. Only then did Therese shake off her surprise, threading her way to Carol despite a bump from a man carrying a trunk and a simple scuff and stumble on her shoe along her route. But Therese had persevered, her eyes still on her blonde goddess, both women suddenly shy.
Finally, Therese spoke, “I was afraid you might have had second thoughts about my offer.” She tried to quell the butterflies in her stomach. She wanted this moment; she desired it for a lifetime. Then she relaxed. This woman was Carol, purse and valise clutched in her hand. She remembered a snippet from her first meeting with Carol before she even knew her name, and Therese had flirtatiously recited, “Do I… Do I know you? Have we met before tonight? It’s… Well, it’s– … I know it’s silly, but I think we have. I’m not one to forget a face.” Therese had beamed at Carol, unable to hide her joy. “And such a lovely, lovely one at that,” she added.
And Carol had recognized the lines she had once said to Therese that initial evening. She cleverly retorted. “That wouldn’t be possible. I’ve just arrived at the train station to meet someone. Someone special,” Carol had added. Then, she fished in her coat pocket. “I… I think this might be yours,” she held out the calfskin glove.
“Oh, goodness! Where did I–” Therese had incredulously spun around in a circle. “I didn’t know I’d dropped–”
“Yes. Last May. The 29th. I handed you both your–”
“– gloves!” Therese had gasped. “But you kept one all this time? Why?”
“I did. That night, you immediately dropped one again.” Carol bit her lip. “Here, I don’t need it anymore. I have the real thing– you.”
“I’d forget my head if– Thank you,” she had flashed a heart-pounding smile at Carol.
Therese had the entire scene memorized– every gesture, every word.
Carol grew bold, delicately tracing first one dimple, then the second. Right there! Penn Station. There was nothing to hold her back, it seemed. Carol had no words, but her soul apparently did: “Yes, I... Yes, I know you. We have met before in a hundred previous lifetimes. We’ll meet in a thousand more. Continually. Eternally,” Carol breathed. “But right now, we’re here. In the glorious present. We have time– to talk, to explore, to figure things out, to love, and to live.”
Everything would be alright—more than fine. Therese had melted.
The train blasted a final warning horn, and Carol linked arms with her as they strode toward their passenger car with a new sense of purpose. Drawing her close, Carol had mumbled, “What should I call you now? Now that I know? Therese? Lisette?”
The question had given Therese pause, unsettling her slightly. “I’m afraid I’m stuck with the name Therese Belivet Aird for this lifetime, but… but…” Therese gambled on Carol’s love. “But I would like it so very much if you’d call me yours. Hopefully forever. But if you‘re not ready, then–” It was her greatest gamble so far in life. She bet everything on Carol’s love.
“Mine,” Carol seemed to answer easily.
As Carol steadied Therese on the first rung of the passenger car steps, she whispered, “Mine. Forever.”
Yes, perfect. A perfect evening. A perfect reunion. A perfect Carol. Perfect. Perfect. Per– Hmm, but something wasn’t quite right. What was it? Something didn’t fit neatly. Smoothly. Gliding into place as it should have. And it was her! Therese Belivet Aird…or was it Lisette Freyer?
So, the problem wasn’t The Plan. It wasn’t Carol.
From her window perch, Therese’s eyes caught three red-winged blackbirds swooping and circling in a playful spring dance, distracting her momentarily. When her hand came to her mouth, three of her fingers’ nails found their way between her teeth.
Lately, during her day-to-day of ordinary wakefulness in Montréal, a strange feeling would arise, creep in, and hang over her, saturating every cell in her body, drowning her. Therese couldn’t pinpoint the minute it initially appeared or the incident that triggered it, but something had snuck by her. Building. Building. Gathering steam. She had been too deliriously happy, reunited with Carol and Rindy, to clock the weird uncertainty, the apprehension, at its first appearance; therefore, it grew exponentially in force, becoming almost too much to bear until eventually, it had landed her here.
Therese summoned a tiny, spare speck of energy, concentrating: What was this duality of frenzied flight, the overthinking, her mind scrambling a mile a minute. It was as if her brain chattered relentlessly with intrusive thoughts. Her being was overwhelmed by rapidly shifting, irrational worries and utter physical lethargy. What was it all about? How had she allowed it– whatever it was– to interrupt her joy and excitement with Carol and Rindy? Yet, in some bizarre way, it was as if she had walked hand in hand for a very long time with this feeling– a slowly draining journey.
Oh, not the latest physical journey. Not the actual travel from Manhattan to Montréal with its rhythmic, sensory experience. That had been delightful! There had been panoramic views of ever-changing landscapes– meadows and fields, forests and woodlands, sleepy rural towns and dynamic cities. They– Therese and the three: Carol, Mary March, and Rindy– relaxed into the thrumming and clacking of the wheels on the rails. It soothed her soul after weeks apart from Carol and her little sister.
They read.
They napped.
They found one another anew.
They talked.
They laughed.
They planned.
They shared bites of food.
They sat, limbs intertwined.
The four experienced the charmed world of the traveler– jostling passengers, queues of chatting people swapping stories, all while listening to the hypnotic sound of the wheels lulling them into a peaceful existence.
But this current feeling that had commandeered her body and soul harkened back to a different journey– an older one.
So why was she here? In this room? At this window? A part of her knew, yet a part wouldn’t acknowledge the presence in the room: Truth.
Therese’s mind drifted back… back to the meeting at Penn Station. She rehashed it once more: The pacing outside the station. The realization that Carol wasn’t coming. The walk along the platform. Then the shock when Carol called her name. Rindy’s overt joy.
In retrospect, maybe that was the moment. That was the trigger. Therese should have examined that juncture more closely. But no. Therese had been carried away by Carol’s romanticism, like a soul taking flight on the wing of a goddess. So she had said,
“I’m afraid I’m stuck with the name Therese Belivet Aird for this lifetime.”
but… but…
Her thoughts couldn’t escape the loop; it was lodged, like a phonograph’s needle in a groove. Wedged. Frozen. Embedded. Jammed.
“I’m stuck with the name Therese Belivet Aird.”
“I’m stuck with the name.”
“I’m stuck.”
“I’m stuck.” “I’m stuck.” “I’m stuck!”
How could she be so genuinely happy and so… so stuck in the same moment? A moment that morphed into an abyss– dark. Threatening. Terrifying. A gloaming of the nightmarish type. She rubbed the rabbit’s foot. The nursery rhyme again wormed its way forward:
Promenons-nous dans les bois
Pendant que le loup n'y est pas
Si le loup y était
Il nous mangerait
Mais comme il n’y est pas
Il nous mangera pas
Loup, y es-tu? Entends-tu? Que fais-tu?
The buzzing and whirring progressively reached an intense pitch, aligning and crescendoing in three words:
Loud:
…táta…
…john…
…aird…
Therese’s eyes flew open.
Louder:
…Táta…
…John…
…Aird…
They widened impossibly larger.
Deafening:
Táta!
John Aird!
“You’re Therese Belivet Aird now.” Those were his words. Táta’s. John Aird’s. How many times had he said those words over the years whenever she faltered? Times when she doubted the road she was on? The times she wanted to stop the silly charade.
“You’re Therese Belivet Aird now.”
But was she? Wasn’t the heart and soul of her someone else? She was sure. Well, almost sure.
Therese’s bottom teeth grazed her top lip, pondering and chewing it over. Deliberating. Then, she ruminated, turning the thought over and over and over in her mind. Yet wasn’t this behavior akin to ultimate disrespect? Disloyalty? Ungratefulness? Let alone selfishness, insolence, and rudeness. Táta would never forgive her for these thoughts.
It was heresy in John Aird’s world to think like this.
Wasn’t Táta a kind and generous man? Wasn’t he a giant among men? A saint among mere mortals? He had offered refuge to an orphaned child– a girl no one would claim or want. No person had stepped forward to pressure Táta to assume that burden; no one required it of him. If not for Táta, circumstances would have cast her into the worst of the worst orphanages. That’s what he said; that’s what he continually stressed. Sister Alicia confirmed it. Lisette was nothing. John Aird alone had made her everything.
Táta loved her. Loved her like a father. Was her father.
Even when there was a marked shift in his demeanor as the cancer weakened him, Táta was still the virtuous man who had saved her. Right? Right, right, right?
Yes, he had to be. And he had asked just a tiny favor in return. He assigned Therese a single task in life: solidify a plan in the Aird name. A plan that would save his legacy and, in so doing, give her own existence meaning.
Oh, sure, Táta had shaken her by the shoulders once or twice and threatened her. That was her fault, not his. She certainly had tried his patience… though she couldn’t really remember doing so. But John Aird had to be all the things she deemed him to be. He had to be! Must be! Otherwise… Otherwise… What did this mean for her? About her? Who she was. Who she is. Who she could be.
Could she have danced with the Devil so easily? Therese? Where was her childhood friend, Therese Aird? She needed her to tell her what to do
Therese lay her forehead against the window pane, beginning to tap her head against the glass in measured beats, each one slightly more assertive. It was a gesture mimicking her need to break through the barrier of whatever gripped her, an unseen force rattling her body, mind, and worse, her spirit. These were wasted moments; instead of reveling in the happiness of Carol and Rindy, she was burdened by…
Promenons-nous dans les bois
Pendant que le loup n'y est pas
Si le loup y était
Il nous mangerait
Mais comme il n’y est pas
Il nous mangera pas
Loup, y es-tu? Entends-tu? Que fais-tu?
Someone knocked. Therese hadn’t secured the door lock. No, never. To lock a door here, especially in this room, in a sanctuary such as this, would be reproachful, an unwarranted criticism heaped upon her hostesses.
The knob tentatively jiggled, a tinkling, and the door opened ever so slightly, barely a crack.
Therese held her breath, sensing the identity of the presence on the other side. She turned, still failing to breathe, when she saw who entered.
“Hello, there,” the voice greeted her calmly, then pushed a leather valise into the room with an elegant foot. “I hope I haven’t interrupted. Mary guessed that I would find you here. Of course, she called to make sure. Your lovely friend Ruby drove me. Would you mind if I–” A finger gestured toward the window, silently asking permission to approach.
Therese nodded slowly, stunned that she was worthy enough for anyone to care about her this much. This woman knew who she was, and still came. How did Lisette Freyer deserve the person who gazed across the room at her with such love?
“What a beautiful view you had from here each passing season. No wonder you sought shelter here.”
A most pleasant fragrance drifted from the woman and filled her senses, and Therese’s eyes glanced upward, beholding the balm to her wounded being, perhaps an antidote to all that failed her, her salvation from the endless buzzing. “You’re not…” she drew a breath. “You’re not angry with me? Or are you? I can’t remember if I told you where I was going. I think… I think I mentioned the bakery– Joséphine and Henri’s bakery. The baguettes. Did I?” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m… I’m not sure even I knew until I looked around and… and here I was somehow.”
“It doesn’t matter, Therese. I pushed you– too hard, I fear. We’ll work this out, but you have to slow down. Quit outrunning who you truly are. You are more than an identity that John foisted on you.” The visitor looked at this loveliest of young women, wishing she could absorb the girl’s pain. “I love you, no matter your name. I was wrong not to make that clear in Rumson. In Manhattan.” She eased a thumb across the redness on Therese’s forehead where it had repeatedly struck the window. “Let’s sit a spell, then talk. Alright?” A hand swept back the hair that fell across Therese’s face. “We’ll work it out, Darling. The two of us.”
The bed seemed so far, far away from where they stood at the window that Therese couldn’t comprehend reaching it. Her eyes longingly darted across the room, as if by magic she could conjure one closer. And then, in an otherworldly motion, a chair appeared, two arms gently guiding Therese back into it.
“Carol,” Therese sighed, closing her eyes. “He… I thought… but no. No, he didn’t. Not really. And… And… Promenons-nous dans les bois, pendant que le loup n'y est pas. Si le loup y était, il nous mangerait. Mais comme il n’y est pas, il ne nous mangera pas. Loup, y es-tu? Entends-tu? Que fais-tu?”
“Hm. I’m afraid my French isn’t that proficient, Darling. Is it a nursery rhyme? Something someone taught you when you were small?” Carol threaded her fingers through Therese’s hair. Quieting her, alleviating the pain, and calming her nerves.
Therese mumbled:
“Let's go for a walk in the woods
As long as the wolf isn't there
If the wolf were there
He would eat us
If the wolf isn't there
He won't eat us
Wolf, are you there? Do you hear? What are you doing?”
She lifted her head, staring up at Carol. “Do you understand why I’m afraid? The reason I feel so empty.”
Carol took in a breath through her mouth. A lungful. What to say? How to comfort? There was a compounded threat upsetting Therese. Real or imaginary, it didn’t matter. It was all in what Therese perceived as danger. A menace capable of harm. “Let’s start at the beginning and try to figure it out. Together this time. Shall we, my love? You can only run so far,” Carol bent to Therese’s ear, whispering, “Lisette.