Danielle Steel - Legacy (2010)

“No, the family seat was in Brittany. I’m planning to go there next week, to visit the château.”

“You have very fancy ancestors,” he teased her, and they both laughed. “Mine were all either paupers, priests, or in prison. What about the Sioux Indians you’re looking for? Are you related to them too?” He was kidding, and didn’t expect a positive response when she nodded.

“The marquis married one of them. She was a Sioux Indian, the daughter of a chief in South Dakota. I’m trying to figure out how he met her. I think it must have been at court. But I don’t know how she got there, or to France. She’s an amazing young girl.”

“She must have been, for a French nobleman to marry her. It would be interesting to know how that happened, wouldn’t it?” She told him about her research with the Mormons and at the University of South Dakota then, and he was intrigued. “That is fascinating. I can see why you’re pursuing it. I feel that way about Josephine Bonaparte when I read about her. She was a bewitching woman too. And so was Marie Antoinette. I’d give you some books to read about them, but they’re all in French.” He casually suggested a drink to her on the way out, and feeling somewhat swept away by their mutual interest in history and research, she agreed. She didn’t usually go out with strangers, but there was a café nearby and he seemed like a nice man.

“So tell me, what do you do when you’re not chasing your relatives all over France? Do you teach anthropology or only write books?” he asked her, as they sat at a table in the café.

“I worked in the admissions office of Boston University for ten years.” She was about to tell him she had just quit, but decided to tell the truth. “I got laid off. That means I got fired, and a computer took my job.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. What are you going to do now?”

“This, for a while. And then I’ll probably go back to work in the admissions office of another college. There are a lot of them in Boston, that’s where I live.”

He smiled as she said it. “I did a master’s in literature at Harvard, and one at Oxford. I had more fun in Boston. Where do you live?” She told him, and he said he had had an apartment about four blocks from hers. It was a funny coincidence, and then she realized why she had recognized his name. “You did a book about a little boy who looks for his parents after the war, didn’t you? I remember your name now. I read it in translation. It was incredibly touching. They were in the Resistance and had been killed, and another family takes him in, and eventually he married their daughter. It was the sweetest book I ever read, although it was very sad.”

He looked pleased. “That little boy was my father. My parents actually. My mother is the daughter of the family that took him in. My grandparents were killed in the Resistance. That was my first book. I dedicated it to them.”

“I remember. I cried like crazy when I read it.”

“So did I when I wrote it.” She was impressed that he had written that book. It had been beautifully written even in translation, and very poignant. It had haunted her for weeks after she read it.

“You know, you look a little Indian,” he said, looking at her.

“The woman at the Mormon Family History Library said that too. I think it’s just because I have dark hair.”

“I love the idea that you’re part Sioux. How exotic. And how interesting. Most of our histories are so boring, and look at you. An Indian great-great-great-great-whatever-grandmother, who came from America and married a marquis.”

“Better than that, she was kidnapped by another tribe and ran away from her captor. She may have killed him, and then escaped with a Frenchman, or at least a white man, and wound up here. No mean feat for a woman in 1784.”

“Those are powerful genes,” he said admiringly. But so were his, she remembered from the book he’d written. His grandparents had been war heroes and were decorated by de Gaulle posthumously. They had saved countless lives before they lost their own.

“So what about the rest of your life? You write academic books. You worked at a university until recently. Are you married?” He seemed interested in knowing more about her. And so was she, about him. But she was sensible about it too. No matter how appealing he was, she was going home in a few days, and he lived here. So even if they liked each other, all they could ever be was friends. More than that made no sense. She wasn’t into casual sex or sleeping with men she’d never see again. And she was still feeling raw after the breakup with Ted. So at best they might be friends. Nothing more.

“No, I’m thirty-eight, I’ve never been married, and my boyfriend and I just broke up a few weeks ago. He worked at the university too,” she answered simply and honestly.

“Ah,” Marc said with interest, “both academics. Why did you break up?” He knew it was a little rude to ask her, but he was curious anyway.

“He went to Egypt to run a dig. He’s an archaeologist, and he wants to stay there for several years, and he figures it’s better like this, going our separate ways. So we broke up.” He was surprised by what she said.

“And you? Were you heartbroken?” He was searching her eyes as he asked, and she shrugged.

“Not really. Disappointed. I thought it was forever. I was wrong.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact about it, more so than she felt. It was still fresh, and not yet healed.

“I had a relationship like that too,” Marc volunteered. “I went out with a woman for ten years, and we broke up last year. She said she realized she didn’t want to be married and have children. I thought she did. I was waiting for her to finish medical school. And when she did, she didn’t want me. It feels stupid after ten years. But I realized afterward that we hadn’t been in love with each other for a long time. We were in the beginning, for the first few years. After that it was just convenient and easy. Somehow you drift along on the river, and one day you wake up and you’re someplace you don’t want to be, with someone you realize you don’t know. I’ve never been married either. And after that, I’m not sure I want to be anymore. I gave ten years of my life to that relationship. Now I’m enjoying my freedom and doing what I want. I don’t regret the woman, but I’m sorry I stayed in it for so long. I kept thinking it would grow, but it never did.” It was exactly what had happened to her with Ted. Nothing had grown. “It took me a while to get over it, but I’m fine. We’re friends now. I take her to dinner once in a while. She hasn’t met anyone else, and I think she’d like to come back, but I won’t. I like my life now.”

“I don’t think Ted and I will end up friends. Geography, if nothing else. And I was pretty upset about it … mostly at myself. I made a lot of assumptions that didn’t apply. I missed all the signs.”

“We all do that sometimes. I did it too. Now I’m forty-two and a bachelor. It’s not what I expected, but I’m fine like this.” He seemed to have come to terms with it, as she had with Ted.

“Me too,” she said quietly. “I feel like those posters that say, ‘Oops, I forgot to have kids,’ but I did. I was too busy being a kid myself. I think working at a university does that to you. You forget how old you are. You think you’re one of them.”

“I agree. I like the class I teach, but I wouldn’t want to be there full time. It’s a very insular life.” He finished his glass of wine then and smiled at her. “Shall we take a walk and see where your illustrious ancestor lived?” She had made note of the address at the library that day.

“That would be nice.” She liked his openness and honesty, and he was interesting to talk to. She liked him a lot. She was sorry he didn’t live in Boston, he would have made a good friend.