Danielle Steel - Leap of Faith

“You'll look like a damn fool running around in that old jalopy, particularly if people know who gave it to you.”

“I don't care,” she said defiantly for once, “I'm proud of it.”

“Then why don't you marry him?” Carole pressed her as she had before, more out of curiosity than real interest. She had never understood the bond between them, and didn't care to.

“Because he is my brother. And I don't want to be married. I want to go home one day,” she said softly.

“This is all the home you have now,” Carole said pointedly, looking Marie-Ange in the eye, and her niece only looked at her, and said nothing. Carole Collins had given her a place to live, a roof over her head, an address, and an endless list of chores to do, but she had never given her kindness, compassion, love, or a sense of family. She had barely celebrated Christmas and Thanksgiving with her. And for all the years Marie-Ange had been there, she had treated her like a servant. Billy and his family had been nicer to her by far than Carole had ever been. And now Billy had given her the one thing she needed to get out of there eventually, and nothing in this world would have made her give that up, and surely not her Aunt Carole.

Marie-Ange cleared away the dishes without saying another word to her, and when her great-aunt went to her room, Marie-Ange picked up the phone and called Billy.

“I just want you to know how much I love you, and how much you mean to me,” she said in French, with a voice filled with emotion, as he wished she meant it in a different sense, but he knew she didn't. He had accepted it for a long time, and he knew that she loved him. “You are the most wonderful person I know.”

“No, you are,” he said gallantly, but meant it. “I'm glad you like it, Marie-Ange. I just want you to get out of here, one day. You deserve it.”

“Maybe we'll go together,” she said hopefully, but neither of them believed it. They both knew that Billy was destined to stay, but she wasn't. She still had a long way to go to get out, but thanks to him, she was beginning to believe now that maybe one day she'd make it.

Chapter 5

M arie-Ange started college the week after Labor Day, and she left the farm at six o'clock, driving the Chevy that Billy had rebuilt for her. Aunt Carole made no comment at all the night before, but as usual, Billy called and wished her good luck. She promised to stop on the way home, if she had time, to tell him all about it. But as it turned out, she left school so late, after buying her books, with money she had borrowed from Tom, that she had to rush home to cook dinner for Aunt Carole.

But she managed to stop by to see Billy on her way to class the next morning. She didn't have to be at school till ten o'clock, and she dropped by around seven-thirty, after finishing her chores. And she spent time with him in the Parkers' big, friendly kitchen. All their appliances were old, and the Formica counters were chipped. The linoleum floor was stained beyond repair, but his mother kept it immaculately clean, and there was always a warm, cozy atmosphere at their house. Marie-Ange felt at home there, as she had in the kitchen at Marmouton, and unlike her great-aunt, Billy's parents were crazy about her. And Billy's mother believed, because one of her daughters had told her so, that she and Billy would get married someday. But even if they never did, they always treated her like one of their daughters.

“So how was school yesterday?” Billy asked, as he walked into the kitchen with her, in his overalls, and poured them both a cup of coffee.

“It was terrific,” she beamed at him, “I love it. I wish you were there with me.” The classes he took were at Fort Dodge, and most of the work he did was on his own, and by correspondence.

“So do I,” he smiled back at her. He missed their school days, when he could see her every day, and have long serious talks in French at lunchtime. It was all different now. He had to work on the farm, and he knew that she would have a new life now, new friends, new ideas, professors, and students who had far different goals than he had. He knew he would be on the farm forever. It made him a little sad when he thought about it, but he was happy for her. And after the hard life she'd led on her great-aunt's farm for the past seven years, he knew better than anyone how much it meant to her.

And finally, an hour after she arrived, she got up and had to leave for school, but she promised to come by the following morning.

They saw a lot of each other during her college days, far more than either of them had expected. The commute ate up her time, and she eventually got a job in town as a waitress in a local diner on the weekends, which helped her with expenses, and allowed her to repay the book money she'd borrowed from the foreman. Her Aunt Carole had always refused to give her any money, and told her that if she wanted it badly enough, she'd work for it. But in spite of that, and the chores she still had to do on the farm, she managed to stop and see Billy daily. He came to the diner for a meal occasionally, and now and then they even went to a movie.

During her sophomore year, Billy had a girlfriend, but he always made it clear to Marie-Ange that she was far more important to him than any other girl and always would be. Their childhood friendship had blossomed into a bond like no other, and she even liked his girlfriend, but by Christmas that year, Billy had tired of her. She didn't have the spark or fire of Marie-Ange, the energy, the brains, the style, and bored him in comparison. Marie-Ange had spoiled him. He turned twenty-one as Marie-Ange started her junior year, and it was a hard year for her. Aunt Carole was sick much of the time, she seemed to be getting old and frail and slowly failing. She was seventy-nine years old by then, and in many ways, she seemed as tough as ever, but it was more bravado than real these days, and from time to time Marie-Ange felt sorry for her, although Billy said he didn't. He had always hated the way she treated Marie-Ange, her hard heart, and mean spirit. Marie-Ange knew by then that her father had not been wrong in his assessment of her. But she was used to her, and grateful to her for taking her in, and she did her best to help her while she was sick. She would prepare food for her late at night, and leave it in the morning, so she would have something to eat all day, and she was far more generous with her portions than Carole had been with her throughout her childhood.

Carole wound up in the hospital at Christmas with a broken hip that year. She had fallen out of her wheelchair when she hit an icy patch on her way to the barn, and for the first time, Marie-Ange spent the entire holiday with Billy. It was the happiest Christmas she'd had in years, and she and his siblings had a grand time, decorating the tree, and making presents for each other, and singing. She brought Aunt Carole a turkey dinner in the hospital, and it saddened her to see that her great-aunt felt too ill to eat it. Her polio didn't make her recovery any easier, and she seemed frailer than ever.

Marie-Ange spent New Year's eve with Billy too, and she and his brothers and sisters laughed and danced and sang and teased each other until long after midnight. One of his sisters got a little drunk on white wine and asked Marie-Ange when she was finally going to marry Billy. She said that Marie-Ange had ruined him for everyone else anyway, and what was he going to do with all that French he'd learned? Unless he married her, it was useless. And something about the way she said it, though all in good fun and well meant, made Marie-Ange feel guilty.

“Don't be silly,” Billy said, later that night, when she said something to him about it. They were both sober, and sitting on the porch, talking, after everyone else had gone to bed. It was freezing, but they were wrapped up and warm, as they looked up at a starry sky and chatted. “My sister doesn't know what she's talking about. You haven't ‘ruined’ me, Marie-Ange, you've helped me. Besides, our cows love it when I speak French to them. I was going to write a paper about it for school, I swear they produce more milk if I speak French to them when I milk them.” He was smiling at her, and teasing, and they were holding hands as they did sometimes. There was always something warm and comforting about it, although they both insisted it meant nothing.