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THIRTY-EIGHT

Oncle has not come to visit for many days. I miss him and asked Maman whether he was in Paris. Her face turned hard, and she told me he was in the city but had been very busy. I did not believe her. He would never let this much time pass without coming to see me if he were close by.

I was afraid he was ill, but Maman said he was not.

Her face was still hard, and I suddenly understood that they had had a quarrel.

I am ashamed to tell you, dear diary, that I stomped my foot and yelled at her.

“He is not just yours. He is mine too. You cannot take him away from me because you are angry with him!” Then I went to my room. She did not come after me.

Isabeau has not been feeling well, and the doctor recommended she stay in Paris with Oncle édouard and Tante Suzanne for the holidays.

Maman and I went to Tante Edma’s and celebrated with the Pontillons.

It was nice except I was jealous that Isabeau was with Oncle when I was not.

But when we returned, he came to visit the very next day, and I was not jealous any longer.

He even brought his own canvas to Maman’s studio to paint with us, and I believe their quarrel has ended.

Oncle decided he would make his own rendition of Maman’s “Jeanne Pontillon Wearing a Hat.” He never glanced at Maman’s sketches and just started brushing oil paint directly on the empty canvas.

It was fascinating to watch him work, his arms gesturing wildly, his blue eyes icy with intent.

I can tell that his painting is going to be much darker than Maman’s and more realistic.

It will be very good, but I know that I will prefer hers.

He left his easel and came to mine, his brush and palette in hand. He pointed the back of the brush at the place where I was struggling to get Jeanne’s chin to look like a chin. “Would you like a little help with this?” he asked, turning the brush around and moving it closer to my canvas.

“édouard!” Maman cried out in an angry voice. “Do not touch her work.”

Oncle took a step back and looked at her with a guilty expression. “Of course. Sorry.”

I was worried that they were once again going to quarrel, but he walked over to her and whispered something I could not hear. She told him to go back to his own painting, but she smiled when she said it. I was greatly relieved.

17 January 1895

Isabeau has become quite ill. Dr. Vallier fears it is tuberculosis, and Maman has banned me from the side of the house where Isabeau sleeps. Maman is with her almost all the time, and she said until Isabeau is better I must stay far away from both of them.

30 January 1895

Isabeau has taken a turn for the worse. I have been attending the Legion of Honor School as a day student for over a year, but now Maman insists I board to ensure I do not also get sick.

I do not like living here at all. Aside from my concern for Isabeau and homesickness, the boarders have their habits and friendships that are different from those of the day students, and I am not included in many things.

The school is known for its academics, and no art classes are offered. There is nowhere I can paint, and I have no supplies. Oncle has come to visit twice and has promised to come again in a few days. He offered to bring me my easel and pastels, but there is no room in the dormitory for them.

2 February 1895

I am happy to report that Isabeau is on the mend, but now Maman is ill. She has pulmonary congestion, and therefore I must stay on as a boarder. I am in despair. This is not just because it is lonely here, but because I am now worried every moment about Maman.

Oncle has begun to visit more frequently and brings me news.

But I fear his news is more cheerful than the actual situation.

He looks very sad, and his cheeks have become hollow.

Isabeau visited one day when her classes were over, and she did not look healthy either.

I hope this is because she has been ill and not because Maman is not getting better.

15 February 1895

Oncle édouard came today to fetch me home.

At first, I was ecstatic, but as soon as we arrived I could tell that something was terribly wrong.

Oncle explained that I was allowed to leave school because Dr. Vallier now believes Maman is not contagious.

I fear that although this may be true, it is not the actual reason. But I will not write that reason down.

Tante Edma is at the house to nurse Maman, as is my cousin Jeanne.

Tante Yves was here the week before, but she had to return to her husband and children.

I went directly to Maman’s room and could not believe what I saw.

She was so small and all curled up on her bed.

It was almost like she was not my beautiful mother anymore. It is as if she is a ghost of herself.

Maman motioned me to her bedside so she could hug me.

She felt like a tiny bird in my arms. I did not want to cry, but I could not help it.

Her voice was raggedy, barely a whisper, and I could see it was difficult for her to speak.

I leaned in close, and she told me there was no need for tears, as she was getting better every day.

Tante Edma said that Maman’s fever was much reduced and this was a good sign.

But Tante does not look well either. No one here does.

22 February 1895

Maman is now only drinking a tiny bit of milk and seems to be shrinking right before my eyes.

Dr. Vallier comes almost every day, sometimes twice a day.

There is a lot of whispering among the adults.

I also hear crying when no one believes I am nearby.

Tante Edma and Oncle édouard keep assuring me that Maman will recover, and as much as I wish to believe this, in the deepest parts of my heart I know it is not true.

Maman is now a ghost of a ghost of herself.

I go to school and learn nothing. I go to Oncle’s studio and paint nothing.

24 February 1895

Maman struggles to breathe, and it’s hard to watch this, but I want to be with her as much as I can.

Once in a while, she seems to feel better for a few minutes, and I need to be there when she does.

I must tell her how much I love her and that she is the best mother there ever was.

I believe this will give her strength and make her well.

26 February 1895

I am now eating as little as Maman, as putting anything into my stomach is impossible. Isabeau and I sit by Maman, one on each side of the bed, holding her hands. They are very cold and bony, blue in tone. They look like the hands of a woman of eighty. Maman is only fifty-four.

27 February 1895

Oncle édouard took me for a carriage ride today, even though the weather was nasty. He looks almost as poorly as Maman does. His eyes are bloodshot, and his beard is in need of a trim. Even his red hair seems to have faded.

He tried to talk to me about the future, but I said there is no need.

I am overjoyed to tell you, dear diary, that Maman sat up this morning and took half a glass of milk.

Her cheeks were flushed, and she smiled at me.

All of this must mean she is finally beginning to feel better!

Thank you, dear Lord. Thank you a million times over.

The recovery will most likely be long, but then she will be herself again and all will be well.

When I told Oncle this, he turned away from me and looked out the window.

2 March 1895

There were so many people coming and going today.

Some wanted news of Maman, and some wanted to see her.

Oncle édouard and Tante Edma decide who can and who cannot visit with her.

Few were admitted. M. Degas was allowed in, and when he came out he swung his cape around his shoulders and rushed from the house.

Dr. Vallier has been here most of the day, but now he has gone back to the hospital.

Tante insisted that Isabeau and I sit down to dinner with her. None of us ate anything. When Oncle joined us, he ate nothing either. We did not talk. What was there to say?

I went up to sit with Maman. I cannot bear it. I cannot. She looked so well yesterday, but today there is no denying that she is losing her struggle for breath. She is so weak and so very tired. Please Lord, please let her live.

It was too painful to watch her in such distress, and I was not able to stay with her for long.

Maman, oh, my dear, dear Maman. Do not leave me.

Please do not leave me. If you must go, I will go with you.

Tante saw how distressed I was and brought me to my bedroom.

She helped me into my nightgown and told me to sleep. How could I sleep?

Oncle came in and stayed with me until he heard Dr. Vallier’s voice and went to speak with him. I climbed out of bed and sat at the top of the stairs so I could listen to what the doctor was saying. I could hear him talking, but I could not understand his words. I stayed there anyway.

I think I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, Oncle was picking me up from the floor and carrying me to my bed. He held me tight, and I could feel that his face was wet. He was also shaking and breathing hard.

I screamed, and he held me even tighter.

Then I screamed again and began hitting him with my fists.

I yelled that I wanted my mother, and he told me he would always take care of me.

But I did not want him to take care of me.

I wanted Maman. Oncle kissed my forehead like Maman always does.

He told me he understood and that he wanted her too.

But now neither of us will ever be able to have her again. This is the very worst day of my life.