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The Marin Family Chronicles--Volume 5-Book 3

The Dreamers by Charles O. Goulet

Chapter One--Boom Times--1951

Morinville, Alberta, Monday, January 1, 1951

 Etienne Marin felt tense and uncomfortable.  Since his twentieth birthday last September, this feeling of anxiety and restlessness grew, and he could not put his finger on the reason.  Was it his new stepmother, Georgette, who married his father the past October?  Was it the strained relationship with his father due to the marriage?  Was it his own maturity, his desire for independence and freedom.  He knew it was not his siblings, fifteen year old Annette, and thirteen year old Olivier.  What was it?
 Since it was a great French holiday they were seated around the formal table in the dining room enjoying the special meal that Georgette and Annette prepared for the occasion.  His father, David, sat at the head of the table as patriarch of the family.  At fifty-five he was a robust man, thickening through the middle, yet with very few grey strands in his plentiful dark hair.  Since his marriage to Georgette Lemellin, twenty-two years his junior, he became a different man: decisive, confident, and in control.  To Etienne's way of thinking too much in control.
 Annette and Olivier appeared to like their changed father and new stepmother.  Georgette arrived at the Marin farm unannounced last year, claiming to be the illegitimate daughter of his mother, Julie, the result of a wartime liaison.  Soon she inveigled herself into the household, and last October she married his father.  At thirty-one years old she was a comely woman with a round pretty face and short dark hair, but with a full-figured body that Etienne thought a little plump. A capable and energetic woman she took control of the farm kitchen with vigour and organization.
 His father tapped his fork against his plate.  "Time for a toast!"  He placed the fork in his plate and took up a goblet of wine.  He lifted it, signal[ng for all to take the glass before each plate.  He raised his glass.  "Happy New Year to everyone.  May 1951 be the best year of our lives."
 Everyone responded, "Happy New Year!", clinked their glasses and sipped.
 Georgette lifted her glass.  "May this family prosper and grow with love and happiness.  To the New Year."
 Again all responded.
 "Etienne...you don't look too happy."  His father smiled at him.
 "I am, Papa...but I've been thinking...of my future."
 "And what about your future, son?"
 "I want to leave the farm."
 "You want to leave the farm?  Why?"
 "I need a life of my own."
 "Where will you go?  What will you do?"
 "I'm not sure...but I think I'll join the Army...go to Korea."
 Georgette joined in.  "Etienne, are you crazy!  Do you know what war is like?  What's wrong with here...with the farm?"
 Etienne shrugged his shoulders.  "Nothing...really...it's me.  I want a change."
 David chuckled.  "Son, I understand.  You have to do what you have to do."

Toronto, Ontario, Monday, February 5, 1951

 Emile Marin bowed his head in prayer before the statue of the Blessed Mary.  He wanted guidance.  "Blessed Mother, help me to make the right decision.  I know your Son needs workers...and I want to be one of them."  He looked up to the statue almost hoping that it would come to life, speak to him, and assure him that he was making the right decision.
 He would soon be twenty years old and had to make a decision of what to do with his life.  He was the oldest of Gaspar Marin's three children; he was just completing his first year at St. Michael College, the Roman Catholic component of the University of Toronto.  The ambience of the college awakened in him a spirituality that he never felt before although his family always practised their religion faithfully, and his cousin, Regina, was a nun in the Sisters of Service.
 For the past two months he felt drawn to the priesthood, and each day his resolve became more firm, although he was sure his father would be disappointed if he decided to become a priest as he was expected to join the family business, started by his grandfather, Auguste Marin, who still controlled it, which was now progressing and expanding.
 "Emile, you have a visitor."  Father Gregory tapped Emile on the shoulder, startling him.  He hurriedly made the sign of the cross, genuflected toward the tabernacle, and followed the priest toward the vestry, then through a hall to the foyer of the college.  Father Gregory waved his hand toward someone seated in an upholstered chair and hurried away.
 "Ah, Regina...it's good to see you."  Emile recognized his cousin, Regina Harcourt, who was only a few month younger than he.  She chose the Sisters of Service because they were dedicated to helping Catholic immigrants get established in Canada and whose mother house was in Toronto.
 She rose.  "I was in the neighbourhood...and wanted to talk to you."
 "How interesting.  I wanted to talk to you too."  He moved his right hand in an invitation for her to resume her seat as he moved a chair closer to hers.  "Papa, probably told you about my plans?"
 "No...it was Pèperè.  He came to see me...and wanted me to dissuade you from becoming a priest.  He wants you to join the company after you graduate."
 "Oh...and what did you say?"
 Regina smiled.  "What do you think?  I'm a nun...in the service of God...and you want to become one of his priests.  I'm here to encourage you...not to discourage you.  Emile you will be a fine priest.  You must continue with your plan."

Vancouver, British Columbia, Thursday, February 16, 1951

 Darrell Marin shook his head in consternation.  He was fired from the newspaper.  According to his editor his stories were not up to par.  Since 1949, he worked hard and under trying conditions due to the ongoing labour strife at the newspaper that lasted for the past three years.  It was not easy for every one at the paper and especially him as he came on near the end of the bitter dispute.
 Many of the employees of the paper treated him with scorn and indifference; many considered him a scab because took no part in the dispute, and he realized that that was one of the reasonss he was hired.
 As a student fresh out of the University of Victoria, the editor of the Vancouver Province felt that Darrell would be an asset to the reporting staff of the paper.  And Darrell felt that he was.  In the past couple years he learned a great deal about the newspaper business and especially reporting, but the past year was most difficult as the paper recovered from the lost readers and staff animosity from the strike.
 "Damn!" he muttered as he started to clean out his desk.  He liked working for the Province; he liked the editor, and he liked most members of the staff.
 "Hey, Darrell, whatcha gonna do now?"
 Darrell lifted his head, and grinned at "Dutchy" Sanders, the sports reporter whose desk was across from his.
   "Tough,"  Dutchy muttered.
 "There are other papers in town.  I'll find something."
 "Yeah, guess you will.  Maybe at the Sun."
 Darrell shrugged his shoulders.  The Sun was the undisputed rival of the Province and the animosity between the two papers was well-known, although the reporters often got together to share tidbits of gossips and other collaborations.
 "Hey, Darrell, I hear they're looking for a sports reporter.  You might try that."
 Although Darrell liked sports, he was not too interested in reporting it; he did not like the time that sports reporters had to spend covering stories, but if worse came to worse he would try it.

Vancouver, British Columbia, Thursday, March 8, 1951

 Darrell approached the massive desk that stood as a sentry to the large door with the prominent black letters "Editor".  He hardly noticed the woman sitting behind it, her head bent over her typewriter that clacked a staccato rhythm.
 Darrell cleared his throat to get her attention.
 She lifted her head from her task and flashed a bright smile.  "You must be Mr. Marin?"
 "Yes...I'm hear to see..."  He nodded his head toward the door.
 "Yes...he's expecting you...but have a seat.  It shouldn't be long."
 A single straight backed chair stood against the wall to his right.
 "You may hang up your coat."  She nodded her head toward a clothes rack that stood on the opposite side of the door.  Then she turned back to her typewriter.
 Darrell hung his damp raincoat on one of the hooks of the clothes rack and proceeded to the chair.  He was surprised at the sparseness of the anteroom to the editor's office.  He sat down.
 For the first time he noticed the young woman.  She was about his age, with thick auburn hair loosely curled.  Her face was pretty enough but was not what one would call beautiful; it was more common than outstanding.  Maybe it was the mouth; perhaps a bit too generous, or maybe it was the nose--too slim, too pert.  He was not sure about the eyes.
 She seemed to sense that he was studying her, and glanced up from her work.  Their eyes met and held as he noticed they were light brown, almost hazel--large and smiling.  She glanced down as if discomfited.
 Then he noticed the rings on her left hand.  She was married.  Just his luck.  Every woman that attracted him was either married, or spoken for, or had some other defects that turned him off.
 His reporter training got the best of him.  "Misses...?  I'm Darrell Marin.  Since I'm hoping to work here, I should at least know the boss's secretary.  You're...?"   He stood up and approached her desk.
 "I'm Mrs. Humphries...Magnolia Humphries.  It's nice to meet you, Mr. Marin."
 He extended his hand across the desk, but she made no effort to shake it.  Awkwardly he withdrew it.  "Have you worked here long?"
 "I've been here for four years."
 "Nice place to work for?"
 She nodded her head as the door to the editor's office opened.

Vancouver, British Columbia, Monday, March 12, 1951

 Darrell held the door for the young woman leaving the building.  Then he recognized Mrs. Humphries.  "Hello...it's nice to see you again."
 "Mr....Mr. Marin.  Oh, congratulations.  I see you got the job."
 "Yes, thank you."
 A swirl of rain enveloped them, and she flipped her umbrella open to protect them.  "Typically spring weather. You never know what to expect."
 He laughed.  "Yes...but mostly rain."  They moved together down the street.  "On your way home?"
 "Yes...I catch the street car at the next corner."
 "My car's right here."  He pointed to a 1950 grey Chrevrolet sedan parked on the street.  "Maybe I could give you a lift?"
 A surge of rain swept over them, and even large umbrella did not protect them.  Rivulets streaked down their faces and their raincoats.  A rush of wind whipped the umbrella away further exposing them.
 "You're soaked.  You'd better let me drive you."  He stepped to the passenger door and opened it and gently steered her toward it.

Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, Wednesday, April 25, 1951

 Christopher Marin felt the spring air in his blood as he strode jauntily down the steep street toward the waterfront.  He whistled an uncomposed tune swinging his arms in the joy of the weather--the warm spring sun, the refreshing ocean breeze, and the clear azure sky.  His mind concentrated on the day rather than on the purpose of his trip to this small fishing town on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean.  Yet he knew that as soon as he found the business establishment that he was looking for, he would have to focus on his job as a salesman for his grandfather's company, Marin Bros. Fishing Products.
 He stopped whistling and frowned as he spotted the small weather-beaten sign that proclaimed Leoda Fisheries, his reason for being in Lunenburg.  A typical shingle-sided shabby red building, with two paned-glass windows on either side of door whose upper part was paned to match the windows, huddled just off the precipitous gravelled street. Christopher stopped before it and debated whether to walk in or knock; he decided to knock.
 A female voice called, "Come."
 He twisted the faded brass door knob and pushed the squeaking door inward.  Seated at a desk to his left was a young woman with blonde hair pulled back revealing a round face with large dark olive eyes.
 "Mister Marin?"
 Christopher nodded.
 She rose and extended her right hand.  "I'm Brigitte Leoda.  My father's expecting you."
 Christopher grasped her hand; the warmth of it entranced him; the firmness of her grasp surprised him.  She was tall and willowy; the straight cut, simple dress moulded her body accentuating her slim build, her adequate bust line, her flat stomach and her wide hips.  She was an attractive woman.  Her composure discomfited him, and he felt the blood rush to his face.  His reaction surprised him as he stammered, "I'm Chris...Christopher Marin."
 She smiled revealing even white teeth and a generous mouth.  Her verdant eyes sparkled as she led him to a door to his right.  "Dad's in the shop."
 As he worked to regain his aplomb, Christopher admired her straight back, rounded buttocks, and slender, though shapely, legs.  Never before had a woman had such an effect on him, and he was shaken by it.
 She opened the door, turned, and smiled as she announced.  "You'll find the boss somewhere in there."
 "What did you say your name was?"
 She smiled demurely.  "I'm Brigitte Leoda.  I work for my father.  He's inside."  She turned away with a swing of her hips.
 Christopher could not keep his eyes off her.
 "Ah...you've met my daughter.
 Startled, Christopher turned toward the voice.  A large man, with a weather-beaten face and the same greenish eyes as his daughter, marched purposefully toward him, his right hand extended.  "I'm Manfred Leoda...and this is my shop."
 His grip was firm and decisive, much like his daughter's.  "How can I help you?"
 "Sir, it's I who wants to help you."

 Christopher remembered little of the interview with Manfred Leoda. The smiling face, the twinkling eyes, the generous mouth, the white teeth, and willowy body of Brigitte Leoda, the daughter, filled his mind and ruined his attention.  A hundred questions came: Was she married?  Would she be interested in him?  Did she have a suitor?  How could he approach her?  Would she accept him or would she reject him?  Was he being foolish?  Should he ask her for a date?  He had time on his hands until the next train for Halifax.  What should he do?

 "Miss Leoda, I hope you won't think me too presumptuous, but I would like to take you to dinner."  Christopher stood just inside the door of the small office.
 "Mister Marin...I don't get off work until five o'clock."  She hesitated and looked toward the door to the shop behind her.  "I'm not sure that my father would approve."  She lowered her eyes.  "I'm afraid I must decline your invitation.  I don't really know you."
 Christopher thought he detected a blush.  "But you would accept...if your father agreed?"
 She nodded affirmatively almost imperceptibly; she lifted her head assertively.  "But I can't!"

Quebec City, Quebec, Friday, April 27, 1951

 Seventeen year old Maurice Marin drummed his fingers gently against the worn top of his student desk as the professor at the head of the class droned on about Canon Law. The bright sunshine streaming through the paned-windows to his right announced that spring was well advanced, the time when a young man's fancy turned to women and love.  And Maurice was no exception.  His mind filled with the naked body of a young woman and his body stirred to the mental image.
 Across the aisle his best friend, Roch Jardine, interrupted his sexual fantasies with a whisper, "Are you going home today?"
 Most Fridays he and Roch left the Seminaire de Quebec where both were students to spend the weekend with their families. Maurice nodded affirmatively although he was not sure that his father would be coming for him.
 "Hey, you can get a ride with me.  Papa's coming with his new car."
 The shrill bell announced the end of the last class of the day, and the boisterous students, all males, rose as one as the babble of their voices filled the room echoing through the high ceilings.

 Maurice admired the shiny, new Buick as he opened the rear door of the sedan.  "Nice car, Monsieur Jardine," he exclaimed as he slid into the rear seat.  Then he noticed another occupant.  Linette Jardine, Roch's younger sister, reached out to touch his arm.
 "Bonjour, Maurice.  You like this car?"
 "Hallo, Linette.  Yes...it's a very magnificent car!"  Then he turned to the driver, Roch and Linette's father.  "Monsieur, this is a very grand car!"
 The warmth of Linette's hand on his arm turned him toward her.  Although Linette always seemed pleased to see him, he never really noticed her much before.  Now he studied her more carefully. He was not sure why; maybe it was the spring weather.
 Linette was two years younger than he and her brother so he always considered her a child.  For the first time he noticed her as a woman.  The light frothy dress revealed her filling womanly figure and the perfume, a hint of mystery, intrigued him.  Her long dark hair framed her slim face with soft curls; her grey eyes sparkled; her rosy lips shone with a slight colouring of lipstick, and her teeth flashed whitely.  Her slim neck drew his eyes to the low neckline of her organdie dress, and for the first time he noticed the subtle curve of her nascent breasts.  She leaned toward him and the protuberance brushed against his forearm.  He jerked away.
 She smiled demurely.  "Maurice, you're very handsome today."
 Maurice's face flushed.
 "Linette, quit teasing Maurice...just because you like him."  From the front seat Roch turned to face Maurice.
 Annoyance filled Maurice because he knew Roch was purposely trying to embarrass him.
 "That's enough, you two."  Monsieur Jardine smiled as he spoke.

Toronto, Ontario, Sunday, May 6, 1951

 The living room of Auguste Marin's home was alive with the chatter of many voices as the family celebrated his birthday which had occurred two days previous.  At seventy years old, Auguste was a vigorous, healthy man who still commanded the respect and admiration of his family.
 Emile surveyed the happy, noisy group; his Aunt Pierrette was present with her three daughters: Emily, the youngest, who at thirteen was just budding into womanhood, and Thomasine--mostly called Tommy--who at eighteen was a sophisticated young woman, and Regina, the young nun, who received permission from her superior to attend.
 Then there was Uncle Firmin and his large family, starting with Mario, a handsome nineteen year old, and ending with Fleurette, a one year old toddler, and all the others in between: Francesca who would soon be seventeen, Paulo, a rambunctious fifteen year old, Peter, twelve, Veronica, nine, Alfonso, seven, and then, Olivia, five.
 As well, there was his own two siblings: Marthe, a nineteen year old beauty, and Thomas, seventeen, and still in high school.
 All seemed to be chattering and laughing at the same time producing a cacophony of happy sound as they made his grandfather the center of attention.
    His grandmother, Fleurette, handsome at sixty-four years old, sidled up to him.  "It's nice to have the family together once in a while."
 "Yes...Mèmère, I love them all."
 She smiled.  "And so do we.  You'll miss that if you become a priest."
 He nodded.  Yes, he would.  That would be the hardest sacrifice to make.
 "You still plan on becoming a priest?"
 "Yes...I want to be a missionary...to bring God and Christ to those who've never heard of them."
 "So...your going to join an order?"
 "I hope so, Mèmère.  I've applied to the Oblates of Mary Immaculate."
 "And...?"
 "I haven't heard from them yet."
 "What will you do if you're not accepted?"
 Emile shook his head.  He had not thought of that.
 "You know, Emile, it happens."
 He nodded.

Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, Monday, May 7, 1951

 "Mr. Marin...it's so good to see you again."
 Christopher noticed the enthusiasm in Brigitte Leoda's voice, almost as if she was happy to see him.
 "What brings you back to our country?"
 Christopher smiled.  "I still haven't convinced your father to place an order with our firm."
 "Mr. Marin, I'm sorry I couldn't accept your invitation to dinner.  I would've like to...but I knew my father would not have...."
 "Miss Leoda...no need to apologize.  I understand."
 "No, Mr. Marin...I don't think you do.  My father would never accept you...you're French...and you're Catholic.  Right?"
 Christopher nodded.
 "Mr. Marin...you're wasting your time.  My father will never give you an order."
 Christopher nodded again.  "I know that...but that's not the reason I'm here.  You are.  Would you accept my invitation...if your father would let you?"
 She bowed her head slightly and looked at him through her lashes; she smiled bashfully and nodded.  "Yes," she murmured.
 The door from the shop opened: Manfred Leoda loomed in it, his large frame almost filling it.  "Mr. Marin...you're back."
 "Yes, sir.  I was hoping to convince you to deal with our company."
 "Mr. Marin, I thought I made it clear when you were last here that I don't intend to purchase anything from you.  And further I must warn you: My daughter does not wish to be bothered by you!"  His voice grew more strident as he moved slowly toward Christopher.
 "Sir...is that your position...or that of your daughter?"
 Leoda's face reddened; his jowls quivered.  "Marin, that is none of your business.  My daughter will not see you again.  And you will not come back here.  I do not wish to do business with you.  Now, leave!"  His voice rose almost to a shout.  "I never want to see you again."

 Christopher waited in the shadow of the telephone pole outside the Leoda Fisheries.  The afternoon shadows lengthened so he estimated that Brigitte would soon be leaving from work.
 The door creaked open as Brigitte exited and stood looking up and down the street.  Then she turned to her left and made her way slowly up the steep roadway that led up to the residential part of the town.
 Christopher hurried after her.  "Miss Leoda...Miss Leoda...may talk to you?"
 She slowed and half turned toward him.  "Mr. Marin...what are you doing here?"
 He caught up to her and moved in step with her.  "Miss Leoda, I hope you don't feel the same toward me as your father."
 She shook her head.
 "Miss Leoda...may I again ask you to dinner?"
 "You may...but nothing has changed, Mr. Marin."
 "Please...please call me Christopher.  May I call you Brigitte?"
 She smiled.  "You remembered my name."
 "May I call you Brigitte?"
 Her olive eyes twinkled.  "If you like."
 "Brigitte, would you do the honour of having dinner with me?"
 "I would love to...but my father..."
 "Yes, your father..."

Quebec City, Quebec, Saturday, May 12, 1951

 Maurice pounded the large brass knocker on the front door of the Jardine residence just off Chemin Ste. Foy.  Earlier, Linette called to tell him that Roch wanted to see him about an important school matter, but she did not say what it was.
 The door opened; Linette stood in the bright sunshine.  "Bonjour, Maurice.  Come in."
 Maurice entered the foyer.  "Where's Roch?"
 "He's upstairs. Come I'll show you to his room."
 Maurice hesitated.  Ever since he first noticed Linette's femininity, he felt awkward around her.
 She grabbed his left hand and tugged him toward the curving staircase.  He followed, acquiescent.
 She led him up the wide staircase, down a carpeted hall to a door on his right.  She opened the door and tugged him in.  Once inside she closed the door and then flung her arms around his neck.  Her mouth found his, and he gasped in surprise.
 She pushed him toward the bed in the centre of the outside wall.  "This is Roch's room"
 Before Maurice could move or speak, she flung off the simple dress and stood before him naked.  His eyes bulged as he surveyed her slim body; her breasts were round and firm; her rosy nipples peaked atop them, and her skin shone smoothly over her lightly muscled stomach. She place her left foot on a straight backed chair at the desk along the wall, reached behind her with her left hand and covered her pubes; only a small amount of brown hair showed.  She held the pose.  "Do you like what you see?"
 Maurice gulped.  "Where's Roch," he stammered.
 She smiled broadly.  "No one's here.  We have the house to ourselves."  She reached over to him, grasped his right hand and placed it on her left breast.
 Maurice felt the erect nipple in the palm of his hand; his body stiffened as she drew him upright.
 "Do you like what you see?" she asked again.  She placed his arms around her body and her arms encircled his neck as she drew him tightly against her.  "Please kiss me," she murmured.

Toronto, Ontario, Wednesday, August 1, 1951

 Emile's hand trembled as he read the letter.  He stared at it in disbelief.  It was a short letter informing him that the Oblates decided that he would not be a suitable candidate for their seminary and their missions.  Slowly he reread the letter, slowly he calmed his trembling hands, slowly he quelled his anger and disappointment, and slowly he resigned himself to their decision.
 He would talk to Father Piché at Sacred Heart Church, his parish priest, to decide on his next move.  If he could not be a missionary, he could still be a priest, a secular priest, working as the pastor of a parish, maybe even here in Toronto.
 His mother, Emily, who at forty-three years old was just starting to have streaks of grey in her hair and wrinkles around he eyes, entered the room.  "Good news, son?"  She always spoke French to him.
 "Non," he replied.  "The Oblates don't want me."
 "Why?"
 "I don't know, Maman.  They don't think I'd make a good missionary."
 "Maybe they're right."
 He nodded.  "Yes...but I still want to be a priest."
 "What will you do?"
 "I'll be a secular."
 "Have you been accepted at a seminary?"
 "No...but I haven't applied yet.  I don't think that'll be a problem.  The Church needs priests...needs priests everywhere...and Father Gregory will help me."
 "And so will Father Piché.  He always thought that you should be a priest...you know?...ever since you were an altar boy.

Morinville, Alberta, Sunday, September 23, 1951

 Etienne was surprised by the attention the parish paid to him as he attended Mass in his Army uniform.  Since his basic training was over, he was scheduled to leave for Korea where the Canadian Army was part of the United Nations mission to save South Korea from a North Korean invasion; this was his final furlough before departure.
 He stood on the back porch of the farm house that he called home for all of his life surveying the farm yard: the hip-roofed barn; the large machine shed that housed the farm machinery; the corrals and grain bins.  Over the years the farm changed into a prosperous business, and now his parents' hard work was paying off.
 Georgette joined him and slipped her right arm through his left and pulled him close.  "Will you miss this?"
 "Of course...this has been my home for most of my life."
 "Will you miss me?"
 He looked down at her.  What did she mean by that?  "Probably...will you miss me?"  He was startled by his question.
 She tugged him closer and he could feel the softness of her breast against his arm.  Was that purposely?
 "Etienne...I'll miss you.  I think of you often."
 What was she getting at?
 She looked up at him, and for the first time he noticed the colour of her eyes; they were a bluish-grey almost slate coloured varying from cold to lukewarm; he decided they were hard eyes.  "Do you love me?"
 The question startled him, and he drew away.
 "Would you make love to me?"
 What was she proposing?  He stammered, "What...what...do you mean?"
 "Etienne, don't be so damn naive.  Would you go to bed with me?"
 "No!"
 "Why not?  Am I ugly?  Am I undesirable?"
 Etienne was flustered.  "No!...no!  but you're...you're my father's wife...my stepmother."
 "What the hell does that have to do with it?"  Her voice was low and beckoning.  "Come...let's make love."
 "No...I can't!"
 "Yes, you can."

 Etienne could not believe what did.  Georgette lead him to the bedroom, made him help her take off her clothes and then helped him take of his.  To his surprise, he acted like a young bull.  Furthermore she guided him in their love-making, slowly bring him to readiness, as she kissed him tenderly, then passionately, guiding his hands over her plump, soft body, first along her neck, then over her breasts to her large red nipples, down over her stomach to her pubic hair, through it to her labia.
 He responded with enthusiasm as she turned on her stomach, raised her buttocks and guided him into her quivering vagina.  Together they moved slowly at first and then gaining momentum as their passion and lust crescendoed in an approaching orgasm.
 Etienne lost all sense of time and place as their bodies melded, as their passion united, as their lust enveloped them in multiple pinnacles of pleasure.

Morinville, Alberta, Monday, September 24, 1951

 The family stood waiting for the bus to take Etienne back to the Army base.  Etienne could not look either his father or Georgette in the eye.  He knew that what he had done was wrong--morally, socially, and ethically, but Georgette appeared unaffected by what happened between them.
 The bus arrived.  Georgette stepped forward.  "Etienne, we'll miss you.  Be happy!"  She move away to allow Annette and Olivier to say their good-byes.  Then his father moved toward him, opened his arms in a bear hug, and said, "Etienne, be a good soldier.  Behave yourself."  He grinned at Etienne.
 Etienne shook his head gravely.  "Good-bye, Papa.  I'll try."  Somehow it seemed like a confession of his guilt.

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