Frederic

  

Divonne, France, 1939.

 

Frederic.

 

     September 4^th was the day Frederic was to leave for Marseille to serve his duty, unsure of when – or if – he was to return. It was now May, and he and his family would not learn of his deployment for another ten weeks. At 21 years of age, he was a new father to a boy, Laurent, who looked just like his mother; steel blue eyes and rich brown hair. Laurent was born on the 9^th of May, however official records of his birth will show that he was born on September 18^th, as Frederic and Anouk had only been married in January.

     So, contradictory to what history may say, Frederic had not been in Marseille for the birth of his son. He was in Divonne in the sitting room of his home with his father, praying for the tortured howling of his beloved wife to cease. Anouk was barely 17, she had a petite frame and a fragility that made her young husband unbearably nervous. A woman from their local church was a trained nurse and they had called her when Anouk told them it was time. Anouk and the nurse had been in their bedroom for eight solid hours before Anouk’s cries gave way to those of a shaken and confused tiny baby at the shock of his first breath. Frederic leapt to his feet and paced the doorway, listening to the footsteps of the nurse who before long had opened the door to reveal to Frederic his son. At the sight of the crying bundle of flesh and limbs no longer than his forearm, Frederic lifted him delicately from the woman’s arms and wept. The baby’s eyes – Anouk’s eyes - arrested him. Such an emotional display was uncharacteristic for such a man as Frederic. His father looked at his own hands in a discretionary manner to avoid the acknowledgement of his weeping son, and of himself. 

     Anouk, exhausted and pale on her bed smiled at her husband and son and stretched her failing arm out to them. “A boy,” she whispered.

     “A boy, mon amor, a beautiful boy.”

     “Laurent Benjamin.” The new mother placed her hand on her son’s head. Never had Frederic felt such joy. Anouk, to him was more beautiful now than the day they were married. Her flushed young cheeks glowed with a new wealth of love, red with the exertion of giving new life.

      Ben sat in the armchair by the door, taking in the first images of his family’s next generation. It was not entirely proper for him to be present at such an intimate moment between a man and his wife, but Ben was dear to both his son and Anouk and he was welcome. Frederic stood and carried Laurent over to him. “Your grandson, Papa.”

     Ben Bessette was never one to be overwhelmed. He was a strong and proud man who stood as Leader and stood proud, though with the lightest weight of his son’s son in his arms, all pride was defeated.