Wife in Waiting

Brandeis “Brandy” St. Pierre was working diligently over her sewing machine. The ocean breezes and the sound of the surf failed to distract her from her task. She was putting the finishing touches on her daughter’s first communion dress. It was a white cotton dress that would breathe in the tropical heat. The bodice had lace and pearls from her own wedding dress. She attached tulle to a satin wrapped hairband adorned with tiny shells that she had gathered on her honeymoon. Finally, she attached a small plastic comb to keep the veil securely fastened to her daughter’s head. If her husband could not be there in person, for Maria Estella’s first communion, evidence of their love would be. After all, she would be getting her first communion in the same church where she and John had been married.

Brandy was what she called a wife in waiting, waiting on her husband, and waiting for heaven to answer her prayers. She was not single, she was not living in a marriage, she was not divorced nor was she widowed. She was faithfully living out her vows before God, but her husband was not. She had come across a discarded newspaper in a hotel room she cleaned. There next to the cut-up newspaper was a wedding announcement. John St. Pierre III of New York was engaged to socialite Tiffany Strauss Brown, recent graduate of Wellesley. She guessed an island marriage didn’t count in his circle.

They had met when John was supervising the construction of his father’s newest resort. Her father was the mayor of the town and had her attend all the meetings. Her father had hoped this resort might bring some much-needed jobs and development to the area. His hopes were misplaced. The patrons rarely ventured beyond the compound walls. The poverty was too depressing. Their restaurants and shops couldn’t compare with the world-class chefs and upscale boutiques inside. Everything was included and secluded. A rich fantasy of Caribbean culture for the tourists.

Because of her position as the mayor’s daughter, Brandy was hired as manager of housekeeping. She would often help the maids when the guests had left a suite trashed and handled customer complaints. She never understood why people with so much felt the need to complain over so little. She earned every penny.

John would often seek her out for her insights into the daily goings on at the resort. They would talk over drinks and dinner. Sometimes he would take her to his yacht, the Big Fish. She remembered the night he proposed. It was Karaoke night. He got up and sang the song, Brandy by Looking Glass. When he got to the line “What a good wife you would be,” he got down on one knee and gave her an aquamarine ring. The color reminded him of the impossibly clear blue waters of the Caribbean.

He was expecting her to consummate their relationship that night, but she had been raised by a strict mother and had been taught by the good sisters in the convent. They spoke to her pastor about marrying them. The priest was concerned about the speed of their relationship and their disparity of income, race, and religion. John was going to be leaving to set up a new resort in less than a month, so she pleaded with Father Antoine. “What if he left and never came back?” He replied to her with the same words. “At least, I would be married. You cannot leave a wife as easily as a girlfriend. I would be able to travel with him.” She was looking forward to a vagabond life aboard John’s luxury yacht. After John had agreed to raise any children Catholic, Father consented.

They were married at Stella Maris, Mary, Star of the Sea church with her best friend Angela as her maid of honor and her brother Maurice serving as best man. Every pew was festooned with white roses tied with white satin bows. Brandy had altered a designer wedding gown that had been trashed by a bride for pictures and then discarded. She got rid of the volumes of fabric and transformed it into a boat-neck, lace and pearl, fit and flare that ended just below the knee. The black gospel choir sang in a reggae style which exuded island joy. Before exchanging their vows, she took a small bouquet and offered it to the Blessed Mother and her infant Son. She prayed for their marriage and any children that would come from it. After the vows, a white horse drawn carriage took them to the Big Fish. There they spent three lovely honeymoon weeks. When it came time for him to leave, he told the resort manager to provide a suite for her until he returned. He would come back after he had told his family.

A few weeks later, she called John with the happy news. She was expecting. He responded with a sigh; he still hadn’t told his parents. “I guess I have to break that news to them too.”

It was pretty evident when he had broken the news. His father got involved and told her unless she aborted the baby, she would be thrown out on the streets. She refused and moved in with her brother Maurice. The resort manager had never changed her name over on the books, so he secretly kept her employed under her maiden name. She was grateful, but the looks of pity ripped her heart. She should have been on top of the world instead of sleeping on her brother’s couch.

Eventually, she moved into her own home and decorated the nursery with big and little tropical fish. She found curtains made of sail cloth and placed a jar of shells on a white dresser. She waited for some word from John but there was none. She was proud; she wouldn’t beg.

Every Sunday, she would go to Church and stare at the statue of Stella Maris. Sometimes, she reminded her of her wedding prayers. Somedays she questioned why this was happening to her when she did everything right, and sometimes she just cried. One day she cried tears of joy as little Maria Estella was baptized. Out of tremendous unhappiness had come the greatest joy of her life. She couldn’t wish the past undone if that meant never holding Maria.

Her reverie was broken by little Maria running in, “Mama, there is a boat with the name Big Fish that’s docked at the resort.” As her face paled, the phone rang. It was the resort. “There is an angry woman, here looking for you.” She replied, “I’ll be right over.”

“Maria, you must go to Uncle Maurice’s. Do not go anywhere near that boat until I tell you it is okay.”

“But Daddy came back! I want to see him,” cried Maria.

“Oh, my sweetest angel, no one wants it to be him more than me. But he might have sold the boat and a stranger might carry you out to sea. I cannot lose you both. Trust Mama, I need to check this out. If it is him, he can come to your first communion and see you all decked out in your pretty dress. Go check it out. I’ll call Maurice to come get you.”

As she hurried to the resort, Angela, one of the maids, met her at the door. “You’ll be wanting to trade name tags with me about now.” The resort manager saw her new name and said, “Mrs. St. Pierre, this is the woman in charge of housekeeping Mme. Angela Toussaint, perhaps she can help you.”

Mrs. St. Pierre was an older, aristocratic woman with an imperial air. Behind her was a well-dressed younger woman with a 2-carat rock on her left hand. Brandy slipped her aquamarine ring in her pocket. She reminded herself they were like every other entitled complainer she had dealt with for the past seven years. She put her office face on to hide her shock. “Is there anything I can help you with? I can have the Presidential Suite prepared and fully staffed with a butler and private chef in about 30 minutes. We weren’t notified of your coming.”

“Young Lady, that is not my concern. You should learn to listen before jumping to conclusions. That is rude and impertinent. I won’t be staying long. I need to find the woman who has the nerve to go by the name of Brandeis St. Pierre. It is imperative that I get a DNA test on her bastard child,” she railed.

“I believe Brandeis was married.”

“Married, pfff. Probably in some voodoo wedding on the beach. It isn’t valid, I tell you, at least in our country. My son wouldn’t seriously marry some dark-skinned pauper. He was married to Tiffany at St. John’s Episcopal in Manhattan." the older woman said with an air of finality.

The resort manager interrupted. “Brandeis St. Pierre was expelled from this resort, almost six years ago. I believe she went to stay with her brother, but I’m sure she has moved on. Perhaps…”

“Perhaps nothing, you must find her, I tell you. My son has died and left everything to his wife and any children. His wife, I know” waving to the younger woman, “but this child if we can prove that she is not his, then the matter is settled.”

Brandeis’ eyes well up with tears as she said, “I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am. Excuse my tears, I too have just lost someone dear to me.”

“Well, deal with your grief on your own time,” declared the older Mrs. St. Pierre. “I need to find that child.”

“What happens if the DNA test comes back positive? If I might be so bold,” she asked.

The younger Mrs. St. Pierre spoke up. “I would adopt her, compensate the mother of course. I would send the girl to the best boarding schools in Europe. They are much more understanding of those things over there, mixed race and all that. Her inheritance would be held in a trust managed by me. If you find the mother, please let her know the child will get advantages that she could only dream of giving her. She would be a horrible mother if she didn’t let me adopt her. Incredibly selfish.”

Brandy left the resort reeling and headed over to the church. She knelt in front of Stella Maris and wept. She was a widow without really having been a wife. Now, these horrible people wanted to take her daughter away from her. Were they right? Was she selfish for wanting to keep Maria here by her side? A child needs their mother, right? It is not like they would mother her.

Father Antoine came up and sat beside her. She poured out her heart and soul and wept on his shoulder. “Brandeis, do you remember what you said to me when I asked you, ‘What if he leaves and never comes back?’”

“Oh, Father you were so right. I should have listened to you,” she wept.

“No, Brandeis, I’m not saying I told you so. You said, ‘At least, I would be married. You cannot leave a wife as easily as a girlfriend.’ You never received a writ of divorce. Where was your alimony and child support? You were still legally married. The other woman was not. The records are right here in the church. Invite them to Maria Estella’s first communion tomorrow. Leave it to me.”

Next, she headed over to her father’s house. He shook his head slowly. “Worst mistake of my life getting involved with that family. You are going to need some legal representation. My best friend in college was Milton Brandeis, he’s a lawyer. I doubt that he’s in family law, but he’ll know somebody good. He was tickled pink when I named you after him. Brandy, you have an army of people who love you and are willing to fight. The St. Pierre’s just have money. Go home and figure out how to tell Maria. Try to make her big day as wonderful as possible.”

Brandy went to her brother’s and found Maria curled up in the guestroom. Exhausted emotionally and physically, she crawled in next to her. She would find a way to tell her in the morning.

Meanwhile, her father phoned Milton Brandeis. “Milt, it’s Michel. Sorry, it is so late, but I have an issue I need to talk to you about.”

Milt responded, “Before you say anything, let me apologize for not reaching out to you when Brandy died. I know how deeply religious you are and to have your daughter die in a botched abortion, I had no words. Gut wrenching, utterly gut wrenching on so many levels.”

Michel was incredulous. “What are you talking about? Brandy is fine. Her daughter is receiving her first Holy Communion tomorrow. I was calling you because her mother-in-law and the widow Mrs. John St. Pierre III are here trying to invalidate her marriage and DNA test her daughter. Maria will either inherit nothing if they fake the test or Maria will be taken away from her if they don’t.”

Now, it was Milt’s turn to be incredulous. “First off, John the third is still alive, it was his father who died and left everything to him, except for a trust for his widow. I’m handling his estate. I know this for a fact. His father had told John that Brandy died in a botched abortion. If his mother and Tiffany knew that she and her daughter were in fact alive, then Tiffany’s marriage was perpetuated by fraud. Don’t let any of those women near Brandy or her daughter. People have been killed for a lot less. I have some phone calls to make.”

Michel cried out, “It is too late, they know about the first Holy Communion tomorrow at noon. Father Antoine wanted them invited.”

Milt said, “Give me his number. He’ll be my first call. If you are still mayor, get her a police escort.”

The next morning, her best friend Angela, the maid from the resort, woke Brandy up. “I delivered the message like you asked me. You were right. They couldn’t tell the difference between us. They just looked at the name tag, grabbed the information and gave me $100 for my trouble. And no, I’m not sharing.”

Brandy stretched and said, “I’ve got to go back to my house and get that first communion dress.”

“I’m not sure how you are going to do that,” said Angela. “There’s a police guard outside the house.”

“It is probably just Dad being extra cautious keeping those harpies away from me.”

“Oh, oh, oh! I have got something great to show you. Look what I found in the unclaimed property. It is a white sheath dress with a gold mesh overdress with gold foil appliques. It is just your size. You are going to show them why he married you in the first place,” squealed Angela. “Let me do your makeup. First, I’ll have to use a mask to reduce all that puffiness.”

“First, I’ve got to have coffee and maybe something to eat,” said Brandy. “Maurice, we need to swing by my place to pick up the communion dress. Call Dad to have the police let us in.”

Maurice happily sighed, “This is going to be easier than I thought. The dress is here. Maria insisted on wearing it over yesterday. I can’t call Dad; we have lousy cellphone service out here. Why does Dad, have police at your house?”

Brandy just groggily waved him away. “You don’t want to know.”

Maria got up and ran to her mother. “Mom, Uncle Maurice dribbled ketchup on my dress.”

Maurice glared at her, “She was hungry, so I stopped to get some hot dogs. She’s the one that dribbled ketchup on the dress.”

“Did not. You dribbled,” yelled Maria.

Brandy put her hands on head and said, “Stop it you two. I know exactly who dribbles their ketchup while glaring at Maurice. Let me see the dress. Do you have any club soda?”

“I tried to clean it up, but it just smeared some more,” explained Maurice.

“I’ll let the dress soak in club soda and see what happens. Could this day get any worse? Angela, do your magic please,” begged Brandy.

Maurice was getting the boat ready to take them to church. The dress was what it was, Maria would have to wear it. It was the perfect idiom for her day and life at this point. At least, she looked great. Angela was a miracle worker.

“Mom, my dress is wet,” cried Maria.

“I know honey, just try to use your veil to cover it up,” sighed Brandy.

When they finally got to the church, her dad looked relieved and vigorously waved her over. Angela told her not to worry, she and Maurice would take Maria in and get her in the line of communicants. Then they would go to the row reserved for the St. Pierre family.

As Angela was about to enter the pew, the younger Mrs. St. Pierre came up and put a gun to her ribs. “I knew it. You were Brandeis all along. Come with me if you want your daughter to live,” she hissed.

Angela said, “You got me. I thought I could pull one over on you. Maurice, sweetie, please look after Maria for me, okay.”

Maurice looked at her strangely and was going to say something, but the music started. He turned back to see where his sister was. The first communicants were starting to process in.

His sister was with her father who had so much to tell her, he didn’t know where to start. “Milton Brandeis thinks that the St. Pierre women are here to kill you and Maria. I’ve got men stationed everywhere. Where were you last night? I’ve been worried sick because I couldn’t find you.”

“I was at Maurice’s house. I didn’t want Maria to go over and check out the Big Fish boat. She was convinced her daddy was there. Then I was too tired, so I stayed there,” explained Brandy.

He wanted to say more but the music had started, and the kids were processing in.

Maria sat next to Maurice. “Where is Angela?”

“She went off with some rich lady. I think she’s finally starting to like me. She called me sweetie,” grinned Maurice.

“She thinks you are one of the stupidest men to ever walk the earth and this morning did nothing to change that opinion. Dad, I think Angela’s in trouble,” whispered Brandy.

At that point, Father Antoine said, “Before we start the Mass, each year a special girl is chosen to crown the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary in honor of her month of May. This year it will be Maria Estella St. Pierre. If she and her mother could come up here.” Brandy and her dad looked at each other as Brandy rose to join her daughter.

Father Antoine told Maria to pray to the Virgin very hard for whatever she most desired. Maria closed her eyes and prayed. “Virgin Mary, Star of the Sea, bring my daddy back to me.”

She was never able to get the crown on the head. Her father, who was waiting in the wings, tackled them both to the ground as a gunshot rang out. John felt the wet spot on her body and saw the red stain. He got up and screamed at his mother. “It is bad enough that you told me my wife was dead but now you kill my daughter. Arrest her, I saw her pull the gun.”

A triumphant Angela came in with a tattered Tiffany, “You can arrest this one on kidnapping. This twig honestly thought a couple of hours with a trainer could outmatch years of changing beds and scrubbing tubs.”

“John? Is it really you?” asked Brandy.

John was frantic, “We need to get her some medical help.”

“It’s just ketchup, Daddy. Uncle Maurice dribbled it on my dress,” said Maria with a grin.

A relieved John looked so sorrowfully at Brandy. “I am so sorry, for everything that my family put you through. They told me you were dead and so was the baby. I couldn’t bring myself to come back to the island. My lawyer is in New York right now, getting my marriage to Tiffany annulled on the grounds of fraud regarding my previous marriage. If you are still available, I would love a second chance with you.”

Brandy held up her left hand and said, “I never stopped being married to you and waiting for you to come back home. I should have tried to contact you after your dad evicted me, but I was too proud. After the service maybe Father will let us renew our vows?”

“I would love that," said John. "The Church is decorated. We have the best maid-of-honor ever. The Best Man is as questionable as ever. Your father is here. We have a flower girl this time and you look fabulous.”

“Look Mom, the bullet is lodged in the crown,” said Maria.

“Okay, extra flowers for Stella Maris this time around,” said Brandy as they had a long-awaited family hug.