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It started when his brother and the other eligible boys and men were sent off to fight in the war. Stanley came back from the church with an odd redness to the back of his hands. He only shrugged when his mother asked what had happened to his hands, promising that he had not gotten into a fight at school. It was gone by the next morning and she let it go, thinking it was a phase perhaps that would end.
Mrs. Laurent discovered what it was when it started to get redder and the skin started to show signs of breaking. She found him once in his room, on his knees beside his bed saying his nightly prayers. He had his hands clasped and fingers intertwined together. His fingers were moving rapidly, dull nails digging into the backs of his hands. He was rubbing them raw in a fit of anxiety and worry.
Stanley was at the phase of his life where he was not a boy or a man, discovering himself as his body grew and changed. She knew he was different, a mother always knows. He was spending more time than usual with that boy Samuel and she had found bits of hay in his clothes when she was doing the wash. She kept it to herself that she knew; her son would tell her in his own time how he felt. She just hoped that once he opened up he would stop hurting his hands.
“Maman! Stanley’s hands are bleeding!”
She set down the hat she had been working on when she heard Eliana’s scream and stepped out of her workroom. “What?” she asked. She found the triplets and their little brother in the kitchen, Stanley stubbornly trying to pull his hands out of his big sister’s grasp.
“Let go! It’s just a little cut!” he hissed.
“It’s several cuts and it’s on both of your hands!” Eloise countered.
“And they’re all bleeding!” Elsie added.
“Stanley, what happened?” Mrs. Laurent asked as she approached, struggling to keep her voice level and calm.
He stopped trying to pull his hands away, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground. “It’s nothing, maman,” he whispered.
“Stanley…” she sighed. She looked at the way her son’s body was tensed up and she gently took his hands from his sister. “You know you can talk to us,” she offered.
“...I know…” he murmured. His mother placed the tips of her fingers under his chin, tilting his head up for some form of eye contact. “Maman…”
“Girls, go back to your work.”
“But!”
“Now.” She waited until her daughters were gone before sitting her youngest child down before starting to clean his hands. “You’re praying too hard,” she said.
Stanley blushed, keeping his eyes focused on his hands as his mother tended to them. “Sometimes I just...feel like things are going to go wrong…” he said. “I get so worried that something big is going to happen soon and it just...it makes my chest hurt and then I just pray to God for help and my hands just move and…”
“Stanley.”
He blinked back the tears he had not realized were forming, forcing himself to look into his mother’s face. “Maman?”
She pulled her child into a hug, rubbing his back in soothing circles. “Your family is here for you,” she assured him. He wept on her shoulder and she rocked him gently as if he were still a baby, humming a soothing song in his ear.
Stanley’s anxiety continued as he grew. She knew that it wouldn’t leave him so easily. Sometimes his hands were clear for months and sometimes it looked as if he were opening the fresh scabs on his hands every day. Everyone in the family saw the state of his hands and they had all developed a special system just for how to interact with and help him depending on how his hands looked.
Mrs. Laurent could only hope that one day her son’s hands would show no sign of his anxiety.
***
It was a few weeks after she had visited her son and Lefou at their shared home. She had been so relieved and happy when she saw the state of his hands, clear of scabs or even faint redness. Lefou was so good for her youngest child and she was glad of that.
She had just finished giving Père Robert some clothes she had repaired for him when she heard two familiar voices in the nave of the church. Mrs. Laurent perked up and she went to greet her son and Lefou. She stopped however when she heard a soft whine coming from her son and she peeked into the nave to see what was wrong.
Lefou sat in one of the pews beside a kneeling Stanley. He was holding Stanley’s wrists gently, keeping them apart. There were signs that redness was starting but it was already fading. He had stopped Stanley before he could hurt himself.
“I can’t help it…” Stanley whimpered.
“I’m here for you,” Lefou promised. Tenderly he brought Stanley’s hands up to his face, placing the palms on either side of his head. “Keep your hands on my face,” he said.
“But…”
“I’ll roll the beads of the rosary for you,” he offered.
Stanley considered this and slowly nodded his head. He shifted on his knees, pressing his forehead to Lefou’s before closing his eyes, mouth moving in prayer as Lefou kept his promise and counted Stanley’s rosary for him.
Mrs. Laurent held back a sniffle, bringing a handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away the tears that threatened to fall. Her son had found such happiness with Lefou. The older man was incredibly kind and softhearted. She said a soft prayer of thanks to Lefou’s mother, seeing her dear friend in her son.
“He’s a good boy,” she whispered. “Your son grew up to be such a good boy, Blandine.”
She left before she made a noise and alerted them to her presence. This moment was an intimate thing between the couple and she didn’t want to ruin it.