by Renee Ryan
Breaking eye contact, Gabrielle lowered her head, took a ragged breath but said nothing.
“You will see to this matter for me?” Hélène asked. “You will contact my friend and make the arrangements for your sister’s departure from Reims?”
“I will.”
“Bien.” Hélène gave her daughter the details she would need to make the arrangements.
No words were exchanged for several seconds after she finished. Hélène felt Gabrielle’s sorrow, saw it in the tears gathering in her eyes. This truly was goodbye.
She knew that now, accepted it.
She’d imagined the end of her life would be harder to face. All she felt was relief. No more lies. She didn’t have to run from herself anymore. She reached for her daughter’s hands again. “Take comfort in knowing I did what I did to protect you and your sister. For that, I have no regret.”
There was no time to say more. The guard came and tried to take Gabrielle away. She refused to let go of Hélène’s hands. Hélène held on as well. With a snort of impatience, he snatched at their fingers, prying them apart with brute force.
He dragged Gabrielle away.
“Maman.” She reached to Hélène.
Hélène reached to her, seeing the beloved child she’d borne in that tortured, twisted face of grief. The perfect little baby that had slept through the night almost from the start.
And then, the room was empty, her hand still reaching for Gabrielle. The sound of muttered, angry voices mingled with her own heavy breathing.
Alone now, she let out a choked sound, half gasp, half cry. There would be no escape, no salvation for her body, only her soul. Her legs gave way, and she fell to the cot, landing with a thud. She tipped to her side. There was a shuffle of fabric as she shifted and laid down her head. She tried to heave herself up, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her teeth chattered.
She lay there for hours, praying for mercy until the fat full moon was high in the sky.
The voices sounded again, closer this time. Her name. Spoken in guttural German. Then, “You will come with me, now.”
She looked into the eyes of Detective Mueller. Thin blue slits filled with purpose. He led her outside, to the back of the building. Cold air slapped her face, an angry, icy draft.
It is finished.
Chapter Forty-Five
Gabrielle
By the time Gabrielle was dragged away from her mother and shoved into the main portion of the police station, Mueller was gone. Since he’d driven her to town, she was forced to walk home in the dark. Because it was past curfew, she kept to the shadows. She arrived at the château with sore feet, a heavy heart and a desperate need to be alone. How ironic, when once she’d thought of her loneliness as a curse.
Not tonight. She wanted solitude to grieve and to mourn and to pray for her mother’s flight across the border. She also wanted to review everything she’d learned about the man who called himself Wolfgang Mueller. He also called himself a friend.
Gabrielle had never been one for blind faith.
Which was why she veered off to the wine cellar instead of going straight to the château. She moved quickly through the corridors, blinking past the gloom. At the fake wall, she stopped, frozen, her breath ragged in her throat. Weber was gone. His weapon had been removed. The hole in the wall was patched, the glass and debris swept away. But, most telling of all, the wine barrel Mueller had tied the lieutenant to was missing. All she had to do was think back over her own resistance work to understand what had happened to the SS officer.
She turned to go, then stopped. There, atop another wine barrel, was the page from Josephine’s journal, folded, with a new message penned in bold, masculine strokes. Deep inside her head, she heard Mueller’s unaccented French say the words as she read them. I brake the jaws of the wicked, and plucked the spoil out of his teeth. Job 29:17
Warmth overtook her limbs and the remaining scraps of doubt fell away. Wolfgang Mueller was, indeed, a friend. A man she could trust. Gabrielle was not alone. And no one could ever know the truth.
With surprisingly steady hands, she tucked the paper in her pocket, promising herself she would read it again in her room. But first, she had one final stop. One final goodbye to say. The journey required considerable stealth. As she made her way to her family’s private cemetery, tears threatened. She blinked them back. Not yet, she told herself. Do not cry yet.
At Benoit’s grave, she pressed her forehead to the headstone and, finally, unashamedly, let the tears flow. “I love you, Benoit. I will always love you. You were the boy of my childhood, the husband of my youth and the very essence of the woman I am today. You will be with me, always.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I will never forget you. But it’s time. I must let you go.”
The wind picked up, brushing across her wet cheeks. “Goodbye, Benoit.” Peace filled the ache in her soul. “Goodbye, my love. Goodbye.”
She hardly remembered returning home or entering the château. She desperately wanted solitude, more now than before, but was forced to set it aside when a weeping Paulette met her in the kitchen. The girl looked positively stricken. “They know Maman’s secret,” she wailed. “And it’s all my fault.”
Gabrielle was in no mood to placate an overwrought Paulette. She was silent a moment, a ball of rage and disappointment rolling in her stomach. She didn’t want to look at her sister and remember what she’d done to their mother. It took every ounce of fortitude not to grab the girl by the shoulders and shake her for her recklessness. “I know about Maman.”
This brought on more tears and Paulette’s weeping turned into big, gulping sobs. “I thought I could help her. I didn’t mean to make things worse. You have to believe me, Gabrielle. I didn’t mean to—”
“You never mean to, Paulette. That’s the problem. You only think of yourself.” Her voice was filled with years of resentment. Here her sister stood, mere hours after nearly destroying their mother, seeking absolution. Even knowing all was not lost, Gabrielle couldn’t drum up the strength to ease her sister’s guilt.
In that moment, she didn’t know who she pitied more. Paulette, for her carelessness, or herself for her inability to follow the Lord’s command and forgive the girl.
“You have to do something to fix this, Gabrielle. You have to save Maman from the camps.”
Now she turns to me. The thought came with much resentment. This was her moment of truth. The moment when she placed her trust in a stranger over her own sister. “It’s too late, Paulette. Nothing can be done. Maman is gone.”
In that, at least, she told the truth.
“No!” Paulette fell to her knees, her guilt spewing from her eyes in genuine, gut-wrenching tears.
Gabrielle’s own heart broke. Her anger and bitterness instantly dissolved, and she joined her sister on the floor. She took the girl into her arms and rocked her, letting her cry. Letting her mourn their mother. And, yes, letting her absorb the guilt of her actions.
The girl shook violently between sobs.
“I’m sorry, Paulette. I’m so very sorry.” Gabrielle meant every word. “Hush, now.”
“It’s all my fault,” she repeated. “How do I live with this shame? How?”
Gabrielle was crying, too, the sobs coming up through her chest. It was a day for tears and regrets. She pressed her wet cheek to the crown of Paulette’s head. She could alleviate her sister’s pain. All it would take was a few words. She didn’t even have to use names. She could claim the resistance took their mother away. And reveal her own secret work for France.
The words were moving through her throat, coming to the tip of her tongue. She swallowed them back. Paulette could not be trusted. She’d proven that today. No amount of remorse could change what she’d done.
In later years, Gabrielle knew, when the war was over and she told family and friends about this decision to kee
p her sister in ignorance, she would have to face the shock and horror etched on their faces. She could save herself that heartache. It would be a simple matter of saying, Maman is safe.
She couldn’t do it. She’d given her word to a man whose bravery humbled her. Whose life depended on her loyalty. A man who worked in the dark to serve the light.
There were other words she could give her sister, words that might help ease her guilt. But Gabrielle didn’t say those, either. She simply held on to Paulette and let her cry.
Part Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Gabrielle
Paulette left for Paris a few months after Hélène disappeared. Gabrielle had wanted to send her away sooner, but a few tangles needed unraveling, the most problematic being Mademoiselle Ballard’s initial reluctance. It had taken several conversations and a book of Paulette’s sketches to convince the woman to agree. The rest of the details fell into place from there. Then, on a rainy afternoon in November of 1942, Gabrielle escorted her sister to the train station.
Their parting was stilted. There was no more sobbing on Paulette’s part. No conversation from either of them. Nothing but the wind striking their faces, the hot steam pouring out of the locomotive’s engine, and the grinding of gears as the train pulled to a stop.
Gabrielle offered no words of advice to her sister as they stood huddled together under the shelter of her umbrella. Paulette didn’t ask for any.
“You will let me know once you arrive at Mademoiselle’s apartment?”
From beneath her hat, Paulette’s eyes slipped past her, brushed over the train, then slid back. “I’ll get word to you, yes.”
There was nothing more to say. The girl needed to leave. She’d made terrible choices, and had nearly ruined them all, and now their mother was gone. Gabrielle needed to forgive Paulette. She knew this in her heart, as sure as her Christian faith dictated. She also knew, as she stared at the bent head and hunched shoulders, that sending her sister to Paris was the best solution for their family.
And still, saying goodbye was not as easy as she’d expected. Surely, she could give Paulette some small word of hope. She opened her mouth to tell her sister that everything would be all right, that the war would be over soon, then immediately came to her senses. Lives were still at stake and Paulette must face the consequences of her actions. That was the underlying truth that had brought them to this train platform and the reality that Gabrielle had to say goodbye to another family member.
She reached for Paulette, not sure if she meant to pat her arm or tug her into a fierce hug. The blast of a high-pitched train whistle had her stepping back and doing neither. “Take care of yourself, sister.”
Paulette stared at her hands and said nothing. In the ensuing silence, a porter took her bag, reviewed her ticket, then sent her to the proper section of the train. When she mounted the steps, Gabrielle lifted her hand in farewell. A pointless gesture. Paulette didn’t spare a single glance backward.
Gabrielle left the train platform, her breath puffing before her, rain splattering at her feet, the tension of the past few weeks unspooling in her stomach. Back at the château, another coded telegram was waiting for her, the first in over a month.
Mueller wanted her to meet him in the wine cellar at midnight.
The air was eerily quiet as she entered the caves five minutes early and shut the door behind her. She moved through the corridors at a sedate pace, the racks of champagne standing like silent sentinels poised and ready to be called into service.
There was little sound beyond the strike of her heels to the limestone, the drip, drip, dripping of water from a small fracture in the ceiling. The crackling of electricity through frayed wires. Gabrielle tried to picture her ancestors making this same trek through the labyrinth of hallways. But her mind wouldn’t conjure up the images, Instead, it brought her to the night she’d taken her first step in her personal battle against the Nazis.
At first, she’d waged war for the future of the champagne house and preservation of her family’s legacy. Her actions had been driven by the memory of the ones they’d lost and her love for the women in her home as well as the people they employed. With the German invasion, Gabrielle’s battle had become simpler, and yet somehow weightier, bigger than herself, than the champagne house, than even France. A single life saved was reward enough.
Now, another purpose, a new calling, an alliance with a man who wore the enemy’s uniform. He’d taken the name Wolfgang. Der wolf. Fitting, after all. She’d thought him a predator. But no, he was the other kind of wolf. A protector. The alpha male, willing to sacrifice himself for the survival of his pack.
Gabrielle came to the end of the wine cellar and stopped when she saw the lone figure leaning against the makeshift wall. Something moved in her chest, and she suddenly felt light-headed, the quick jolt of pleasure as unexpected as the fast beating of her heart.
She forced her feet to stay in motion, each step accomplished without conscious thought. She watched him watch her, his look soft and full of masculine appreciation. She didn’t ask how he’d gotten past the locked door at the cave’s entrance. Some secrets didn’t need solving. “I received your message.”
“I tried to stay away,” he said, still lounging against the wall, looking deceptively casual. “For your safety, as well as your family’s.”
“I’m pleased you lost the battle.”
There were no more words between them for several long seconds, their individual breathing punctuation to an otherwise profound silence.
“It’s impossible,” he said, and not for the first time in this hallowed space. “This.” He waved a hand between them. “Us.” Another wave, then he was no longer leaning, but standing tall and coming away from the wall. “It cannot be. It will not happen.”
She swallowed, aching for what they couldn’t have. “No, it will not. It cannot.”
“Another lifetime. Perhaps then,” he said, leaning forward, close enough now for her to inhale the scent of sandalwood and leather. “Or perhaps in a different world, at a different time in history, it would have been conceivable.”
The ground shifted beneath her feet. She felt cold to her center and there was a strange twist in her stomach. “But not now,” she said, finishing his thought for him.
He nodded and his face changed, as if he had pulled away a mask, leaving his features bare of the subterfuge and lies that kept him alive. This was a man, who had a heart for a woman. To know and accept that she was that woman, that she brought out his truth, it slayed her.
She’d been prepared never to find love again.
She had not been prepared for him.
Nothing stood between them now, nothing but a foot of air. And a war. And a duty to a higher calling. Silent promises passed between them, none of which they would say aloud. It was enough for Gabrielle to know what might have been.
He was talking again and shifting the tone of their conversation. Whatever moment had passed between them was gone. “Von Schmidt was located in Portugal this morning.”
“He ran off, after all.” She tried not to show how furious she was at this news. Her mother had been suspected in a murder that had never taken place.
“The man was not so cunning, or so smart. He did not try very hard to cover his tracks. The arrogant mistake has sealed his fate.”
The arrogant mistake. Yes, she could believe it of the man who’d seized her home and made demands on her family, the greatest of her mother.
“He is currently en route to Berlin, where he will be tried for treason.”
“He lives to face trial, while my mother has been forced to disappear.” Her bitterness bounced off the chalky walls. Had Mueller waited to arrest her mother...
The thought had no easy conclusion. Regardless of what they knew now, von Schmidt had been a high-ranking official in the Wehrmacht. His disappearance would have
required retribution. Had Mueller not arrested her mother, someone else in the Gestapo would have. Paulette would have gone to her lover. The sequence of events would have been the same, with one exception. Had anyone other than Mueller arrested her mother, Hélène would have been sent to her death.
Gabrielle could see God’s hand in this. His providence. “Will you tell me what happened to my mother?”
He hesitated but for a second. “She is safe.”
“Can you tell me where she is?”
“The details are better left unspoken.”
Gabrielle let out a shaky breath, accepting the need for her to stay in ignorance. This man risked much for her and her family. Humbled, and more than a little awed, she allowed herself to think of a time when they could meet again, without the war between them. Then shut the possibility deep within her heart. “What happens next?”
He gazed at her without expression, though she felt strong resolve in him. “I have been called back to Berlin, to oversee von Schmidt’s arraignment and trial.” There was a hardness in his voice that reminded her too much of his alter ego. “I leave at daybreak.”
“So soon?” She recognized the feeling of loss in her chest. She was no stranger to the sensation. Another man taken from her by war.
“My stellar police work has caught the attention of Heinrich Himmler himself. He is eager to meet me.” His tone held a trace of bitterness, but was replaced with resolve. “I will soon be deeply embedded at the very seat of Nazi power.”
Detective Wolfgang Mueller would be feet away from one of Hitler’s most trusted accomplices, perhaps even the führer himself. Because of her. And the journal entry she’d given him. A boon for the Allies, but also very, very dangerous.
“I am here to say good—”
“Non, do not say the word.” Reaching up, she touched his lips, lingered less than a second, then dropped her hand. “This is not an end. It is simply a pause. One day, this war will be over, and we will meet again.”