Chateau of Secrets: A Novel

by Melanie Dobson

  My gaze roamed over the hillside again, and I wondered at my grandmother rescuing the pilot of a downed plane.

  “Was my grandfather there?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Where is the tunnel entrance?”

  “Someplace in the forest.” He took his camera off the tripod and began to pack it. “When my grandfather told me his stories, I was at rock bottom and didn’t listen to the details, but I heard about redemption through everything he told me. There were second chances for him and others who survived the war.”

  I eyed him again. Was it possible the man before me was different from the man in the pictures? I hoped he had changed, for his sake, but still I didn’t trust him.

  He glanced at his diver’s watch. “I’m supposed to interview Madame Calvez in an hour.”

  Madame Calvez had asked me not to return, but perhaps if I was with Riley she would change her mind. Or if she was like my grandmother, she might not even remember that I was Gisèle’s granddaughter.

  “Can I tag along with you?” I asked.

  He raked his fingers through his thick hair. “I suppose, if you let me ask the questions.”

  I readily agreed.

  Chapter 33

  Her rescuer was named Hauptmann Milch. Lucien said the officer had a family in Berlin and was respected among most of his fellow officers, but Lucien knew little else about his background.

  Gisèle didn’t tell Lucien or even Émilie what had happened in the wine cellar. It was much too humiliating to share with either of them. The only ones who would ever know were Hauptmann Milch and Viktor Braun, the Fähnrich—sergeant—who attacked her. Lucien said Braun was a bitter man. He’d asked to join the Luftwaffe to fight Hitler’s war from the sky, but he’d been assigned to act as a warden to the people of France.

  Even after she bolted her bedroom door—and pushed her dresser across it—Gisèle hadn’t slept well. With Adeline in the bed next to her, she replayed her minutes in the cellar over and over. Had her solitude been some sort of invitation to that man? The thought of what might have happened terrified her. If Milch hadn’t rescued her, she might have been killed.

  How could she live in her home with these men here? She would never feel secure again.

  She ripped her soiled blouse into threads. It would be impossible to replace, but even if she could patch it, she would never wear it again. Nor would she ever return to the cave.

  The morning light brought tepid comfort, enough for her to get up and dress Adeline for the day. As she prepared breakfast, Gisèle determined to avoid both Milch and Braun—one because of her humiliation and the other because she feared what he would do the next time he found her alone.

  While Émilie tended to the laundry, Gisèle began making scrambled eggs from the supplies the Germans had carried into her home last night. Not only had they secured eggs, they’d brought a ham smoked in ash, crates filled with vegetables, and bags of flour to make biscuits. She hadn’t seen this much food since the war began and didn’t dare ask where they had obtained it.

  Adeline was sucking her bottle in her playpen when Lisette strolled into the kitchen and hopped up onto the counter, her legs dangling over the linoleum.

  Gisèle cracked eggs into a porcelain bowl. “What are you doing here?”

  “The Germans requisitioned me to work here instead of in Saint-Lô.” Lisette glanced around the kitchen. “Please give me a job.”

  “Don’t they need you to type or translate?”

  She shook her head. “One of the new men does most of the typing so I won’t see their correspondence with Berlin, and others can translate for them. If I’m no longer useful, I’m afraid they’ll send me to work in Germany.”

  Earlier this year, the government had enacted the Service du Travail Obligatoire—Compulsory Work Service—to force hundreds of thousands of young Frenchmen and women to join their labor force. Lisette would be safer here, under the roof with the German occupiers, than living at a camp in Germany, as long as she avoided places like the cellar.

  “I can’t go to Germany,” Lisette said, her voice trembling.

  Adeline began to cry, and Gisèle wiped her hands on her apron so she could pick her up. Their guests didn’t need any more reminders that there was a baby in the house.

  Lisette reached into the pen. “I can hold her.”

  Gisèle wiped her hand under the couvre-chef that held back her hair. “Thank you.”

  “It’s so sad about her par—”

  Gisèle stopped her, pointing to the ceiling. “I told them her name is Adeline.”

  “Adeline.” Lisette offered her a piece of a biscuit. “It’s the perfect name.”

  “They think she’s my daughter.”

  Lisette paused. “I suppose they should think that. I will keep your secret as well.”

  Émilie breezed into the kitchen. “The major said we should not be late with breakfast.”

  Gisèle sighed. The Germans were punctual about everything, as if the war would be lost if everything from meals to bedtime were not observed at the precise hour.

  Émilie began whisking the eggs, and Lisette sat down at the table with a bottle to care for Adeline. Gisèle was grateful for two women she could trust. None of them wanted to serve the Nazis, but they each had to do what they could to survive.

  When the eggs were almost finished, Gisèle retrieved the ham from the oven and sliced it before taking the platter upstairs. Then she came back down for the coffeepot, eggs, and biscuits.

  As she served breakfast to fifteen men, she was relieved that Viktor Braun wasn’t among them. The Hauptmann was there, but she didn’t dare steal a glance at him. Part of her feared any acknowledgment from her would put him in jeopardy with his commanding officer. And part of her was ashamed of what he had seen.

  She prayed he didn’t think she had been flirting with Viktor Braun. From her scream, Hauptmann Milch must have known that she was scared, and yet she hoped he didn’t think she had invited the trouble. She shouldn’t have cared what he thought—he was a German, her enemy. But even though he was a German, he’d risked his life to rescue her.

  The coffeepot in her hand, she filled the cups and stepped back from the table.

  An Oberst, the major’s commanding officer, joined the men for breakfast. Seidel was his surname. The Germans had taken over her father’s office, including her verboten—forbidden—wireless, but she listened as Oberst Seidel told the soldiers of news from Germany, of the victories they’d had in Italy and the nearby islands. He paid no attention to her as he spoke. Either the major had told him she couldn’t speak German or he thought her ignorant.

  Fear clenched her stomach again. The men before her really believed they would take over the rest of Europe and then conquer the world. What if the Germans never left? What if this was the rest of her life—serving food to her enemy while she worried about her brother’s life?

  A few weeks ago, she’d heard a news broadcaster read a speech from Winston Churchill to the people of the United States. “If we are together nothing is impossible,” he said. “If we are divided, all will fail.”

  What was the rest of the world doing right now? She prayed Great Britain and the United States remained strong. Churchill was right. They—the British and the Americans and the Free French—must battle this evil together to be victorious. They could not fail.

  Evil would oppose all that was good, she supposed, until the very end of their world, but in the end, she believed with all her heart, good would ultimately win.

  She began refilling a cup of coffee for Oberst Seidel.

  “We are bringing another convoy from Berlin. The train will arrive in Saint-Lô on Friday.” He looked up at her, switching easily to French. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  She acknowledged him with a nod, and she felt the stares of all the men on her.

  “After breakfast, I must see you in my office,” he said.

  Questions collided within her as s
he poured the coffee and she swayed back on her heels, the tiny ripples of coffee splashing against the edge of his cup.

  Why did he want to see her?

  “Fräulein—I believe that is enough,” he said. “Fräulein?”

  He tapped on her hand, and she jerked back the pot, spilling brown drops on the white tablecloth. Did he want to question her about the incident in the wine cellar? Or did he know something about Michel . . . or Adeline?

  If he asked about Michel, she would have to smile politely and feign ignorance. She must convince him that she knew nothing. That she was slow in the mind even. No matter what happened, she mustn’t draw attention to herself by acting nervous or scared. It was only by becoming as invisible as possible that she and Adeline—and Michel—would survive.

  After she cleared breakfast—and cleaned the coffee stains—Gisèle met Oberst Seidel and two other officers in Papa’s crowded office. The wireless was still near the window, but they’d moved his almanacs and maps, replacing them with neat stacks of manila folders and a lone copy of Mein Kampf.

  From behind the desk, the Oberst motioned for her to take a chair as if he were the king of this castle and she his subject. Major von Kluge and another officer stood by the desk, and when the door opened, a third officer joined them—Hauptmann Milch. Even though she didn’t acknowledge him, there was comfort in his presence. Still, she prayed he wouldn’t tell the others that she knew how to speak German.

  Oberst Seidel glanced over her shoulder at the dining hall beyond as he spoke to her in French. “This building is much too large for just you and a housekeeper, no?”

  “I don’t think of it as a building, Monsieur. It is my home.”

  He placed his monocle on top of a manila folder. “We have outgrown our headquarters building in Saint-Lô. From now on, we will be using the château.”

  A protest formed on her lips, but she swallowed her retort. Like Lucien, she was trapped in this web.

  If Lisette helped her care for Adeline, hidden away from these men, perhaps the Germans would forget about the child. But how would she continue to care for Michel with German soldiers living and working above the tunnels?

  The officer’s attention turned to the papers on his desk, and as he skimmed them, she thought of her father sitting in that chair, smoking a cigar as he read one of his newspapers. The images of the Nazis were replacing what she remembered of her father.

  How would she be able to erase these memories?

  She wanted to cling to the good memories of her home, to the days when she was a child and her father twirled her around the main hall as they listened to jazz music on the gramophone, to the laughter of her mother before her death, the afternoon they tried—and failed—to outrun a rainstorm on their bike ride back from Agneaux. In their drenched clothes, their hair clinging to their faces, she and Mother couldn’t stop laughing. She wished the laughter never had to end.

  Oberst Seidel opened another folder.

  She could almost hear the tinkling of glass as her family and friends celebrated her graduation from the university more than two years ago. They had danced under a tent outside and talked of war, though no one believed that Germany would ever defeat France.

  At one time, she’d dreamed of going to the United States after Paris, visiting places like New York City and Los Angeles. When the war was over, she would run away from this château and all the bad memories that were replacing the sweet ones. She would preserve all that was good here in her heart and try to forget all that had been stolen from her.

  “Fräulein.” Oberst Seidel glanced up and studied her face. “Pardon me, mademoiselle—”

  “Madame,” she said, correcting him.

  “Madame,” he repeated as if he were willing to accommodate her in the smallest of ways but didn’t seem to put much faith in calling her by the married title of a Frenchwoman. “While I appreciate your service for us, you cannot lie to one of my men. Ever.”

  She nodded her head.

  “And you will not lie to me.” He tapped the desk. “People who lie to me are sent away. And they never return.”

  She looked him directly in the eye. “I understand.”

  His demeanor was a frigid calm, his gray hair icing the coldness in his voice. Unlike the Hauptmann, Oberst Seidel seemed the kind of person who would stand by and watch unaffected while his men murdered Frenchmen tied up in the forest.

  Oberst Seidel looked down at the papers on the desk again and then back up at her, continuing to speak to her in French. “I am concerned about some of the facts you have relayed to Major von Kluge.”

  She tried to recall the details that she’d contrived when she met him in the courtyard. “I will answer any questions you have.”

  “We have been searching for your brother.” He riffled through the papers. “What is his name?”

  “Michel.”

  He looked back up at her. “Ah, yes, Michel. Do you know where we can locate him?”

  She balled up her fingers so the men around her wouldn’t see them trembling. She wasn’t as strong as Michel, but she had to pretend in order to protect all of them. “Why are you searching for my brother?”

  “We have pressing business we must discuss with him.” He laced his fingers together on the desk, leaning forward. “We fear he is in danger.”

  The gunshots in the forest seemed to deafen her ears. As if these men would protect him. “Last I knew he was in England with my mother’s family.”

  “Where in England?”

  “Kennington.” Now she allowed the anxiety to flood her face. “I do not know if he is still there, but when you find him, I would like to speak with him as well.”

  He sat back a few inches and studied her face again, trying to unnerve her. But she didn’t falter. Instead she stared back into the emptiness of his pale green eyes.

  “Did you and your brother part on bad terms?” he asked.

  She contemplated her answer. “I love my brother, sir, but we did not always agree.”

  “What was your source of disagreement?” he asked slowly, as if they were chatting by the fireside, sipping afternoon tea.

  She tried to mirror his placidity. If he didn’t want to rush his words, neither would she. And she needed time to think. The man in front of her seemed to admire strength, and yet if she appeared too strong, he might crush her instead. If she said the disagreement between her and Michel was political, the Oberst would think she was pandering to him. “Neither my father nor I wanted him to join the army.”

  “And he joined anyway?”

  She nodded.

  “Why didn’t you want him to join?”

  “I—I was afraid he would be killed.”

  The Oberst pointed at the man standing beside him. “Major von Kluge says that you are married.”

  “I—”

  He didn’t let her finish. “Yet my men have found no record of your marriage.”

  She put her hands behind her back. “There should be a certificate in Saint-Lô.”

  He reached for a pen. “What is your husband’s name?”

  Her heart clutched. The name should have been ready on her lips and yet her mind was a blank.

  “His name, madame,” he repeated.

  Then she remembered the boy who had intrigued her in town, the one who she hoped had left Saint-Lô long ago. “Jean-Marc,” she blurted. “Jean-Marc Rausch.”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Rausch?”

  “Yes, monsieur.”

  “Good.” He tapped the pen on the desk. “I don’t have time to spare one of my men to search for your marriage certificate in Saint-Lô, but I assume you have a copy.”

  “I’m not cer—”

  He had no patience for a protest. “Where was your child born?”

  “Here,” she said. “In the house.”

  “Then you must have a certificate for her birth as well.”

  “Of course.”

  “Excellent!” He put the pen into the top draw
er of the desk. “Please retrieve them for me.”

  She hesitated. “I will have to search for both certificates.”

  “I’m certain they are not far away,” he said. “I will need them by morning.”

  — CHAPTER 34 —

  Isabelle’s left eye twitched as she glanced between Riley and me, the door behind her pressed against her back. “I’m afraid Grand-mère can’t talk right now.”

  “You must be the young lady I spoke to on the phone,” Riley said.

  She smiled at him.

  Riley checked his watch. “Perhaps we can visit later today.”

  “I don’t think—”

  I stopped her. “I don’t need to be here for the interview.”

  Neither of them protested as I stepped back. Whatever happened in the past must have angered or scarred Madame Calvez for life.

  But before I walked away a shaky voice spoke from behind the door. “Let them in, Isabelle.”

  Riley glanced over at me, and I shrugged. Isabelle slowly opened the door, and Riley followed me inside.

  In the living room was a woman crouched over a walker, scooting across a hardwood floor. Her short, white hair was curled neatly and she wore a tailored suit with hose and sturdy shoes.

  Riley stepped around Isabelle. “You are Madame Calvez?”

  Lifting her head, she flashed a tentative smile. “You must be Riley Holtz.”

  Riley moved quickly across the floor and kissed both of her cheeks like a seasoned Frenchman.

  Then she motioned to me, squinting into the light. “Come closer, child. Age has stolen away my vision.”

  “I’m Chloe Sauver. The granddaughter of Gisèle Duchant Sauver.”

  As I walked toward her, she examined my face. “You look like your grandmother.”

  I kissed both of her cheeks, and then she turned away from me.

  Isabelle put her arm around her great-grandmother’s shoulders. “Monsieur Holtz wants to interview you about the war.”

  She nodded.

  Riley glanced around the small room, most of the surfaces covered with used cups and dishes. Then he glanced out the window. “Why don’t we talk outside?”