She wasn’t certain how to explain away her satchel.
The windows on the north side of the hall looked out over the cliff—much too high for her and Adeline to jump—and there were no shrubs to hide behind along the windows that overlooked the courtyard.
She and Adeline would have to sneak out of the window in Papa’s office, the one concealed by the hedge. They would wait until the night guard made his next round through the courtyard and then they’d run across to the chapelle.
The office door was closed in front of her, and as she neared the door, she heard a voice, low but stern, coming from the other side.
It was the Oberst speaking.
“The tracks were destroyed on this side of Caen,” he said. “It will take an extra day to fix them.”
Then she heard the voice of Major von Kluge. “We must stop these men. They will ruin everything.”
She froze beside the door. Was that why the tunnel had been empty tonight? She prayed the Nazis didn’t know who was thwarting their plans.
“Our men spotted a half-dozen men running into the woods.”
“Did they shoot them?” the major asked.
“Only one,” he replied. “But he had no papers to identify him.”
She shivered. Michel would never tell her where he was going, but she knew he wouldn’t shy away from danger—like blowing up railroad tracks or a bridge so the enemy’s train couldn’t pass.
“You have his body?” the major asked.
She didn’t know if the Oberst nodded in response or shook his head. What would they do with the body?
“They cannot stop our convoy on Wednesday,” the Oberst said. “We need the munitions in Cherbourg.”
“That’s what I told my men. We don’t have enough men to watch every inch of the tracks, but we have ten soldiers guarding each car. The rebels don’t have the manpower to fight all of them.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain,” the Oberst said. “We don’t know how many men they have.”
Adeline began to squirm and Gisèle quickly backed away from the door before racing back up the steps.
Her hands trembling, she opened the door and placed Adeline on her bed. Then she slumped against the bedpost. What was she going to do now?
Even if the Oberst was distracted by the delay of their convoy, she doubted he’d forget her certificates.
The blackout curtains over her windows extinguished the stars, but she unhooked one of them and looked outside. The crescent shape of the moon seemed to rock in the sky and below it was a narrow strip of rocky land between the back of the house and the cliff that sank into the valley.
Could she throw her satchel out the window and escape? If it was just her, she might have been able to shimmy down a strand of sheets, but even with the brandy, Adeline would never stay quiet. And if the sheets tore . . .
She should run away while she had the opportunity, before the Oberst discovered she didn’t have the papers. But she couldn’t leave Adeline with these men. André and Nadine had to leave their daughter in order to save Adeline’s life, but if Gisèle left her now, it would only be to save herself.
Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the windowsill and begged God for help. With so much evil in their midst, it seemed as if God was far away, but she couldn’t give up hope that His spirit lingered. He had been in the cellar with her, and she was certain that He was here in her room. She may not have a sword to fight the dragon like Saint Michel, but she could battle with prayer.
Something shuffled outside her door, and her heart pounded again. Had she locked it on her return? She didn’t move for fear someone outside was listening for her steps. If the door was unlocked, if an officer opened it, he would find her dressed, a satchel beside her.
But why would one of the men be opening her door at this hour? Perhaps Viktor Braun—the man from the cellar—was coming to finish what he’d started.
She eyed the knob in the moonlight and then carefully reached into her satchel and pulled out her father’s knife.
There was a rustling sound outside the door and her gaze dropped to the floor. In the dim light, she saw a brown folder. Slowly she tiptoed across the hardwood and picked it up. Then she hid her satchel in the armoire and turned on the lamp beside her bed, not caring one whit if the Allied planes saw it.
She opened the folder, and her mouth dropped when she saw the green certificate in her hand.
Certified Copy of an Entry of Marriage
Marriage Solemnized at Chapelle d’Agneaux
May 7, 1940
Jean-Marc Rausch, 25
Gisèle Duchant, 22
She shivered. The date of their marriage was weeks before her fictitious husband disappeared.
Below the marriage certificate was a pink one.
Certification for Birth
Château d’Epines, February 25, 1941
Adeline, Girl
Daughter of Jean-Marc Rausch and Gisèle Duchant Rausch
The name of the registrar was a scrawl.
Her hands clutching the certificates, she stared at the crack under the door. The only people who knew about her need of papers were the men in her father’s office.
Had Hauptmann Milch rescued her again? If so, where had he gotten the certificates?
It didn’t matter, she supposed. As she clutched the papers to her chest, she blessed him or whoever had come to her rescue. She would stay at the château and continue to pray that the Lord would blind the Germans’ eyes.
Gently she brushed her hands over the baby’s soft hair.
Adeline Duchant Rausch.
The name fit her beautifully. With these papers, perhaps neither of them would have to run away. The Germans would never have to know the truth, and through her deception—their deception—they would save Adeline’s life and perhaps the lives of many more.
— CHAPTER 38 —
Riley and I found a quiet park in Agneaux and settled under the shade of a tree to eat—two baguette sandwiches and orange sodas from the bakery where he’d found the croissants. On the other side of the fence were three cows, their skin mottled black and pink, grazing in a pasture beside the park.
Riley handed me a sandwich.
“Why don’t you tell me your story?” I asked.
“It’s messy.”
I smiled. “So is mine.”
Whatever his story, there seemed to be few similarities between the man beside me and the stereotype of the man I’d seen in the pictures online. I’d asked him to see past the stereotype of a politician’s wife. Perhaps I needed to see past the stereotype I had of him as well.
I leaned back against the jagged bark of the tree. “Where does the life of Riley Holtz begin?”
“I grew up outside Detroit,” he said as he unwrapped his sandwich. “My dad and grandfather both worked in an auto plant, and by the time I was in middle school, I’d already decided I didn’t want to be like them.”
He took a bite of his sandwich before continuing. “I had a little success with acting while I was in high school, and I’d convinced myself that I was going to be the next Brad Pitt, so the summer before my senior year, I packed my car and drove to New York.”
I eyed him for a moment. He certainly looked like he could be a movie lead and had the confidence that went along with it, but as he lay on the dry grass, relaxed, I couldn’t imagine him under the lights of Hollywood.
I bit into my baguette sandwich, bulging with fresh mozzarella, tangy basil, and sweet tomatoes. I could have eaten this sandwich every day and been happy. “What did your family say?”
“They were devastated, but at the time I didn’t care. I was thrilled to be leaving town. A long time passed before I looked back, and my regrets were too many to count.”
I smoothed my paper wrapping on the grass and set the rest of my sandwich on it. For some reason, I’d expected him to downplay the bad in his life and tell me how incredible he was. It was refreshing to hear the authenticity in his story.
“It took a full year before I landed a role in a small film. It’s not a role I’m proud of now, but I fooled myself into thinking I was a celebrity and began partying like one.”
His smile dimmed.
“After that film, I had a few small gigs on the stage. It was enough to keep me pressing on. I was certain the powers-that-be would soon discover I was a star in need of a place to shine.
“The city is filled with lapdogs who lick the crumbs off the floor of the entertainment industry and then wag their tail as they wait for more. I was surviving on the rumors I’d heard about celebrities who’d been discovered off Broadway, but by the time I was twenty-four, I was desperate as well. I didn’t realize it then, but I’d begun to hate myself for who I was becoming.”
I sipped my orange drink, my legs crisscrossed in front of me. I couldn’t imagine this man across from me being desperate enough to eat crumbs from anyone. He was confident like Austin, and yet he was authentic as well about his weaknesses. Austin had always been more focused on my weaknesses than on his.
Riley leaned back on his elbows, his legs outstretched. “At the same time my life seemed to be falling apart, I was hired to work as a host on a documentary. I thought it was my ticket to stardom, but I had no idea what was about to happen.”
I leaned forward, curious. “What sort of documentary was it?”
His familiar gaze returned alongside his grin. “A documentary that was supposed to prove once and for all that the resurrection of Jesus Christ was a sham.”
I leaned back against the tree again, wringing my hands together. I don’t know why I felt so uncomfortable talking about the life of Jesus. I believed Jesus was the Son of God. I believed in the resurrection. I’d attended church every Sunday beside Austin for the past year, but church had become part of the show—like his concern for his constituents, like having a wife.
In essence, Austin Vale worshipped himself, and somehow—like Olivia and the others—I had changed my allegiance to worship alongside him.
I knew the pat answers on religion that Olivia had concocted for Austin and me. Answers that would appeal to those constituents who believed in God but wouldn’t scare those who didn’t believe.
But Riley, I feared, would see past my script. He was well acquainted with acting, and he could tell pretty quickly that I was a poor actress. If Riley asked me a genuine question, I might fumble.
Instead I would keep the spotlight on him. “Did you go to church when you were a kid?”
He nodded. “But our church preached more about judgment than mercy. My parents followed all the rules set out by our church, and I loathed the anger and perfectionism that masked itself as righteousness.”
“So you turned away from your faith?”
“I fled from it,” he said. “When I was in New York, I discovered I could pretend to be anyone I wanted, and the last person I wanted to be was the kid who grew up in church or the man who still had questions about his faith. Even after all those years away from home, a quiet voice still beckoned to me. For a long time, I plugged up my ears and refused to listen to its call.”
I leaned forward, intrigued now by his story. “What was this voice saying?”
“ ‘Return to me.’ ” He glanced up at the clear sky. “I was desperately seeking peace, but I had no idea where to find it. I should have gotten on my knees and begged for His help right then, but I wasn’t ready.”
I took another long sip of my Orangina and glanced back at the cows. They had wandered far away from us, close to the playground at the other end of the park.
I couldn’t decide if this guy before me was real, nor did I trust myself to make this decision. The pictures online of him and the multitude of women were proof that he’d had a wild side. I’d seen no pictures that spoke to his reform.
Was he weaving together a tale like Austin had done at our “chance” meeting in the coffee shop? But there was no reason for Riley to impress me.
I could be intrigued by his story, though, without trusting him. It wasn’t like with Austin—my heart was too scrambled now to even consider romance.
“What happened next?” I asked.
“While I was filming the documentary, my grandfather came to visit me in New York. I had always admired him and his war stories, and as we talked about faith, he challenged me not to rely on what my parents or friends said about Jesus. He challenged me to find out what I thought about Jesus on my own.
“He also said something I’ll never forget—he said we never know what we truly believe until we are standing in a trench, surrounded by the enemy. My trench came two weeks later. After spending the little money I had on alcohol and painkillers, I didn’t have enough to make rent and was evicted from a pit they called an apartment during a snowstorm. I had no choice but to spend the night in a homeless shelter, and the next morning, I woke up shaking from a nasty cocktail of freezing temps and withdrawal.
“I’d been offered a job in a movie I knew I’d regret, and in that shelter, I realized I had to choose what I believed in—whether I would sacrifice everything for this obsession of mine or if I would choose to do what seemed right in my heart. I got down on my knees on that cement floor and asked God to reveal Himself. Thankfully, He did.”
“And the documentary?”
The familiar smile returned. “The producer never finished it. He was determined to find solid evidence that the stories of Jesus were fiction, but after three years of working on it, he couldn’t find the evidence he needed.”
Two kids climbed up the monkey bars behind Riley and began swinging. “Did you return to acting?” I asked.
“No. I caught the bug for truth and started work behind the scenes on another documentary. A couple more years passed, and I started producing them on my own.”
“So you converted?” I blurted before I realized it sounded like I was accusing him of failure. “I’m sorry—”
“God revealed Himself to me, just as I asked.” He tapped on his tattoo. “It was the most painful experience of my life, but the healing started in the midst of the pain.”
He tossed his ball of sandwich paper into a nearby trash can.
“My story is dull compared to yours,” I said.
“I skipped over the dull parts.”
I heard someone laugh, and when I turned, I saw a dozen kids lined up behind the low hedge, ready to invade the park. Riley hopped up and reached for my hand. His demeanor seemed to shift again. “We should probably let them play.”
“I don’t think they’ll kick us out,” I quipped. “We’re bigger than they are.”
He didn’t acknowledge my joke, pointing instead to another gate at the back side of the park. “Why don’t we go out that way?”
For a moment he reminded me of Sulley, the monster in Monsters Inc. who had been terrified of little Boo. “You’re not scared of kids, are you?”
His smile was forced. “I’m scared of plenty of things.”
I didn’t ask, but after all he had been through, I was curious to know what could possibly frighten this man.
I gathered up my sandwich and he reached for my hand, urging me toward the door. I followed him out the gate and it wasn’t until he shut it that I let go of his hand.
Chapter 39
The clock ticked mercilessly behind her father’s desk as Oberst Seidel donned his monocle. Gisèle held her breath as he examined the certificates, awaiting her fate. If he didn’t believe her . . .
There was nothing she could do if he didn’t believe her.
He studied both of the papers closely. Then he slid them across the desk to Hauptmann Milch.
; Hauptmann Milch lifted both papers and held them up to the light, scrutinizing them even longer than his commander had done. “They are in good order,” he finally said.
She bit her lip to keep all her breath from escaping at once.
Oberst Seidel handed the papers back to her. “Do you have a death certificate for your husband?”
“I am not certain he is dead.”
He set his eyepiece on the desk. “You have heard of the Compulsory Work Service.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Instead of sending you away, you and your housekeeper will work for us here along with that woman who was a secretary at our headquarters office.”
“Lise—” She stopped herself. “Mademoiselle Calvez.”
“Yes, Mademoiselle Calvez. She will join you.”
Gisèle clutched the certificates to her chest. She would hide them in her room in case anyone else questioned her about Adeline. Until the Batiers returned, she could prove Adeline was hers.
The Oberst dismissed Hauptmann Milch and another officer until it was just her, standing before him alone. He tapped his pen on the desk. “The major also told me that he had one other concern. When he was examining the house, he heard something unusual down in the wine cellar.”
“I went down there with him,” Gisèle said. “He heard my cat.”
“He mentioned the cat to me, but he was certain he heard voices as well.”
“I don’t know, monsieur. Parts of this house are a thousand years old. You and your men may not believe in ghosts, but some of our past residents have refused to leave. They play pranks sometimes on our guests.”
“I have seen many things in my life, Madame Rausch, but you are correct—I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“And I don’t believe that cats can talk, so I’m not sure what to say to Major von Kluge.”
“I believe we will have to consider it a misunderstanding.” He glanced back at the door again. “Where is your daughter?”
“Mademoiselle Calvez is caring for her.”
His gaze wandered over to the window with the broken lock. “I have a wife and three children back in Cologne. My oldest daughter gave birth to our grandson almost two years ago—he would be about your daughter’s age.”
Chateau of Secrets: A Novel Page 20