Chateau of Secrets: A Novel

by Melanie Dobson

  “There are rumors of a Catholic orphanage outside Saint-Lô—”

  She gasped.

  “I’d hoped you might know of it,” he said.

  “What business do they have at an orphanage?”

  “The major believes the nuns are hiding Jewish children among the other orphans.”

  She stood up in the darkness. “They cannot harm those children.”

  His focus remained on the sculpture of Jesus in front of them. “He is sending me and my unit out to find it tomorrow.”

  “But he knows about you . . .”

  Josef shuffled in his seat. “The major has begun to doubt my loyalties.”

  She shuddered. “It is a test.”

  He nodded.

  “But the children are not Jewish,” she insisted. “At least, not all of them . . .”

  “It doesn’t matter what you say, Gisèle. He must send someone to the camps.”

  She crossed her arms. “I can’t allow him to do this.”

  He rubbed his hands together, his gaze still on the crucifix. “Neither can I.”

  And then she remembered the reason he was in the German army. The woman he’d sacrificed everything for. “What will they do to your mother?”

  “If my mother still lives—” His voice broke. “She would tell me to save these children.”

  She sat down on the bench beside him. “You are a good man, Josef Milch.”

  “Nur Gott ist gut,” he said. Only God is good.

  They sat in silence together at the foot of the cross.

  Evil might have coursed through the veins of the Nazi leader and his minions, but God was good. She might not be able to rescue everyone, but He would want her—her and Josef—to try to rescue these children from the evil.

  She fingered the key in the middle of her rosary beads. Adeline was safe at Lisette’s house for the night. The Germans didn’t know she helped the Allied airmen. Perhaps they wouldn’t find out if they hid the children in the tunnels.

  But how would they travel with so many children?

  For with God nothing will be impossible.

  Her mother often quoted the words from the Book of Luke when she prayed. Jesus loved the Jewish children, welcomed them to Him in the Scriptures. If nothing was impossible, she prayed He would help them protect these children.

  Josef interrupted her prayers. “Major von Kluge sent me out here to find you. He wants to . . .” He paused. “He wants to interview you.”

  She nodded, understanding. “I won’t go back to the house.”

  “How far away is the orphanage?”

  She hesitated, knowing she must trust him and yet still afraid that Josef would deceive her. That he would tell the major her secrets in order to protect his mother.

  But the Germans would find the orphanage without her. And she couldn’t rescue these children without his help.

  “About three kilometers on the main roads.”

  Eddie would have whistled, but Josef kept his eyes on the cross. “How about the back way?”

  “If we take the footbridge across the river and go over the hill, it’s about one kilometer.”

  He silently contemplated her words. “Even if we could make it there, we have no place to hide them.”

  She wrapped her fingers over the key again.

  This was not just Michel’s tunnel. It was their family’s tunnel. Her tunnel. They each had a part to play in fighting this war. Michel and his men were intent on resisting the enemy, but she wanted to rescue people—the Allies and the children.

  If they were caught tonight, the Nazis would send her and Josef to one of their camps—or kill them. But she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t try to save the orphans.

  “I have a place,” she whispered. “But if you go with me, I fear there is no turning back.”

  He lingered for another moment, his hands clutched together as he whispered his prayers. She couldn’t imagine the conflict in his soul, the unknown awaiting the mother he loved and the mandate to send defenseless children to their death.

  Finally he stood up beside her, his voice strong. “I won’t turn back, Gisèle.”

  He retrieved his boots by the door and then she locked the door to the nave.

  “Come with me,” she said, and she guided him through the sacristy and down into the secret spaces under her house.

  “The major did hear voices,” he said as they crept through the tunnel.

  “Indeed.”

  Josef’s laughter escaped his lips, and it warmed her heart. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh.

  They passed quickly by the large room and then the smaller alcoves. Michel and the other men were gone, and the stench had tapered back into a more tolerable earthy smell.

  “The children will be safe here, from the Germans and the bombing,” he said.

  She nodded. Others fought with bombs and guns to kill their enemy, but she could fight with her heart.

  — CHAPTER 54 —

  I’d never heard anyone call the date of someone’s birth an anniversary. But Riley didn’t say anything else about his daughter, and I didn’t press him.

  His sorrow ballooned between us as we hiked back toward the château. The questions in my mind unanswered. Had he somehow lost his daughter, like my grandmother lost hers? And did this mean he once had a wife or was he still married?

  It shouldn’t have mattered to me, but as I’d watched him tonight alongside Madame Calvez, something had shifted inside me. If I ever fell in love again, I wanted it to be with a man like this who genuinely cared about people, not just about their vote.

  Riley lingered beside the door to the château, but before we said good-night, my cell phone rang and I saw my dad’s number on the screen. With a quick wave, Riley headed back toward the farmhouse.

  “Chloe?” my dad asked as if someone else might answer.

  I confirmed that it was indeed me.

  He didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I just got served papers, from an attorney in Paris.”

  My mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “Stéphane is suing for the property.”

  I sighed. Even though Mémé, for whatever reason, had allowed Stéphane’s father to live here, Dad wanted nothing to do with the Borde family. The château had been in my family’s custody for three hundred years and French inheritance laws were strict. Property like this would pass down to a nobleman’s son or grandson before a distant cousin retained it. I couldn’t imagine any judge siding with Stéphane, but then again, Stéphane lived in France and we were strangers in Normandy.

  I heard the crisp unfolding of papers in the background. “It says that I cannot inhabit the property nor can I inherit it because I’m not a biological heir.”

  “Of course we’re biological heirs—”

  “Stéphane has new information, but I don’t know what it is.” The line crackled again. “He should have waited to serve these papers until after my mother is gone.”

  “Dad,” I said slowly. “Do you remember an orphanage near the château?”

  He paused. “Perhaps.”

  “Riley is hoping to film there tomorrow.”

  “What does the orphanage have to do with his documentary?”

  “He’s doing a story about the Jewish men who served in the German military. Riley said one of the soldiers helped rescue the children in the orphanage before the end of the war.”

  When my dad spoke again, I heard the brokenness in his voice. “One of my recurring dreams is about a large group of children, sneaking through the woods.”

  A tremor of fear mixed with sorrow sparked inside me. Perhaps one of the children was his sister.

  “What happens in your dream?” I asked.

  “I’m hungry and cold and terrified, frankly, until your grandmother takes my hand. And then—” He stopped.

  “What is it?”

  “There is a German soldier in my dream, but he doesn’t scare me. He reminds me of your grandfather .
. .”

  “Maybe it was at the end of the war,” I said, “when you were leaving.”

  “Perhaps, but I’ll never know. My memories are like a prism, Chloe. All fragmented in the light.”

  Why did everything have to be so complicated?

  “I’m afraid we might lose the château,” my dad said. “But I’m even more afraid of what else Stéphane will dig up about the Duchants.”

  “We are a family,” I said, “and we will love each other, no matter what happened in the past.”

  Chapter 55

  The ramparts of the old Norman forest shielded thirty orphaned children and their five chaperones as they snuck toward the river valley. When the aeroplanes rattled overhead, they would duck under the mantle of leaves, waiting until they passed.

  Glowworms clung to the leaves above them and to blades of grass at their feet, lighting their path, but Gisèle still wasn’t certain how the children had managed to walk so far that night. Perhaps some of the children thought it was all a dream. It was as if they were all sleepwalking, dazed from Sister Beatrice awakening them long before dawn.

  The nuns had prepared them well for a nighttime evacuation. The older children dressed quickly and rolled up their bedding. Gisèle and Josef assisted the younger ones who lagged behind, and the nuns quickly prepared sacks of food to carry.

  Now Sister Beatrice and two other nuns prodded their wards gently along while the older children helped those who were younger, picking them up when they stumbled. Gisèle held the hand of the boy she’d found in Saint-Lô and the hand of a girl who wasn’t much older than Adeline. Josef carried the youngest child, a two-year-old boy, who’d fallen asleep on his shoulder.

  Gisèle glanced over at the man beside her, towering over all of them in his uniform. The child now cuddled against his chest. At first, the children had been terrified of the German officer and initially Sister Beatrice had been furious at Gisèle for leading him to the orphanage. It hadn’t taken Gisèle and Josef long to convince her of the gravity of what might happen if they didn’t leave right away.

  Soon Sister Beatrice was more angry that after all these years of hiding, when the Allied forces were so close to rescuing them, the Germans were coming after her children.

  A light shone at the edge of the trees, and at first Gisèle thought it was the starlight, welcoming them, but she quickly realized that it was much too bright.

  “Get down,” Sister Beatrice commanded, and the children sank to the ground.

  Gisèle held her breath as four vehicles passed by them, waiting to hear the slamming of car doors, but only silence remained.

  Josef motioned for all of them to wait as he stepped out onto the road. “Gisèle,” he whispered.

  Seconds later, she joined his side. The taillights of the vehicles had disappeared, and no lights glowed in the valley below, not even in Saint-Lô.

  “Why are they using their headlights?” she asked. An Allied plane could see them for miles.

  Josef scanned the valley in front of them. “They are in a hurry.”

  She shivered. When Josef didn’t return to the house, had the Nazis rushed out to find the orphanage without him?

  He glanced down at his watch. “They’ll patrol the footpath below in a half hour.”

  “Should we wait?” she asked. It would take the children at least twenty minutes to get down the hill.

  He put his hand on the back of the sleeping boy in his arms. “When they find the orphanage vacant, they will comb the forest and valley until they find us.”

  She remembered the lights when they were searching for the airmen. The barking of the dogs. The Germans had searched for weeks for Eddie and Daniel. If they didn’t get these children to the tunnel right away, they had no chance against the dragon.

  “We must go,” she said.

  Josef whispered to Sister Beatrice, and she arranged the children and adults into small clusters. Then, with the child in his arms, Josef led the clusters quickly down the hillside. Gisèle crossed the footbridge first and ushered the children across the footpath and back into the covering of the hawthorns while Josef waited on the far side of the river until everyone was safe in the trees.

  But then she heard the hammer of the boots she’d heard outside her bedroom door hours ago.

  “Halt!” A man shouted, and her heart plummeted.

  The German patrol had arrived.

  “Who is it?” a man barked in German.

  Gisèle glanced at Sister Beatrice, who was tucked back in the limbs of an apple tree. The nun didn’t say a word, turning instead toward the children, outstretching her arms as if she could protect every child in her care. Gisèle clung to the rosary beads and the key around her neck as she murmured her prayers.

  “It is Hauptmann Josef Milch.”

  They were so close to the cellar. So very close . . .

  Should she join Josef? No, that would only give away the location of the rest of the children. Perhaps Josef could convince the patrol that he’d been sent on official business.

  But that would be impossible. Josef still held a child in his arms.

  When the man spoke again, his voice was much lower, and she strained to hear his words. “The major is looking for you.”

  “Benjamin?” She heard the relief in Josef’s voice.

  “Ja.”

  “Von Kluge ordered me to raid the orphanage.”

  “I see you have followed his command.” And Gisèle could imagine him looking at the child in Josef’s arms. She prayed the man was a father. And that a seed of compassion remained in him.

  “Ja,” Josef said, “but I will not send this child to the camps.”

  She couldn’t hear Benjamin’s response.

  “Where are the others?” Josef asked.

  “The major sent everyone else out tonight.”

  She shivered. Would others be awakened by German soldiers commanded to send them away?

  One of the other children coughed from the trees, and the men stopped talking for a moment.

  “I could not do as I was commanded,” Josef whispered.

  “They will search everywhere for you.”

  “They will not find me.”

  After a long pause, Benjamin spoke again. “Godspeed.” She released her hold on the rosary beads, and Sister Beatrice’s arms relaxed beside her.

  Seconds later, Josef marched through the branches. The child had awakened, but his arms were clutched around Josef’s neck.

  “Why did he let us go?” Gisèle asked.

  Josef held back a branch so it wouldn’t cut the child. “He is a friend.”

  Another fleet of aeroplanes charged down from the north, and with the ground trembling under their feet, she directed the children swiftly through the thorny trees.

  — CHAPTER 56 —

  Riley and I found the abandoned manor house hidden back in the forest north of Saint-Lô, hemmed in by an iron fence and canopy of trees. The sisters who worked there, Marguerite told us, had hidden Jewish children among their wards.

  The front gates were open, and Riley parked his rental car inside before he dug out his camera. I took a picture of the front of the house with my phone, but I would wait to text it across the Atlantic. If it did jog my father’s memories, I wanted Mom to be near him.

  The front door was locked, but there was no knob or latch on the back door, so I pushed it open. The ceiling sagged precariously over ten wooden tables and benches, convincing me not to step inside, but I stood at the doorway and took another picture.

  Had the children here survived the war or had the Nazis taken them away?

  I knew it took a lot of courage for my father to share his troubled dreams with me. It was humbling to forget one’s childhood, especially when it was replaced with a confusing set of memories and dreams that prompted only questions. Snatches of children grouped together. Escaping in the night. The airplane ride to the States.

  Another thought thundered through my mind.

 
Stéphane had said that my father wasn’t the biological son of Gisèle Sauver. The Duchant heir.

  Was it possible that my father hadn’t come with his mother to help the orphans? It was plausible that he may have been one of the children needing help. Perhaps he was supposed to replace the child that Mémé lost.

  If that was the case, no wonder his childhood was like a prism. Mémé, in her love for him, had invented a beautiful story about his father—the French soldier who died in the war—and a childhood growing up at the château. A story she deemed safe. She had wanted him to forget the truth and he had. Until he began to dream.

  Turning, I wandered over to an old playground. With his camera on his lap, Riley was spinning slowly around on the rusty merry-go-round. He looked up at me, and I saw tears in his eyes. All the pride I’d seen in his pictures online, the cockiness that I’d once accused him of, all of it had been stripped away.

  Riley wiped his tattooed arm across his face before he slowed the merry-go-round. I sat down beside him. The seconds passed in silence, the two of us watching the branches sweep across the roof of the old manor house. Somehow, in the mystery of this house, I suspected there was healing as well.

  “What happened to your daughter?” I asked.

  He took a deep breath. “I told you that I moved away from home before I finished high school.”

  I nodded.

  “I wanted to act, but there was another reason I left. My girlfriend was pregnant, and I talked her into having an—” He choked on the word. “I wanted her to end her pregnancy. We were too young to have a child . . .”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, not knowing what to say.

  “Twelve years ago, I drove Helena to the clinic.” He stood up, his eyes on the swing set. “And then I didn’t even wait a week. I packed up my beater of a car and didn’t just walk away from my girlfriend. I ran, all the way to New York.”

  I stood beside him, and he pushed a rusty bar on the merry-go-round, watching it swirl around. “My parents were furious, and I tried—I tried desperately to forget them and Helena and most of all, my lost baby. I threw myself into my own search for success, and when I failed miserably, I tried drinking and drugs and more women, as if that could somehow patch up my bleeding soul. It wasn’t until my grandfather came to find me that I knew I had to stop running.