by Lorna Lee
Greta, preoccupied with her German compatriots and her sister’s emotional needs, still watched her discontented husband and his fondness for the Finnish help. Greta had never controlled her husband’s business, though. Michel used the fact that his wife assigned her maid to help him (all to help the German cause) to his and Meri’s advantage. Meri established routine visits with Jeannine, which lasted for several hours, compliments of Michel. Since parents were able to take their children out of the convent for a few hours, Meri tried to find safe destinations for their outings. They visited The Louvre often because the Germans soldiers likely to stop them were not interested in art. Meri also managed to bring a treat to her daughter. Jeannine always wanted food.
“The meals they give us here are small and awful, Mamma!” Jeannine spat the words out as if reliving her most recent meal.
“The food can’t be so bad.” She turned her daughter around. “Hmm. I see you’ve lost weight. Your dress hangs on you. Do the nuns teach you to mend and alter your clothes?” Meri lifted Jeannine’s dress, which hung on her much like the robes the nuns wore.
“Non.” Jeannine pouted. “All they teach us are long boring prayers, how to scrub floors even if they’re clean, how to get up earlier than the birds, how make our stupid beds, how not to laugh, and how to never, ever complain.”
“And your studies are going well, I see.” Meri could not suppress her grin.
Jeannine narrowed her eyes at her mother and crossed her arms and her legs. “I wonder how you would like to be here under the thumbs of these nuns….”
“Do they have rules against humor? I was just kidding, Jeannine. They teach spelling and numbers, too, oui?”
Still angry, Jeannine paused before she grumbled her response. “I suppose, but only after prayers and obedience and scrubbing.” Then she spoke more contritely. “How long will I be locked up in here, Mamma? When can I come live with you?”
Meri fiddled with the girl’s tight braid, which stretched halfway down her back. “I like your hair this way, Jeannine. No more wild curls…except for these wisps around your face.” Meri tried to smooth them back around Jeannine’s ears.
Jeannine put her hand to her head, blocking Meri’s hand, and grimaced. “They pull so tight when they make the braid, Mamma. It hurts. They say pain is good. Do you know that if you wet your bed, they make you wear your wet pee-pee pants on your head all day as punishment? The first night I was here, I wet my bed. It was awful, Mamma. The pants get crusty hard by the end of the day and your hair stinks. The nuns only let us wash once a week, so some of us have piss-hair for days. When you ask them to please stop punishing you, they tell you suffering is supposed to bring you closer to God. My knees hurt from scrubbing the floors, and my head hurts when they pull my hair. I must be very close to God.”
Meri’s eyes widened. I don’t want you to suffer, but you have to stay here. Saying I think the nuns are bad will only make it worse when I leave you here. That’s how I suffer, ma cocotte. God must know me well, too. “Before we leave, take what I brought you.” Meri reached in her coat pocket and presented Jeannine with two hard-boiled eggs. “Put them somewhere safe and don’t wait long to eat them. I risked my job taking them from Madame’s kitchen.”
Jeannine’s eyes widened and a smile replaced her seemingly permanent pout. “May I eat them now?”
Meri looked around and saw a few nuns and a scattering of children. “Non. I think you better hide them before we take our walk. Save them for later and think of me when you savor them.”
Jeannine nodded. She walked reverently through the doors past which visitors were not allowed. Meri wondered where she would hide the eggs.
When Jeannine returned, Meri signed her out of the convent. They strolled along the streets of Paris, now a cheerless city and nothing like the walks they had taken even one or two years before when Jeannine lived with Annabelle. German soldiers gave them no trouble. As long as Jeannine is with me in her Catholic uniform, Meri mused, whatever Jewish traits Simon saw in her are invisible to the Nazis. We’re safe.
A few hours of freedom from the nuns made the drudgery of the convent easier for Jeannine if just by inches. Meri could tell by her daughter’s diminishing reluctance to say goodbye. Jeannine had made friends in the convent—allies against the many miserable Sisters of Charity—and trusted her mother would return every other week for several hours of reprieve from the cold stone walls of the convent. Meri learned all of this from Jeannine. She also learned that the eggs, so carefully hidden, had vanished when Jeannine returned to her room.
“The Sisters took them. They said, ‘If you don’t have enough to share with all the children, then you shouldn’t have any for yourself.’ I think they ate them, Mamma.”
“Mon Dieu! Nuns stealing from children!”
“They said they’re teaching me a lesson about sharing.”
Meri’s gray eyes grew darker, stormy. They’re greedy, hateful women, taking advantage of poor, defenseless children! Next time, I’ll let her eat her eggs when we’re outside of the convent.
Meri did not realize she would have nothing to bring her daughter the next time she came to visit.
Chapter 17: Shifting Sands
“You can discover what your enemy fears most by observing the means he uses to frighten you.”
Eric Hoffer
The news in December, 1941, electrified the Dorval-Freels residence: Hitler had declared war on America. Greta, uncharacteristically giddy with the excitement, chatted nonstop during meals about how the entire world would be “ours.” Herr Freels took a more measured approach to the news. Meri noticed how much he had aged since she had first seen him. She had met him just over six years ago. The man looks like he’s aged twenty years. Hitler must be a worse employer than Madame!
More official meetings among German officers took place at the residence, much to Monsieur’s dismay. But only a foolhardy person would be caught complaining. Any grousing about the German presence in the household meant disloyalty to the Third Reich and, family or not, they would be arrested for any number of crimes. Meri claimed political ignorance or disinterest for safety reasons. Her natural curiosity, however, overcame her. She gleaned as much information as possible from observations while doing her errands for Monsieur, listening to household conversations, or being informed by Monsieur during risky private conversations. Without being told anything, she could feel the tension in the household increase.
Supplies of food ran low, even for the German officers and their guests. Meri began calling Philippe “Frenzied Philippe.”
“These people want gourmet meals with…with what? The scraps of foods their soldiers bring to me? I’m not Jesus!” He raised his eyes and did the sign of the cross. “I can’t create miracles!” Philippe paced around the kitchen flailing his hands in the air.
“They can’t blame you if there’s no more good food left in France! Perhaps you could talk to Madame and ask her to order the soldiers to get food from other countries? Is every country at war?” Meri tried to calm her old colleague. If he died of panic, she did not want to be responsible for all of the cooking.
“Oui. That’s what I must do, talk to Madame. She must know I can’t create a meal from crumbs and scraps.” Philippe threw his chef’s hat and apron on the counter and marched toward Madame’s office. Does he believe Madame can order German soldiers? Meri shook her head.
When Meri was at the fashion house picking up an order for delivery, Michel told Meri, “According to underground sources, the German army is spreading itself too thin. They cannot sustain their past record of destruction. Their pretense of supreme power is falling.” He rubbed his hands together and smiled.
Underground sources? Is Michel part of la Résistance? I hope he’s careful.
Michel continued, as if unable to stop pouring out good news to her—water to the parched, “They are dying in numbers equal to those they are killing. I know as well as you do; we repair the uniforms coming to my shop wi
th blood and bullet holes. The Americans and the Soviets are beating them down. How will Germany have enough men to defeat all of them?” Michel embraced her, then picked her up and twirled her around.
Meri eyes filled with confusion and worry. “All this killing, Michel…how can you be so happy?”
“Simple. It will put an end to Hitler and his Nazi insanity. Then we can focus on building new lives out this rubble they left us with.” He looked at Meri directly, staring into her grey eyes with an intensity she had not seen before. “Do you understand, my dear? A new life…”
Meri shook her head ever so slightly. “Non, Michel. I don’t understand.”
Michel’s eyes softened and his smile twisted into something that made Meri feel both sad and apprehensive. “We will be safe—you and Jeannine, me, probably Greta, too. France will prevail. When she does, new opportunities will open up…for us perhaps.”
“Do you mean you might hire me to work in your design house?” Meri’s heartbeat quickened at the thought of her dream finally coming true.
“Perhaps. Perhaps more…” He cupped her face with his large hands and kissed her forehead. “We would make a fine team in many ways.”
Meri stood silently. Too many thoughts bumped into each other inside her head for her to formulate a coherent response. Would he leave Greta or just keep me as his mistress? How would Jeannine fit into this picture? Where would we live? What happens when he tires of me? Would I be safe from Greta? She can be so cruel.
He noticed Meri’s eyes filling with tears. “Stop fretting, Meri. The war still wages, and we have a long way to go to get to a future of freedom and normalcy. If you must worry, worry about the thousands of souls suffering at the hands of these German lunatics. If you are a religious woman, pray that the Americans and Soviets are swift.”
If only Michel understood that my tears are tears of confusion about my future with him, not worry about the war.3
§
In 1942 both the Dorvals and Freels experienced many losses.
On a cold February afternoon, Herr Freels dispatched one of his men to the residence. He carried a note. When Madame Freels read the note, she dropped to the floor. Nine-year-old Karla cried for help. Meri ran from the kitchen to the foyer. She arrived at the same time Madame did.
“Ilsa? Are you all right?” Madame, for the first time since Meri met the woman, expressed genuine fear and compassion. Madame stared at the German soldier. She spoke sharply and abruptly to him while kneeling beside her immobilized sister.
He straightened—a physical feat Meri thought impossible for German soldiers so vigilantly rigid—and apparently answered her in brief, dispassionate sentences. Meri did not understand the exchange. German is not a kind-language to the ear.
Madame said something harsh that included “Herr Freels.” The soldier saluted, clicked his heels, turned, and closed the door.
“Meri what is wrong with you? Take Karla away from here. She should not see her mother in such a state.” Madame’s wasp-like manner never remained hidden for long.
“Oui, Madame.” Meri curtsied and pried Karla from her mother’s side. Karla’s complexion, naturally pale, whitened to a frightening pallor. The girl shook uncontrollably. Madame Freels had curled herself into a small trembling ball. Why? I should know what’s happening! Meri did not ask.
Later, at dinner, when they spoke in French, Meri overheard enough to understand the reason for the day’s drama. Karla and Madame Freels had dinner served to them in their rooms. The large dinner table seemed empty with only Madame, Monsieur, and Herr Freels.
“I do not understand why she is so upset. He died a war hero. What better death can a boy have?” Herr Freels said as he moved the food around on his plate.
“He was your son, Ernst. Where is your grief?” Michel took a large gulp of wine.
“Michel! What business is it of yours how Ernst feels? This is a private matter between a father and a mother.” Greta took a small bite of boiled potato. “I must speak to Philippe about our menus.”
“What business is it of ours? He was our nephew. I watched Kurt grow up. They are living in our home! It still is our home, isn’t it?” Michel poured more wine and drank it.
Greta glanced at Ernst.
“Do not seek him out for reactions. I am still your husband! I am the one talking to you.”
“Michel. Calm down. This has been a difficult day for everyone, and I can see you are upset.” Ernst seemed the picture of German restraint, but Meri sensed that underneath his words was a fire he was trying to douse. “Ja, I miss my Kurt and I always will. I am soothed knowing he died for such a great cause as Hitler’s dream. Ilsa will see that, too…in time. She is a mother. A woman. Her emotions rule her more than is, well, helpful in times such as these.”
“My Greta is a woman and she does not have any trouble with her emotions,” Michel said, slurring his words.
Greta’s eyes were ice picks, aimed at her husband.
“I admire Greta’s ability to keep a level head during times of crisis.” Ernst smiled at Greta and raised his glass of wine to her.
Greta’s face softened. She raised her glass.
“To Greta, then, my emotionless wife!” Only Michel drank.
I wonder if Herr Freels and Madame are more than just brother and sister-in-law? Nothing in this house surprises me anymore. I can’t imagine their German trysts are loving and passionate…most likely efficient, though. Meri had to look down to hide her grin.
A few days later, Meri overheard the two maids, Elise and Claire, talking about how Kurt died. They spent more time around the Mesdames and learned enough German to eavesdrop—their favorite activity along with gossiping about what they learned.
“War hero, ha! Did you hear Madame Ilsa questioning Herr Freels?” Elise and Claire scrubbed an upstairs hallway floor as they talked. Meri happened to be in Karla’s bedroom. She was fetching a sweater for her because the girl was chilly as she sat on the floor in Madame’s study where she was drawing. When she heard the two maids gossiping about anything relating to her employers, she had to listen. She stood silently behind the door to Karla’s room, hoping not to be noticed and to learn valuable information.
“I couldn’t believe my ears. No wonder Madame Ilsa is so upset. I would be too! It makes sense when you think about it. Kurt was never too smart. He probably blew a whistle too loudly or lost his balance waving a sword or rifle too big for him to hold.” The two women giggled softly.
“Still, what a horrible way to die—falling off a horse during a parade and breaking your neck. Not a hero’s death at all.” Claire added.
“Imagine, she had to get the news from a stranger. Her husband sent a soldier. Why? I bet he felt too ashamed to tell her. He said he died in battle. Ha! A battle with a startled horse!” Elise had a way of making this tragedy seem amusing. No wonder Madame Ilsa has remained in her room. She’s suffering from grief and embarrassment. Madame, well, she will never admit her nephew died in any way but fighting the enemy. Neither will Herr Freels. What should it matter how poor Kurt died? He’s dead.
Meri walked into the hallway. The two maids stopped scrubbing and gossiping. They turned to each other with wide eyes.
“I heard you. Shame on you for making fun of a young boy’s death.” Meri knew Elise and Claire never cared for her, so she had nothing to lose by taking the moral high ground.
“Ah…” They tried to speak simultaneously.
“Don’t bother. I won’t repeat a word of this. Neither should you. What would you have done if Madame Freels came to get Karla’s sweater and not me?” Meri tip-toed around the buckets and over the wet floor. She had a sweater to deliver. As she descended the stairs, she smiled. Information is everything to someone who has so little.
§
Due to the war and dwindling luxuries, even for those protected by German officials, the family cancelled their summer sojourn to the country estate. The place is probably being used by the Germans, anyway. For
the first time since Meri worked for the Dorvals, the family stayed in Paris during July and August. The heat of the city in summer affected everyone, especially the eleven year-old Soldat.
“Great Pyrenees, with their thick coats and large builds, are meant for mountainous, cool environments. They usually work hard and live an average of ten to twelve years.” Michel told Meri when she raised concerns about Soldat’s health. In the early days—the days before the war—Michel arranged routine veterinarian visits. Michel asked the questions that Meri wanted answers to, and he happily reported back. Knowing she cared so much about the family dog pleased him.
The days of veterinary care had long past. Soldat relied solely on Meri’s ministrations, which consisted mainly of good food, regular gentle exercise, abundant petting, and prolific lectures about how she needed him to stay healthy. Regardless of her vigilant care, Soldat became less stable while walking and often incontinent of both his bowels and bladder. Meri always cleaned his messes, which Madame noticed with increasing displeasure.
“You spend most of your time cleaning up after that stupid dog when you have too many other duties. We might as well revert back to when he was a bumbling puppy, creating disgusting messes all over my house! I will not tolerate this large beast ruining my floors. Again.” Madame’s voice could be heard from many rooms away.
On a particularly hot July afternoon, Meri took Soldat outside to cool him by soaking him with buckets of water. He loved to be drenched in water. Meri, of course, got equally wet in the process, from splashing the water on him and from the bursts of spray he would return when he shook himself as all dogs do. Both of them had fun, even though Soldat lost his balance and fell twice while shaking himself.
“Lakata!” Meri told him to stay put. She left him standing in place while she went inside to get towels to sop up his water-laden fur. Unlike most times when he was told to stay, Soldat happily followed Meri inside the house, leaving puddles in his wake. Two horrifying things happened simultaneously as Meri turned around with an armful of towels for the dog. Soldat hunched his back and shat on the marble kitchen floor and Madame walked into the kitchen.