“I don't suppose they'll want you blowing up their garden. It could actually upset them quite a lot,” he said, smiling at her, happy to see her. In spite of the rough spot she'd been through, she looked well and, as always, beautiful. Her long blond hair hung down her back and shone in the sunlight. “Actually, I had a proposition for you. Not as exciting as a mission into Germany, I'll admit. But close. And at times, almost as challenging for the nerves.” She looked surprised as she listened. She couldn't imagine that in her current condition the British Secret Service would want her to do a mission with him. Her days as a Resistance fighter were over. But hopefully in a while, the war would be, too. She had fought a good fight for a long time. Longer than most. “Actually, to be honest, I need help with my kinders. They're getting older. They've been with me for five years now. The little ones are not so little, and getting into all kinds of mischief. The older ones are nearly grown up, and causing all kinds of ruckus at my place. I'm here in London most of the time, and frankly I need someone to keep an eye on them until this whole mess is over. And when it is, I'm going to need help tracking down their parents for them, if they're still alive. It could be quite a job. It's not easy for a man alone with twelve children,” he said plaintively, and she laughed. “I don't suppose you'd put off reenlisting with your order for a bit, to help out an old friend. We were married for a few days at one point, as much as a week I'd say, all in all. I mean, you owe me at least that. You can't just walk off and leave me with twelve children on my own.” She was laughing as she listened, and she suspected he was just being charitable, but also kind, which was typical of him.
“You're not serious, are you?” she asked with a strange expression. She felt an old stirring of friendship for him. Although they didn't know each other well, after all they had risked together, it created a powerful bond. In a sense, during their two missions, they had protected each other's lives. And done some terrific work. She was proud of what they'd done.
“Actually, I am serious. I adore them. But to be honest with you, Amadea, they're driving my housekeeper insane. She's seventy-six years old. She was my nanny when I was a boy, and my children's. These kinders need someone a bit younger to entertain them and keep them in line.” He was being truthful with her.
“I'm not sure how useful I'd be at either these days.” She glanced down at the wheelchair, and then back at him. “They might push me off a cliff if they don't like what I said.”
“They're really good kids,” he said, sounding serious finally. She could see that he meant what he had said. It was also easy to see that he loved them, but he was right. He had no wife, and a seventy-six-year-old housekeeper was no match for twelve lively young children, with no parent at hand. Rupert was away much of the time, on missions, or at work in London. He only got down to East Sussex on the weekends. On the other hand, she was anxious to get back to the convent. She had been out in the world long enough, and done all she was meant to. It was time for her to go back, and she said as much to him, as gently as she could. “Don't you suppose they could manage without you for a few more months?” he asked hopefully. “It's part of the war effort, after all. These children are victims of the Nazis, as you are. And it's going to be hard on them after the war, when a lot of them find out what happened to their parents. It could be very rough.” He tore at her heartstrings, and she hesitated as she looked at him. The fates constantly seemed to conspire to keep her from the convent. She wanted to ask God what he wanted of her. But as she looked at the expression in Rupert's eyes, she knew. She was meant to take care of these children. Maybe that was why God had sent Rupert to her. It was endless. But after three years out of the convent now, she supposed she could wait a while longer. She was beginning to think she'd be ninety when she took her final vows. But she knew that eventually she would. Of that she was sure.
“I hadn't actually written to the Mother Superior yet,” Amadea said, looking at him ruefully. “I was going to sometime this week. Are you sure I would be useful to you? I'm pretty useless in this thing.” At times, in spite of her best efforts, she felt a little sorry for herself. But if it was God's will, she could live with it. She had been blessed in so many ways, so many times.
“I'm very glad to hear you haven't reenlisted yet. I was afraid you would before I got to you. And of course, you're perfectly useful the way you are now. Don't be silly. All you have to do is shout at them, and I'll give you a big stick. You can prod them along if you need to.” He was teasing, and she laughed at him.
“When do you want me?” As she asked him, she already looked hopeful and excited. She couldn't wait to meet them. Taking care of them would give her life new purpose, particularly with Rupert gone so much. As they talked about it, she nearly felt married to him again, as she had in Paris and on the trip to Germany in December. They had a very odd relationship. In some ways they were strangers, in others they felt like best friends. And she was happy about helping him with his kinders. The convent could wait for a little bit. The war would be over before long. And once they found their parents and left him … her mind was racing as she sat in the wheelchair talking to him, and suddenly she sat up straighter. She wanted him to write down all their names on a piece of paper before he left that afternoon, and he promised that he would.
He knew he had done a good thing for her morale, and he sat smiling at her as they talked for hours that afternoon, about the children, his estate, the two days they had spent in Paris, the five in Germany. They seemed to have a lot to talk about, and she looked happy and young and was laughing when he wheeled her back to her room. They had agreed that she would come straight to his estate in East Sussex as soon as the doctors released her in four weeks. But he told her he would see her several times before then. He wanted to make sure she was doing well, and besides he enjoyed her company.
He kissed her on the cheek when he left. And after he was gone, she said prayers for his kinders, and for him.
26
THE TRIP DOWN TO EAST SUSSEX FROM THE HOSPITAL WAS uncomfortable for her. She still had some sensation in her lower spine and her legs, though very little. It was more of a tingling sensation than anything, but it was just enough to give her pain if she stayed in one position for too long. She had no control over her lower limbs. She felt completely numb from the waist down when the chauffeur gently sat her in her wheelchair when she got out of the car. Rupert was waiting for her when she arrived. He had come down the day before, to speak to the children. He wanted them to be nice to her, and not give her a hard time. He told them how brave she had been, and that she had even been in a concentration camp for five months, two years before.
“Did she meet my mummy?” a little girl with freckles and no front teeth asked him with interest.
“I don't think so,” he said kindly, as the twins threw bread balls at each other and he told them to stop. “You're going to have to do better than that when she's here,” he told them, scowling and trying to look fierce. But they knew him better than that and paid no attention to him. When he was at the estate in Sussex, they crawled all over him like puppies. And Rebekka, the little redhead, always wanted to sit on his lap and have him read her stories. She spoke no German, only English since she'd been six months old when she arrived. She was now six. But several of the others, who had been older when they got to England, still spoke German. He had told Amadea he thought she should speak German to them at least some of the time. When their parents came back, if they did, some of them would be unable to speak to their own children. He thought that keeping up their German would be a good thing. He had tried it himself, but he always got distracted and wound up speaking to them in English, although his German was as good as Amadea's, for the same reason, their mothers. “She's a lovely young woman, and she's very beautiful. You're going to love her,” he had told the children almost proudly.
“Are you going to marry her, Papa Rupert?” twelve-year-old Marta inquired. She was fair and long and gangly and looked like a young colt.
“No, I'm not,” he said respectfully. “Actually, before the war, she was a nun. And she's planning to go back to the convent after the war.” He knew he had only waylaid her temporarily to help with his kinders. And he really did need her help. But he couldn't think of anything more pleasant now than coming home to the children and her.
“She was a nun?” Ten-year-old Friedrich stared at him, looking worried. “Is she going to wear one of those big dresses and the funny hat?”
“No, she's not. She's not a nun right now, but she used to be. And she's going to be again.” Rupert didn't like it, and thought it a waste, but he respected it, and expected them to do the same.
“Tell me how she broke her back again?” Rebekka asked with a worried frown. “I forgot.”
“She blew up a train,” he said as though it were something sensible people did every day, like throw out the trash or walk the dog.
“She must be very brave,” Hermann, the oldest boy, said in a hushed tone. He had just turned sixteen and had begun to look like a man and not a boy.
“She is. She's been in the Resistance in France for the last two years.” They nodded. They all knew what that meant.
“Will she bring a gun?” a studious-looking eight-year-old boy named Ernst asked with interest. He was fascinated by guns, and Rupert had taken him hunting. They all called him Papa Rupert.
“I hope not,” Rupert said, laughing at the image. And a few minutes later Amadea arrived. Rupert went out to greet her, as she looked around the grounds in awe. The ancestral house and grounds looked very much like her father's family's château in Dordogne. It was less formal than she had feared it would be, but impressive nonetheless.
He rolled her into the living room after greeting her with a kiss on the cheek and a warm welcome. The children were all waiting for her in their best clothes, and Mrs. Hascombs had set up a long table in the library with a proper tea. Amadea hadn't seen anything so lovely since before the war. And the children were beautiful as she looked at them. And a trifle scared. A few of them looked worried by the wheelchair as she smiled at them.
“Now let's see,” she said, smiling at them, and feeling like a nun again. At times it was the best way she had of making herself feel comfortable. If she pretended she was still wearing her habit and veil, she didn't feel quite so vulnerable and exposed. And they were all staring at her, trying to take her measure. But so far, for the most part, they liked what they saw. Papa Rupert was right. She was beautiful. And not old. In fact, she looked quite young, even to them. They were sorry about the chair, and her legs.
Amadea was smiling as she returned their gaze. “You must be Rebekka… You're Marta… Friedrich… Ernst… Hermann … Josef… Gretchen …Berta … Johann… Hans… Maximilian… and Claus…” She had named them all correctly, and pointed to each one of them. The only mistake she had made, and an understandable one even to them, was that she had confused Johann and Josef, but as they were identical, everyone did, even Rupert. He was amazed and so were they. She apologized politely to Johann and Josef for the mistake.
“I can't tell them apart either sometimes,” Rebekka volunteered, and without warning, she hopped into her lap. But Amadea felt little, although for a moment Rupert panicked. He didn't want the child to hurt her, but fortunately she hadn't. And Mrs. Hascombs came to greet her with an extended hand and a kind look.
“We're so happy to have you,” she said warmly, and looked as though she meant it. In fact, she looked immensely relieved. She was in deep water with twelve lively young children, and knew it. As did the kinders, and they took full advantage of it. Amadea wasn't sure she could control them either, but she was certainly going to try. She thought they were adorable and fell in love with them at first sight.
“Tell us about the train you blew up,” Rebekka said cheerfully, as they all ate tea and scones, and Rupert looked slightly aghast as Amadea smiled. He had apparently briefed them about her. And she was sure he had also told them she was a nun, which was fine, too.
“Well, it wasn't a nice thing to do,” Amadea said seriously, “but they were Germans, so for now it was all right. But it won't be all right after the war. You can only do things like that when there's a war on.” Rupert nodded approval.
“They bomb us all the time, so there's nothing wrong with killing them,” Maximilian said fiercely. He was thirteen, and already knew his parents were dead. Relatives had told him. He wet the bed sometimes. And had nightmares. Rupert had told her that, too. He had wanted her to know everything about them. He believed in full disclosure and didn't want her to be shocked. There were times when they made him want to tear his hair out. Twelve children were a lot for anyone, no matter how wonderful or well behaved they were.
“Do your legs hurt?” Marta asked kindly. She seemed the gentlest of all. Gretchen was the prettiest. Berta the shyest. The boys seemed full of life, and were moving all the time, even while drinking tea and eating scones. They were itching to go outside and kick a ball around, but Rupert had told them they had to wait until they'd finished tea.
“No, they don't hurt,” Amadea said honestly about her legs. “Sometimes I don't feel them at all. Sometimes I do, a little.” Sometimes her back was excruciating, but she didn't say that. And the scars from her burns were ugly.
“Do you think you'll ever walk again?” Berta finally asked her.
“I don't know,” Amadea said with a smile, she seemed matter of fact about it, which tore at Rupert's heart. He hoped she would, for her sake. “We'll see,” she said, sounding hopeful. She was philosophical about her fate.
And then she suggested they all go outside and walk around the grounds before dark. The boys were thrilled, and were outside playing ball in less than a minute.
“You're wonderful with them,” Rupert said admiringly. “I knew you would be. You're just what they need. They need a mother. None of them has had one in five years, and may not again. Mrs. Hascombs is more like a grandmother to them.” In some cases, most in fact, Amadea was too young to be their mother, she was more like an older sister to them, but they needed that, too. It reminded her of when Daphne was young. She had loved being her older sister. This was good for her, too.
At dinner that night, they spoke of many things, not only about the war. They told Amadea about their friends, school, the things they liked to do. And Rebekka came up with the perfect name for her. She called her “Mamadea.” They all liked it, and so did she. They were now officially Mamadea and Papa Rupert.
The days sped by after that. Rupert went back to London after the weekend, and came back every Friday afternoon and stayed till Monday morning. He was vastly impressed by how well Amadea handled them. And he was touched when he saw what she had done on the first Friday night he was back. She had read about how to do it, and had done a Shabbat for them, with the challah bread. She lit the candles, and read the prayer. It was a deeply touching moment, and the first Sabbath they had celebrated in five years. It brought tears to Rupert's eyes, and the children looked as though they were drifting back in memory to a beloved place as she did it.
“I never thought of that. How did you know what to do?”
“I got a book.” She smiled at him. It had touched her, too. And somewhere in her history there were Sabbaths like that, too, even though she had never known them.
“I don't suppose they did that in the convent,” he said, and she laughed. She enjoyed his company and they were comfortable together. She had had her first glimpse of that in Paris when she was there with him. They talked about it once, and he reminisced nostalgically about the peach nightgown. He loved to tease her. “If you had slept any further from me in the bed, you'd have been levitating like some Indian soukh.”
“I thought it was funny when you messed up the bed the next day.” She laughed, but under the circumstances of their pretense, it had been a wise thing to do so as not to arouse suspicion.
“I had to preserve my reputation,” he said rather grandly.
&nbs
p; The days of summer rolled by easily, and for once Amadea didn't even miss the convent. She was too busy. She sewed, she read, she played catch with them, she scolded them, and dried their tears. She spoke German to those who wanted to and remembered it, and taught it to the others. And French. She told them it was a good thing to know. They thrived under her protection. And Rupert loved coming home on weekends.
“It's a shame she's a nun,” Marta said mournfully one Sunday at breakfast with Rupert, after Amadea had gone out with the boys. She was going to fish with them in the lake on his estate. They called it Lake Papa.
“I think so, too,” he said honestly. But he knew how determined she was to go back. They seldom talked about it, but she was loyal to her vocation, and he knew it.
“I forget sometimes,” Marta admitted.
“So do I.”
“Do you suppose you could ever change her mind?” she asked cautiously. The children spoke of it often. They wanted her to stay as long as they would.
“I doubt it. That's a very serious thing. And she was a nun for a long time. Six years. It wouldn't be right of me to try and dissuade her.” Marta had the impression he was saying it more to himself than to her.
“I think you should try.” He smiled, but didn't answer. There were times he thought so, too. But he didn't dare. He was afraid she would get angry at him and leave. Some things were taboo. And he respected her a great deal, even if he didn't like the path she had chosen. But he recognized her right to do that, whether he liked it or not. He had no idea how to even broach the subject with her. He knew by now how stubborn she could be, particularly if she believed in something. She was a woman with a strong mind, and once in a while, she reminded him of his wife, although they were very different. She had been a woman of strong opinions too.
Seeing Amadea with the children, and the odd family they had formed, sometimes made him miss having a wife. But this was in some ways the next best thing. They had had a wonderful summer with each other. And before the children went back to school, they went on a family excursion to Brighton. He pushed Amadea along the boardwalk in her wheelchair, while the children went wild, playing games, and going on the rides. She looked longingly at the beach. He couldn't push her on the sand.
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