by Jan Moran
“With milk.”
“I thought as much.” He poured milk into the large coffee cup and handed it to her, noting her small, slender hand as she took the cup. “Be careful around the little one.”
“Thank you, mon ami.”
“Brioche?”
Danielle beamed. “Love it. I’m starved.”
He placed a plate before her and stifled a yawn. He’d been awake half the night wondering what to do about Danielle. What would Max have wanted him to do? Then he thought, I know what I want. Frowning, he pushed the thought aside. “Here, I’ll take Jasmin while you eat.” He took the baby in his muscular arms, cradling her and cooing to her. “How’s my tender flower?” He picked up the vase and waved the sprigs of white jasmine under Jasmin’s nose. “I wanted to be the first to bring you the flowers of your namesake.”
“I think she likes them.” Danielle laughed, then stopped with her cup in mid-air. “How thoughtful of you.”
Jon grinned at her. “Philippe had a hand in it. I don’t know jasmine from lavender. I’m better with ships than with flowers.” Or women, he thought ruefully.
“Well, it was very thoughtful of you. And Philippe.” She smiled at him over her coffee and shifted, casually curling one slim pajama-clad leg over the other.
Jon stole a glance at Danielle. Was it too soon for her? He started to say something, but his courage failed him. Of course it’s too soon, you idiot.
Danielle looked up. “What did you say?”
“Uh, she’s a fine girl, Danielle. She has your nose.”
“Do you think so?”
“Sure.” Jon’s shoulders tensed. His natural inclination told him to take up where Max left off. To ask Danielle to come to England, where he could look after her and the baby. But whatever he said would come out sounding like some nineteenth century romance novel, he just knew it. And then, there was the war—his patriotic duty.
Danielle put her coffee on the night stand, pushed aside her brioche. “Jon, is something bothering you?”
Her voice sounded so kind, so gentle, that he wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go. Confusion roared through his mind and he pressed a hand to his forehead. “Danielle, what I want to say, what I need to tell you, is that I came to say, to say good-bye.”
Her expression fell. “You’re leaving now? Today?”
“I have to. I’m returning to enlist.”
“Oh, Jon.” Her hands trembled and flew to her mouth.
“My skills are needed, Danielle.”
“Of course, I know. I’m proud of you, really I am. But you must promise you’ll be careful.” She hesitated, then added, “I’ll miss you.”
Her comment was like a knife in his gut, but he tried to keep his expression steady. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll keep my head down.” Jon lifted the baby in his sturdy hands. “My sweet little darling. Will you miss me, too, Jasmin?”
Jasmin blinked her eyes, her fist going to her mouth, her pink face screwed up in consternation as she let out a tiny squeal.
Jon laughed. “You be good to your mother while I’m gone.”
“I think she’s going to be a feisty one.”
“Rather like her mother.” Jon brought the baby to his chest and rocked her. His heart ached for Danielle, and he wished the situation were different. But he knew he was making the mature decision. Then why did it feel so wrong? Jasmin yawned and stretched.
Danielle spoke softly. “You have a quite a way with her, Jon. I really believe she’ll miss you.” Her luminous green eyes held his gaze. “Would you mind being her godfather?”
He answered solemnly, “I’d be honored.” He kissed Jasmin’s little hand. It was like a consolation prize. “Do you hear that, little one? You’re going to have to answer to me.”
Jasmin’s only reply was another yawn.
“Hmm, she’s sleepy,” Danielle said. “Let’s put her down for a nap.”
Jon stood and carried her to the bassinet he had fashioned for her, a feather down pillow in a dresser drawer. “There, my little goddaughter, sleep well, and be good to your mother.” He stood back and held his hand out to Danielle. “She looks like an angel when she sleeps.”
Danielle took his hand and watched Jasmin drop off to sleep. “Follow me,” she whispered. “We can talk better over here.” She moved across the room into an alcove, where a pair of slip-covered chairs flanked a brick fireplace. They sat down, and Danielle leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Must you go so soon?”
He swallowed, and wished he never had to leave her. “I do.” His sense of duty weighed heavily on his conscience. “Now that Norway and Denmark have fallen to the Third Reich, there’s no doubt that Hitler’s gunning for England.”
“I wish you could stay.”
A simple statement, but her eyes seemed to say more. “I’ll call...or write to you,” he ventured. His heart pounding, he summoned his courage and touched her cheek, drawing the back of his fingers along her jaw line. “Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but you are my only regret. I should look after you.”
Danielle leaned into his hand and closed her eyes. “Don’t be silly, I’m leaving for Paris soon.”
He drew back, nodding. “Your parents will be glad to see you.” That’s where she belongs, he realized. With her family.
Danielle looked up at him, her face set with determination. “I’ll visit briefly. As you know, my mother’s been quite ill with bronchitis, but I think she’ll soon be well enough to look after Jasmin.” She lowered her eyes. “You see, I’ve decided to return to Poland to find Nicky.”
“Danielle, you can’t go there!”
“I have to.”
“It’s crazy!” Jon’s heart thumped in his chest.
“No, it’s crazy to leave my son there. From here on, I’m taking matters into my own hands.”
He shook his head in amazement. Her resolve was evident in the upward tilt of her jaw, the level firmness of her voice. “I sense you’ve made up your mind then.”
“I have.”
“How do you plan to cross the Nazi line?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t ask.”
“I suppose you have a plan.”
“I have.”
Jon drew his hands through his hair. He had to admit, she was an astonishing woman. What a fool he’d been, thinking she might need his protection. He leaned forward, balancing his fingertips together. “So, when are you leaving?”
“In a few weeks, as soon as I can leave Jasmin.”
“And your mother-in-law?”
“Sofia wasn’t well when we left.” Danielle shrugged, her expression sad. “I don’t have a good feeling about her.”
Jon nodded. “All the more reason, then. I don’t have to tell you it will be dangerous, but I fully understand your need to go. In fact, I believe Max would have been proud of you.” He took her hand. “Promise me you’ll call if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Jon released her hand and pushed himself from the chair. “I have to be off,” he said, resigned. “You don’t need to see me downstairs.”
Danielle followed him to the door. “Philippe can give you a ride to the train station.”
Jon hesitated, his hand on the doorjamb. One last look, he told himself. God, she was gorgeous.
She raised her eyes to his. “Thank you for everything, Jon.” She slipped her arms around him. “Take care of yourself, sailor.”
Tentatively, he put his arms around her, encircling her silhouette and drawing her near. “You’ll write to me?”
She smiled up at him, her eyes dancing. “If you write to me.”
“I should like to very much.” He could feel her heart beating wildly, in perfect synchronization with his.
Danielle let her arms drop. “Well, I guess this is good-bye, mon ami, my dear friend.”
“Take care of yourself, Danielle.” Jon let his finger trail her cheek, then turned reluctantly to go.
“Wa...wait.”
As Danielle’s single word cracked with emotion, he hesitated, then whirled around, took her in his arms, and kissed her fully, deeply on the lips.
After Jon released her, he spun around and hurried down the stairs. Mired to her spot, she watched him go, her soul in emotional turmoil. As deeply wounded as she felt over Max, as elated as she was over the birth of her baby, and as worried as she was over Nicky and Sofia, still, through her tangle of emotions, she hadn’t been able to resist seeking comfort in Jon’s embrace. It had seemed so natural.
As she thought of Jon, she traced her lips with a finger and felt a warm glow spread through her chest.
10
“Do you ever miss Paris?” Marie asked.
From their vantage point on the bridge beyond the soaring Notre Dame cathedral, Danielle gazed out wistfully across the city she loved. “Wherever I am, Maman, I shall always miss Paris.”
Marie took Danielle’s arm. “I’m so glad you’re back. Let’s visit the Tuileries. The park reminds me of when you and Jean-Claude were children.”
A sudden pang of sadness sliced through Danielle. She and Max had also honeymooned in Paris, and every landmark held a memory of their idyllic week. Including the Tuileries, where they’d lunched and watched the children at play. She pushed the memory from her mind and eyed her mother with caution. “Are you sure you’re well enough to walk that far?”
“Mais oui.” Marie waved her pastel pink, kid-gloved hand. “The bronchitis is nearly gone. The doctor says exercise is good for me. I just wish I had been well enough to be with you when the baby came.”
Marie had suggested to Danielle that they spend the afternoon together before their family dinner that evening, and Hélène had offered to look after Jasmin. As they walked past the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower came into view, and at the end of the Champs-Elysées, the Arc de Triomphe loomed ahead in the distance. Danielle thought her mother held up remarkably well, but then, Marie had always been a strong, dynamic woman.
They walked on, and presently Marie sang out, “Here we are.”
The sound of children’s laughter greeted them at the entrance. Danielle stopped, suddenly dizzy with thoughts of Nicky. She let her eyelids close, and in her mind’s eye she imagined him running and playing, and told herself firmly that soon it would be so again. She would find him. And then, she would bring him here for a visit, with Jasmin, too, in a pram, along with their cousin, Liliana. Yes, that is exactly what I will do. A small sigh escaped her lips and she opened her eyes.
Marie motioned to a stone bench near a fountain. “Let’s sit there.”
The soothing sound of water and the sweet aroma of spring blossoms filled the air. Lovers passed, strolling arm-in-arm, some pausing to kiss. Danielle pressed her fingers to her lips in remembrance. But what came to mind was not the taste of Max’s tender kiss, but of Jon’s fiercely passionate kiss. Since he’d left, he had crept into her thoughts, over and over, and she’d savored the memory of his touch, reveling in the reminiscence. At night, she lay in bed bewildered, not by Jon’s sudden action, but by her reaction. And then there were his letters, in which he had poured out his thoughts to her. She felt guilty for her thoughts of Jon, because she had loved Max, loved him well and truly.
She bit her lip in silent admonishment. With a grimace, she glanced down at her black mourning dress.
Marie cast a sideways glance at Danielle from under her spring hat and drew her finely arched brows together. “You have a great deal on your mind. But even you need a quiet respite from time to time.”
Danielle gave her a wan smile and pushed thoughts of Max and Jon from her mind.
Marie waved her hand in a graceful gesture. “Just enjoy the day, ma chère. Ah, how could one not love Paris? It’s the embodiment of romance and style, of elegance and civility.”
Danielle agreed, admiring her mother’s joie de vivre. “You’re fortunate to call it home.”
“What about you?” Marie put her arm around Danielle. “It will always be your home, n’est-ce pas? You’ll return to live here, won’t you?”
Danielle caught her mother’s hand, squeezed it. “Maman, what if France were to fall to the Nazis?”
Marie threw a sharp look at Danielle. “We’re told the Maginot Line, with its underground fortifications, is sure to protect France. It’s virtually impenetrable.”
“Do you really think so?”
Marie paused. “I admit, I am worried. Actually, your father and I have discussed leaving for an extended holiday, just in case, but you know your father. It’s the bank that keeps him here.” She shook her head. “If only I could persuade him otherwise.”
Danielle nodded. She was relieved to know her parents were at least aware of the situation. So many people believed war was something that happened to others. She grew sick inside as she thought of it. Norway and Denmark had fallen to the Nazis last month. And since she’d left Grasse, Holland and Belgium had been invaded. France could be next, no matter how the government assured the people. She had already witnessed the enemy’s wrath.
Marie adjusted the broad brim of her pale pink hat against the sun. “I’m very concerned for you on this journey, ma chère.” She lowered her voice. “How long do you plan to be in Poland?”
“Not long, I hope.” Danielle shrugged. “A few days, a week, two or three at the most.”
“And if you have trouble finding them?”
“I’ll stay until I do.”
“Well, Jasmin will be fine here, no matter how long it takes.”
“I appreciate it.” She heaved a sigh. “If only Sofia had been well enough to travel with Nicky, to meet here as we’d planned. We should never have left him.”
Marie stroked Danielle’s long flowing hair. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. We can’t know the future, ma chère.”
“I remember you always said that, even when we were little.” Danielle’s stomach churned with anxiety. “I have so much to learn, Maman. How did you become so wise?”
“Life teaches you,” Marie said gently. “Or it breaks you.”
“I shall not be broken.”
“No, you’re strong. Just give yourself time. And remember that you are loved, my little one.”
Danielle kissed her on the cheek. “I love you, too.”
Marie glanced over her shoulder. “Tell me,” she began, lowering her voice, “how are you able to travel into Poland?”
Danielle had known this question would surface. Jean-Claude had warned her. Should I tell her? She bowed her head and studied her fingernails, but her pulse quickened. “Max had some important contacts. They’ve agreed to help me.”
“I see.”
“It’s a strict secret, though.”
Marie regarded Danielle with skepticism. “It sounds risky. These people must have valued Max’s friendship a great deal.”
Danielle thought of her brother. Selecting her words with care, she continued. “They’re very good people. It must remain a secret,” she whispered, then added, “I’ve said too much already.”
Marie inclined her head. “If anyone asks, we’ll say you returned to Philippe’s farm for a visit.”
“I’d appreciate that. He will, too, I mean...they will, appreciate it, naturally.” Danielle winced. She’d better not stammer in front of a Nazi soldier. “Please understand, I must do this.”
“I know.” Marie hugged her tightly. “Courage, ma chère.”
Later that afternoon, Danielle and her mother parted. Marie sent Danielle on her way to Jean-Claude’s flat, where she was staying. Hélène was helping her look after Jasmin.
Walking through the square of the Place Vendôme, Marie began to piece together the puzzle: Jean-Claude’s late nights, his increasing passion for politics, the ease with which Danielle was returning to Poland, the vagueness of her explanation.
Marie was worried, her skin crawled with unease. She recalled the confrontation between Edouard and Jean-Claude over the New Year holiday. Could Jean-Claude be invo
lved with some freedom organization?
She had heard about such organizations, and that members often would not, or could not, speak about it, even to their families, under threat of death. How then, had Danielle become involved?
Jean-Claude must have taken pity on her, she decided. She recalled with pride how his desire to ease the suffering of others drew him to the medical profession. As a young boy, he fed abandoned baby birds, and once splinted a dog’s broken leg. Yes, Jean-Claude must have helped her. Marie wondered how involved Jean-Claude had become. And did Hélène know?
She couldn’t stand the thought of losing either of her children. The tragedy of little Nicky gone missing, and now Max’s death, was horrible enough. Marie wasn’t certain she could endure the tragedies her daughter had. Why, if anything ever happened to her children...she shook her head, pushing the thought away. Yes, Danielle was strong. Stronger than she was in many ways.
Winded, Marie pressed her hand to her chest. She would do anything for her children. She realized she must also allow Danielle the same privilege of responsibility, and put aside her own motherly concerns. Dear God, bless my children in their efforts.
Marie sighed, nodding to the doorman as she entered the Ritz.
* * *
Danielle had finished feeding Jasmin again, and now, ensconced in the guest bedroom of Jean-Claude’s crowded flat, she began to change for dinner. She shrugged out of her black dress and changed into a pale blue dress that Hélène had given her. To hell with traditional widow’s wear, she decided, Max always liked me in brighter colors. As she buttoned the last button, a soft knock sounded at her door.
“Come in.”
Jean-Claude rushed in, shut the door behind him, and deposited a small cosmetics train case on the bed.
Danielle glanced at it, then turned to her brother. “I wondered what had happened to you. How was school?”
Jean-Claude put his finger to his lips, signaling silence, then whispered, “No need to keep up the pretense with you, Danielle. I haven’t been to class in months. The cause needs me.”