by Ellen Butler
I shifted uncomfortably. “It’s been awhile.”
He pulled a handful of letters out of his jacket pocket and laid them between us. “He’s been writing to you. We supplied your prewritten letters, but I’m afraid we ran out. If you can assure your father all is well, we might find you a position here in Paris.”
“I’ll write to him tonight.”
“Take your time. I believe you’ve earned a little R and R. I can arrange for you to go to England.”
“There is no need. I’m ready to report for duty tomorrow.”
“I’m sure you think so, but you need rest.” I opened my mouth to speak but he shook his head. “Report back a week from tomorrow... That’s an order.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Apology
The pile of letters lay at my elbow awaiting a response. Edward had written regularly. Some begged I return for my own safety. Others demanded it. After a while he seemed to realize the demands were getting him nowhere, and the letters turned into chatty missives about life in D.C., the staff, and reminiscence about places we’d lived in Europe with Mother. The letters evoked a painful memory that I’d intimated to Charlie but was too embarrassed to fully explain. My behavior revealed an ultimate lack of maturity in dealing with my mother’s death, and it hurt Edward deeply. A hurt for which I had yet to apologize.
♠♠♠♠
January 1939
Washington, D.C.
“I wish you’d rethink this decision. There is no need for you to move out.”
Someone had left the door open. The winter chill invaded the foyer where Edward and I stood rehashing the same argument. A D.C. cab idled in front, plumes of smoke puffing out from the exhaust pipe. Its boot was tied down with twine to keep my trunks and overfull bags from bursting forth.
“There is every need for me to move out, and well you know it, Edward.”
He flinched at my use of his first name. “Sarah—”
“I go by Lily now, my middle name.”
He sighed. “Lily, a girl your age shouldn’t be on her own in the city.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m moving into an apartment with two other women.”
“If you insist on moving, then at least let me hire you an apartment in a decent section of town.”
“The row house I’m moving into is in a perfectly fine location.”
He crossed his arms and his mouth flattened. “If that’s the case, why won’t you tell me where you’re going? You’re behaving like a child running away from home.”
“I’m no longer a child, Edward,” I said dryly, pulling on my gloves. “And I’ll send you my new address ... once I’m settled.”
“Sarah.” His face softened and he placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back sooner. She went downhill so quickly. I told you, we thought she’d rebound, like she did before, and she didn’t want you to see her like that.”
The tears, so close to the surface these days, welled up in my eyes. I mashed my lips together to keep them from quivering and breathed deep.
“You know, I miss her too. You’re not the only one hurting.”
His last statement invoked the anguish and deep sorrow I’d tamped down in the weeks since Mother’s death. “You kept her from me,” I cried. “I was to come home ... from England. Then you shipped me off to that ridiculous finishing school. She didn’t pull the strings to get me in ... you did. You were always jealous of our relationship. I was her daughter, for god’s sakes.” I pounded a fist to my chest and sniffed.
“You resented me. Didn’t you? I was tolerated because you loved Marie, and I was her daughter, and in order to have her, you had to take me too. But you were very skilled in getting rid of me. Weren’t you? First the British boarding school, then Switzerland. Well, now she’s gone and there is nothing holding us together anymore. I suspect you’ll be pleased.” I couldn’t stop the deeply hurtful tirade as the devastating pain that had been burning in my chest since the funeral spewed forth like molten lava at my stepfather.
Edward’s mouth dropped as I spoke and his face turned ashen. “My God. Is that what you think?” he whispered.
The tears flowed in earnest now. I shrugged, wiping my face with a handkerchief. My mother’s death was so painful I didn’t know what to think. She wanted me to go to that school and Edward pulled the strings to get me in. Right or wrong in my blinding grief, I blamed him for that.
“I wanted you home. I asked her to bring you home with us. I knew, as an adult, you would be such a comfort to your mother. I begged her to allow me to call you home, especially near the end. She refused me, over and over. She only wanted what was best for you. In the end, I gave in because she became so agitated, and I wanted to placate her. But though you aren’t my own blood, you are my only child and I love you. Deep down, I think you know that. And ... I don’t wish to lose you too.”
I glanced away from his pleading gaze. “I can’t stay here, Edward. As you pointed out, I’m an adult now. It’s time I stood on my own two feet. I’ve got to make a difference, and it’s not going to happen by becoming some politician’s wife. I can’t be the person my mother wanted me to be. I’m not sure I ever could.” I drew a hand down my face, as though doing so could erase Mother’s dreams. “Europe is falling apart at the seams. Maybe I can help. You can reach me at the Senate Foreign Relations Committee office on Capitol Hill.”
I turned to go, but he grabbed the cuff of my coat. “Don’t leave like this. Please, stay. I can’t stand the thought of rattling around this place alone.”
His honesty struck a painful note in my chest. Part of the reason I’d worked up the nerve to leave was the exact reason he stated. We’d drifted around the large townhouse like wraiths, speaking in stiff platitudes and trying not to show the other how much the unbearable weight of depression pressed down upon us.
At the funeral, I’d been approached by a distinguished Senator in his sixties who knew my mother before I was born. He spoke fondly of her, gave me a comforting handshake, and told me to let him know if there was anything he could do to help on his way out the door. I thought of him when I could no longer stand the tedium of doing nothing but bouncing between despair and anger. I never realized how busy my life had been until I came home and there was nothing to be done. I hadn’t developed local friends, so there was nowhere to go. No more lessons to be learned. And besides allowing me to arrange the weekly flowers, the household staff took care of everything else with minimal direction from me. Beyond my anger at Edward, I envied him his job. At least he had a place to go every day. Somewhere beyond this depressing mausoleum of a house. A constant reminder that I never belonged here and would never see my vivacious mother living here, even though her scent and decorative touches whispered to me at every turn.
“I’m staying on Fourth Street Southeast.” I pulled the cuff loose. “Number twelve.”
♠♠♠♠
Dear Edward Father,
I’m writing to tell you that I am hale and hearty and I hope that you are enjoying good health as well. I have been working diligently to help the war effort, and I know you are worried for my safety, but you needn’t be. I understand it is in a father’s nature to do his best to keep his children out of danger, but I am begging that you please stop using your connections to have me sent home. My job is far from the fighting, I am in minimal danger, and my contribution is more valuable here than in D.C. As I’m sure you are aware, our brave boys are doing their best to bring Hitler to his knees and end this war. I have high hopes that all will come to an end by summer.
On a different note, I am glad you aren’t here to see the destruction this war has wrought upon the lands and her people. The memories of places you write in your letters have gone to wrack and ruin. The pretty church we attended in Lyon with the cherub frescos on the ceiling... Sadly, it was burnt to the ground. It is not the Europe you once knew, and the Vichy government did its best to tear France apart under Nazi occupation. Althou
gh, you would have been proud to see the strength a village farmer or grocer or rural doctor showed putting their lives at risk to defy the Nazi regime. I have witnessed great bravery against an indomitable foe, especially in the face of certain torture and death if caught. Those were the people of France you knew when you were stationed here, not the turncoats and Nazi collaborators.
I don’t know what you’ll be allowed to read from this letter, but know that I miss you. When I’m in Paris, I think often of Mother and our last shopping trip. She loved this city so much, but when I remember her fragile strength those last days, it is perhaps best she isn’t here to be subjected to the misery Europe is witnessing.
Finally, Father, it has been long in coming, but I wish to apologize for my childish behavior the day I moved out of the Georgetown house. You remember what I speak of. I was distraught with grief and blamed you. My conduct was reprehensible, and though you were gentlemanly enough to ignore it, and we returned to speaking terms before I left, things have never been quite the same. I’m embarrassed I never had the wherewithal to say ... I am sorry. I apologize for the deep hurt I caused you.
When my time here is over, I’d like to return to the Georgetown house for a visit, if you’ll have me.
Sending my love,
Sarah
Writing words I should have spoken years ago eased my nagging conscience. I’m sure parts of my letter to Edward would be redacted for security’s sake, but I couldn’t help writing the bit about France. It saddened me that neither it nor the rest of Europe resembled the place I enjoyed during my childhood. I wondered if the beauty and serenity could ever be restored to its people.
My Dearest Charlie,
You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve been given a holiday. I have a full week at my disposal, here in Paris, and I don’t know what I’m to do with it. My roommate tells me to stop moping and take in the sights. She says there is no city to compare to Paris and she is correct. Whenever I look at the Eiffel Tower, I can only think of our time together and I shan’t consider doing it without you. I hope things are well with you and the 101st. Send my regards to Jake, Glassman, Peterson, Tank, and the rest of the gang.
If you get a pass, perhaps you would consider coming to visit.
Yours,
Lily
Chapter Twenty-six
Black Widow
“Lily, you must wake up.”
“I’m awake,” I groaned and rolled away. Colette’s petite fingers were icicles against my skin. “Your hands are cold. Go away. I’m still on holiday, you know.” Sleep had been long in coming last night, making for a weary morning. I desperately needed another hour of shut-eye.
“Someone is here to see you.”
“Tell Phillippe to go away. I’ll see him later.” I pulled the blankets over my head.
“It is not Phillippe. But if you want me to tell the handsome American major to go away, I will do so.”
Her words had me shooting bolt upright. “Charlie? He’s here?”
Colette grinned. “Oui. You were not expecting him?”
“I ... I don’t know. I sent the letter only two days ago.” I threw the covers off and jammed my feet into a pair of slippers. “I didn’t expect him to get a pass so quickly. Help me with these curlers, will you?”
“Calm yourself, my friend.” She sat next to me and began unrolling. “You mustn’t appear too eager. I will entertain your visitor until you are ready. Wear the red dress and take time to make yourself beautiful.”
“Colette, he doesn’t have much time. What if it’s only a twenty-four-hour pass?” I jerked at a stubborn roller. “Ow.”
Colette pushed my frantic hands away and untwisted the curler. “Lily, the most recent memories this man has of you could not be described as your best. Bloodied, burned, bruised, gray-haired, and gaunt. When was the last time he saw the beautiful woman you are?”
Her comments made me pause. “November.”
“He deserves to see the glamorous movie star he fell in love with. Brush your hair, wash up, and put on some lipstick. Take your time. He will wait.” She tossed the last curler in the box and rose. “I will make fresh coffee.”
Half an hour later, I entered the living room wearing the red calico dress and my newly styled hair pulled back with a pair of silver combs. Colette perched on the edge of her chair, but I only had eyes for Charlie.
“Here she is and just in time too. The major and I have finished our coffee,” Colette chirped with her French-accented English.
His eyes widened as he rose from the divan. “Lily? Is that... You changed your hair... You look ... beautiful.”
The smile I could no longer hold back spread across my face.
“I hope it’s all right that I came. I sent a telegram last night, but your roommate informed me you didn’t receive it.”
“Yes, of course. It’s a lovely surprise.” An unexplained bout of shyness gripped me, and I couldn’t seem to make my feet walk across the room.
Charlie must have felt the awkwardness, because he, too, stood staring and fidgeted with his hat.
Colette broke the tension. “I am off. Charlie, it was lovely to meet you. We will have a little drink tonight. Lily will bring you to our regular place.” Colette pinched my arm as she walked past.
“Yes, good day, ma’am,” Charlie mumbled but didn’t take his eyes off me.
The door closed behind Colette.
“I like your hair,” Charlie murmured.
“You look good too.” I shifted my weight. My heart yearned to leap into his arms, but thoughts in my head kept my feet from moving. Our last meeting had been fraught with dramatic confessions and swirling emotions. With all my free time, I had, of course, replayed those moments in my head over and over. Today, I didn’t want the drama, I wanted it to be like it was back in November, when our love was fresh and untouched by the harrowing times in between.
“Are you sure it’s okay that I came? Our last meeting ... I didn’t know. I mean ... I wanted to see you ... and your letter ... but—”
“Oh, Charlie.” His awkward schoolboy stammering washed away my trivial doubts, and I flew across the room into his arms.
After a while, I came around to asking the question I dreaded most. “How much time?”
“Seventy-two hours.”
Seventy-two blissful hours. We held hands wherever we went, and I consistently found Charlie watching me, as though he feared to let me out of his sight.
The first evening, I took Charlie to meet the crew at a bar a few blocks away from the apartment. Philippe, he remembered from our meeting at the café, but there was also Alfonso, a former soldier who lost his arm when the Germans invaded France. A farmer hid him in his barn and nursed Alfonso back to health. Afterwards, Alfonso joined the Résistance. Mariette, another co-worker in French Intelligence with Colette, also joined us. She originally lived in a little village in Vichy-controlled France, and she helped as part of an underground railroad for Jews and downed pilots. She barely escaped over the Pyrenees herself when the Gestapo closed in and burned her home to the ground. However, it was the woman sitting next to Mariette who gave me pause as I introduced Charlie.
“And I don’t think I know who is sitting next to...”
The dark-haired woman turned her head my way. The years fell away and even the change from blond to black hair couldn’t disguise her prominent brow, rather large nose, and sturdy chin.
“Camilla?”
“Hello, Lily.” She rose.
I went to her and wrapped my arms around her. “But how? What are you doing here?”
“Much like you, I’ve been pulled in for a cooling off.”
My brows rose. “Let me introduce you to Major Charles McNair. Charlie, this is Camilla, a good friend from finishing school.”
After the introductions, Alfonso called Charlie to his side, and I had a private moment with Camilla.
“SOE?”
She gave an enigmatic smile.
“I’
d no idea. When?”
“Not long after that last letter I wrote to you. I had to do something. By the way, I believe I have you to thank for my getaway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been informed”—she lowered her voice—“you were mistaken for the Black Widow.
“It was you?”
She winked. “Your capture allowed time for my escape. For that, I am both grateful and regretful. What you must have endured at the—”
“Hush.” I shook my head and patted her shoulder. “I’m relieved to find my ignoble capture was of use to someone.” I frowned. “But they said she limped...”
Camilla tapped her hip. “Fell down a flight of stairs to the Underground during a bombing raid.” She grimaced. “Didn’t healed properly.”
“Tough luck, that. What about your friend Friederich?”
A look of distress crossed her features. “Unknown.”
“Lily, come, we need your sage advice to settle an argument,” Colette called to me.
I squeezed Camilla’s hand and whispered, “I’m sorry,” before joining the rest of the group.
At the end of the night, Colette pulled me aside to tell me she would be bunking at Mariette’s for the next few nights and sent me home with a wink and a kiss on Charlie’s cheek.
The second night I awoke to an empty bed.
“Charlie?” I poked my head into the hallway to find a faint glow emanating from the living room.
Charlie, lit by flickering candlelight, stood in Colette’s red and black flowered kimono, hands on hips, staring out the window onto Paris’s darkened streets.
“Darling, what’s wrong?”
He turned, his face drawn, and enfolded me into his arms. “Did I wake you?” he whispered. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Nightmares?”
His chin rubbed against my head.
“I have them too.”
“I remember.”
“Colette believes when we talk about our nightmares it takes away their power.” I rubbed a finger across his furrowed brow. “Come, sit here.”