Chateau of Secrets: A Novel (27 page)

I leaned forward on the stool, intrigued about what she would say. Perhaps she could give all of us a glimpse into my grandmother’s years during the occupation.

“So that would have been in 1942?” Riley asked.

“That’s right. Two years before the Allies landed on the beaches. We had no idea, of course, that the end was near. We thought the Germans would be here forever.”

“Did you know many of the German officers?”

“Of course.” Madame Calvez looked over Riley’s shoulder, at the bird playing in the water. “They were my employers.”

“Did you have Jewish friends in Saint-Lô?”

“I had acquaintances but no friends. My father had been a farmer on the other side of France, and he didn’t like the Jewish people. It wasn’t until—” The strength in her voice slipped. “I didn’t have any Jewish friends until after the war.”

When he glanced over at me, I scooted toward Madame Calvez. “Can I get you something to drink?”

She shook her head, but I still stood up. Isabelle helped me pour two glasses of lemonade and deliver them back outside.

Riley took a long sip before continuing. It seemed as if he was trying to proceed with care, trying to understand her story without pushing too hard. “I read that some Jewish men served in the Wehrmacht,” he said.

His words sounded odd to my ears. The Jews were the victims in this war. Why would they be in the German army?

Her gaze wandered to a bird diving his head under the water of the birdbath. “Some were full Jews, but mostly it was
Mischlinge
who served.”

He jotted a note in his Moleskine before he continued. “What is a
Mischling
?”

“A partial Jew.”

“My grandfather said he would never forget one man he met when he came to Saint-Lô—a Jewish captain named Josef who helped him get his identity card so members of the resistance could smuggle him through France.”

Her hands shook as she reached for the lemonade. Isabelle helped her sip it. “So many officers came through here during the occupation,” she finally said. “I can’t remember all of them.”

“Which officers do you remember?” he asked.

Her eyes glazed for a moment and she tugged on the sleeves of her jacket. “None worth talking about.”

“I understand if it is too difficult.”

Her lip quivered. “I don’t believe you do . . .”

I glanced at him to see if she’d insulted him, but he seemed completely engaged. Instead of probing her for his agenda, he was probing her for her story, allowing her to lead him as well.

“You are right,” he said, and I was touched by the kindness in his voice. “There is no way that I could understand.”

She brushed her wrinkled fingers over the ridges on the glass table. “Some of the soldiers in Saint-Lô were prisoners themselves. They didn’t want to be in the army—like most of the Jews.”

Riley glanced down at his journal. “What happened to the
Mischlinge
who weren’t in the army?”

“They were sent to the concentration camps.” Sorrow locked her gaze and for a moment, it seemed she had gone to another time and place. Watching her, I wondered where she had gone. “So many people were hurt during this war. So many of us did things we would never have imagined we’d do—” Her eyes filled with sadness. “You cannot understand.”

He agreed. “I cannot.”

“It was a terrible, terrible time.” She turned toward me. “What did Gisèle tell you?”

“She said very little about the war.”

Madame Calvez folded her wrinkled hands together. “Gisèle never forgave me, but she didn’t know what happened during the occupation—not the whole story.”

Riley didn’t move, not an inch, even though I knew he must have been dying to hear the whole story. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

Isabelle’s chair squeaked, and Madame Calvez’s eyes flew to meet her great-granddaughter’s. When she turned back to Riley, it seemed she was no longer dreaming about the past. “I only remember small bits and pieces now. The rest has faded away.”

Riley leaned forward, trying to engage her again. “I want to tell people what you remember of your story, so we don’t forget.”

“If only Gisèle were here, she would tell you much better stories than I could. And she would probably remember your soldier.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Gisèle had forgotten most of her stories.

“My grandmother mentioned the name of a child she was searching for,” I said, glancing over at Riley before I looked back at Madame Calvez. “Did you know a girl called Adeline?”

Madame Calvez’s eyes turned glossy again and it almost seemed as though she looked right through me. “I am sorry—I’m getting tired.”

I wanted to ask her again, but Riley’s glance silenced me.

“Forgive us,” he said as he turned off his camera. “We’ve kept you too long.”

Chapter 35

G
isèle slammed the door shut and collapsed on the floor of her bedroom. Pulling her knees to her chest, she struggled to breathe.

For two years, she and Émilie had maintained the château and fed the men in the tunnels without drawing attention from the Germans. Now their enemy had turned their cruel spotlight on her, and they wouldn’t stop searching, she was certain, until they found out the truth about her and Adeline. People didn’t lose their marriage and birth certificates unless they were running—or perhaps their house burned down.

She could still say she’d misplaced it, but the
Oberst
wouldn’t stop there. He would ask for the name of her doctor.

There was a whole war to be fought, continents to be conquered, and these men were fixated on the birthdate of one child and the marriage of her parents.

She hated living in a world like this—where the officials were more concerned about controlling people than caring for them—but there was no escaping this nightmare. Even if she took Adeline back down into the tunnel, Michel wouldn’t let the child stay. It would ruin all he and his men were doing to resist the enemy.

She paced the floor in front of her bed.

How was she supposed to obtain a marriage and birth certificate by morning? The
Oberst
had made it clear what he would do if he caught her in a lie. Perhaps she could stall at finding them. Or perhaps he would be distracted by the convoy, at least until Friday.

But then again, if something happened to that convoy, he might take it out on the rest of them anyway.

She couldn’t stay and let these men harm Adeline. If Sister Beatrice would let them spend the night at the orphanage, she could figure out transportation to Lyon tomorrow. The last time they spoke, Philippe had hinted again at marrying her. Perhaps she should tell him the truth—Adeline had lost her parents in the war. If they married, Philippe would protect Adeline.

Her gaze roamed over the grassy hill and trees behind the house. The Germans didn’t know the countryside like she did. She was a Frenchwoman with a French daughter. Even if she didn’t have papers for Adeline, she could carefully find her way among her people.

Autumn air chilled the room when she opened the window. It would be hard traveling with Adeline in the darkness, with the night patrols guarding the river and valley and the perimeter of the town. Adeline’s cries would alert the patrols for ten miles around them.

Perhaps Émilie could give Adeline something to help her sleep.

They would have to leave tonight or it would be too late to run.

“Y
ou weren’t supposed to ask questions,” Riley chided as we walked past a row of brick shops in Saint-Lô. Instead of returning along the river path, we’d followed Isabelle’s directions into town to get some coffee and a late lunch.

“I’m sorry, I . . .” But I had no real excuse except that I wanted to know the truth.

Riley stuck his hands into his pockets as we climbed a hill. “Who is Adeline?”

“I believe she’s my aunt, but Madame Calvez seems to be hiding the truth.”

“People usually hide what they’re ashamed of.”

His words resonated with me. We were talking about Madame Calvez, and yet as he spoke about shame, I realized that I was hiding too—at a château in France instead of facing the media questions and Austin back home.

I had thought Austin loved me for who I was, not for what I brought to his campaign. I’d put him up on a pedestal in my heart, and when he fell, he hurt my heart along with my pride. Now I was hiding because I was ashamed of what my fiancé had done. And I was embarrassed that I’d been blind to his wandering.

Riley waved his hand in front of my face. “You with me?”

“Sorry.” I blinked. “I was back in Richmond for a second.”

“Better company there?”

I shook my head. I had to stop thinking about Austin and focus on the person with me.

“Not at all.” I tugged my sunhat down on my forehead. Without the tree covering, the sun scorched my skin. “What were you saying?”

“That people who hide a portion of their story are usually either ashamed or they’re protecting someone else. It takes a little time, but if I listen well and try not to judge them for what they’ve done, people will usually tell me the truth.”

“Who do you think Madame Calvez is protecting?”

“I don’t know.”

Saint-Lô had been rebuilt after the war, but across the street were the remains of a medieval wall that had fortified the hillside in the center of town. We strolled up the steep sidewalk, and the bombed façade of a cathedral and a maze of winding slate streets overlooked the shops.

Riley ordered two
café au laits
at a small café, and as I waited, I imagined my grandparents here, meeting over coffee and cream. But Riley was right. The Allied pilots and soldiers—men like Riley’s grandfather—destroyed almost everything as they fought to liberate this town.

Perhaps Mémé got the location wrong. Perhaps they met in another town.

I sipped my creamy
café
as we descended the hill and began our walk toward Agneaux. What would it have been like to live in one of the apartments over the shops during the occupation, German soldiers patrolling the streets below? The people in this town must have been scared to leave their homes, especially those who were Jews.

Did the Jewish people here know there were Jews fighting in the German military? Until Riley and Madame Calvez discussed it today, I hadn’t known about it, and I was still trying to sort out the schism in my mind.

“Do you know how many Jews fought in the Wehrmacht?” I asked.

“Some put the number at a hundred thousand.”

“But Hitler was trying to kill the Jews—”

He glanced down at the Vire as we crossed the bridge over it. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? On one hand, he was exterminating the Jewish people, and on the other, he was using them in his army. Sometimes he even ‘Aryanized’ them.”

“How exactly does one Aryanize someone?”

“Hitler declared his Jewish soldiers had German blood, and magically, by the power of Hitler, they had new genes.”

“He thought he was God.”

Riley nodded. “And the Nazi leaders encouraged his delusion. He was power hungry, but he was also pragmatic. The army needed more soldiers, and if the Jewish men were willing to fight for him, Hitler and his top men were often willing to look the other way. The families of these soldiers were a different story . . .”

We waited at a stoplight before crossing the street with a handful of pedestrians, their arms filled with fresh flowers and bread. “It’s heartbreaking.”

“Hitler had the power to give life or take it, or, in his eyes, change someone’s genes. There is a reason why so many people thought he was a lunatic. Those who confronted him, though, lost their lives.”

I took another sip of the
café
. “What I don’t understand is after all the terrible things Hitler did to oppress the Jewish people, how a Jewish man could serve under him?”

“An excellent question, and that’s exactly what I’m hoping to find out for this documentary.”

“I thought you were profiling German soldiers.”

“German soldiers with Jewish backgrounds,” he said slowly.

So he had been hiding something from me.