Chateau of Secrets: A Novel (28 page)

“Some of them kept their Jewish roots a secret for the rest of their lives,” he continued.

I glanced over at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to profile the Jewish soldiers?”

“I didn’t want it to taint your answers.”

We walked another block before I spoke again. “Are you doing this story because of the man who helped your grandfather?”

“Partially,” he said. “My grandfather hated all the Germans until he met Josef and realized that not all of them were evil.”

“What was Josef’s surname?”

Riley shook his head. “My grandfather never knew.”

Chapter 37

G
isèle gathered a small bundle of warm clothes and stuffed them into a satchel. It would be hard to carry Adeline along with the clothing and some food, diapers, and a bottle, but she would do what she must. She’d already poured a little brandy in Adeline’s bottle before putting the child to bed and then tucked a flask of it into the satchel. As long as she could keep Adeline quiet, they would be safe for the night.

Shadow meowed at Gisèle as she packed, and then he kneaded the bedcovers with his paws and settled back in again. In her absence, she hoped he would continue to frighten the Nazis. Or perhaps Lisette would take him home.

He would find plenty of food and water near the river, but it made her feel better to think of Lisette caring for him.

Lisette had left hours ago to return to her apartment, and Gisèle and Émilie spent a long evening cleaning up after the officers. Émilie knew something was wrong with her, but she couldn’t tell her friend what she planned. When the Germans interrogated them, neither Émilie nor Lisette would have any knowledge of her departure.

When she had gone to the chapel earlier that evening with the food and a letter for Michel, she’d slipped down into the tunnel to
find him one last time. The corridors were empty, and in that moment, her scrambled plans became clear. She and Adeline would sneak out to the
chapelle
and take the tunnel back to the beekeeper’s cellar. Then they’d escape to the orphanage until she found transportation to Lyon.

But a war still waged inside her, as daunting as the war waging in their country.

How could she leave her brother without someone to help him on the outside? And if she didn’t leave, how could she protect Adeline?

“People who lie to me are sent away.”

She wanted to rescue Michel and Adeline and all those being hunted by the Nazis, but she wouldn’t help anyone if the
Oberst
sent her away. And if Michel knew what was happening, he would insist she run far from here, to save herself and Adeline.

When she emerged from the
chapelle
, the guard watched her kneel in the cemetery, pressing one hand on the patch of weeds on her father’s grave and the other on her mother’s tombstone as she said good-bye. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving her brother and Émilie as well without telling them good-bye, but she had no choice.

Back in her bedroom, she dressed in black pants and a gray sweater to blend into the night. When her clock ticked past one in the morning, she picked up Adeline and carefully unlocked the door. With Adeline asleep in one of her arms and the satchel secured in her other hand, she snuck down the back staircase to the main floor.

In the dining hall, she stopped, listened for voices, but the night was quiet. She prayed the brandy would keep Adeline silent. If something startled her, her cries would wake the entire house. Then she would have to fabricate yet another lie, that she was going to get warm milk or something else. The Germans would
inquire about her attire and the satchel, but after what had happened in the cellar, she would never consider wearing her robe down to the kitchen at night.

She wasn’t certain how to explain away her satchel.

The windows on the north side of the hall looked out over the cliff—much too high for her and Adeline to jump—and there were no shrubs to hide behind along the windows that overlooked the courtyard.

She and Adeline would have to sneak out of the window in Papa’s office, the one concealed by the hedge. They would wait until the night guard made his next round through the courtyard and then they’d run across to the
chapelle
.

The office door was closed in front of her, and as she neared the door, she heard a voice, low but stern, coming from the other side.

It was the
Oberst
speaking.

“The tracks were destroyed on this side of Caen,” he said. “It will take an extra day to fix them.”

Then she heard the voice of Major von Kluge. “We must stop these men. They will ruin everything.”

She froze beside the door. Was that why the tunnel had been empty tonight? She prayed the Nazis didn’t know who was thwarting their plans.

“Our men spotted a half-dozen men running into the woods.”

“Did they shoot them?” the major asked.

“Only one,” he replied. “But he had no papers to identify him.”

She shivered. Michel would never tell her where he was going, but she knew he wouldn’t shy away from danger—like blowing up railroad tracks or a bridge so the enemy’s train couldn’t pass.

“You have his body?” the major asked.

She didn’t know if the
Oberst
nodded in response or shook his head. What would they do with the body?

“They cannot stop our convoy on Wednesday,” the
Oberst
said. “We need the munitions in Cherbourg.”

“That’s what I told my men. We don’t have enough men to watch every inch of the tracks, but we have ten soldiers guarding each car. The rebels don’t have the manpower to fight all of them.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain,” the
Oberst
said. “We don’t know how many men they have.”

Adeline began to squirm and Gisèle quickly backed away from the door before racing back up the steps.

Her hands trembling, she opened the door and placed Adeline on her bed. Then she slumped against the bedpost. What was she going to do now?

Even if the
Oberst
was distracted by the delay of their convoy, she doubted he’d forget her certificates.

The blackout curtains over her windows extinguished the stars, but she unhooked one of them and looked outside. The crescent shape of the moon seemed to rock in the sky and below it was a narrow strip of rocky land between the back of the house and the cliff that sank into the valley.

Could she throw her satchel out the window and escape? If it was just her, she might have been able to shimmy down a strand of sheets, but even with the brandy, Adeline would never stay quiet. And if the sheets tore . . .

She should run away while she had the opportunity, before the
Oberst
discovered she didn’t have the papers. But she couldn’t leave Adeline with these men. André and Nadine had to leave their daughter in order to save Adeline’s life, but if Gisèle left her now, it would only be to save herself.

Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the windowsill and begged God for help. With so much evil in their midst, it seemed as if God was far away, but she couldn’t give up hope that His
spirit lingered. He had been in the cellar with her, and she was certain that He was here in her room. She may not have a sword to fight the dragon like Saint Michel, but she could battle with prayer.

Something shuffled outside her door, and her heart pounded again. Had she locked it on her return? She didn’t move for fear someone outside was listening for her steps. If the door was unlocked, if an officer opened it, he would find her dressed, a satchel beside her.

But why would one of the men be opening her door at this hour? Perhaps Viktor Braun—the man from the cellar—was coming to finish what he’d started.

She eyed the knob in the moonlight and then carefully reached into her satchel and pulled out her father’s knife.

There was a rustling sound outside the door and her gaze dropped to the floor. In the dim light, she saw a brown folder. Slowly she tiptoed across the hardwood and picked it up. Then she hid her satchel in the armoire and turned on the lamp beside her bed, not caring one whit if the Allied planes saw it.

She opened the folder, and her mouth dropped when she saw the green certificate in her hand.

Certified Copy of an Entry of Marriage

Marriage Solemnized at Chapelle d’Agneaux

May 7, 1940

Jean-Marc Rausch, 25

Gisèle Duchant, 22

She shivered. The date of their marriage was weeks before her fictitious husband disappeared.

Below the marriage certificate was a pink one.

Certification for Birth

Château d’Epines, February 25, 1941

Adeline, Girl

Daughter of Jean-Marc Rausch and Gisèle Duchant Rausch

The name of the registrar was a scrawl.

Her hands clutching the certificates, she stared at the crack under the door. The only people who knew about her need of papers were the men in her father’s office.

Had Hauptmann Milch rescued her again? If so, where had he gotten the certificates?

It didn’t matter, she supposed. As she clutched the papers to her chest, she blessed him or whoever had come to her rescue. She would stay at the château and continue to pray that the Lord would blind the Germans’ eyes.

Gently she brushed her hands over the baby’s soft hair.

Adeline Duchant Rausch.

The name fit her beautifully. With these papers, perhaps neither of them would have to run away. The Germans would never have to know the truth, and through her deception—
their
deception—they would save Adeline’s life and perhaps the lives of many more.

R
iley and I found a quiet park in Agneaux and settled under the shade of a tree to eat—two baguette sandwiches and orange sodas from the bakery where he’d found the croissants. On the other side of the fence were three cows, their skin mottled black and pink, grazing in a pasture beside the park.

Riley handed me a sandwich.

“Why don’t you tell me your story?” I asked.

“It’s messy.”

I smiled. “So is mine.”

Whatever his story, there seemed to be few similarities between the man beside me and the stereotype of the man I’d seen in the pictures online. I’d asked him to see past the stereotype of a politician’s wife. Perhaps I needed to see past the stereotype I had of him as well.

I leaned back against the jagged bark of the tree. “Where does the life of Riley Holtz begin?”

“I grew up outside Detroit,” he said as he unwrapped his sandwich. “My dad and grandfather both worked in an auto plant, and by the time I was in middle school, I’d already decided I didn’t want to be like them.”

He took a bite of his sandwich before continuing. “I had a little success with acting while I was in high school, and I’d convinced
myself that I was going to be the next Brad Pitt, so the summer before my senior year, I packed my car and drove to New York.”

I eyed him for a moment. He certainly looked like he could be a movie lead and had the confidence that went along with it, but as he lay on the dry grass, relaxed, I couldn’t imagine him under the lights of Hollywood.

I bit into my baguette sandwich, bulging with fresh mozzarella, tangy basil, and sweet tomatoes. I could have eaten this sandwich every day and been happy. “What did your family say?”

“They were devastated, but at the time I didn’t care. I was thrilled to be leaving town. A long time passed before I looked back, and my regrets were too many to count.”

I smoothed my paper wrapping on the grass and set the rest of my sandwich on it. For some reason, I’d expected him to downplay the bad in his life and tell me how incredible he was. It was refreshing to hear the authenticity in his story.

“New York wasn’t quite as enamored with my acting abilities as my high school instructor. After a few weeks there, I sold my car to pay for rent and hopped on the treadmill of auditions—I kept running faster and faster but never seemed to get anywhere. When I wasn’t auditioning, I was waiting tables to pay for food and a crummy apartment on the Lower East Side.