Chateau of Secrets: A Novel (29 page)

“It took a full year before I landed a role in a small film. It’s not a role I’m proud of now, but I fooled myself into thinking I was a celebrity and began partying like one.”

His smile dimmed.

“After that film, I had a few small gigs on the stage. It was enough to keep me pressing on. I was certain the powers-that-be would soon discover I was a star in need of a place to shine.

“The city is filled with lapdogs who lick the crumbs off the floor of the entertainment industry and then wag their tail as they
wait for more. I was surviving on the rumors I’d heard about celebrities who’d been discovered off Broadway, but by the time I was twenty-four, I was desperate as well. I didn’t realize it then, but I’d begun to hate myself for who I was becoming.”

I sipped my orange drink, my legs crisscrossed in front of me. I couldn’t imagine this man across from me being desperate enough to eat crumbs from anyone. He was confident like Austin, and yet he was authentic as well about his weaknesses. Austin had always been more focused on my weaknesses than on his.

Riley leaned back on his elbows, his legs outstretched. “At the same time my life seemed to be falling apart, I was hired to work as a host on a documentary. I thought it was my ticket to stardom, but I had no idea what was about to happen.”

I leaned forward, curious. “What sort of documentary was it?”

His familiar gaze returned alongside his grin. “A documentary that was supposed to prove once and for all that the resurrection of Jesus Christ was a sham.”

I leaned back against the tree again, wringing my hands together. I don’t know why I felt so uncomfortable talking about the life of Jesus. I believed Jesus was the Son of God. I believed in the resurrection. I’d attended church every Sunday beside Austin for the past year, but church had become part of the show—like his concern for his constituents, like having a wife.

In essence, Austin Vale worshipped himself, and somehow—like Olivia and the others—I had changed my allegiance to worship alongside him.

I knew the pat answers on religion that Olivia had concocted for Austin and me. Answers that would appeal to those constituents who believed in God but wouldn’t scare those who didn’t believe.

But Riley, I feared, would see past my script. He was well acquainted with acting, and he could tell pretty quickly that I was a poor actress. If Riley asked me a genuine question, I might fumble.

Instead I would keep the spotlight on him. “Did you go to church when you were a kid?”

He nodded. “But our church preached more about judgment than mercy. My parents followed all the rules set out by our church, and I loathed the anger and perfectionism that masked itself as righteousness.”

“So you turned away from your faith?”

“I fled from it,” he said. “When I was in New York, I discovered I could pretend to be anyone I wanted, and the last person I wanted to be was the kid who grew up in church or the man who still had questions about his faith. Even after all those years away from home, a quiet voice still beckoned to me. For a long time, I plugged up my ears and refused to listen to its call.”

I leaned forward, intrigued now by his story. “What was this voice saying?”

“ ‘Return to me.’ ” He glanced up at the clear sky. “I was desperately seeking peace, but I had no idea where to find it. I should have gotten on my knees and begged for His help right then, but I wasn’t ready.”

I took another long sip of my Orangina and glanced back at the cows. They had wandered far away from us, close to the playground at the other end of the park.

I couldn’t decide if this guy before me was real, nor did I trust myself to make this decision. The pictures online of him and the multitude of women were proof that he’d had a wild side. I’d seen no pictures that spoke to his reform.

Was he weaving together a tale like Austin had done at our “chance” meeting in the coffee shop? But there was no reason for Riley to impress me.

I could be intrigued by his story, though, without trusting him. It wasn’t like with Austin—my heart was too scrambled now to even consider romance.

“What happened next?” I asked.

“While I was filming the documentary, my grandfather came to visit me in New York. I had always admired him and his war stories, and as we talked about faith, he challenged me not to rely on what my parents or friends said about Jesus. He challenged me to find out what I thought about Jesus on my own.

“He also said something I’ll never forget—he said
we never know what we truly believe until we are standing in a trench, surrounded by the enemy. My trench came two weeks later. After spending the little money I had on alcohol and painkillers, I didn’t have enough to make rent and was evicted from a pit they called an apartment during a snowstorm. I had no choice but to spend the night in a homeless shelter, and the next morning, I woke up shaking from a nasty cocktail of freezing temps and withdrawal.

“I’d been offered a job in a movie I knew I’d regret, and in that shelter, I realized I had to choose what I believed in—whether I would sacrifice everything for this obsession of mine or if I would choose to do what seemed right in my heart. I got down on my knees on that cement floor and asked God to reveal Himself. Thankfully, He did.”

“And the documentary?”

The familiar smile returned. “The producer never finished it. He was determined to find solid evidence that the stories of Jesus were fiction, but after three years of working on it, he couldn’t find the evidence he needed.”

Two kids climbed up the monkey bars behind Riley and began swinging. “Did you return to acting?” I asked.

“No. I caught the bug for truth and started work behind the scenes on another documentary. A couple more years passed, and I started producing them on my own.”

“So you converted?” I blurted before I realized it sounded like I was accusing him of failure. “I’m sorry—”

“God revealed Himself to me, just as I asked.” He tapped on his tattoo. “It was the most painful experience of my life, but the healing started in the midst of the pain.”

He tossed his ball of sandwich paper into a nearby trash can.

“My story is dull compared to yours,” I said.

“I skipped over the dull parts.”

I heard someone laugh, and when I turned, I saw a dozen kids lined up behind the low hedge, ready to invade the park. Riley hopped up and reached for my hand. His demeanor seemed to shift again. “We should probably let them play.”

“I don’t think they’ll kick us out,” I quipped. “We’re bigger than they are.”

He didn’t acknowledge my joke, pointing instead to another gate at the back side of the park. “Why don’t we go out that way?”

For a moment he reminded me of Sulley, the monster in
Monsters Inc.
who had been terrified of little Boo. “You’re not scared of kids, are you?”

His smile was forced. “I’m scared of plenty of things.”

I didn’t ask, but after all he had been through, I was curious to know what could possibly frighten this man.

I gathered up my sandwich and he reached for my hand, urging me toward the door. I followed him out the gate and it wasn’t until he shut it that I let go of his hand.

Chapter 39

T
he clock ticked mercilessly behind her father’s desk as Oberst Seidel donned his monocle. Gisèle held her breath as he examined the certificates, awaiting her fate. If he didn’t believe her . . .

There was nothing she could do if he didn’t believe her.

He studied both of the papers closely. Then he slid them across the desk to Hauptmann Milch.

Hauptmann Milch lifted both papers and held them up to the light, scrutinizing them even longer than his commander had done. “They are in good order,” he finally said.

She bit her lip to keep all her breath from escaping at once.

Oberst Seidel handed the papers back to her. “Do you have a death certificate for your husband?”

“I am not certain he is dead.”

He set his eyepiece on the desk. “You have heard of the Compulsory Work Service.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Instead of sending you away, you and your housekeeper will work for us here along with that woman who was a secretary at our headquarters office.”

“Lise—” She stopped herself. “Mademoiselle Calvez.”

“Yes, Mademoiselle Calvez. She will join you.”

Gisèle clutched the certificates to her chest. She would hide them in her room in case anyone else questioned her about Adeline. Until the Batiers returned, she could prove Adeline was hers.

The
Oberst
dismissed Hauptmann Milch and another officer until it was just her, standing before him alone. He tapped his pen on the desk. “The major also told me that he had one other concern. When he was examining the house, he heard something unusual down in the wine cellar.”

“I went down there with him,” Gisèle said. “He heard my cat.”

“He mentioned the cat to me, but he was certain he heard voices as well.”

“I don’t know, monsieur. Parts of this house are a thousand years old. You and your men may not believe in ghosts, but some of our past residents have refused to leave. They play pranks sometimes on our guests.”

“I have seen many things in my life, Madame Rausch, but you are correct—I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“And I don’t believe that cats can talk, so I’m not sure what to say to Major von Kluge.”

“I believe we will have to consider it a misunderstanding.” He glanced back at the door again. “Where is your daughter?”

“Mademoiselle Calvez is caring for her.”

His gaze wandered over to the window with the broken lock. “I have a wife and three children back in Cologne. My oldest daughter gave birth to our grandson almost two years ago—he would be about your daughter’s age.”

Conflicting emotions flooded through her. Even though she knew this man would take her life if she was caught in her lies, confusion and something akin to compassion warred in her. It was more like sadness, not for him as much as for all the children and
innocent people who were losing in this war. For the little French girl who might never know her parents and for the German grandson of this
Oberst
, the officer who would decide her fate.

Oberst Seidel dismissed her, and as she passed back through the dining hall, she saw Hauptmann Milch sitting at the table alone, pecking with two fingers on the Hermès typewriter. He was quite handsome, with his short dark hair and brown eyes, now intent on his reading. His face was clean-shaven like the rest of the men, and his German uniform would have inspired fear in most people in France, but if one looked close enough, there was kindness etched beneath his Nazi façade.

Even as she stepped up beside him, he didn’t look up. She fixed a curtain before leaning down to whisper. “Thank you.”

His glance darted back toward the office and then his gaze dropped back to the typewriter. “I have done nothing,” he replied, the prickliness in his voice like the thorns that protected the valley trees.

She pressed on through the main hall and down into the kitchen. Émilie was frying ham while Adeline played with blocks in her playpen. Beside her, Lisette was scooping dried acorn grounds into a pot to boil for what they called coffee—the Germans had secured crates of food but they hadn’t been able to plunder any coffee beans.

She understood why the
Hauptmann
couldn’t acknowledge her, but still it hurt. Perhaps, like a guardian angel, he would have to remain her benefactor in secret.

It might be difficult, but she would pretend as well that he was invisible.

•  •  •

Instead of taking her picnic basket to the
chapelle
, Gisèle brought a knapsack stuffed with the Germans’ food, in case Michel had returned. Most of the officers were out patrolling Saint-Lô and the
valley below this evening, but if one happened to stop her, she’d say she was continuing to feed the hungry in Agneaux. They could argue with her charity, as the
Oberst
had questioned her about the ghosts, but she was sticking to her original story.

No one was praying when she opened the door, but four candles continued to burn, the incense a sweet reminder of the way the Spirit moves, wafting into crevices and into the hearts of those willing to listen.