Chateau of Secrets: A Novel (38 page)

F
ootsteps drummed up and down the hallway outside Gisèle’s bedroom until long past midnight. The footsteps didn’t stop at her door, but their persistent pounding reminded her of the wind rattling against her windows, trying to force its way inside.

No matter how long she closed her eyes, trying to sleep, rest evaded her. Shadow rested beside her in the darkness, but it seemed so strange not having Adeline asleep in the bed below her. She was grateful Adeline was safe tonight with Lisette, but she’d grown used to having the girl in her room at night, acting as a mother.

When the war ended, Adeline would no longer be hers. Every night she prayed for the end of the war. For André and Nadine and their return home. But even though she thought her heart was numbed, it ached tonight at the thought of losing the girl who’d become her daughter.

She couldn’t stay in the room for another moment, thinking about Adeline and the Germans and the bombs that could be dropped on her roof tonight. She had to go to the
chapelle
and pray.

Dressing quickly in pants and a blouse, she slid her rosary beads over her head and marched down the steps and out the front
door, silently daring any of the soldiers to stop her. The stars flickering in the sky above the château reminded her of vigil candles, their steady blaze reminiscent of God’s unfailing, unwavering love in spite of the storms.

There were no blackout curtains over the stained glass in the
chapelle
and the Germans forbade the glow of candlelight after dark now, so she knelt at a bench in the starlight and petitioned Mary to pray for Adeline and her parents. Then she asked Saint Michel to fight for her and Josef and her brother.

The door to the nave opened behind her, but instead of heavy boots pounding over the stone, there was only the soft pad of footsteps.

In the dim light, she recognized Josef. “What are you doing—”

“May I pray with you?”

“Of course,” she said. “Where are your boots?”

“I left them beside the door.”

He knelt beside her in reverence, clutching his hands to his face. Stunned, she couldn’t focus again on her own prayers. She’d yet to see any of the men in her home pray.

Josef wasn’t like the other men though. Since their encounter at the lake, he had done nothing to acknowledge her, and she’d tried to pretend as well that he wasn’t there, but she always felt his presence. Sometimes it calmed her. Other times it confused her. But his presence never frightened her.

He reached for her hand and with his whispered prayers, he begged God for guidance. It wasn’t until he released her hand that she realized she was trembling.

“Are you cold?” he asked, and the concern in his voice terrified her. He could not care about her. Nor she him.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

He sat up on the bench. “The Allied soldiers are drawing near.”

“I heard Major von Kluge—”

“Hitler is desperate for control and so are his commanders.”

Her heart quickened. “Don’t they control enough already?”

“Their appetite is insatiable.” He paused. “Hitler has demanded we find more Jews to send to the German camps.”

She rubbed her hands over her arms. The roundups in the past two years had stolen away all the Jewish people in their community. “There are none left.”

“There are rumors of a Catholic orphanage outside Saint-Lô—”

She gasped.

“I’d hoped you might know of it,” he said.

“What business do they have at an orphanage?”

“The major believes the nuns are hiding Jewish children among the other orphans.”

She stood up in the darkness. “They cannot harm those children.”

His focus remained on the sculpture of Jesus in front of them. “He is sending me and my unit out to find it tomorrow.”

“But he knows about you . . .”

Josef shuffled in his seat. “The major has begun to doubt my loyalties.”

She shuddered. “It is a test.”

He nodded.

“But the children are not Jewish,” she insisted. “At least, not all of them . . .”

“It doesn’t matter what you say, Gisèle. He must send someone to the camps.”

She crossed her arms. “I can’t allow him to do this.”

He rubbed his hands together, his gaze still on the crucifix. “Neither can I.”

And then she remembered the reason he was in the German army. The woman he’d sacrificed everything for. “What will they do to your mother?”

“If my mother still lives—” His voice broke. “She would tell me to save these children.”

She sat down on the bench beside him. “You are a good man, Josef Milch.”

“
Nur Gott ist gut
,” he said.
Only God is good.

They sat in silence together at the foot of the cross.

Evil might have coursed through the veins of the Nazi leader and his minions, but God was good. She might not be able to rescue everyone, but He would want her—her and Josef—to try to rescue these children from the evil.

She fingered the key in the middle of her rosary beads. Adeline was safe at Lisette’s house for the night. The Germans didn’t know she helped the Allied airmen. Perhaps they wouldn’t find out if they hid the children in the tunnels.

But how would they travel with so many children?

For with God nothing will be impossible.

Her mother often quoted the words from the Book of Luke when she prayed. Jesus loved the Jewish children, welcomed them to Him in the Scriptures. If nothing was impossible, she prayed He would help them protect these children.

Josef interrupted her prayers. “Major von Kluge sent me out here to find you. He wants to . . .” He paused. “He wants to interview you.”

She nodded, understanding. “I won’t go back to the house.”

“How far away is the orphanage?”

She hesitated, knowing she must trust him and yet still afraid
that Josef would deceive her. That he would tell the major her secrets in order to protect his mother.

But the Germans would find the orphanage without her. And she couldn’t rescue these children without his help.

“About three kilometers on the main roads.”

Eddie would have whistled, but Josef kept his eyes on the cross. “How about the back way?”

“If we take the footbridge across the river and go over the hill, it’s about one kilometer.”

He silently contemplated her words. “Even if we could make it there, we have no place to hide them.”

She wrapped her fingers over the key again.

This was not just Michel’s tunnel. It was their family’s tunnel. Her tunnel. They each had a part to play in fighting this war. Michel and his men were intent on resisting the enemy, but she wanted to rescue people—the Allies and the children.

If they were caught tonight, the Nazis would send her and Josef to one of their camps—or kill them. But she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t try to save the orphans.

“I have a place,” she whispered. “But if you go with me, I fear there is no turning back.”

He lingered for another moment, his hands clutched together as he whispered his prayers. She couldn’t imagine the conflict in his soul, the unknown awaiting the mother he loved and the mandate to send defenseless children to their death.

Finally he stood up beside her, his voice strong. “I won’t turn back, Gisèle.”

He retrieved his boots by the door and then she locked the door to the nave.

“Come with me,” she said, and she guided him through the sacristy and down into the secret spaces under her house.

“The major did hear voices,” he said as they crept through the tunnel.

“Indeed.”

Josef’s laughter escaped his lips, and it warmed her heart. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh.

They passed quickly by the large room and then the smaller alcoves. Michel and the other men were gone, and the stench had tapered back into a more tolerable earthy smell.

“The children will be safe here, from the Germans and the bombing,” he said.

She nodded. Others fought with bombs and guns to kill their enemy, but she could fight with her heart.

I
’d never heard anyone call the date of someone’s birth an anniversary. But Riley didn’t say anything else about his daughter, and I didn’t press him.

His sorrow ballooned between us as we hiked back toward the château. The questions in my mind unanswered. Had he somehow lost his daughter, like my grandmother lost hers? And did this mean he once had a wife or was he still married?

It shouldn’t have mattered to me, but as I’d watched him tonight alongside Madame Calvez, something had shifted inside me. If I ever fell in love again, I wanted it to be with a man like this who genuinely cared about people, not just about their vote.

Riley lingered beside the door to the château, but before we said good-night, my cell phone rang and I saw my dad’s number on the screen. With a quick wave, Riley headed back toward the farmhouse.

“Chloe?” my dad asked as if someone else might answer.

I confirmed that it was indeed me.

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I just got served papers, from an attorney in Paris.”

My mouth dropped open. “What?”

“Stéphane is suing for the property.”

I sighed. Even though Mémé, for whatever reason, had allowed Stéphane’s father to live here, Dad wanted nothing to do with the Borde family. The château had been in my family’s custody for three hundred years and French inheritance laws were strict. Property like this would pass down to a nobleman’s son or grandson before a distant cousin retained it. I couldn’t imagine any judge siding with Stéphane, but then again, Stéphane lived in France and we were strangers in Normandy.

I heard the crisp unfolding of papers in the background. “It says that I cannot inhabit the property nor can I inherit it because I’m not a biological heir.”

“Of course we’re biological heirs—”

“Stéphane has new information, but I don’t know what it is.” The line crackled again. “He should have waited to serve these papers until after my mother is gone.”

“Dad,” I said slowly. “Do you remember an orphanage near the château?”

He paused. “Perhaps.”

“Riley is hoping to film there tomorrow.”

“What does the orphanage have to do with his documentary?”

“He’s doing a story about the Jewish men who served in the German military. Riley said one of the soldiers helped rescue the children in the orphanage before the end of the war.”

When my dad spoke again, I heard the brokenness in his voice. “One of my recurring dreams is about a large group of children, sneaking through the woods.”

A tremor of fear mixed with sorrow sparked inside me. Perhaps one of the children was his sister.

“What happens in your dream?” I asked.

“I’m hungry and cold and terrified, frankly, until your grandmother takes my hand. And then—” He stopped.

“What is it?”

“There is a German soldier in my dream, but he doesn’t scare me. He reminds me of your grandfather . . .”

“Maybe it was at the end of the war,” I said, “when you were leaving.”

“Perhaps, but I’ll never know. My memories are like a prism, Chloe. All fragmented in the light.”

Why did everything have to be so complicated?

“I’m afraid we might lose the château,” my dad said. “But I’m even more afraid of what else Stéphane will dig up about the Duchants.”

“We are a family,” I said, “and we will love each other, no matter what happened in the past.”

Chapter 55

T
he ramparts of the old Norman forest shielded thirty orphaned children and their five chaperones as they snuck toward the river valley. When the aeroplanes rattled overhead, they would duck under the mantle of leaves, waiting until they passed.

Glowworms clung to the leaves above them and to blades of grass at their feet, lighting their path, but Gisèle still wasn’t certain how the children had managed to walk so far that night. Perhaps some of the children thought it was all a dream. It was as if they were all sleepwalking, dazed from Sister Beatrice awakening them long before dawn.

The nuns had prepared them well for a nighttime evacuation. The older children dressed quickly and rolled up their bedding. Gisèle and Josef assisted the younger ones who lagged behind, and the nuns quickly prepared sacks of food to carry.