Secrets on Cedar Key (19 page)

Oh, my gosh. Of course I knew about this, had read many books concerning the subject, and she was right—it was not a good time for France. Neighbors were pitted against neighbors. It was sometimes difficult to know for sure who was against the Nazis and who might be collaborators. It was a time of great distrust.

“You hid children?” I asked softly.

“Yes, I did, along with many of my friends up and down this street. One of them had been approached by a senior member in the network. They knew we weren't Jewish; we were young mothers and housewives, and they felt perhaps we might be able to help them, by hiding the children for a few days, sometimes longer, until they were able to arrange for their papers and get them out of the country.”

“They were Jewish children?”

She nodded, and I knew that if not for Madame Leroux and so many others, those children would have been sent to death camps. The thought of it made me shiver.

“And so . . . we had to devise a plan. A way that the network would know if it was safe to bring a child during the night to be hidden, and then we needed to know when, exactly, to have the child or children ready for them to come and take to the next part of their journey out of the country. They put one woman in charge. She lived down the street. All forms of communication were given to her, she passed it along to the next woman, and so on.”

“And you used the afghans?”

“Yes. If it was safe for a child to be brought to our apartment to hide, we were to hang a red afghan out the window. Of course, no afghan meant
do not bring a child
. The woman in charge, Madame Gadreault, she devised the code. My color was blue. If I saw a blue afghan hanging out her window, I would know that during the night a child would be brought here. When the blue afghan appeared again, I knew that was the night they would come and retrieve the child to move on.”

I shook my head in amazement. “And nobody suspected the afghans, because back then most housewives hung blankets and linens out the windows to freshen them, right?”

“That's right. It was a very clever plan.”

“But still dangerous,” I said. “Weren't you scared? You had a small child yourself?”

Madame Leroux fingered the linen napkin beside her coffee cup. “Yes, my Jean-Luc wasn't quite two years old, but my husband and I both had made the decision together to do this. And yes . . . many times, I was scared, should I be caught.”

I let out a deep breath and then asked, “Then why? Why did you take such a risk to do this?”

“Because it was . . . women . . . women helping women,” she said. “Because . . . it was the
right
thing to do, no?”

Tears stung my eyes as I reached over, clasped Madame Leroux's hand, gave it a squeeze, and whispered, “Yes . . . it
was
the right thing to do.”

S
aturday afternoon I was sitting at a sidewalk café near my apartment enjoying a cup of coffee. The weather had stayed unusually mild, and this always brought out Parisians looking to soak up any sun that they could on the terraces of the cafés. I had plans to go to Annette's apartment around three. I had spoken with Worth and my mother, and they had both convinced me to at least go and see the kitten.

As I sat there sipping coffee, my mind wandered to my mother and her first-time love, Julian Cole. This was the city he had come to, to escape the wrongful prejudice that had gripped America during the early 1950s. And because of that, my mother had been forced to let go and move forward with her own life, forgiving Julian in the process.

I thought of my mother's best childhood friend, Annalou Carter. How lost and alone that poor girl must have felt to resort to taking her life. And I thought of my mother and the years she had carried her guilt because of a false judgment. The heartache and pain she had endured until, finally, she had learned to forgive herself.

And I thought of Blanche Leroux—to protect the lives of countless children, she had risked her own life and those of her family, because, as she said, it was the
right
thing to do. But in addition to protecting the children, she was also helping the women, the frightened mothers of those children.

Down through the ages women had bonded and connected, sharing interests, social events, but most of all friendship. The friendship itself was a form of helping another woman. Perhaps a phone call or e-mail to brighten her day, a shopping spree or lunch when a woman might most need a diversion, something as simple as a shoulder to cry on or an ear that would listen.

I now thought of Fiona Caldwell, a young woman of nineteen. A woman who was obviously reaching out, trying to learn and make sense of her identity, of her life. A woman who, through no fault of her own, was the result of two adults not doing the right thing.

I let out a deep sigh before taking the last sip of my coffee. I wasn't sure if I had entirely forgiven Andrew for his infidelity. I wasn't sure if the hurt and betrayal would ever fully disappear. But one thing I did know for certain—I felt compelled to do the
right
thing. And the right thing would be to call Fiona, find out if she had plans for Christmas, and if not, invite her to Cedar Key to meet her brothers.

Before I could change my mind, I rummaged through my bag, found the slip of paper with Fiona's number, grabbed my cell, and placed the call.

After three rings, she answered.

“Fiona? This is Marin Kane. How are you?”

I hadn't been very cordial to her on the previous call, so I was surprised by the friendliness in her tone.

“Oh, Marin. How nice to hear from you. I'm fine . . . and you?” she asked, but now I could hear a bit of hesitancy in her voice.

“I'm good. Actually . . . I'm in Paris for a couple weeks, and . . .”

“Like in Paris, France?” she said, interrupting me.

I couldn't suppress a grin. “Yes, like in Paris, France. I needed some time away, and, well . . . here I am. But the reason I'm calling . . . I was wondering if you had any plans for Christmas.”

“Plans?” she asked, like she had no idea what the word meant.

“Are you going to a friend's house or someplace to spend Christmas?”

“Oh. No. No, I'm not. My roommate is going up to Vermont over the holidays for a ski trip, but . . . no, I won't be going. I'll just stay here in the apartment.”

My mother had been right, and I instantly felt a mixture of both shame and sadness that this girl would be completely alone on Christmas Day.

“Well, I've been giving it a lot of thought, Fiona. And I'd like to invite you to come and stay with us for Christmas. I don't know when you'd have to be back in the Boston area, but you're welcome to stay as long as you'd like.”

There was a few moments' silence, and then she said, “Really? You'd really like me to come there? So you've told your sons about me and they want to meet me?”

Oh, Lord. Jason and John had escaped my mind before I'd placed the spur-of-the-moment call.

“Ah, actually . . . no. I haven't had a chance yet to discuss this with the boys. But I will. I'm staying at my mother's home at the moment. I'm in the process of purchasing my own home on the island, but I won't be moving in till the week after Christmas. But my mother does know about you, and she suggested perhaps you'd like to come and stay with us.”

“Gosh, that's so nice of her. I would. I'd love to come. I'll have to make flight arrangements. What would be the best airport to fly into?”

“You should try to get a Delta flight out of Boston to Atlanta, where you'll switch to another flight into Gainesville.”

“Okay. I'm writing this down.” There was a pause. “And when I get to the Gainesville airport, will I be able to rent a car there to drive to Cedar Key? How long a drive will it be?”

“It's about an hour's drive, but . . . no, don't rent a car. You can walk everywhere around the island, so you won't need one. And . . . I'll pick you up, Fiona.”

“You will?”

I was positive that was excitement I heard in those two words.

“That's really nice of you. Okay. Well, I'll get started working to book a flight. Oh, when do you want me to arrive?”

Good question. I grabbed the datebook out of my bag, scanning the December calendar. Bella was coming in on December 22; the boys were arriving the next day. God, that didn't leave me much time.

“I know this is cutting it close, but is there any chance you could try and book a flight for the twenty-fourth?”

“Oh, Christmas Eve. Gee, I'll feel like Santa flying through the sky,” she said, causing me to smile. “Yes, I'll call the airline right now. Do you want me to call you back on this number?”

“I have plans for this afternoon. How about if I call you back later this evening your time?”

“That sounds great. Oh . . . and Marin?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. So much.”

I heard the line disconnect, and it was then it occurred to me that booking a flight three weeks before Christmas might be quite pricey. Well, I'd discuss that with her when I called her back.

 

With the excellent Métro system that Paris has, I easily found my way to Annette's apartment, which was located in the residential area of the seventeenth arrondissement.

I looked down at the ball of fur that I had cuddled against my chest. “He's adorable,” I said. And he was. The moment that Annette had placed the kitten in my hands, I knew it was love at first sight, and I had instantly become the new owner of this particular Maine coon kitten.

“Does that mean you'll be taking him home?”

I nodded and nuzzled my chin against the top of his head. “Absolutely. This little guy is going to have a new home in Cedar Key, Florida.”

Annette smiled. “That's wonderful. I know Worth is arriving on Tuesday for almost a week. Would you like to leave the kitten here till the day before you fly back? I'm sure you'll be out and about a lot, and you'll have to purchase a cat carrier for the flight.”

“That would be great. I'll come over a week from tomorrow to get him.” I sat on the sofa to take a sip of coffee, allowing the kitten to curl up in my lap, and glanced at the gorgeous mother cat. Céline was a beautiful champagne and white color. “Are you going to miss your baby?” I asked her.

Annette laughed. “Probably not. I think three months with four active kittens was enough for her. She's probably looking forward to a break. Do you have a name picked out yet?”

“His name is going to be Toulouse,” I told her. “For the town and also for the painter Toulouse-Lautrec. I just like the name.”

“Oh, I love it. That's perfect. And how nice that you chose a French name, based on his heritage.”

I laughed. “Then Toulouse it is.”

As if understanding his new name, the kitten looked up at me, blinked, and gave a soft trill. “I think he likes his name too.”

 

Annette and I went out for dinner to a restaurant in her neighborhood, and by the time I got back to the apartment it was after eight.

I placed a call to my mother first.

“My goodness,” she said, after I had shared my news with her. “A lot has happened today. I think you made the right decision about Fiona. That poor girl would have been alone on Christmas, so I'm glad you invited her.”

It was then that I realized Bella would have the guest room. “Oh, no. Where on earth will we put Fiona? I hadn't even thought of that when I invited her.”

“Not a problem. I have the daybed in my knitting room. I think she'll be quite comfortable in there.”

“That's right. Okay, that problem's settled. The boys arrive the day before she does . . . so that's when I plan to break the news to them.”

“I don't think you need to worry about that either, Marin. I think the boys will surprise you in their acceptance of this news.”

I twirled a piece of yarn from the skein next to me around my finger. “I hope you're right.”

“And I'm so glad you decided to purchase the Maine coon kitten. I adore Maude's cat.”

“Do you think Oliver will be okay with Toulouse for a few weeks till I move into my house?”

“Yes, of course. Oliver likes cats. That won't be a problem at all. And Worth arrives this Tuesday, right?”

“Yes,” I said and felt my heart beat a little faster at the thought of seeing him. “Is the work going okay there?”

“Wonderful. I know you'll be pleased. The screened area is all completed. Worth did a beautiful job. He doesn't have very much more to do inside the carriage house, and the fellows will be starting the roof work on Tuesday. I'd say we're right on track for you to open early January.”

“That's great news. Well, I need to call Fiona and see if she was able to book a flight. I'll give you a call during the week. Love you,” I said, before disconnecting and then dialing Fiona's number.

I could tell by the way she said, “Hi, Marin,” that she had been successful booking a flight. She told me she was confirmed for Christmas Eve and would arrive in Gainesville at twelve-thirty. I could hear the excitement in her voice.

“Oh, that's great you were able to get a seat. But listen, I'm sure it was quite costly booking pretty much last minute. I'd like to help you with the price of the ticket.”

“Absolutely not. I had the money. Really. So call me after you get home and settled in and we'll make the final arrangements for you to pick me up.”

After I hung up, I continued sitting on the sofa thinking. It crossed my mind that for the first time in a long time, I felt really good. I also realized that everybody had been correct—with Andrew now deceased, it wasn't about him at all. That was the past. What I needed to focus on was the present. And that included his daughter, Fiona.