Tangled Ashes (24 page)

She bent her legs and used the bed next to her to pull herself up to a standing position. Becker quickly got to his feet and assisted her effort, though she shook his hand off her elbow as soon as she was upright. “I don’t know what your demons are,” she said, looking so directly at him that he had to quell the impulse to glance away. “And I suspect that you don’t easily express that kind of thing to anyone, let alone a kitchen-chained nanny,” she added, a derisive smile tugging at her lips. “But I’d hate to see you storming around here feeling like you’re the only person who’s ever gotten a taste of the worst life has to offer.”

“Jade, I didn’t mean to insult you by . . .”

She held up her hand to silence him, the softness and compassion
back in her gaze. “Life isn’t fair. Life hurts. Life tears us up, sometimes. We all have our crosses to bear, Mr. Becker.” She caught herself. “Becker. Some of us respond with anger and addictions.” She could see that Becker wanted to protest, but he held his tongue in check. “And some of us respond by choosing to spend our lives with people we love, in places we love, for however long life lasts.” She walked toward the door, her steps slow and determined, and turned back with her hand on the doorknob. “It might look like cowardice to you, but I assure you it feels like living to me. Really living. Living with purpose. It’s messy and it doesn’t pay as well as some of my other ambitions might have, but it makes my days count.” She reached up toward her head, hesitating as she cast him a glance that was, once again, filled with tears. Then she took hold of her hair with shaking fingers and slowly removed it from her head.

Beck felt his stomach clench and his breath freeze as Jade pulled off her wig, a combination of shame and defiance on her face. She looked him straight in the eye, tears on her cheeks, and attempted a shaky smile. “I was diagnosed six months ago,” she said, “and it didn’t take me long to figure out that I wanted to spend however many months or years I have left investing in something I love that truly makes a difference. Dying rich and alone . . .” She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Not much of a priority anymore.”

Becker stood there staring at her, his mind a reeling kaleidoscope of questions and emotions.

“My doctors are still trying to adjust the medication so my chemo doesn’t take so much out of me, but sometimes . . .” Jade pointed to the spot where she’d fallen in a near faint. “I’ve been doing as well as I can.”

Becker was too stunned to utter more than “You have cancer?” The huskiness of pain in his own voice startled him.

Jade nodded and looked down, idly turning her wig in her hands. “Breast,” she said. “And I’m going to be fine—I think,” she added,
looking back up at him. “But . . . maybe now you’ll understand a little better why I can’t stomach seeing someone—anyone—throw their life away. And why I’ve been . . . why I’ve been selective in . . . well, in just about everything, really.”

Becker was dumbfounded. There was an acid taste in his mouth, a weakness in his legs, and a numbness in his mind that robbed him of the ability to say something—anything—that might express all he wanted to convey. “Jade, I . . .” Nothing more would come out. He was utterly, painfully empty.

Jade cast him a weary smile and said, “I should probably be heading home. There are leftovers in the fridge, if you don’t mind eating those tonight.”

“That’s fine,” Becker said, the intensity of his emotions audible in the words. He softened his tone and said again, “It’s fine, Jade. Really.” Again, he tried to formulate words that would express the maelstrom in his mind, but he simply couldn’t.

In the doorway, Jade nodded her bare head, her eyes enormous, and for the first time, Becker noticed that her eyebrows were mostly gone. How many signs had he missed? How could he not have known? “I’ll see you in the morning,” Jade said softly. “You really should take a hot shower.” She cut her eyes toward the bottles on the sill. “If I can do this, so can you,” she whispered. Then she was gone.

AUGUST 1944

T
HERE WAS SOMETHING STIRRING
in Lamorlaye that felt a lot like hope. The small town’s inhabitants had until then responded to the German occupation with reluctant, imposed submission. But since news of the Normandy landings had reached them, their attitude toward the unwelcome presence of the Wehrmacht had begun to change. It was visible in the glances shopkeepers shot at their German customers and in the whispered conversations that happened behind shielding hands as officers and soldiers walked Lamorlaye’s streets. The tolerance of the French for their invaders had reached its end.

At sundown, neighbors crowded into the homes of those who owned radios and listened for the latest news of the liberation that seemed to be happening on multiple fronts. The Canadians were moving into Alsace. In southern France, combined forces from the United States, Spain, and Poland pushed through the impressive
German resistance in the Pyrenees and began herding the Nazis eastward. The French Resistance grew so quickly and so enthusiastically in those weeks that even a small town like Lamorlaye saw dozens of its young men and women join the cause. There was a brightening in the spirits of the inhabitants that was evident in brisker steps and friendlier greetings. The end, it seemed, was imminent, and though no one could predict what the
après-guerre
might bring, they were eager to discover it.

At the manor, there was none of the levity Marie had witnessed in the streets. With the relentless approach of the American, British, and Canadian forces, the mood was heavy with a mixture of dread and determination. The Kommandant had so far issued no orders to dismantle the Lebensborn, but several of the new mothers had been sent home sooner than usual, leaving their babies in the nursery. No new residents were being accepted. There was a bravado-fueled wait-and-see attitude that only imminent danger would disarm. The latest news placed the liberating armies still 150 kilometers away, so Koch’s determination to stay put was holding.

With just four expectant mothers remaining, one of them Elise, the manor was not the bustling place it had been weeks before. A handful of the nurses and maids had been released with the decreased workload, and Marie had been given even greater leeway to spend time with Elise. There was no real generosity in the allowance. As the seventeen-year-old’s due date approached, she was finding it more and more difficult to control emotional outbursts born of frayed nerves and maternal indecision. Although it might have been easier for Koch to send her home to her estranged parents, the child she carried was an Aryan, and with the viability of Hitler’s dreams for a world-dominating master race now widely questioned, every child needed to be counted.

The girls were strolling just outside the manor’s front doors
on a sunny morning in August when a military jeep carrying Kommandant Koch careened into the yard and came to an abrupt halt outside the manor. The vehicle had barely stopped moving before Koch catapulted out of his seat and took the steps to the front door three at a time. No sooner inside, he started bellowing orders for the staff to be summoned immediately to his office.

Marie and Elise exchanged worried glances and made their way back over the manicured lawn and graveled driveway to the manor’s doors. Climbing stairs had become a bit of a challenge for Elise. With the baby’s birth just five weeks away, she suffered from swollen limbs and imbalance. Her face and neck were rounder than ever, and her gait was sometimes so comical that Marie had to exert tremendous self-control to refrain from laughing at her whalish friend. When they’d finally made it up the front steps and into the manor, they took a seat on one of the Louis XIV divans in the entryway while Elise caught her breath, and waited.

It wasn’t long before Kommandant Koch’s office disgorged its assortment of nurses and officers. They came bustling out with focused expressions and hurried steps. Frau Heinz saw Marie sitting in the entryway.

“Marie! Get upstairs right now and help pack up the—”

“But she’s supposed to be—” Elise wasn’t pleased to have her friend sent off on an errand during their allotted time together.

“Elise,” Frau Heinz snapped, turning on the frowning girl with a pointed finger and raised eyebrows, “we don’t have time for any of your complaining today!”

“But Kommandant Koch said Marie could . . .”

“Elise! Be—quiet!”

The young woman’s eyes opened wide. She looked from Frau Heinz to Marie, then back again.

“Go up to Frau Carpentier’s room and start packing her things,
then do the same for Frau Lejeune,” Frau Heinz instructed Marie. “Their suitcases are in the attic.”

“Are they leaving?” Marie asked, suspecting much more was going on than the mothers’ departure, but afraid to overstep her bounds.

“We’re all leaving,” Frau Heinz replied, her jaw set.

“What?” Elise pulled herself off the divan, grunting with the effort.

“Everyone?” Marie asked.

Frau Heinz didn’t seem inclined to explain more fully. “We’re closing down the manor,” she said. “The Americans are moving in this direction and could be here in as little as two days.” She hurried toward the stairs.

“Wait! Where are we going?” Elise called after her.

Frau Heinz turned at the stairs. “The château,” she said. “We’ll be safer there until Kommandant Koch decides what to do next.”

“But . . .” Elise’s eyes were wide and terrified.

“Should I pack Elise’s suitcases too?” Marie asked, hoping it would calm her friend’s mounting panic.

Frau Heinz didn’t turn from her ascent of the stairs as she answered, “Not yet. First, the other mothers and the contents of Kommandant Koch’s offices. Elise will go after that.”

“Wait,” Elise protested again, “why not me? Why can’t I go with the other mothers?” Her voice was teary and sharp, but Frau Heinz disappeared up the stairs without a backward glance.

Marie hurried to her friend’s side. “Don’t worry about it, Elise. You’ll go right after the rest of the mothers. There’s still time—the Americans might be here in two days, but it could take longer, too.”

“But why aren’t they sending me with the others?” she asked again, lips trembling. “Why do I have to wait?”

Marie helped her friend sit on the divan again and took a seat next to her. “Elise, listen to me. I don’t know why they’re doing it this
way, and it doesn’t really matter. You’re going to get out just as soon as they’ve cleared the offices and sent the other mothers to the castle. There’s plenty of time.” She tried to smile reassuringly as she patted her friend’s shoulder.

“It’s because I’m not one of them,” Elise said, her chin quivering and tears forming in her eyes.

“Elise . . .”

But the emotions that had plagued the young mother for months could not be contained. “I’m not one of them,” she said again, her voice approaching a wail. “Their babies’ fathers are SS, and mine is just . . . Karl.” She started to cry in earnest.

“Elise . . .”

“You know it’s true!” she wailed.

Marie grabbed her friend by the arms and shook her hard. “Listen to me, Elise!”

Elise gulped and stared, wide-eyed.

“It doesn’t matter! Okay? It doesn’t matter. Whether you go first or second or last—Frau Heinz said you’ll be moving to the château too, so don’t worry about it!”

“But—”

“I’ve got to help Frau Carpentier pack. Why don’t you go to your room and start on your own things? Elise?” Elise was staring into space, a blank look on her face. “Elise!” Marie shook her friend again. “Come on—I’ll help you up the stairs so you can start packing. Okay?”

“What’s going to happen when the Americans get here?” Elise asked, genuine concern in her voice.

Marie didn’t know, but she suspected the next few days wouldn’t be easy. Elise was, after all, a Nazi sympathizer whose baby had been conceived out of wedlock with one of Generalmajor Müller’s men. Whatever good Lamorlaye’s liberation would bring, there would be
little mercy shown to young ladies like Elise. Even Marie might be less than welcome among her countrymen.

“I’m not sure,” Marie said, trying to sound reassuring. “But the best thing you can do now is get moved to the château. It’s safer, and you’ll be surrounded by the Wehrmacht’s best soldiers.” She coaxed Elise toward the stairs that led to her bedroom.

“I’m scared,” Elise said, grabbing her friend’s hand and pressing it hard.

“I know, but being scared isn’t going to help anything. Come on—let’s get your baby to the castle, and then we’ll figure out what to do next.”

Elise leaned on her friend as they made their way up to the second floor.

F
ROM THE SOUND
of Philippe’s voice, the boy hadn’t suffered any permanent damage in his aquatic escapades. Beck could hear him yelling at Eva from the bottom of the stairs.

“Come on, you baby! See if you can beat me to the attic!”

“No!” Eva was clearly not in the mood for a race.

“I’ll give you a head start. You can start five steps up.”

“Ten!” Eva countered.

“Fine. But I get to say go!”

“Why do you always get to—?”

“Go!” Philippe bellowed before Eva had the chance to finish her complaint.

Twin pairs of feet pounded up the tightly wound staircase, past the door to Becker’s apartment and upward toward the top floor and its attic. He suspected that their loud presence in the castle that morning had everything to do with yesterday’s adventures and that
the two troublemakers wouldn’t soon be allowed to play outside unsupervised again.

The night had been . . . grim. After Jade’s departure, Beck had nursed his bruised ego and shocked mind with the kind of self-loathing that had left him numb. To have once again fallen off the wagon was humiliating enough. But to have taken out his frustration on a woman whose ill health he should have been able to see—and not just yesterday, but since his arrival in Lamorlaye—that was unpardonable. He was a jerk of colossal proportions. Worse, he was a drunken jerk. The label afflicted him.

He’d spent the night’s hours doing research into breast cancer and had come away with more questions than answers. In its most vicious form, it was a fatal condition that could kill in weeks if discovered too late. But there were lesser forms that seemed more treatable—more merciful. Much as he wanted to know everything about Jade’s condition—and quickly—he knew those questions might be better answered secondhand.

He hadn’t mentioned the previous day’s exchange when Jade brought his breakfast to the office, somehow guessing that he’d want to take it there that morning. They’d been cordial and stiff, skirting true contact by limiting their interaction to hellos and thank yous. Beck had tried to surreptitiously take stock of the changes in Jade’s appearance since he’d arrived, and now that he knew what to look for, the evidence was flagrant from the vantage point of hindsight. Her new hairstyle, the thinned eyebrows, the loss of weight, the sweating, the fatigue, the dizziness. They all pointed to what he now knew to be true. How could he have been so self-absorbed that he had missed the significance of such blatant signs?

The sound of Jacques’s men hard at work forced Beck out of his self-accusation. There was just over a week remaining before Sylvia’s birthday, and though the mountain of work still to be done seemed an insurmountable obstacle, he hadn’t given up yet. He was on the
way out of his office to the ballroom when the phone on his desk rang.

“Allô,”
he said, strapping on his tool belt in anticipation of the work waiting for him in the ballroom.

“You still alive over there?”

Beck smirked and leaned a hip against the desk. “Back at ya.”

“Oh, so we’re going to blame me for the radio silence, are we?”

“You’re the guy with the cell phone,” Beck answered. He heard his friend laugh on the other end of the line and was somewhat comforted by the familiar sound. “What’s up, Gary?”

“That’s my question. What’s going on over there? Just got off the phone with Fallon, and he seems to be wondering if this thing’s going to get off the ground.”

Becker felt a pang of anger. “What—did he call you to tattle on me?”

“No, I called him to ask him some billing questions. He was pretty upbeat, considering he’s not sure if it’ll get finished on time.”

“You’d probably be wondering the same thing if you were here.”

“Um . . . not music to my ears, my friend.”

“We had a setback with the flooring in the ballroom. The guys missed dry rot the first time around, and we’ve had to tear it out and start over.”

“All of it?”

“Yup.”

“So . . .” Gary let a leading silence lengthen.

“So we’ve got a challenge on our hands,” Becker finally said.

“A ‘we can do this’ kind of challenge or a ‘we’re in trouble’ kind of challenge?”

“Call me back in a week and I’ll let you know.”

“Again—not music to my ears.”

“Listen,” Beck said, trying to sound reassuring, “we’re as close
to on schedule as we could hope for, given the setback. If the floor hadn’t had to be redone, we’d be right on target.”

“What’s left other than that?”

“Putting the wainscoting back up once the floor is done. We’re cleaning and restoring the walls and marble floors in the entryway now.”

“Has the interior designer started moving furniture in yet?”

“Starts tomorrow. Right now, we’re still installing light fixtures and window dressings, but I think she has a truck coming in the morning with a couple full loads.” Becker considered the woman’s recent propensity for chatter and added, “That should keep her out of my way for a while.”

Gary laughed. “Not your type?”

Becker paused. “Remember that guy senior year who fired potato cannons at campus security and couldn’t figure out why he got in trouble?”

“Billy Bloom?”

“I think Thérèse would be his type. Anyone more cerebral than Billy might have trouble falling for her.”

“Wow. . . .”

Neither man said anything for a moment. “You still there?” Becker finally asked.

An ocean away, Gary sighed. “All right, this is your partner signing off and your friend signing in. Anything else I should know about?”

Becker smirked. “Subtle there, buddy.”

“Just lookin’ out for you.”

“Nothing else you should know about.”

“Really?”

“Just ask your question already,” Becker finally ordered, knowing full well that his friend’s curiosity was more pointed than general. “What do you want to know?”

“Drink much?”

There was a pause while Becker squelched the impulse to blurt an obscenity and hang up the phone.

“Beck?”

“I’m here.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have asked, but Trish made me swear I would, so . . .”

“Is Trish there now?”

“Technically yes, but it’s just past 2 a.m. here, so I don’t think you’d want me to put her on the phone. She loses most of her social graces when I wake her up in the middle of the night.”

“What are you doing still up?”

“Finishing the blueprints for our Nantucket renovation.”

“Looking good?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“Right. I’m sure they look great.”

“So, about that other question.”

“I’m working on it,” Beck said.

“As in you’ve quit, or . . . ?”

“As in I’m working on it.” Beck’s hackles were rising. “You ever see me butting into your business?”

“You don’t have to—that’s why I married Trish.” There was a long silence while each of the men considered his own life. “We’re just worried about you. That’s all.”

“Hey, have you two ever known anyone who had breast cancer?”

“Come again?”

“Breast cancer.”

“Yeah, I got that part, but . . . Why do you ask?”

“Would you just answer the question?” Becker snapped.

“Hey—chill.”

Beck dropped his head and took a breath. “Never mind.”

“No, not ‘never mind.’ What’s going on?”

“Nothing you can do anything about.” Beck glanced at his watch. “Listen, I’ve got to get to work. We’re not going to make that deadline if I spend all morning on the phone.”

“We’ve been talking five minutes!”

“And every one of them counts.”

Gary laughed, and Becker could imagine him throwing his hands up in surrender as he had so many times before. “Always a pleasure talking with you, dude. Let’s not do this too often, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Becker answered, a reluctant smile in his voice. “I’m on top of things,” he assured his partner, “and I’ll let you know if for some reason we’re not going to make it on time.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay—I’m outta here.”

“Call if you need anything—oh, and since I’ve seen you up against hard deadlines before, try not to bite anyone’s head off, okay? Especially Thérèse. She might be Billy Bloom’s long-lost bride, but you still need her.”

Sylvia Fallon appeared the next day with a plate of pastries in a fancy bakery box. She waddled quite happily into the castle’s foyer, where four men on scaffolding were busy washing down the limestone walls with a muriatic acid solution. The stones they’d already treated were several shades lighter than those remaining to be cleaned, and the effect brightened the tall, austere space considerably. She intercepted Beck as he was leaving the ballroom.

“Mr. Becker!” she called to him, approaching lumberingly and handing over her plateful of treats. “I told my husband that we should buy you a Porsche or a villa in Tuscany for saving our Philippe, but he suggested pastries instead,” she said with a broad smile.

Beck was embarrassed. “You didn’t have to . . .”

“Well, neither did you, but you jumped in anyway.” She patted his arm. “This is a very small expression of my undying gratitude, Mr. Becker. Were it not for you . . .” Her smile slipped a little.

“You should give these to Jojo,” Beck said quietly. “He got there before I did.”

“That’s what Eva said,” Sylvia acknowledged. “That man does seem to appear at the most opportune moments!” She winked at Becker. “And sometimes gets punched in the face for his efforts, from what I’ve heard.”

Beck hung his head. “It was a reflex.”

“And one born of concern for my boy, I presume, so I appreciate it.” When Beck shook his head and averted his eyes, she said, “Walk me to my car?”

He pointed over his shoulder. “I’ve got to make sure the guys are—”

Sylvia raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Just two minutes.”

Beck hesitated only briefly before reaching around Sylvia to open the door. She walked out of the castle and down the marble steps with surprising ease, considering her condition, and headed toward her small silver Mercedes. “I had a long chat with Jade last night,” she said when they’d reached the car. “She told me about your conversation.”

Beck felt a humiliated heat in his chest and averted his eyes. “I . . .” He hesitated. When had his demons become a matter of general knowledge? “I haven’t been drunk on the job,” he finally said, his voice tight and his jaw clenched. “I’m trying to quit.” When he glanced at his employer’s wife, he was surprised to see a look of surprised confusion on her face. “What?” he asked.

Sylvia shook her head and hunched her shoulders. “Actually, Mr. Becker,” she said, a sad kindness in her gaze, “Jade didn’t mention anything about drinking.”

Beck raked his fingers over his scalp and stared at the ground. “I thought you meant . . .”

“No need to explain yourself, Mr. Becker. If you tell me it’s under control, who am I to judge?”

“It’s . . . I’m working on it,” Beck said, unwilling to lie to pacify his employer.

“Well, that’s a good start, isn’t it,” Sylvia said, her eyes a little more intense than usual, as if she were trying to gauge the severity of his addiction from his expression. When a few seconds had passed, she nodded, then said, “What Jade and I talked about was her illness.”

She had Beck’s undivided attention, the discomfort of their previous conversation paling in comparison to the urgency of this topic. “She told me she had cancer. Last night.”

Sylvia turned to lean against her low-riding car. “The way she remembers it, you were fairly stunned.”

At that, Beck let out a chuckle that was self-deprecating and devoid of humor. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I know it might be a difficult subject for you to talk about with her. It’s in the breast, after all, and you Americans seem particularly awkward when discussing some parts of the human anatomy. So . . .” She paused long enough to dig her fingers into the back of her waist. “Sorry,” she said. “Muscle spasm.” A few moments later, when it appeared to have passed, she continued. “There are a couple things I want to share with you. That way you’ll know the basics and won’t have to bother Jade for the information.”

“Okay.” Beck wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but he was grateful for any information she might share.