Two Crosses (33 page)

“Have you seen Gabriella, Mother Griolet?” David asked as he met the nun in the stairwell of the parsonage.

“Oh, hello, M. Hoffmann,” the old nun replied. “Yes, I believe she took Ophélie into town this afternoon.”

“I see.” David frowned. “You’re sure?”

Mother Griolet nodded.

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

David hurried out of the parsonage, grumbling to himself. “To town! I told her to lie low. Whatever is she doing in town? Today of all days! Unless …” He cursed angrily and trotted down the street to where his deux chevaux awaited him at the curb.

Jean-Claude had followed the children from the port in Marseille. Again Ali’s information had been right. Four scraggly kids. Kids whom Ali wanted dead. Jean-Claude had jumped on the train to Montpellier. Now he scowled as he watched the woman, Gabriella, herd her little flock onto bus 11. He ran toward the bus as the doors closed and the bus veered into the busy street.

“Taxi! Taxi!” he called.

A young man puffing on a cigarette pulled up in an old BMW taxi, and Jean-Claude hopped in.

“Where to,
monsieur
?”

“Please, if you could follow that bus? I was to meet some friends at the station, but I just missed them.” He flashed a quick smile as the taxi driver took off in pursuit of bus 11.

Ophélie screamed as the bus doors closed. Gabriella, who was busy comforting the refugees, turned.

“What in the world, Ophélie? What’s the matter?”

“It’s him! I saw him. M. Jean-Claude. He’s following us. He’s trying to get us.”

“Ophélie! Are you sure? Perhaps you’re just imagining it because you’re afraid.”

But Ophélie was adamant. “I’m sure, Bribri.” She began to cry, and other passengers looked questioningly at the child.

Gabriella, heart pounding, led Ophélie to a seat. Then she cautiously looked out the window at the back of the bus. She could see a taxi following them, but she couldn’t make out the person sitting in the back.

Through each intersection, the taxi kept close. At each stop as people got on and off, Gabriella watched the taxi until she was sure that Jean-Claude Gachon sat in the backseat.

At any moment she expected him to jump out of the taxi and onto the bus, a pistol in hand, ready to shoot them all. She sat, frozen with fear, until the bus passed the Castelnau stop. She couldn’t let him know where they lived. They would stay put for now, she decided, until she could think of what to do.

“Children,” she said, trying to sound cheery. “Children, I must go up front and ask the bus driver directions. Please just sit tight.” She caught Ophélie’s eyes. The child sat perfectly still, eyes wide with fear.

Gabriella made her way to the front of the bus. “Please,
monsieur
,” she began, trembling. “I have a … a problem. Someone is following me and my children. In the taxi. He must not find us. Could you please change your route?”

The bus driver, gruff and stocky, glared at her. “What are you saying,
mademoiselle
? I can’t outrun a taxi. I’m sorry.”

“No, of course not,” she agreed.

“If you’re going to stay on the bus to go back through town, it’ll cost you each another ticket.”

“Yes, of course … of course.” She brought a handful of change from her purse to pay the driver.

He looked at her and then at the change and said, “Never mind.”

“
Merci, monsieur
,” Gabriella stammered as she swayed with the turning bus and found her seat again.

Jean-Claude grew impatient as the bus wound slowly in and out of town like a giant centipede. Still they didn’t get off. “The woman saw me,” he muttered to himself.

He fought to control his urge to leave the taxi and jump on the bus. But he had explicit instructions from Ali, admonishing him for the accident at Les Baux.
See to it that you draw no more attention to yourself
, the scrawled letter had read.
Just find out where these children are being housed and how this Gabriella and M. Hoffmann receive information. Later you will get the list from Ophélie Duchemin. Be patient. She must still believe you’re a friend of her mother’s. Slow down!

Jean-Claude didn’t like to slow down. He was an athletic man, trained for action. But he knew how to wait. He could wait all night if he needed to, until the red-haired woman thought the coast was clear and led him straight to where Ophélie Duchemin was hiding.

When David arrived at the train station, it was well past five. A quick search of the building revealed no one. Angrily he pushed his deux chevaux into gear and drove back toward Castelnau. He was sure Mother Griolet had sent her to pick up the orphans. A terrible mistake if anyone was watching for a woman with red hair.

He slowed down, passing a bus 11 as he drove to the east side of Montpellier. He scanned the faces in the near-empty bus. No Gabriella.

As he headed into Castelnau, another bus 11 was leaving the village, going back toward Montpellier. He glanced at it, saw a shock of red hair, then the bus was gone. Quickly he turned the deux chevaux into a side street and backed around. If indeed it was Gabriella, why was she going back to town? He caught sight of the bus again, fifty meters in front of his car. David pulled up closer to the bus, behind an old BMW taxi—and saw why Gabriella had not gotten off in Castelnau.

By six o’clock Gabriella had not returned with the children, and Mother Griolet was struggling to suppress the panic rising inside her. Twice she had called the station to make sure the train from Marseille had not been delayed. Twice she had been assured that it had arrived on schedule. She could not imagine what had happened. She waited and prayed.

Now she walked through the girls’ dormitory for the third time, making sure the three beds were made up for the new children. Sister Rosaline had made sure that the small chest of drawers for each new child was filled with the appropriate clothes.

Preoccupied with thoughts of Gabriella, Mother Griolet opened a drawer. The long-sleeved blouses and wool skirts were there, the panties and tights, the barrettes and brush and comb. And the doll. Sister Rosaline loved to prepare the drawers for the new orphans. The clothes always smelled sweet and fresh, even if they were used. The doll had on a bright new dress, crocheted by Sister Rosaline herself. Even as Mother Griolet contemplated her fellow worker, Sister Rosaline came in the room.

“There you are,
Mère Griolet
,” she exclaimed happily. “Have the children not arrived yet?”

“No, I’m afraid not, Sister Rosaline.”

“Don’t you worry now,” the Sister said. “Gabriella will have them here in no time. Anyway, I have a few more things to find. I’m afraid there aren’t enough tights.” She scratched her head as she hurried to the last bunk and opened a drawer. “Could I take a pair from one of the other girls? Half of them don’t wear them anyway. That little Ophélie, for instance. She only wears her white tights. I wash them three times a week.”

Mother Griolet was hardly paying attention. “Well, then go ahead and take her other pair if you wish. I’ll explain it to her later. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Sister Rosaline scurried to Ophélie’s bed and opened the second drawer in her small bureau. She grabbed the blue tights and closed the drawer. “Now what in the world has the child put inside these?” she fretted. She wiggled her broad hand down the leg of the tights and pulled out a small blue velvet bag. “A child’s treasure, no doubt. No wonder she never puts these on.”

Mother Griolet came out of her reverie with a frown. “Could I see that bag?” she asked.

“Why of course,” Sister Rosaline answered, smiling as she handed her the sack.

Mother Griolet took the velvet bag into her hands. “Just leave the tights here, Sister Rosaline, and I’ll take care of them.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Sister Rosaline patted her lightly on the back before leaving the room. “And don’t you worry about the children. I’m sure they’ll be here any minute.”

Mother Griolet didn’t like to snoop in the personal belongings of others, not even the smallest of the children. She held the blue bag in her hands for a moment, considering what to do. Then she looked at her watch again. Six thirty. Whatever could be keeping them?

She pulled open the little bag, letting the contents fall onto a bed. There was a tiny photograph of Ophélie next to a lovely dark-haired woman with large, sad eyes. Two small pink envelopes, wrinkled and folded, were the only other contents.
M. Gady
was written on the outside of one; its seal had not been broken. She carefully opened it and removed several pieces of stationery. The first two pages were a personal letter to the man, M. Gady. The last two pages contained a list of names, apparently soldiers. Their family members’ names were written beside them, then their addresses. And by some names were the words
murdered
or
killed in war
. Mother Griolet gaped at the list. Then she read the letter.