Two Crosses (34 page)

Dear M. Gady,

I send you my daughter, my treasure. I know you will care for her as we have arranged. If you have this letter, it’s because I have been forced to flee, for Ophélie’s safety. You now have the only complete list of the Scout Platoon of the Thirteenth Battalion—the list Ali wants. I have marked the families whose names he already knows with a red X.

Hugo awaits your news. Moustafa has already arranged for trips through October. Send these names to the following addresses. Hugo will answer you with further instructions as soon as you contact him. Assume that I can no longer help. I will do my best to get back to you soon. Until then, keep close contact with Hugo. Tell him that you have another child who must come to him. He must not know she is my own.

Please, please take care of Ophélie. She is my life.

Thank you for all your help.

Anne-Marie Duchemin

Four addresses were written underneath Anne-Marie’s signature, with arrows drawn back to the names of different children on the list. There was another address, a post-office box, beside the name
Hugo
.

Mother Griolet shook her head and sighed, setting the papers on the bunk. It was unbelievable. Little Ophélie’s mother was somehow connected to Operation Hugo! How could it be?

Slowly she picked up the other envelope, which had already been opened.
Ophélie
was written across its front. The old woman took out three thin pieces of stationery. So this was why the child had been so eager to learn to read. She read the letter silently to herself:

Dear Ophélie,

How I love you, my dear. You must always know that I’m with you, even if you can’t see me now. I never wanted for us to be apart. But for now, my love, it’s necessary.

There is a war in Algeria, you know. When we lived there, I made friends with people whom I thought were kind. But they turned out to be mean and only wanted to hurt innocent people. So we had to leave Algeria to get away from them.

Amazingly the letter talked about Algeria and rescuing orphans and the Huguenot cross! Mother Griolet crossed herself and read on:

I must tell you one more thing. I have never talked to you of your father. I don’t know where he is, and he doesn’t know he has a daughter. I couldn’t tell him. But he is a good man who helped me when we were both very young and living in Algeria. Perhaps someday you will be able to find him. He is an American, very handsome and smart. His name is David Hoffmann.

Mama was very foolish and young when she loved him, but I know he would take care of you. He would be proud to have a daughter like you.

I must go now, my love. Someday I will see you again. I’m holding you tight in the arms of my soul. Be brave, little Ophélie. You are special. The God of Papy be with you.

I love you,

Mama

Mother Griolet put down the letter, tears trickling down her lined face. Forgotten were the orphans and the hour. All she saw was a beautiful child with a secret she could not share.

She shook her head again and again. David Hoffmann, Ophélie’s father? It was impossible. It was crazy. And he didn’t know. Or perhaps he knew and said nothing because he feared for the child’s safety. Who in the world was this David Hoffmann?

Mother Griolet sighed heavily. An unexpected piece of a puzzle she never meant to put together lay in her hands. “I’m being pulled deeper into this secret, Lord. I’m not sure whom to trust. But I trust You.” She returned the letters to the blue bag, slipped the bag into the leg of the tights, and placed them back in Ophélie’s drawer. “Keep your treasures, little girl. For a while longer, you keep them.” Mother Griolet walked back to her apartment to wait.

David parked his car on the side of the street just in front of the bus stop. He quickly mingled with the other pedestrians awaiting bus 11, hunching down to hide himself from view. A moment later the bus pulled into the stop and he got on.

“Gabby!” he called out, fumbling in his pocket for change, but the bus driver just shook his head.

“If you’re with the young woman, there’s no charge.”

In spite of the circumstances, David laughed. “
Merci, monsieur.
It’s very kind of you.”

“Don’t mention it—I haven’t had an adventure like this in a long time.”

David walked to the back of the bus where Gabriella, Ophélie, and four other children sat, looking fearful.

Gabriella gasped. “How did you get here? How did you find us?”

“A bit of luck, Gabby. How long have you been riding around town on this bus?” He sounded amused.

“Over an hour, maybe two. Have you seen who is following us?”

“Oh yes. Our old friend is running up quite a bill in that taxi.”

“I was petrified he would come on the bus and shoot us all,” she whispered. “But I didn’t know what else to do, so I talked to the bus driver and he let us stay on. At no charge!”

“You’ve done just fine, Gabby. Except I thought I told you to lie low for a while.”

“Mother Griolet asked me to pick up some children arriving at the train station today. Refugees from Algeria.” She eyed him suspiciously. “You knew about that, didn’t you? That was what the instructions meant on the paper you found in the bread.”

“Yes, you have guessed.”

“You’re helping save children? That’s your secret? At St. Joseph. Hakim? And Ophélie?”

David raised his eyebrows. “I’m afraid it’s rather complicated. And Mother Griolet has no idea of my involvement. She must not know, Gabby.” His tone was stern.

“But why not?” Gabriella was incredulous.

“To protect her. The less she knows, the safer she is.”

“But after today, the children will surely say something to her.”

“I’m sure with your lively imagination, you can make up a good excuse for my sudden appearance.” He winked at her.

Gabriella felt a flood of relief. “This is what you do, David Hoffmann? This is your secret … saving children.” She squeezed his hand tightly. “It’s a wonderful secret. This secret, David, I can live with. And I’ll help you.”

He shook his head. “I’m glad you approve, my dear, but for right now you’re in a bit of hot water. A crazy man is on your trail. So listen to what I’m going to do. It will be simple. It’s all a question of timing.”

Nearing the place de la Comédie, bus 11 pulled into its stop in front of the train station. Jean-Claude saw Gabriella descend the steps with the children.

“
Arretez!
” Jean-Claude commanded as he thrust a wad of bills into the surprised driver’s hand and leaped from the taxi. Instantly a tall man blocked his way. As Jean-Claude tried to step around him, he felt a crashing blow to his chin. The last thing Jean-Claude remembered was people all around shouting, “A doctor. Get a doctor!”

David left Jean-Claude on the sidewalk, surrounded by a group of curious pedestrians, and raced toward the Comédie. When he was a safe distance away, he stopped and turned around. From this perspective, he watched Gabriella climb back on the same waiting bus, five children trailing obediently behind her. A moment later the bus took off down the road toward the east side of town. Jean-Claude still lay on the sidewalk, surrounded by curious pedestrians.

David shook his head. That was a little too close for comfort. He lost himself in the backstreets of the centre ville and didn’t head back to Castelnau until well after dark.

22

December 24 in Algiers came and went like every other day during that long fall of 1961: filled with fear. The streets were empty of people by dusk. Somewhere a plastic bomb exploded in the Casbah as the OAS unloaded its fury. The graves of innocent victims littered the countryside, but the terrorists on both sides paid little heed.

An old man with a turban around his head knocked softly on the door on the second floor of an apartment building in Bab el-Oued. The middle-aged woman who opened the door eyed him suspiciously.

“A letter for you and your children, from Moustafa,” he urged as the woman took an envelope from him. “Something about leaving Algiers. Instructions from Hugo.”

A spark of relief lit up the woman’s eyes. “Thank you, sir. Thank you,” she said, closing the door behind her.

The man in the turban walked away, pausing only long enough to hear the woman calling, “François, Emilie,
venez ici
! We have news!”

He was almost to the steps when he heard the explosion. Gazing back at the apartment, he saw smoke escaping from under the door. He nodded slowly and murmured, “Merry Christmas to you from Ali.”

The Christmas Eve meal ended at midnight. Monique and Yvette glowed with pleasure as the young people crowded around the long dining-room table at Monique’s house. Stephanie and Caroline were chatting about how much they had eaten. They begged Yvette for her recipe for the bûche de Noël. Gabriella and David were in deep discussion about a French poet. The conversation around the table had been lively all night, Yvette thought with satisfaction. Much better than the fiasco with the rabbit two months ago.