Two Crosses (52 page)

“In the end it came to the cross. And forgiveness.” He chuckled as he touched the gold chain around Gabriella’s neck. “How very ironic,
n’est-ce pas
? It had been here all along to remind me of Someone who suffered a whole lot more than I had. The very hardest thing: forgiveness.”

They stood at the doorway of the classroom, his head resting on hers, locked in a sweet embrace. She didn’t move but asked, “And the rest? How did you know the
other
part?”

He chuckled softly again. “The other part, as you say, Gabby, was wonderfully easy. It was just admitting it that was hard.” He held her away from him and looked her full in the face. His eyes were deep, shining, sincere. “I have always known that I love you, Gabby. For the longest time, I have known.”

When he leaned down to kiss her again, she met him eagerly, and once more, time ran by unnoticed.

The classroom was dark, and David turned the key to lock the door.

“Do you have my exam?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, patting his briefcase.

“It was a bit embarrassing, David. I was sure the other girls must have caught on. But apparently not.”

David laughed. “The others could not decipher a code if it were spelled out for them. But you needn’t have worried. Except for the slides, their exam was completely different from yours.” He was grinning, proud of himself.

“Why … how in the world?”

“M. Vidal simply used the exam from last year … and I sent him a different one for you.”

“Well, aren’t you clever,” Gabriella teased. “And now M. Vidal knows all about our love, I suppose.”

David let his head fall back and roared with laughter. “My dear Gabby, you would be surprised at what M. Vidal knows!”

Gabriella wrinkled her nose in feigned disgust but didn’t question him further.

They stood poised for a long minute at the top of the stairs. Then he led her down the steps until they stood outside the parsonage. “And Ophélie? May I see her quickly?”

Gabriella hesitated. “David … she’s been very sick.”

“Sick?”

“Yes, but she’s much better now. Your letter was just what she needed. But … but if you’re only going to pop in and out today, I think that would be unwise. She might become even more upset. You understand?”

“Yes … I suppose.” He looked lost in thought. “Listen, Gabby. Listen carefully. I want you to meet me at the Pont du Gard with Ophélie.” He talked swiftly, before she had a chance to protest. “Today is the sixth. Will she be strong enough to come on the twelfth? That’s almost a week.”

“I-I don’t know,” Gabriella stammered.

“No, don’t worry. By the twelfth all will be finished in Marseille. It will give me time to check back in Aix and Aigues-Mortes. Take the train to Nîmes. Then the bus from Nîmes to the Pont du Gard. Bring a picnic, and we’ll go to the little beach area beside the river. It will be perfect. No one will be there at this time of year.”

Gabriella was not convinced. “Can’t you just come back here, David?”

“No, not yet. That would be unwise. But I must see her. The Pont du Gard on the twelfth.” He was whispering excitedly now. “I’ll meet you at the bus stop.”

“But, David … you’re making me afraid.” She was suddenly clutching his coat as he turned to go. “Please. Please stay here with me.”

He smiled and caught her up in his arms, pulling her behind the corner of the church, out of view. He kissed her forcefully, passionately. “Don’t worry. I’ll get word to you if I need to. Only pray for me, sweet Gabby. Don’t worry. Only pray.” He gave her one last kiss and was off.

Gabriella touched her lips as she walked back through the parsonage, dazed. Little explosions of joy were dancing through what must be her heart, and she found herself breathing deeply, deeply to regain her breath.

David Hoffmann loved God. And David Hoffmann loved her. It was some strange miracle, blowing in from above to warm her in every part of her being.

Gabriella smiled and, turning her eyes upward, whispered, “Thank You. And please, God, keep him safe.”

Rosie Lecharde stepped out of the small side door to the chapel. Such a convenient place to hide! So much news to hear! She was in no hurry to catch the train back to Marseille. She laughed aloud as she watched David Hoffmann rushing along the cobblestones, out of Castelnau.

He could hurry home to meet Jean-Claude if he so desired. Rosie was going to take the bus in town to the Comédie. Her wallet was full, and she could sip
verveine
all day at a little café. Perhaps later in the afternoon she could find some interesting work in Montpellier. No rush. She would take the midnight train to Marseille. She had all the time in the world to get back to Jean-Claude and tell him who would be visiting the Pont du Gard on March 12.

31

Eleven thirty at night in the slums of Marseille was a lively time. All around, David could hear taunting shouts and fistfights and gunshots. Rosie Lecharde had been right. It wasn’t hard to find the Hotel Poseidon. It sat in the heart of the city, next to the Vieux Port.

There was absolutely nothing in David that wanted to go into room 32 and face a lunatic. Rosie’s information had come too easily. Twelve hundred francs was too little.

Or perhaps he was simply scared. Lately it mattered a great deal that he was alive. Someone cared. Two people cared about him very much. Not for what he could get them. Not as a leader of a cause. They cared about him. They needed him. And, he admitted to himself, he needed them.

He shook himself back to the present. This was no time to feel distracted. No time to listen to his heart. He would offer Jean-Claude the false list for a price and, once the madman had paid him, give him the key to a post-office box where he’d stashed it. Surely it would work.

David shivered, suddenly unsure of his plan. What if Jean-Claude turned on him and blew his brains out? David had no weapon. How would he defend himself? He couldn’t trust a madman, could he?

He didn’t go inside the hotel but hung in the shadows beside the overturned garbage bin with its rotting fruit and broken bottles. Above him the windows from the rooms on the north side of the hotel looked out into the filthy alleyway. Thirty minutes passed. Music blared from a nearby bar that welcomed its clients with a bright flashing neon sign. A cat rubbed against David’s leg, causing him to jump. The cat leaped onto the garbage bin and disappeared. But no one came out of the hotel.

What should he do? He couldn’t afford to lose track of Jean-Claude again. In two days he was due in Aix, and soon afterward at the Pont du Gard. He slouched down and leaned against the garbage can, ignoring the reeking smells. One o’clock came and went. David remembered seeing the hand approaching two before he drifted off.

David awoke with a start. He heard a muffled cry coming from a window above him. It was still dark outside, but the bar across the street was closed and its neon sign turned off. He couldn’t read his watch. Another sharp cry from above, and then a woman’s voice. “I don’t know why he hasn’t come. I promise. Please.… It’s good information … please!”

David flinched at the sound of a scream, followed by a gunshot.

He cursed, ran into the hotel, and crouched in the lobby. No madman emerged from down the hall. He found room 32 and hesitated only a moment before pushing against the door. It was locked. He rammed it with his shoulder, then kicked it hard with his foot, and it swung inward.

Rosie Lecharde lay on the floor with a bullet through her head. He felt in vain for her pulse. The window was open. David ran to it and looked down the back alley. He jumped through the window and landed amid the rubbish on the ground below, then cautiously searched up and down the alley. Soon he heard sirens. He ran through the alleyway and out onto a deserted thoroughfare. Jean-Claude was nowhere in sight. And David was sure he wouldn’t be coming back to room 32.

He walked slowly toward his hotel. Rosie was dead because he didn’t show. The bullet would have surely been his. And Jean-Claude was roaming the streets again, like a raving mad hyena.

“Oh, God, I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, climbing the winding wooden staircase that groaned loudly with each step. He collapsed on the ripped orange bedspread in his room and slept.

The orphans were singing grace before the evening meal. The faint melody caught Gabriella’s attention as she wandered down the hall of the parsonage basement. Drifting as if in a trance out into the courtyard, she found herself humming along softly with the children.
“Pour ce repas, pour toute joie, nous te louons, Seigneur.”

Oh yes. As the blessing said, she had so much to be thankful for. She sat in Mother Griolet’s wicker chair and studied the sky. It was not yet completely dark, and streaks of crimson and periwinkle blue sat for one last moment poised behind the church’s bell tower. The air was almost balmy in sharp contrast with the cold of last week.

“Rain is coming. A big storm,” Sister Isabelle had told her earlier, pointing to the sky. “You can smell it in the air.”

For Gabriella, it was the smell of spring. Renewal. New birth. Hope. No more storms. She knew she was grinning foolishly as she thought of David. He was a romantic after all. Her heart began to race just as it had when she first understood what he was saying to her through the exam. Then his voice behind her. She, startled, standing awkwardly to greet him. And then in his arms. And the kiss.…

It was better than the movies. So much better, because it was actually happening, it
had happened
, to her. No doubt, no daydream. Three days ago he had kissed her and told her that he loved her. And in only three more days they would be together again. The short week in between was like a brief intermission, a moment to step outside and collect her thoughts and be sure of her lines before rushing back in for the final act. She was glad to have this time to think and remember.

It had been only seven months since she left Dakar. It could have been seven years. She laughed. Maybe seven lifetimes, and she, like a cat, was entitled to two more. Nothing had been what she expected. Absolutely nothing. Except …

Yes. You, Lord, have been the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Your love has not failed me. You have not left me alone, even when I was sure there was nothing left to hope for.

She heard the children’s laughter from inside the dining hall, but she saw only Ericka before her, spinning around, delighted with her big sister’s attention. Ericka had known what joy was. The thought suddenly brought with it an overwhelming peace to Gabriella. In Ericka’s short life, she had known joy. Conceived by hate and brought forth in sorrow, she had still known joy.