Two Crosses (53 page)

Mother Griolet was right. Life was not fair. But there was hope. And what had David said? Forgiveness? He had said the word! She laughed out loud. He had found forgiveness from above, and he had also forgiven.

Gabriella dropped to her knees in front of the wicker chair, the cool, damp earth soaking through her stockings. She touched the cross around her neck. “Lord Jesus,” she whispered. “Forgive me for hating because I could not make sense of so many things.” She paused, thinking of Ericka and then of Ophélie. “I forgive them. The one who did it to Mother. The ones who didn’t come. Daddy for being away. I forgive Mother for not telling me about the rape and Mother Griolet …” She was sobbing now, but as she cried, she felt a physical sensation. Someone was pulling a weight, like a huge, overstuffed knapsack, off her.

She rose from the ground, light-headed, free. It was another step in the process of grieving that Mother Griolet had described. There would be others, she knew. But Gabriella didn’t want to think ahead tonight. She just wanted to be.
To abide
, she thought, and images of the vineyards bright with color as she and David had driven by them in the late fall settled in her mind.

She heard a slight rustling behind her and turned around. Mother Griolet was approaching her, silhouetted against the light coming from the dining hall.

“Hello, child,” she said. “I didn’t know you were still here. Aren’t you eating at Mme Leclerc’s?”

“Oh, yes, yes, I am. I was just enjoying the evening … and thinking of some things you said to me.”

“Things I said?” Mother Griolet laughed, surprised.

“Yes. Thinking of forgiveness and … and what comes after.” Gabriella locked arms with Mother Griolet, and they began to stroll around the courtyard.

Gabriella talked excitedly about what was bubbling inside her, and the old nun listened thoughtfully. Then before she could stop herself, Gabriella told her about David.

“He believes, Mother Griolet. David believes.”

The nun pursed her lips. “He believes? What do you mean?”

“He believes in God. In Christ. In forgiveness.”

Mother Griolet gave a cry of delight.
“Ce n’est pas possible! Dieu merci.”
She clasped her hands together. “M. Hoffmann is full of surprises lately. Wonderful surprises. He is quite a different character from what I suspected.” Then she frowned suddenly. “And how do you know this? Is he back?”

Gabriella blushed. “Not exactly. Well, he came back, briefly.” She nibbled her fingernail as Mother Griolet raised her eyebrows.

“Briefly?”

“Yes, very briefly. He came back to tell me … to tell me about … about believing. And …” She stopped, flustered.

“He came back to make sure you and Ophélie were well. Something like that?” Mother Griolet volunteered with a gleam in her eye.

“Yes, something like that.” They walked for a few minutes in silence. Gabriella cleared her throat. She began again, “Mother Griolet?”

“Oui, ma chérie?”

“You said you were in love once.”

“That is so.”

“Do you mind … I mean, excuse me for asking, but …”

“Gabriella, child. Don’t be afraid to love. If this is right for you, you will know it. I have thought wrongly of M. Hoffmann for many reasons. I think you know what I mean?”

“Yes. He has told you then?”

“He has told me about his part with the orphans. Amazing. I have seen the tender side of this man. But, Gabriella, you must decide. It’s between you and him … and your God.” She pressed her fingers softly around Gabriella’s arm.

“I know. I’ve been so confused, but you’re right.” She smiled. “I think I know.”

Mother Griolet nodded. “I believe you know quite a lot. You have been helping M. Hoffmann, and now he wants you and Ophélie to stay put.”

“Yes, and what about M. Vidal? David said he knows something too.”

Mother Griolet smiled. “Dear Jean-Louis.” She looked at Gabriella. “M. Vidal has been a friend of mine for a very long time. You see, it was his brother whom I loved.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And Jean-Louis was a great comfort to me after his death. He gave me something else to do. He was the one involved in the Resistance. He started the whole thing with the Jewish orphans. I could never have done it without him.”

Gabriella gave a low whistle. “Well, I would have never thought of him.” She reddened. “I mean … I mean, he is so …”

“Yes,” the nun chuckled. “He is definitely inconspicuous. So you see, we have been friends for a long time. And now he helps us again. M. Hoffmann and he are very careful.”

“I’m sorry about M. Vidal’s brother. I’m very sorry for you.”

The nun’s green eyes clouded for a moment. “God has filled up my life in so many ways. I live with sadness at times. But not regret. There has been too much else. Our God, remember, is in the business of bringing good out of bad. Never forget it.”

“I won’t,” Gabriella assured her. “I have learned it myself.” The wind picked up as the bells chimed eight o’clock. “Oh my. I’m late for dinner.”

“Hurry on with you then,
ma fille
. Go on.”

Gabriella hugged the old nun quickly and left the courtyard running.

The scabs were gone and the fever, too, finally. Ophélie looked at her face in the mirror. A few shallow pockmarks lined her forehead. She wrinkled her brow. “I look ugly. Papa will think I am so ugly.”

Gabriella came to her side and brushed back Ophélie’s thick, tousled hair with her fingers. “Nonsense! You’re beautiful. You’re only a little pale from being inside for so long. The doctor has said you can sit in the courtyard for a while. In two days you will be feeling stronger. Then we’ll see your papa. And he’ll be so pleased.”

Ophélie turned her face toward Gabriella. “Do you really think he’ll be glad to see me?”

Gabriella shook her head. “No, not glad.” She winked at Ophélie. “He will be absolutely delighted.”

Ophélie hugged Gabriella. “What shall I bring him? What would Papa like? I must have something to give him.”

Gabriella didn’t reply immediately, and Ophélie began reciting possible gifts. “A piece of candy maybe? Does he like candy? Or a picture? Yes, I could draw him a picture.”

“A picture is a wonderful idea. Color it and sign your name, and he will be the proudest papa in the world.”

Ophélie was laughing now. “Bribri, I’m going right now to get my colored pencils and paper from my desk!” She dashed out of the dormitory and danced into the courtyard. She held her arms high above her head, twirling around in circles. Soon she felt dizzy and collapsed into Gabriella’s arms, giggling.

“Ophélie, sweetheart! Calm down. You must not overdo it on your first day up.”

“But, Bribri,” the child panted, “I’m just so happy. I’m all better, and I’m going to see my papa very soon. I have to dance; I can’t help it!”

David sipped a coffee on the cours Mirabeau in Aix-en-Provence. A storm was brewing, and the first drop of rain landed neatly on the scrap of paper in his hand. His face was emotionless as he stared at the latest messages that Gilbert’s bread had revealed. There was the usual one about the children. This time nine of them would be arriving in Marseille on the eighteenth. Nine children. David felt thankful to know that someone had gotten the real list he had sent to Algiers. The remaining harki and pied-noir children threatened by Ali would be rescued. But the other note that lay before him brought different news.

“Not now,” he said to himself, shaking his head. “Oh, Anne-Marie, not now.” He fingered an old photo that lay before him on the round café table. “You know I have never been able to turn you down, beautiful woman.”

He sighed heavily, letting the coffee cup rattle in the saucer as he set it down. He was, after all, relieved that Anne-Marie was alive. This was good news. For Ophélie. For the operation, too. For him. Yes, of course he was glad. He had come because of her in the first place. It’s just that it was such an inconvenient time to go to Algiers.

He laughed at his own thought. Yes, just a tad bit “inconvenient,” with the war and cease-fire imminent. But of course he would go. He left a handful of change on the table and rose to leave the café.

The rain fell freely now. He walked halfway across the Cours and stood at the base of the smiling statue of Roi René holding his muscat grapes. “Gabriella,” he murmured.

Then, angrily, David crossed the broad avenue and walked behind the Cours, into the small side streets of Aix. He kicked at the curb, cursing to himself.

Suddenly the voice of Gabriella floated up to him.
I cannot prove that prayers are answered or that God is above if you do not want to believe it. But that isn’t my business.… I dare you to ask Him to prove Himself to you.

“And what am I supposed to pray anyway?” he begged cynically to the cobblestones. “You figure this one out, God of Gabriella. Figure it out, if You will.”

He stopped outside a child’s clothing store. A bright-pink stuffed pony was in the window front. Impulsively he stepped inside the store and purchased it. The saleswoman wrapped it in bright-pink paper and put a pink bow on top. He paid for the gift and left the store.

“You see, God,” he continued his argument, “I’m in love with this woman. You know her well. And I have discovered I’m the father of Ophélie. A precious child. And now her mother needs me to rescue her from the jaws of a wild Arab. And so I will go to the mother of my child, and perhaps I will find that … that this is what You want. A reunion. A family.

“But then what will happen to Gabby, God? Excuse me for saying it, but it does not quite seem fair.…” He laughed at himself, talking to the wind and the rain. “It is, if You remember, this woman that I love.” He laughed again, a skeptical, hard laugh. “Well, there You have it, God. A rather unorthodox prayer as I stroll through the backstreets of Aix. I hope it will do.”

The French would say it was raining ropes, Gabriella reflected as she watched the torrential downpour. Cold, damp, and gray. The winds gusted outside her window. She snuggled into her comforter, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She relished the sound of the rain pelting against the window and the olive tree twisting and blowing in the storm. A flash flood, the radio in Mme Leclerc’s kitchen announced as she and the girls crowded around it after lunch.

But Gabriella felt warm and safe. Monet’s print of the field of poppies hung on the wall in front of her. She stared at it and then closed her eyes.