Two Testaments (16 page)

“
Mais non. Ne t’en fais pas!
We’ve been preparing the same meals for all these years—I think I could do it with my eyes closed. I may be well padded, but I can work fast!” She laughed, patting her thick sides. “And you, Gabriella, will teach in the afternoons. You’re sure you don’t mind missing out on M. Vidal’s history class for two weeks?”

“Well, it will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to give up.”

All four women burst into laughter.

“
Quel dommage! Ah, oui.
Such a shame,” Sister Rosaline said, her eyes dancing. “Well then, it’s all set. As soon as Mother Griolet goes to the girls’ dorm for devotions, I’ll slip into her office and make the call.”

“Perfect!” Gabriella grinned.

“Oh, it’s just so exciting!” said Sister Isabelle as she stood up. “I’ve got to get back to the boys’ dorm and make sure they’re getting into pajamas.” She scurried out of the dining hall.

“And I’m late for dinner at Mme Leclerc’s,” said Gabriella. “See you tomorrow, everyone. It’s a great idea, Sister Rosaline. A great idea.”

Anne-Marie curled up on her cot, trying to get comfortable as she leafed through Mother Griolet’s worn Bible.

“What are you reading?” Sister Isabelle inquired timidly, peering at Anne-Marie from her bed in the tiny room they shared.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t found it yet. Something in the gospel of John. I’ve never read the Bible before.” She laughed at Sister Isabelle’s shocked expression. “No, I wouldn’t be a very good candidate for a nun, I’m afraid.”

Sister Isabelle blushed, and she cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Well, don’t worry about that. I mean, everybody has to start somewhere. At least that’s what Mother Griolet says.”

“Do you like being a nun?” Anne-Marie asked bluntly.

“Me? Well, yes. Yes, I do.”

“And you really believe that God hears your prayers? And answers them?”

“Oh, yes. And Mother Griolet says—”

“I don’t want to know what Mother Griolet says,” Anne-Marie interrupted. “Forgive me, Sister. I don’t mean that the way it sounds. I just want to know what you think.”

Sister Isabelle’s cheeks were crimson. “I’m … I’m not very eloquent, you see. But I know I believe. I have seen God’s miraculous provision so many times.”

“Like when? Tell me about them.”

“Oh, I don’t know …” She thought for a moment. “Like when the SS came here, when we were hiding Jewish children during World War II. We prayed and prayed that God would blind their eyes. And in the end, the SS guards couldn’t find the children.

“And another time, when a soldier was questioning Mother Griolet, God gave her the words to answer his trick question correctly. And he went away.

“And surely Ophélie has told you what happened most recently? That awful madman came and tore the place apart looking for her and the Arab children. But when he got to the closet where they were hidden, well, he said, ‘Never mind!’ A miracle! All kinds of things like that happen, so that you really can’t say it is coincidence. You know it’s because you’ve prayed.

“And little things too—like having enough clothes for the children. At just the right time a warm coat will be donated, or socks or a sweater. And the food. Out of the blue one time, during the war when we had no food left—well, a carton of
pâtes
and flour appeared. At just the right time. Oh dear, I am talking so.” She blushed. “I guess I can be long-winded after all when I get going.”

“I don’t mind,” Anne-Marie said. “I like hearing it.”

“I’m afraid you’ll hear a lot more if you stay at St. Joseph,” Sister Isabelle said with a chuckle. She reached over and turned off her bedside lamp. “You read. I’m going to sleep. Good night, Anne-Marie. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Anne-Marie whispered.

She found the eighth chapter of John. It was a story of a woman caught in adultery, and the religious leaders wanted to stone her to death. But when they brought her before Jesus to be sentenced, He said the strangest thing:
He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her
. One by one the religious leaders left until it was just this Jesus with the woman.

Anne-Marie could hardly read the words. Her eyes were blurred with tears. She felt as if Jesus were in the room now with her, asking that question. “Woman, where are thine accusers?”

She closed the Bible and flicked off her lamp. Then she lay down, staring into the darkness.
Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.
What a strange, wonderful thing for Jesus to say. Anne-Marie turned over, pulled her covers around her, and gradually relaxed. With the words still in her head, she fell asleep.

10

Moustafa sat beside his mother, gently shaking her shoulders as she wept. “Mother. Mother, please listen.” He cursed under his breath. Every encounter with his mother in the past month had ended the same way: she wailing, he waving his arms in exasperation and leaving the apartment.

He never explained his long months of absence, and she never asked. Neither did he speak of Anne-Marie, but sometimes he thought she had guessed the truth years ago.

“Mother, can’t you see we must leave? The OAS are murdering people daily. All the pied-noirs will be at the ferries by the middle of June. Let’s go now, now before May is upon us. While there is still room.”

“Your brother is fighting in the army. He won’t leave until they disband at independence. And I won’t leave until we can all go together.”

“But, Mother, think of Rachida and Saiyda. Your daughters deserve a chance. Please! I’ll stay for Hacène, but please go to the boats. There is help in France. You go first and find a place for us. Please, Mother.”

She looked up at her son. The skin beneath her eyes was dark and sagging. “You ask to break a mother’s heart. Isn’t it enough that I have seen my husband slain? Now you ask me to abandon my sons to the same fate. I would rather die with you!”

Moustafa ran his hands through his curly hair. “I won’t argue anymore tonight. You keep the list of the orphaned harkis. When I find out if I have permission, I’ll send for them. These children will need a chaperone, Mother. Wouldn’t you go then? To care for them?”

“Perhaps, my son. Perhaps I would take my daughters and flee with the children to France … where I would wait every day with my prayers rising to Allah until you and Hacène join us there … in this other country that does not want us. Exiled to a life without meaning.”

“It will be better than that, Mother. I promise.” He grabbed her hands. “It will be better than that, because nothing could be worse than this.”

Eliane Cebrian waited until baby José was fast asleep to open the letter from Rémi. On the phone two weeks ago he had been distracted. “Yes, perhaps it would be better for you in Montpellier. Let me think it all out. I’ll write and tell you what to do.”

She worried that a letter from Algiers wouldn’t get to her, but Rémi had laughed and said he could get letters out easily enough. He told her to go to a boulangerie down the street from the porte de la Joliette in Marseille and ask for a
pain de campagne
. Sometimes Rémi said the strangest things, but ten years with this man had taught her not to question.

And now … sure enough. Samuel and Rachel were wiping their soup bowls with the delicious wheat bread that had moments earlier held this letter. Amazing! A letter hidden in a loaf of bread. She let her eyes dart quickly down the page, looking for a hopeful phrase, willing that there be no bad news.

Dear Eliane,

I miss you, my little oranger!

She smiled at the term of endearment. An orange tree. Rémi had always said that she was as fertile and fragrant as an oranger that grew in their groves.

I have considered what you said. Yes, go to Montpellier. Let Anne-Marie find a reasonable hotel for you. To have a friend would be invaluable for you, my dear.

I cannot say when I will be coming, but things don’t look promising. Seventy-three murders of Algerians by the OAS this week. And two pied-noir farmers a little farther out have received the warning from the FLN. One week to get out of Algeria. It is their choice: la valise ou le cercueil. If it comes to that for me, of course I will leave; I will choose a suitcase over a coffin.

What a surprise that you met the Duchemin girl. How good of God to give you to one another for that long crossing. I have not seen Moustafa, but have news from him. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of each other. Amazing to find our old neighbors after so long, n’est-ce pas?

I will send one of the trunks along as soon as you have an address. All your heirlooms, my sweet. Then even an old hotel room will begin looking like home.

Oh, Eliane, give the children such hugs! Tell them Papa misses them so much. I pray every day that you are all safe.

If you have news to send, take it to the boulanger. Say it is for me. He will understand.

Don’t forget, Eliane. Isaiah 42. He is leading even if we cannot see right now. Don’t forget. And never forget l’autre chose.

Je t’aime,

Rémi

She placed the letter on her lap and smiled.
L’autre chose.
Their little code. When Rémi raised his eyebrows and looked at her and whispered
l’autre chose
, it meant … well, it meant that tonight they would share more than just a bed.

She felt a quickening pulse at the thought. She hoped it would be soon. How she missed that man! But he had agreed for her to go to Montpellier. That was a bright spot in the day. She would call Anne-Marie tonight.

Sister Rosaline walked through the basement of the parsonage and out into the dark streets of Castelnau. All the heavy wooden shutters on the houses were still closed as she walked briskly through the village to where one light shone from the boulangerie.

Lately she had almost doubled her order, with the arrival of the new children. She slipped into the shop and pressed a small bell that sat on the counter.