Two Crosses (40 page)

Ophélie grabbed Gabriella’s hand as they left the schoolroom following afternoon classes. “When can we go to ride the train, Bribri? When will we take the bus again to town?”

Gabriella hugged the child tightly and, kneeling down, looked her in the eyes. “We cannot leave the church for a while, Ophélie. We don’t want to meet M. Jean-Claude again, you know.”

Ophélie shook her head and frowned. “But I have only ridden a train once, Bribri. It was so much fun, when that nice man brought me here from another place.”

“You mean when you came to St. Joseph?” Gabriella asked.

“Yes, I came with that nice
maître
. He never talks to me, but I’ve seen him at the school.”

“You mean M. Hoffmann?” Gabriella asked, surprised. “M. Hoffmann brought you to St. Joseph?”

Ophélie’s face went pale. “I … I don’t know his name.” Her eyes were wide. “He is the tall man who likes you.”

Gabriella laughed. “Yes, M. Hoffmann and I are friends.”

Ophélie felt as if she might cry.

“What is it, sweetie?” Gabriella was still kneeling beside her. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing. I don’t think.” Ophélie furrowed her brow. “What did you say his name is?”

“His name? It’s David Hoffmann.”

Ophélie let out a low cry and broke away from Gabriella’s grasp. She ran through the courtyard and toward the dormitory with Gabriella following after, calling out to her. When they reached the dormitory, Ophélie turned on her heels and gazed up at Gabriella. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Please, Bribri. I want to be alone.”

“You’re sure, Ophélie? I can’t help you? I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“It’s okay,” she replied and ran to her bunk. She waited until she saw Gabriella walk back across the courtyard, stopping to play with Christophe and Anne-Sophie. Then Ophélie opened her second drawer and brought out the dark-blue wool tights. She reached inside the leg and found the blue bag and pulled it out. Carefully she unfolded her mother’s pink pages on the bed. She stared down at the words on page three.
He is an American, very handsome and smart. His name is David Hoffmann.

Ophélie began to tremble. “Oh, Mama. I don’t understand. If that man is my father, why doesn’t he talk to me? Why does he pretend I’m an orphan? Why didn’t he tell me who he was? Maybe he doesn’t love me. Maybe he is very mad that I’m his little girl.” She cried softly into her pillow as the other children giggled and played outside her window. When the bell sounded for dinner, Ophélie stuffed the letter and the blue bag into the tights. Her stomach was in knots as she replaced them in her drawer. “Papa?” she whispered. “Please come to me, Papa. Please love me.”

She remembered something Gabriella had taught her. Dropping to her knees, she folded her hands across her bed and closed her eyes. “Dear God … Bribri says that You love little children. That You listen when they talk to You. Please make my papa like me.” She could not think of what else to say. Then she added, “And please take care of Mama. And someday, God, can we all be together? As a family. Someday, please?”

She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her navy sweater and left the dormitory, pulling her coat around her shoulders. It was dark outside as she walked the short distance to the dining hall. Ophélie was not sure if the butterflies dancing in her stomach were from excitement or from fear. But at least now when she thought of her father, she had a picture in her mind. Now she could see a tall, kind man cradling an injured child by the bridge in a city that had erupted into madness.

25

Following morning classes on January 25, Gabriella sat in Mother Griolet’s office trying to push a gnawing question from her mind. Ophélie was upset about something that had to do with David. What was it? If only she could have asked him, but he had left town last night.

The old nun bustled in after her and took her chair. “Thank you, dear, for sparing me a few minutes of your time. How are you today?
Ça va?
”

“
Oh, oui. Ça va.
Everything is all right, I guess.”

“You’re not too overworked? I’m afraid I’m asking a lot of you these days.”

Gabriella shrugged her shoulders. “It’s good for me, Mother Griolet. I like to think too much. To analyze and run ahead of the Lord and plan my own endings.” She blushed. “So you see, it’s good for you to keep me busy.”

Mother Griolet folded her hands on the desk and regarded Gabriella kindly. “My dear, I’m afraid I have something else to talk to you about.” She cleared her throat. “I know that you have a great affection for Ophélie …”

Gabriella nodded.

“… and for M. Hoffmann also.”

Gabriella shot her a surprised look. “Yes … I’ve told you about my feelings for him before.”

“Yes, yes, you have.” She straightened a stack of papers on her desk. “I don’t really know how to begin.… Recently I came across some very puzzling and astounding information. I feel it’s best to share this with you.”

Gabriella scooted toward the edge of her chair. Mother Griolet’s usually serene face was outlined with worry. The wind outside knocked on the heavy wooden shutters, begging to come into the warm office. Again Mother Griolet cleared her throat.

“Perhaps if you would come with me, I could explain things better.” The old nun rose slowly to her feet, hesitating before she came around her desk and left the office.

Gabriella followed obediently through the hall and den, out into the courtyard, across the sparse lawn, and into the girls’ dormitory. The room seemed silent and somber without the chatter of little girls. Mother Griolet went to Ophélie’s bed and opened a drawer in the chest.

“We found this quite by accident when Sister Rosaline was preparing for the latest arrival of orphans.” She produced a pair of tights and slipped her wrinkled hand down one leg. “I don’t suppose you have seen this before?” She held up a blue velvet bag.

Gabriella shook her head.

“There were several surprising items in this bag. But I think this letter from Ophélie’s mother will interest you most.” She handed Gabriella three thin sheets of pink paper.

Gabriella met her eyes with a questioning look. “I … I have the feeling that I’m about to find out some more bad news, Mother Griolet.”

“It’s not bad news, my dear. But quite unexpected. And important for you to know.”

Gabriella sat down lightly on Ophélie’s bed, bending her head so as not to bump it on the top bunk. Mother Griolet stood beside her. Silently Gabriella perused the letter, her eyes brimming with tears as she read about a mother’s love for her child.

“This is why Ophélie wanted to learn to read so desperately. Look … here are the words she could not understand. She asked me about them.” She glanced up at Mother Griolet.

“Yes, Gabriella. Read on.”

There was not a sound in the room except the gentle rustling of paper as Gabriella turned from the second to the third pink page of paper. Suddenly she let out a sharp cry. “No! No! It can’t be!” She dropped the pages and stood up too quickly, bumping her head on the bunk.

“Ouch!” she moaned and fell back across the bed, sobbing.

“Gabriella …” Mother Griolet touched her shoulders, but Gabriella pushed her hand away.

“It’s nothing. I’m all right.” She turned her distraught face to the nun. “At least, my head is all right. But my heart … It can’t be! How could David be Ophélie’s father? He has no idea.”

Immediately she remembered Ophélie’s reaction when she had mentioned David’s name. So this was the reason.

“Poor little Ophélie. She has no one she trusts. She has been betrayed too often.” Gabriella picked up the last page of the letter and stared at it again. “Thank you for showing this to me, Mother Griolet. It was the right thing to do, I assure you.”

“I’m afraid it may be hard on you, dear.”

“I’m finding that there are many hard things in life. I have a lot to learn.” She forced a smile. “Give me a few days to digest this and I’ll be fine.”

Mother Griolet reached up and placed her worn hands on Gabriella’s freckled face, then kissed her softly on each cheek.
“Que Dieu soit avec toi, ma chérie.”
She patted her lightly on the back. “Go on home and have some lunch.”

“Yes. That’s a good idea, Mother Griolet.
A bientôt.
”

It took every ounce of strength Gabriella could muster to walk through town with her head held high. Somehow she felt sick and betrayed. She argued with herself all the way to Mme Leclerc’s apartment. What was David up to? What cruel game was he playing? Mostly she felt a burning jealousy of Anne-Marie Duchemin. Years ago David had loved her, and they conceived Ophélie. But perhaps he truly didn’t know he had a daughter.

“But you came to France for her mother,” she whispered as she climbed the steps, not bothering to press the orange button in the stairwell. “You’re here because you love Anne-Marie. You want to help her.”

Again the sick, angry emotions choked her. Gabriella went into her room and let her book bag fall to the floor with a thud. She leaned back across her bed and stared at the ceiling, noticing the uneven plaster. Water stains from an old leak showed through the paint. In the corner a spiderweb hung, forgotten, covered with dust.

She reached in her mind to try to untangle her thoughts. Everything was running together in her head, like a mass of dusty webs.

I hate you, David. I hate this mess you have pulled me into. I hate caring about you. Oh, God, if only I could rip out this heart and replace it. Then I could smile for a family reunited.

She closed her eyes and imagined David embracing Ophélie, and a beautiful young woman running to hold them both. David turned and let his head fall back in ecstasy. He kissed her as they laughed and wept while Ophélie shouted, “Mama!”

“Oh, God, this is how the story should end. It’s only right.” She clenched her fists. “But I will be honest with You, because there is no one else I can tell. It isn’t fair. It seems as if You dropped these people in my life for me to love, for me to somehow bring together. And now You will rip them away. They aren’t mine. I know it! I hate myself for caring so much. But I do care. I need them!” She hit her fist on the bed.

“You’re asking too much this time, God.” Suddenly another thought came to her. Perhaps Anne-Marie was dead. Gabriella felt a twinge of twisted hope, followed immediately by guilt.
How can I even think that? How could I wish Ophélie’s mother dead? Oh, Gabriella, you are really mixed up.

Anne-Marie watched the orange ball of fire slowly descend across the horizon. The clock on the wall in Marcus Cirou’s kitchen showed five thirty. In five hours she would leave for the tiny alleyway at the edge of Bab el-Oued and wait for the children’s arrival. She bit her lip anxiously. Moustafa would be coming soon.

She didn’t know how to break the news that she was leaving with the children on the boat. She had wrestled with the idea all through the night. It had to be so. There on the other side of the Mediterranean she would find Ophélie.

She knew Moustafa wouldn’t protest. He would nod and agree. But leaving Algeria now meant that she wouldn’t come back. She felt sick to her stomach to think of Moustafa left behind, alone without her. But the longing to see Ophélie, to hold her, to know she was safe … the mother love was stronger. Anne-Marie could not imagine life without Moustafa near her, but Ophélie deserved her mother. Right now she could not have both of them. She wondered if it would ever be possible.