Two Crosses (43 page)

Gabriella let out a loud sigh as M. Vidal concluded his lecture on Gustave Flaubert. Stephanie had been right. Two classes a day with the alcoholic history prof was unbearable. Gabriella wished David would come back. She wanted to rush into his arms and cry and tell him that she loved him. But she didn’t let herself dwell on that image.

She knew what she would have to do when he returned. She had rehearsed her lines for the past ten days. She would act casual and a little removed. Then she would say, “I need to tell you something. Ophélie Duchemin is your child. You know, the little orphan you brought here on the train? Your daughter!” While he looked on, amazed, she would produce Ophélie’s letter from her mother.

Gabriella had reached the basement, lost in her thoughts. She didn’t feel a desire to be with the orphans right now, but Mother Griolet was counting on her more and more. The new children were terrified of everything. Mother Griolet looked tired and almost feeble lately. And to make matters worse, several children had broken out with chicken pox.

Gabriella wanted to help. But every time she saw Ophélie, she felt a prick of pain in her heart.
I need to tell you, too, dear little friend. I need you to know that I know.
But Gabriella had not felt strong enough to be able to hug Ophélie and act thrilled with the news that David Hoffmann was her father.

She walked into the classroom, poised and seemingly carefree. Mother Griolet was just finishing up the reading lesson. From above, the doorbell sounded loudly.

Gabriella whispered to her, “You get the door and then rest a bit. I’ll watch them until lunch. Go on.”

The nun gave Gabriella a grateful nod and exited into the hall, patting Gabriella on the shoulder as she left the room.

“Children!” Gabriella shouted, for they had erupted into chatter. “Listen, please! You have a few minutes till recess. I’d like a drawing of the sea and every kind of thing you can think of that you find in the sea.”

Several children grimaced, protesting. Jérémie shook his head vehemently. His face was still covered with scabs from his recent bout with chicken pox. Anne-Sophie and André looked much the same.

“Children, please,” Gabriella added crossly. “Get to work.”

She stepped out into the hall and listened. She could hear Mother Griolet talking excitedly, her voice agitated. “Yes, I understand, M. Philippe. You’re desperate for the child, but as I told you before, she’s not here. I’m afraid I can do nothing for you.”

Gabriella could make out Jean-Claude’s voice laughing, threatening.

“Yes, of course you may look around.” Mother Griolet was talking quickly, loudly. “Of course. Follow me.”

At once Gabriella raced back into the classroom. Trying to sound composed, she whispered, “Children! It’s time for the play to begin. Wad up your papers! Quickly. Thank God for our healthy bodies. What would it be like if it were not so?”

The children, delighted, began crumpling up their papers, tossing them into the air, grunting and yelling as they played. Gabriella grabbed Ophélie’s hand and motioned to the Arab children to follow her down the hall to the large storage closet at the end. She rattled the key and unlocked the door, pulling Ophélie and the other children in after her. With the same key, she locked the door from the inside.

“It’s going to be fine, children,” Gabriella whispered. “We mustn’t make a sound.”

She led them to the back of the closet, where they squatted behind boxes of cleaning supplies and old brooms. In the darkness Gabriella listened for Mother Griolet’s voice, but all she could hear was a low moan coming from Ophélie.

“Mama. I want my mama.”

She put her arms around the child, and they waited.

Mother Griolet’s hands were trembling as she opened the door to the basement classroom. She sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving at the sight before her. Some of the children were babbling, throwing wads of paper at each other, while a few crouched in the corner, drooling. M. Philippe stood beside her, observing the scene.

“Children! Children! Please be quiet. We have a guest.”

This only caused the children to increase their wild behavior.

Mother Griolet, looking harried, turned to M. Philippe. “I’m sorry, it’s hard to control them.”

“I can control them if I have to,” he said, striding into the classroom.

Mother Griolet cleared her throat. “M. Philippe, excuse me, but I must warn you that several of the children have chicken pox. It’s quite contagious. I’m sure you have had it?”

He wheeled around angrily. “Never mind. I’m not afraid.” He turned and glared at the children with scabby faces.

“No, of course not. It’s only, as I’m sure you realize, that it’s quite dangerous for adult males to catch the disease.” She lowered her eyes. “You know what I mean?”

“What?” He cursed impatiently while he scanned the room. Then understanding flashed across his face. He reddened and turned to the nun. “Go on then. Show me around this place.”

“As you wish,” she replied calmly. “You will excuse me. I must call one of the Sisters to stay with the children. Here, step out into the courtyard with me.” She rushed him past the storage closet and into the frosty February air.

“
Coucou!
Sister Rosaline! Sister Isabelle!” After a brief wait Sister Rosaline appeared, her cheeks flushed.

“Yes, Mother Griolet?” she questioned, eyeing M. Philippe with suspicion.

“Sister Rosaline, could you please watch the children for me? This nice young man would like to have a look around the facilities. I’m afraid the children are a bit wild today.”

Sister Rosaline nodded and let herself in the basement door.

“Now if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the dormitories.”

He caught Mother Griolet roughly by the shoulders. “I’ll look around myself,” he spat. “I want to check things out real well.”

Mother Griolet followed him into the dormitories, calling to him calmly, “As you wish,
monsieur
. But I assure you, we don’t have your niece here with us.”

She sat down on a bunk bed in the boys’ dormitory and watched the frenzied man at work, looking under beds, in closets, in restrooms. All the time, Mother Griolet kept repeating silently to herself,
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.… The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil.

The Frenchman never stopped his search long enough to see how violently Mother Griolet’s hands were shaking in her lap.

Jean-Claude Gachon searched through every room of the church and orphanage of St. Joseph. An hour passed, and still the children played loudly in the courtyard and threw food in the dining hall as Jean-Claude looked on in disgust. “Nuts. Real nuts,” he muttered angrily. But no little Ophélie Duchemin and no redhead named Gabriella.

He felt a slow rage building inside as the wind whipped and banged the shutters of the school building. He walked into the basement from the garden with the nun following behind. Jean-Claude turned to his left and pointed to another door. “What’s in here?”

“Supplies,” the nun answered. “Have a look if you wish.”

He tried the door, but it was locked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I keep it locked because of the children. You never know what these little savages might get into. Just hold on a minute, and I’ll fetch the key.”

“Forget it,” he said impatiently. Jean-Claude was angry that he could not frighten the old woman. She must be nutty too, he deduced, as she answered each of his questions with quiet composure. But she was getting tired, he could tell. If he could keep her talking for a while longer, perhaps she would reveal something.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Sister. You have been most kind to show me around. I’m afraid I will have to keep looking. Please give my best to M. Hoffmann when you see him.” He let the phrase dangle before her like bait for a fish.

The nun looked at him, perplexed. “Excuse me, but I don’t know a M. Hoffmann. Are you quite sure you’re all right, M. Philippe?”

“Yes, I’m just fine. I’ll be going now.”

“As you wish, sir.” They walked up the stairs to the ground level together, and the nun opened the door for Jean-Claude.

Once again he looked around furtively. “
Au revoir
,” he mumbled over his shoulder. He walked briskly to the center of town, cursing to himself. “A house of nuts. A real house of nuts.”

“Dear God,” Mother Griolet cried, collapsing against the heavy wooden door. “He’s gone. Thank You, dear God. Forgive me, Lord, if You disapprove of our little scheme. Somehow it seems that You do not.”

Slowly she descended the stairs into the basement and hobbled along the hall to the end. She knocked softly on the door to the storage closet. “Gabriella? You can come out. God has given us healthy bodies.”

A shuffling noise came from inside the closet as someone fumbled with a key. Then the door swung open, and seven children escaped into the hall. Gabriella exited last, looking exhausted. She fell into Mother Griolet’s arms, and they embraced each other tightly.

“I was sure he would come in,” Gabriella confessed.

“It was the Lord who put the idea in my head: act as if you would be happy to show him the closet. I don’t know how that man could not see that everything about me was shaking.”

“Oh yes you do,” said Gabriella, with a tired smile on her face. She glanced upward.

“You’re right. Our God can blind the eyes of the enemy.”

The children still huddled around the two women, not moving.

“Come, children,” Gabriella prompted. “The game is over. Let’s go get some lunch. I’m starving.”

The Arab children eagerly ran after her to the dining hall. Ophélie stayed nearby Mother Griolet.

“What is it, Ophélie? You’re afraid, is that it?”

Ophélie nodded.

Mother Griolet hugged her to her breast. “There is nothing to be afraid of anymore. Everything is all right.”

“I want my mama,” the child replied. “I’m asking Jesus to please give me back my mama … and my papa, soon.” She stared at Mother Griolet with hopeful eyes.

The old nun patted the child’s head. “This is a good prayer, little Ophélie. This is good.”