Two Testaments (31 page)

“Yes, I remember. We were all surprised to see the well-known captain walk in the door of the Temple Protestant.”

Anne-Marie got up her courage. “Tell me what he was like there, Eliane. At home he was so strict and aloof. He tried to explain his new beliefs, but I didn’t understand.”

“Did he act different?”

“Not really. Not at first. And then the war came, and he was gone so much. When he would come home, he had this urgency in his eyes, but I couldn’t understand. I was in my rebellious years. I didn’t want to hear. But now I do.”

The extreme guilt that had weighed her down years ago rushed back upon Anne-Marie. “We weren’t exactly on the best of terms when Mama and Papa were killed. I was living at home with them with Ophélie for a while. It was awkward. They did their best. But I was awful.” She covered her face with her hands. “Finally I moved out. And then they were killed. It was terrible, Eliane. I never really knew my father. Mama and I were close, but …”

They were leaning over the end wall of the courtyard, staring out at the leafy trees and the tiled roofs of the village.

Eliane’s voice was quiet, soothing, her hand gently squeezing Anne-Marie’s. “Whenever your father came to a prayer meeting, he would pray for all of you. He loved you so much. Maybe he couldn’t say it, but it was written on his face. He wanted you to know the peace he had found. It was so tragic, their deaths. So pointless and tragic.”

“Did you read his will, Eliane? Did you at least read it?”

“Yes, as executor, I read it. He left the house, his possessions, everything to your mother, and then, of course, to you if she were not alive. But there is nothing left to claim now. The house has been looted many times. It stands empty, waiting for the Arabs to take it over. But there is a letter for you with the will. I didn’t open that. I’m so sorry the trunk was lost.”

Anne-Marie suddenly longed for that letter. Anything in her father’s writing. To know he loved her, to know he forgave her. Something. Anything. But Eliane’s trunk was gone, so it looked as though what Anne-Marie would have was nothing at all.

The girls pored over the menu at Le Ménestrel, one of the oldest restaurants in Montpellier, debating between the
saumon fumé
, the
magret de canard aux figues
, and the
foie gras aux épinards crus
. Candles flickered on each table of four, and soft strains of Handel and Bach drifted in the background. The young women talked in hushed tones, only occasionally bursting out in a ripple of laughter. It didn’t matter. They were the only ones in the restaurant.

Later they enthusiastically sampled different cheeses, undaunted by the strong smells that had become so familiar to them over the past months. Stephanie chose a goat’s cheese and a bleu as well as a Saint-Marcellin.

“You’re brave!” whispered Gabriella, who took a wedge of Brie and a slice of Pyrénées.

“It’s my last chance,” Stephanie said cheerfully.

Gabriella closed her eyes briefly, soaking in the peaceful ambience, so different from the bedlam at the orphanage. She noted that the Sisters were enjoying every minute of “indulging the flesh,” as Sister Isabelle called it. Even M. Vidal seemed lively and talkative tonight, sharing stories of the war with an astonished group of young women. Mother Griolet’s voice sounded almost carefree as it mingled with M. Vidal’s, adding a detail here and there to an adventure.

When the group finally rose and left the restaurant, it was well past eleven. For Mother Griolet’s sake, Gabriella felt extremely thankful that the evening and the program had ended on a happy note. Even without David.

After breakfast the next morning, Gabriella and Mme Leclerc helped Caroline and Stephanie gather their bags and take them down the winding staircase to where a taxi waited. “Well, we’re off to the train station and three weeks of travel,” Caroline said happily. “You sure you won’t change your mind, Gabriella? We’re going to see seven countries in three weeks. It should be a real adventure. Take your mind off other things.”

Gabriella hesitated. It would be so nice to escape for a few weeks. But she had already made up her mind. Mother Griolet needed her. “No, I’m going to stay.”

“Waiting for David, huh?” Caroline eyed her slyly. “Well, I hope for your sake it’s worth it. Good-bye.
Au revoir
, Mme Leclerc.” She stepped into the taxi.

Gabriella turned and gave Stephanie a warm hug. “Have a good time on your travels. And be careful!” She was sorry to see her friend go. Stephanie looked at life so simply, taking whatever came without reading into it a deeper meaning. Gabriella gave her a kiss on each cheek. “I’m going to miss you. Thanks for everything.”

“We did have some fun times, didn’t we?” Stephanie laughed, then whispered, “And don’t pay any attention to Caroline. She’s just jealous. Promise me you’ll tell me how the story ends!”

“I promise.”

The taxi drove off over the cobblestones with Caroline and Stephanie waving from the backseat.

Mme Leclerc stood beside Gabriella, wiping her eyes. “It is always so
difficile
to see my girls go.
Ooh là là!
Thank goodness you’re not leaving me yet. And it will be
un vrai plaisir
to meet your family. When did you say they arrive?”

“On the sixteenth.”

“And I’ll be leaving for a month starting on July 23. It will work out just fine.”

“Thank you so much, Mme Leclerc. I don’t know what I would have done with them otherwise. It’s not as if they could stay at the orphanage.”

“
Oh là, non!
That’s for sure.” Mme Leclerc rolled her eyes. “I’m delighted to have them here. And don’t you worry about that Miss Caroline. I’m sure your M. Hoffmann will be coming back.”

“
On verra
,” whispered Gabriella. “I hope so. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

19

David had been right. Reluctantly Jacques came back for one more run with the
Capitaine
, agreeing to bring a last load of harki women and children to Marseille. Within the week, Moustafa had rounded up fourteen children as well as his mother and two sisters, all of whom were now ready to leave. They stood on an otherwise abandoned dock ten kilometers outside of Algiers. The sky was dark.

Jacques looked proudly at the assembled little group. “You did right to ask me, M. Hoffmann. You sure you won’t be coming with me now?”

“No, Jacques. Not yet. I have to get Moustafa to Philippeville on Tuesday. The harki boat is leaving then. Once he and his brother are safe, I’ll go too.” He patted Jacques on the back. “Thanks for coming back, Jacques. You don’t know what this means.”

Jacques flashed him a timid smile, shook his hand, and bellowed to the group, “Time to go, folks. Let’s get outta here!”

Mme Dramchini hugged her son to her breast. “You come soon, with your brother.” Before Moustafa had a chance to answer, his mother was scurrying about, counting children, memorizing names.

Moustafa had said she would be perfect for the job, and David could see he was right. Mme Dramchini was a real mother hen. Moustafa’s two teenage sisters followed her orders, gathering up luggage, wiping tears from little faces, whispering words of encouragement to frightened children.

“Did you get the message out soon enough?” Moustafa asked.

“I certainly hope so. I’m not sure what Jean-Louis will say when he sees this load of passengers.” David chuckled, then suddenly grew very serious. “There’s no room for them at St. Joseph. Gabby has written that the townspeople are protesting the arrival of Arab kids.”

“What will they do?” Jacques asked.

“If there’s no place at St. Joseph, they’ll be sent to the refugee camps,” Moustafa replied grimly.

Jacques cursed under his breath. “A prison in France.”

David shrugged. “At least they’ll live. Don’t worry, Moustafa. They’ll be safe. And when you get to France, your family will be waiting for you. A new beginning. You’ll see.”

David knew that his words did not sound convincing to Moustafa as the young Arab waved good-bye to his mother and sisters. Yes, at least these few would get away. But Hussein’s friend Fatima had not shown up. David thought it quite strange. She knew the day and the time. She had been so adamant about going. But there was no sign of her. David hoped she did not lie dead in some forgotten side street.

They couldn’t wait any longer. He motioned for Jacques to leave, and the
Capitaine
cast off from the docks and floated peacefully out into the Mediterranean.

For an instant, David felt the peace. He wished to high heavens he was on that boat. But everything was going to be okay. There was less than a week to wait. That was no time at all.

“Come on, Moustafa. They’re safe. Let’s go find Rémi and get home.” David yawned. “It’s past midnight.”

Moustafa nodded, and he and David walked through the heavy brush without talking, listening to the crickets’ incessant chirping. Somewhere a twig cracked. The two men stopped. David put his finger to his lips. Nothing.

Moments later, out of nowhere, three men in ski masks appeared. There was only a brief scramble before one of the hooded men caught David from behind. David looked around for Moustafa. The Arab lay on the ground, unconscious.

One of the men held his hand over David’s mouth, twisting his arm behind his back. “Where’s your car?”

David did not reply. The man hit David hard in the stomach, and he doubled over.

“Answer me if you want to live.”

“A friend let us off at the road,” he gasped. “He’ll be back soon.” Then everything went black.

Rémi Cebrian waited in his car three kilometers from the dock, concealed in the bushes. He was the eyes of this mission, his job to watch and warn if anything looked amiss. Another car, a dark-colored Peugeot, had driven by twice, slowed to a crawl, and parked five hundred meters up the road, near the path. Rémi flicked a match and read his watch. After midnight. The rendezvous for the children had been an hour ago. Why would someone show up so late?

He touched the rifle on the seat beside him, hesitating. Slowly he stepped out of the car, shutting the door with the slightest of sounds. He jogged through the bushes, toward where the car had disappeared.

Not far away he heard a faint rustling of leaves. He stepped farther into the foliage and heard David’s voice, followed by a curse and a thud. Then silence. From the hiding place he saw two masked men carry Moustafa and David over their shoulders and push them into the backseat of a car, while a third climbed into the driver’s seat. The doors slammed shut, and the car screeched on its wheels as it backed around and flew through the night.

Rémi felt his muscles go weak with fear. Then with some strange strength, he ran to his car and pulled into the road. He did not turn on the headlights but drove recklessly, terrified, in pursuit of the Peugeot. The stretch of road was deserted. Within five minutes he had picked out the car, still careening madly in the distance.

It was a brief prayer he sent to the heavens:
Give me eyes to see. Give me eyes to see.