Two Testaments (43 page)

“Sure, if you don’t mind the heat.” She followed him through the tiny cobblestone street, pointing out the healthy geraniums that tumbled from their window pots.

This time she listened as David explained his feelings of responsibility toward Anne-Marie after Moustafa was killed and Anne-Marie’s insistence that he belonged with Gabriella. They had come to a small park filled with chestnut trees, and he motioned to a bench in the shade of one tree’s wide limbs. “And now,” he said gently, “it’s time to talk about us. What are your plans?”

“My parents and sisters are coming in three days. They’ll stay with me at Mme Leclerc’s while she goes away for the month of August. Then I guess I’ll go back to the States with them, to college.” She met his eyes. “But I’m afraid … afraid that I’ll never see you again when I leave this little town.”

She didn’t give him a chance to reply. “Mother Griolet asked me to stay on and be her apprentice. Can you imagine? And I actually considered it before everything fell apart. I prayed and thought it out and made lists and came to the conclusion that God wanted me to stay here in Castelnau. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. And then it didn’t matter after all.”

“You would have done a terrific job.” He shook his head, smiling. “Dear Mother Griolet had it all worked out. You with the orphans and I with the young ladies. I mean, heading up the exchange program.”

“Would you have stayed, David?”

“Of course.” He took her hand. “I would have stayed right here with you for a long, long time.” Her head was bent, and David reached over and tenderly took her chin in his hand. “Look at me, please, Gabby.”

Her eyes, bright blue, shining, dared to look.

“You have said we must trust. I’ve done a miserable job at times. But our God won’t let me get away. I’m not sure I’m the man for you, with my raging and questions. But I catch on pretty quickly.” He glanced at his watch. “Uh oh. It’s past three. I’ve got a date with some pretty special guys back at the orphanage.”

“So did we decide anything, David?”

“Yes,” he said softly and drew her into his arms. “We decided to trust.”

Sister Isabelle answered Eliane’s knock at the parsonage door, a flustered look on her face. “
Bonjour, Madame Cebrian.
How very nice to see you.”

She focused on the three children, and Eliane noticed the color draining from her face. “Don’t worry, Sister Isabelle. We aren’t staying. We’ve only come to fetch Anne-Marie and Ophélie.”

The sister showed obvious relief. “Well, please come in. Is she expecting you?”

“No, not at all. I guess you could say I’m kidnapping her.”

“What a lovely idea!” She reddened. “I mean, well, you know what I mean.”

It didn’t take much convincing to get Anne-Marie and Ophélie to leave St. Joseph for the afternoon. “I’m treating you to lunch,” Eliane stated flatly.

“To lunch? With all the children?”

“Don’t worry. It’s all arranged.”

They rode into Montpellier and got off the bus at place de la Comédie. Anne-Marie sighed with delight. “It’s beautiful.”

“You’ve never been to the Comédie?”

Lazy students sipped drinks in cafés, finding refuge from the heat under the brightly striped parasols that adorned every table.

“Look at the fountain!” Anne-Marie pointed to the statue of the Three Muses that stood several hundred feet away from the ornate opera house.

“Mama,” Ophélie said, tugging on Anne-Marie’s sleeve. “That’s where Bribri and I met that awful man, Jean-Claude. Right over there.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Anne-Marie said, hugging her close. “What an awful memory. I’m glad that’s all over.”

“
Ah, oui.
Let’s not talk of bad things today,” Eliane said. “Come this way; there’s the most lovely park with a pond and ducks and swans and lots of swings and jungle gyms for the children. It’s just over there, on the Esplanade.”

The long tree-lined promenade with its splashing fountains opened before them. Again, Anne-Marie stopped and stared. “Just being here is like a taste of paradise. A city whose
vieille ville
is intact, where there are fountains and flowers and people enjoying the sunshine.” She grabbed Eliane’s hand. “Thank you for bringing us here!”

As they arrived at the park, a young Arab woman waved and came over to Eliane.

“Anne-Marie, this is Sarah. She lives beside our hotel, and she came with us on the train. She’s going to watch the children while we have a bite to eat.”

Before Anne-Marie could protest, Eliane led her back across the Esplanade where spacious, grassy rectangles were outlined with red and white impatiens that fluffed out into a round, brilliant hedge. On the other side of the Esplanade, they stopped at a little kiosk. The luncheon special for the day was written on a large blackboard that sat on a tripod. They studied it for a moment.

“What do think? A salad,
quiche
, and
sorbet
for only forty francs. With a
pichet de rosé
included.”

“It looks divine, but can you afford it?”

“Yes, of course. Don’t worry about that. This is our luncheon together.” They chose a table and sat down.

“Eliane, you’re so kind. It’s beautiful here. But what about the children, their lunch?”

“I packed sandwiches and
petits suisses
and fruits and cookies and plenty of water. They’ll be fine, and the park is in the shade. Sarah is very good with them. She’s helped me several times when I thought I might just pull out my hair.”

Anne-Marie looked surprised. “You feel that way too?”

“Are you kidding? With three little kids confined to a hotel room?” Eliane laughed.

Anne-Marie laughed too, and Eliane thought how lovely she was. For that brief moment she looked like a young, carefree woman, slim and stunning in her simple white silk blouse and floral skirt. Her hair was pulled back into a neat French braid.

“You look beautiful,” Eliane remarked.

“Me?
Merci.
It’s just the clothes.” She blushed. “It was a gift from God—some rich woman donated a pile of clothes just my size to the orphanage.”

“A gift from God, you said?”

Anne-Marie blinked, and she nodded slowly. “Yes. I don’t know why I said that.” She lowered her voice to only a whisper, so that Eliane had to lean forward and strain to hear. “Something strange has happened, Eliane. I haven’t told anyone. It’s been too … difficult and confusing at St. Joseph lately, with David arriving and … Moustafa …” She frowned, her eyes filling up with tears. “Can you tell me what it feels like to believe?”

“To believe what?”

“In God, in the Christ. It’s just so strange. When I learned about Moustafa, I couldn’t cry at first. I was numb, but a sweet sort of numbness, as if someone were carrying me in his arms. It was like that beautiful psalm. I’m a scared lamb that the shepherd is gently leading by the still waters. Could that be so? Could it be God?”

Eliane wiped her eyes, moved by Anne-Marie’s simple explanation. “Yes. I think so.” She smiled. “It sounds a lot like Him.”

“David talked to me. He … he offered to take care of me. Of us.”

Eliane nodded, not saying anything.

“I told him it would be wrong. That he belongs with Gabriella. I don’t know why I said it. It would be so nice to have someone to take care of me. But the words just came.” She took a sip of wine. “David cares for me, but he loves her. So here I am. The orphanage is closing, and I don’t know what we will do. But I’m not worried.” She gave a short laugh. “I try to worry, but I can’t. It’s that same feeling. Being carried.”

“How can I help you, Anne-Marie?”

“You’re helping me now. Taking me away for a moment to this beautiful place. I haven’t forgotten what you said: We can start over. A new chance.” She folded her hands on the table as the waitress brought a salad drenched in vinaigrette. “So what do I do now? While God is holding me?”

Eliane placed a white starched napkin in her lap and said in her brightest voice, “You wait. Jesus calls it ‘abiding.’ ‘Abide in Me,’ He says. He’ll show you what’s next. And, Anne-Marie, I want you to know that we will always help you in any way we can. Anything.”

“Merci.”

For a few minutes they ate in silence. The sky was a fervent blue without a cloud to be seen. The heat would have been unbearable if it were not for the faint breeze that rustled the trees on the Esplanade.

Then Eliane asked Anne-Marie about Ophélie, and for the next half hour the two women talked about their children. When they had finished their sorbet, as if on cue the children suddenly appeared, dashing across the Esplanade and squealing, Samuel chasing the girls and playfully pulling their pigtails. José wriggled in Sarah’s arms.

“Shall we go for a stroll?” Eliane asked, paying the bill.

“Oh yes, let’s. For just a little while. It is
une journée magnifique
. I don’t want this day to end.”

When the two women said good-bye a little later, kissing lightly on the cheeks before taking their separate buses toward their homes, Eliane felt happier than she had in all her time in France.

July 14. Bastille Day. A commemoration of that summer day in 1789 when French citizens stormed the prison in Paris and liberated the seven prisoners inside … and started the French Revolution.

Hundreds of Montpellieriens were crammed together on the grassy slopes on either side of the Lez river to watch the fireworks. At nine thirty all they waited for was dark to touch the sky.

Ophélie snuggled between Gabriella and Anne-Marie, rubbing her eyes, eager for the spectacle to begin. Ten other girls from the orphanage crowded close to the two women. David had found a spot nearby and busily entertained fifteen boys, threatening that they would be forced to memorize all of
La Chanson de Roland
if they so much as strayed an arm’s length from him. It amused Gabriella to see the respect these boys had for David. She bet they would’ve gladly jumped in the river and swum a mile upstream if he had asked it.

Mme Dramchini with Saiyda and Rachida kept watch on another bunch of children, and the Sisters had their hands full as well. Even M. Vidal was full of stories tonight, and children huddled close to him, listening intently. Seeing the growing crowds, Gabriella wondered if they had been foolish to bring all fifty-eight children into this mob. But when the first of the fireworks exploded in brilliant oranges and reds above the children’s heads, she knew it had not been a mistake. They oohed and aahed, clapping enthusiastically with each burst of light.

At least we can give them this
, she thought,
before we send them off to who knows where
. She was enjoying the display herself, but her mind wandered. There were only two weeks left for the orphanage. Mother Griolet had heard from Henri Krugler yesterday that he had found homes for several of the harki children in Lodève. That news had brought such a smile of relief to the nun’s pale face that Gabriella almost wished she could fabricate a place for each child, just to keep her from worrying.

The plane touched down on the runway, and butterflies danced in Gabriella’s stomach. Her family was really here. David and M. Vidal had both brought their cars to the airport so everyone would have plenty of room. Suddenly Gabriella was terrified at the thought of her family meeting David.