Two Testaments (55 page)

“I can’t believe it. It’s like a dream.” She picked up the other piece of the santon, walked out into the courtyard, and stared down at the statue. She recalled something Mother Griolet had said to her once …
We must be broken before we are useful to the Lord. Broken of our selfishness, broken of ourselves. In that brokenness, we have so much more to offer him.

Gabriella hugged the statue to herself and cried.

Anne-Marie didn’t like the way the man called Henri Krugler looked at her. She had not completely understood why this big, white-haired man from Lodève had shown up at Mother Griolet’s funeral. She understood even less why he was here today.

Joseph Cohen motioned to the group to once again take their seats. A butterfly danced in Anne-Marie’s stomach as she anticipated the letter from her father. She was almost afraid to read it. She had set her hopes on a few simple words—as important to her as a fistful of jewels.

“As you all know,” Joseph began, “Rémi has recovered the contents of his lost trunk in a warehouse in Marseille. Within the trunk was the will of Captain Maxime Duchemin. Eliane, I will let you explain the rest.”

“Thank you, M. Cohen. I was the executor of this testament.” She held up a thick envelope. “But when I studied the will four years ago now, I realized that there was nothing left. The Duchemin home neighboring ours in Algiers was looted.” She turned to Anne-Marie. “As I have told you before, there is nothing to be recovered from the house or the banks in Algiers. However, there was also this letter for Anne-Marie, to be given to you in case of his death.” Eliane produced a folded piece of parchment sealed with a gold medallion that had not been broken. “I’m very happy for you to have it at long last.”

Anne-Marie took the letter, stared at it, and ran her fingers over the seal. On the back in her father’s penmanship were written the words
To be opened in the presence of a notary public
. Then she looked up questioningly. “Am I supposed to open it now?”

“I think that would be best, if you don’t mind. You will understand, I believe, afterward,” Joseph said softly. Then he added, “And yes, I am a businessman but also a notary.”

She tore the gold seal with her fingernail. Inside was a one-page letter written in her father’s hand. Anne-Marie’s deep-brown eyes soaked in the words, and suddenly she was transported back to Algiers, in the large farmhouse, with her father singing lullabies to Ophélie.

November 15, 1957

My dearest Anne-Marie,

If you are reading this letter, it is because my fears have become a reality. I will not see you again on this earth. You must know how much I love you, how much I have always loved you, even though my proud, disciplined manner might have at times suggested otherwise.

Anne-Marie, all that we had in Algeria is worthless now, as you have doubtless understood from the will. You must leave Algeria at once. Flee to France. I know it will be hard, but I have provided for you there. This past summer, when I went to France for talks, I took some of our money and put it in an account in Switzerland. And I bought a house in a small town in the Cévennes mountains called Lodève. It is not too far from the city of Montpellier. My good friend Henri Krugler has the property rights for the house. It has been paid for in full, and he has agreed on the upkeep until you have need of it.

Henri is a Swiss pastor, a Huguenot descendant, a great man of faith. You would not remember him, but he was in Algeria years ago, and it was through his preaching that I began to see things differently. He is a man of God. He will help you, Anne-Marie, should anything befall me. Please contact him. In this way, I have made provision for you and Ophélie.

It is my fervent wish that we all be reunited at this little place in Lodève, in the foothills of the Cévennes mountains. But if you hold this letter, I fear that this wish shall not be granted. Therefore, I pray night and day that we will be reunited in another place where the God of the Bible promises no more crying or death. Until then, remember always that I have loved you—never have I stopped and never will I. You have brought me great delight, and now, with Ophélie, I am overwhelmed.

Je t’aime, ma fille,

Papa

Anne-Marie let the letter drop onto the table. She bit her lip, sniffed, and brushed her hand across her eyes, which were filling with tears. It seemed too incredibly impossible, and she was afraid to meet Henri Krugler’s eyes for confirmation.

Eventually she looked up at him. “I see now,” she said simply. “That is why you have been looking at me so intently. Papa says that he bought a house in the city of Lodève and that you, M. Krugler, have been keeping it up for me. Can it possibly be true?”

The white-haired man’s face broke into a gentle smile. “Yes, it’s true, Anne-Marie. I had given up hope, but you see, our God is full of surprises. When I saw you at the funeral, I was almost certain.” He produced a small photo of Anne-Marie holding Ophélie when she was an infant. “I went home and found this picture that your father had given me, and then I contacted Joseph. He suggested that I come this afternoon because, well, because my story is a bit wrapped up in St. Joseph as well.”

He stroked his goatee. “I’m afraid that the house is being used as a centre aéré at the present time. It is a rather complicated story. But don’t worry.” He flashed another smile. “The house is yours, all yours. I have the deed here in your name.” He handed her an envelope. “You’ll find also the number of your Swiss account. Everything is quite in order. I’m delighted that this has worked out so well for you,
Mademoiselle Duchemin
.”

“And what about the centre aéré?” Gabriella blurted out. She addressed Anne-Marie. “It’s a beautiful place. I’ve been there with Mother Griolet. It’s all been redone. There is land, and the mountains for a backyard.”

“Don’t worry about the centre aéré,” Henri Krugler stated. “The Lord has always provided just what I needed. If I could have a little time to warn the parents that the center will be closing …”

“But you’ve only just opened!” Gabriella protested.

Anne-Marie repressed a chuckle at her friend’s obvious distress.

Gabriella turned to her. “I’m sorry, Anne-Marie. You know I’m thrilled for you, but it is only that I know of M. Krugler’s story. He came to reach out to the Arabs, the harkis, and he has only recently opened the center. Didn’t you say, M. Krugler, that you had looked for other buildings?”

“Dear Mlle Madison. Thank you for your vote of confidence, but the house is by no means mine. As I said, I had given up hope and decided to put the place to good use.”

“Is it a large house?” Anne-Marie asked.

“Yes, actually it is. Very spacious. What they call an old
mas
. We have fixed it up a bit from when your father bought it.”

Anne-Marie felt sorry for this gentle man with the rich, soothing voice and the blazing eyes. “Oh, M. Krugler. I’m sure something can be worked out. Ophélie and I are quite used to living with other people, you see.” She smiled at Gabriella and the Sisters. “Don’t close the center.”

Henri shook his head. “The house is yours, Mlle Duchemin. You must come see it. Then you can decide.”

“Yes, yes. That is right. Of course.” She felt suddenly so light-headed, the room was spinning around her. “I don’t know what to say. It is like a dream that I never even thought to dream.”

“
Ooh là
, my child! Look how pale you are!” Sister Rosaline rushed to the kitchen and fetched a glass of water. “Drink this up now. Such a shock for you, and in this terrible heat.”

Anne-Marie closed her eyes and rested her head in her hands. She thought for a moment she saw Ophélie running in an open field with the mountains as a backdrop, and behind her daughter, Moustafa coming in from the fields, smiling and covered in sweat. It was a delicious vision. Today she had come to know another facet of her God. She had met the Christ first as a comforter; now she saw Him as a provider. She was sure that it would take her whole life, if she lived a very long time, to be fully introduced to this Person. It baffled her to think of it.

Gabriella felt chilled, and she could not imagine why. Perhaps she was coming down with the flu. Why else would she be shivering when the hot summer sun was setting records in the Midi?

She hoped David had understood that she had to be alone. Completely alone for one hour. She tried to think back on the past few days and weeks, but they were a blur. Everything in her ached. She felt as though for months someone had been tossing her emotions to and fro until she was sore and exhausted. It was all good. Good? Wonderful, extravagantly wonderful. Better than anything she could have possibly dreamed up.

Then why did she feel so absolutely drained?

She twirled the engagement ring on her finger. She needed time to think. Think! But there was no time. They needed an answer soon. If St. Joseph was to remain open, the answer must be given. The thirty days were almost up.

Only yesterday she had dreamed of a final year in school in the States with weekend trips to visit David and months to plan every detail of their wedding with her mother. A few days before that she had been sure a wedding would never happen at all. And if she thought further back, she had been wrestling through the same question that was before her now: whether to take on a job that was nothing by the world’s standards yet would require every ounce of her energy.

In her mind’s eye she saw Mother Griolet—the serene smile, the lively green eyes, the tiny frame that she held erect as she walked through the halls of St. Joseph.
Why did you have to leave when I need you most?

The question tumbled back toward her. It was by Mother Griolet’s death that all of this had come to pass.

Gabriella sat down in a field of dried grass. A few yellow dandelions offered the only color to the countryside. She lay on her back, shading her eyes from the sun with one hand, then rolled over onto her stomach and picked a dandelion. She needed an answer, and she needed it now.

On that day in May when the nun had offered Gabriella the job, what had she said?
Trust, Gabriella. God is perfectly trustworthy … perfectly capable of convincing you of His will, if you listen.

Yes, of course. That same little word. Trust. She had made her decision two months ago. Now it was coming back to welcome her. The only thing that was left for her to do was to walk into it with outstretched arms and a heart ready to serve.

32

When Anne-Marie walked into the restored farmhouse in Lodève, she had the sudden feeling that she had been there before. The couch in the spacious living room was the same tan leather one that had been in her parents’ home in Algiers for years. Two mahogany chairs, which her father had refinished, sat on the other side of a large stuccoed fireplace. Several paintings, her mother’s favorites, hung on the walls.

“Your father brought them over when he purchased the house,” Henri said, watching her look around. “He knew trouble was coming.”

Yes. Father had hinted at it, but she had been too preoccupied with baby Ophélie and her own concerns to let it register. And now these furnishings reached out to surprise and welcome her to her new home. She could barely take it in.