The lights popped nearby as a photographer captured Victor removing his tricolor pin off his jacket and putting it into the boy’s hand. “If you’re ever feeling scared without your father, you just hold this tight and know he’ll be watching over you. And I’ll watch over you too, if I can.”
* * *
—
My nephew was quiet on the way to Picpus Cemetery—a strangely hallowed place—a private burial ground far from the ordinary bustle of Paris. Three hundred of us passed through the plain wooden door, passed a small chapel, and walked a tree-lined path to place flower wreaths and drape an American flag where Lafayette was buried beside his wife.
The engraved stone slabs that marked the site were mantled in metal wreaths, weathered to a patina of verdigris. This was, I thought, a remarkably humble resting place for General Lafayette and his wife. Something the ambassador made note of in his speech. “No tall shafts rise toward the clouds to perpetuate their memories. Their monuments are in the loving, grateful hearts of their fellow men. In fact, I see all around me figures patterned on his model—a thousand Lafayettes.”
I felt buoyed by the applause. Strengthened and cheered. Then a speaker said, “As we honor Lafayette today, let us not forget his wife, whose steadfast devotion during the American Revolution made this day possible. All her life, she dedicated herself to the cause of liberty—running great risks and making great sacrifices. Women here with us today continue her glorious tradition.”
The speaker motioned to me, where I was standing with my lady friends. Emily made a little hiccup of surprise, while Marie-Louise and Clara squeezed hands. These things we did, small symbolic gestures . . . perhaps they mattered as much as I hoped they did.
Later, at the embassy, after Victor and his fellows demolished a five-course meal, they smoked the cigars Mr. Chapman gave them and readied for a night out. My nephew hung back, wrapping leftovers in newsprint.
“I can get you another portion of steak if you’re still hungry,” I said.
“I just want the bone for a puppy back at the front,” Victor said. “A true war dog. Born in the trenches. He’s not big enough yet to keep the rats away, but he sleeps near me at night. Hate to think of something happening to him without me.”
His voice broke and he was nearly in tears over a puppy . . . I realized it was more than that. “You’re thinking about leaving the legion.”
“I promised you I would,” he said, hanging his head. “After meeting Kohn’s boy, I think maybe it might mean something for me to join the aviators. I can die in the sky for the cause as easy as I can in a hole, but be more visible when I do. A thousand Lafayettes and all that . . .”
“Victor, I don’t want to hear any talk about dying for your cause. Better, as the saying goes, that you make a few of those German blighters die for theirs!”
He chuckled. “I’ll try to make you proud.”
I ruffled his hair. “I’m already bursting with pride in you, silly boy!”
“I guess I’d better tell my folks to pull strings.”
Spying the Chapmans across the banquet hall, I said, “Well, I’ll let you get on with it, since I don’t seem to be their favorite person at present.”
Victor gulped in the way he used to as a young boy, trying to cover up for the mischief of his siblings. “They just don’t want to tell you about Uncle Willie’s plans.”
In exasperation, I played a guessing game. I supposed my husband was going to join the French Foreign Legion. Then again, he didn’t like anyone in authority over him. More likely he was going to gin up a gun-running scheme or start a spy ring, as he’d done in times of old. Whatever Willie has planned, it’s no longer your concern, I told myself. I’d moved on to omelettes with a man who kissed me like he worshipped me. “Your uncle is free to live his life as he sees fit, and I intend to do the same.”
“He’s going to have his leg lopped off,” my nephew said.
The air around me seemed to bend, and I couldn’t catch a breath. “Pardon?”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Bea. Uncle Willie’s leg has been paralyzed since the surgery . . .”
How was that possible? I’d just seen Willie a few months ago. He’d looked better. Much recovered. Then I remembered that he hadn’t stood to greet me when I came to the table. Nor had he chased me when I stormed away. Realizing he couldn’t stand up, my temples began to throb, and I felt a wave of sickness.