“Ah, well, then maybe.” Willie dropped his face into his hands. “What am I going to say to the Chapmans?”
There wasn’t any right answer. There wasn’t any wrong one either. Even if those were Victor’s bones, he wasn’t in that pine box. He was somewhere else now. The only people for whom it mattered were still alive. “What does your instinct say?”
Willie looked up and stared at me. “It’s not him.”
“Then it’s not Victor.”
Willie’s hard gaze melted into a pool of gratitude for my faith in his judgment. He blew out a breath. Then another. “I’m sorry, Beatrice.”
Had Willie just apologized for something? I was so shocked it took me a moment to recover. I wanted to ask what he was sorry about, but he wet his lips and stared straight ahead. “I’ve made you late for your visit to Chavaniac . . .”
“I’m the president; they have to wait for me.”
He put his hand on my knee. “Your work there seems to have made you happy. Happier anyway.”
“I owe you for that and much more.”
“Less than you suppose,” he said. “As it happens, there’s nothing I’ve ever given you that you haven’t transformed. I buy a house, you make it a home. I buy a hotel, and you make it the showpiece of New York. I give you a chateau, and now it’s an international charity with an impressive budget.”
My heart swelled, feeling this was very fine praise. “You’ve always known I was a good investment.”
“I’ve always known you were more than that.”
I love thee against my will, I thought. Our marriage was dead, but love survived. Unfortunately, it didn’t change that we could never live together again. And it didn’t change that our marriage was broken beyond repair. He must have known it, because his shoulders rounded in defeat. “I regret . . . well, I try never to regret, but I won’t fight you about the banker if that’s what you really want.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, and kissed his cheek.
We were silent a long time after, just sitting together reflecting on all that had passed. Then he drew me into a companionable embrace. “We had a good run, didn’t we?”
And my smile was bittersweet. “That we did.”
FIFTY-THREE
MARTHE
Chavaniac-Lafayette
August 1943
A black Mercedes-Benz, polished to a mirror finish, rolls into the castle drive, and two Gestapo officers step out.
It’s morning and the sun is already scorching hot, but I go cold with dread. I’m supervising the girls, who are having their breakfasts, sipping from bowls of café au lait in the castle’s dining hall, which no longer boasts of checkered tablecloths, for these have long since been torn up for bandages or washrags. The littlest girls are swinging their feet, because they’re not tall enough for their chairs. Some of the older girls are gossiping or reading books at the table, and Josephine is braiding her sister’s unruly hair.
They’re all so innocent of the evil at our door. And I don’t want to scare them, but I’m already panicked. With sweaty palms, I remind myself there could be simple reasons for the Gestapo’s visit. Maybe they want to requisition the castle for that fat German general after all. I feel a little flare of anger to realize they might even be here at the baron’s invitation, since he’s chummy with some Germans—maybe they want advice.
Still, when the occupying officers at the castle’s door bang loudly with the brass knocker, I jolt, because I know they could be here for the Jewish children. Josephine’s eyes dart to me, then to the window, and I see her struggle to hide her fear. Should I grab her and Gabriella and hurry them out? We’d be noticed—maybe even chased—and we’d have to leave Daniel behind in the boys’ dormitory, because it’s half a mile away.
It might be better to brazen it out.
Of course, the Gestapo might be here for me, but nothing I use to forge papers now can’t be explained away; teachers and artists need ink, pens, compasses, and glue. It’s only the papers themselves that are incriminating. If they search and find the identity cards I’ve been making for the OSE and hiding in Madame Beatrice’s old hatboxes, they’ll not only guess that I’m a forger—they’ll have pictures of exactly which children to hunt down.
If they catch you, they can catch everyone you help, because forgers know all the real names . . .
I should’ve had a better plan for this. I need to get the documents and the kids out of the castle, so I hastily reassure the girls, “I’ll be right back.” Then I race up the back spiral staircase, taking the old wooden steps two at a time. I grab the identity cards—four in all—and stuff them into my girdle. As I race back down the stairway, I’m sure I haven’t been seen, but as soon as the sole of my saddle shoe hits the stone landing, someone calls to me.