J.C. and the Bijoux Jolis: The Rousseaus #3 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 14) (23 page)

September 9, 1939

Camille Trigére Lévy sat by the small window of her third-class cabin on the Holland–America SS
Volendam
, finishing the needlepoint she’d started in
Boulogne-sur-Mer,
watching the emerald-green coast of Ireland grow smaller and smaller in the far distance.

She was officially at sea.

Everything had happened so quickly.

Six days ago, France and England had declared war on Germany, and the following day, her parents had sat her down in their kitchen for a very serious conversation that they’d obviously been planning for some time.

Her father took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “We heard the whisperings about changes from our relatives in Poland, and now…now, as you know, the worst has happened. The Germans have invaded.”

Camille
did
know, of course, but the news hadn’t felt very relatable. The Germans had invaded faraway Poland. But France was France—strong and, in her opinion, superior in every way. More modern. More sophisticated. She was sorry for what had happened in Poland, but certainly it wouldn’t have too great an impact on her, would it? France and England would send some soldiers to go sort it out, and everything would go back to normal, right?

“Several months ago, we took all our savings, everything we had…and we bought tickets,” said her father, his voice low and urgent, “for a cabin on a Dutch ocean liner from
Boulogne-sur-Mer to New York
on September 9
. Two tickets. One for you, and one for your brother.
”

“But this morning, your brother joined the army of
La Troisième République
!” her mother shrieked, balling her fists in frustration as tears poured from her eyes. “He’s going to be a soldier. He wants to die! He wants to get himself killed by Germans!”

“
Non,
chérie
,” her father had said, standing to place an arm around his wife’s shoulders and speaking gently. “No. He wants to fight for a free France. He’s young, but he’s a man and he—he has the right to fight for what’s right.” Swallowing as though it was painful, he turned back to Camille, his only other child. “Jules is gone. Your mother must go with you now.”

Her mother gasped, turning to her husband with wide eyes and gaping lips.

“I’m not going to New York!” exclaimed Camille, putting her hands on her hips as hot tears scorched her eyes. “I’m marrying Gilles. We’re going to Paris!”

“Paris?” her mother demanded, crossing the kitchen to grab her daughter by the shoulders and shake her. “We’re at war, girl! You’re not going off to Paris.”

Camille’s heart had raced with the sudden stark realization that life as she knew it was over. Dreams of modeling in Paris? Over. France was at war, and that war wasn’t a make-believe, distant conflict that would be sorted quickly. No. In that moment, she felt her parent’s fear and the lengths to which they’d gone to plan for her safety.

“Papa?” she murmured.

He nodded, rubbing his eyes again. “You’ll be safe in New York. We’ve arranged for you and Jul—for you to stay with old friends from Provence, the Rosenbaums. They’ll help you find a job and…and…” His voice tapered off, and his head bent forward in sorrow.

“I’m not going,” her mother said softly to her father, wrapping her arms around his slim frame. “I’m staying here, Ira. I’m staying with you.”

“
Non,
chérie
. You will go. I will stay here to be a home for Jules. We will join you and Camille in America after the war is—”

“I’m not going,” she said again. “It says in Ruth, ‘Whither thou goest, there go I.’”

“That was the case of a daughter-in-law and mother-in-law,” he said, caressing her cheek tenderly. “You’re making a better case for going with Camille,
chérie
.”

“I’m not going,” she said a final time. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to her daughter. “Has Gilles asked you? To marry him?”

Camille, who had taken a seat at the kitchen table, nodded. “
Oui.
We were supposed to leave for Paris tomorrow.”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “Were you going to tell us?”

“I was going to leave a note.”

“
Merde
,” her mother murmured. “If things are that far along, you’ll be married tomorrow.”

“
Tomorrow
?”

“
Oui. Demain.
The rabbi will make a special exception. And you’ll be on that train to Boulogne-sur-Mer on Wednesday as planned. There’s an inn with a room booked for three nights. And then…on Saturday…you’ll go to New York City. With Gilles.”

“Maman!” she cried, “I can’t go to New York. I can’t leave France! I can’t leave you!”

“You will go!” her mother commanded, her voice like steel, though tears ran down her face in rivulets. “I will
not
lose both of my children!”

“But you
will
be losing me! How do you know I’ll ever see you again?”

“I don’t,” said her mother with a wince that made Camille’s blood run cold. She stepped forward to sweep her daughter’s dark bangs from her forehead and pressed her lips to Camille’s warm skin. “But I know that you will live. You’ll have the chance to make a good life away from this madness.”

The world is going mad,
petite
. Leave France behind. Promise me that you will have a good life.

As Ireland slipped completely away, Camille wiped the tears from her cheeks and stepped away from the cabin window, turning as Gilles entered the tiny cabin with a huge smile on his face.

“Well, we’re officially under way!” he said, excitement making his eyes shine with promise. “We could take a stroll on the deck before supper.”

She nodded, hoping he couldn’t tell that she’d been crying. Tying off the last bit of embroidery thread, she looked up at Gilles and smiled. “I’d love some fresh air.”

Taking her hands in his, he kissed her forehead, and then her cheeks, and then her lips. “What an adventure, huh? Someday we’ll tell our children’s children how we left France behind and started a new life in America!”

No
, she thought,
we won’t tell them. We won’t tell them that the France of our childhood was no longer
our
France. We won’t tell them that the France we loved was no longer safe for us. No, my darling. We won’t tell them anything. We will leave France behind, and we will have a good life in America.

“Are you ready for a new life, Mrs. Lévy?” he asked in French, offering his arm.

“Yes,” she answered her handsome husband in stilted English, “I am ready.”

THE END

The Bohemian and the Businessman

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J.C. and the Bijoux Jolis

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