Aubrielle's Call (10 page)

CHAPTER 15

Aubrielle eased the door to her father’s room shut and stood silent for a moment, eyes closed and head bowed.

Mon Dieu, give me strength.

Papa had barely eaten and could not be tempted by
Tante
Mae's fresh baked bread. Instead, he claimed it was well past evening prayer and promptly returned to his bed.

At least he knew who I was when he whispered good-night.

In her room, she sat in front of the small vanity that had belonged to her mother and covered her face. As shocking and heart-wrenching as Mama’s sudden death, three years ago in a car accident, it felt less brutal than Papa’s slow decline. His long illness challenged them both to the limits of their strength. At times, he understood how ill he was, and apologized profusely for adding to her burden. At others, he called her by her mother’s name and spoke of having a child one day.

His tears this morning were especially hard to bear. A simple Hebrew prayer was all he asked.

And I couldn't even give him that
.

She’d watched Papa practice Judaism her whole life. That she and Mama worshiped differently never mattered a child beloved by both parents.

In her entire life, she had never accompanied Papa to the
Synagogue de la Victoire
where she would have been separated from him and placed in the womenfolk’s prayer room. Instead, Aubrielle attended mass at St. Joseph's near the
Champs-Élysées
with Mama and
Tante
Mae.

Aubrielle straightened her spine as an idea took hold. She turned to her mirror and removed the rollers from her dark hair. The curlers scattered across the vanity, and she pulled her hairpins and brush from the drawer.

I’ll speak with the rabbi today.

He may have a suggestion how she could ease her father’s spirit. Perhaps he could even teach her a prayer or loan her a prayer book.

And if he did, could Papa read it?

Her mind raced with all she could ask the temple elder as she twined the thick curls on either side of her head around her fingers. Without breaking her train of thought, Aubrielle secured the roll of dark hair to her head with hairpins. The long curls at the back of her head she captured in a large green barrette.

Although she had never been inside the synagogue, she knew its location. As soon as
Tante
Mae returned, she would set out. She dressed in a light green button-up blouse, her full green print skirt, and white, low-heeled Oxford pumps. She laid her warm wool overcoat across her bed and found a soft black scarf to cover her head.

The sudden tap on the back door startled her from her thoughts, and for a moment, she couldn’t understand why
Tante
Mae didn’t use her key. Then she remembered.

Monsieur Larson
.

A tickle of anticipation fluttered in her stomach followed closely by a wedge of anger. She would not forgive his abandonment of her dinner invitation for a night of revelry with friends so quickly.

Aubrielle glanced at her reflection in the mirror and smoothed a curl. After his second knock, she left her room and opened the door.

A gust of cold air ushered in, and she shivered. “
Monsieur
Larson. What a surprise.”

“Good morning,
Mademoiselle
Cohen.” He touched the brim of his hat, his smile inviting and relaxed. “Mrs. Moroney said you would expect me.”

“But who knows if you would show,
monsieur
?” Her thin smile didn’t reach her eyes. “After all, you told me yesterday you had no acquaintances in Paris, yet
Tante
Mae said she must tend to your friend this morning.”

“I owe you an apology
.”
His smile faded, and he tipped his head. “An unforeseen emergency arose.”

“An emergency so dire you could not send regrets?”

“I had thought to stop when I passed your home last night, but you had another guest at your door.”

He saw Henri.

Aubrielle blinked as heat spread across her cheeks. “A guest should not have stopped you.”

“That’s true.” His smile reappeared. “If I might come inside and explain?”

“By all means—” She opened the door fully and extended her arm. “I’m sure your excuses will prove entertaining.”

She preceded him down the hallway indicating the closed door adjacent to the kitchen. “Papa is resting,” she informed him in a soft voice. “We may talk in the front room.”

John removed his hat and set the gift box on the center table. “I brought you a gift.”

“An apology gift?”

“Not originally. I’d intended to give it to you before dinner last night,” John said.

“I see. Then please, offer your explanations, but be brief. I have an errand to run as soon as
Tante
Mae returns.”

“Very well. When I told you I knew no one in Paris, it was true. I wasn’t aware these men had remained in the city.”

“So you have more than one friend here?”

“I have two acquaintances. One who is injured, and the other, as of last night, is missing.”

“Injured and missing?” Aubrielle sank into the chair. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you.” John removed his coat and sat across the table from Aubrielle. “First, I must explain how I know these men.” John ran a hand across the back of his neck.

“There is no commerce between our countries right now. America has declared both Britain and France 'hostile nations’ due to your war with Germany. The only ship I could find bound for France intended to smuggle American weaponry to your countrymen to fight the Germans.”

Aubrielle nodded.

“After we brought the weapons ashore, they were sold and loaded into a truck. Since the smugglers and I were both headed to Paris, they offered me a ride. Once we had parted company, I hadn’t thought to see them again.” John’s searching gaze never left her face.

“Go on,” Aubrielle said.

“Last night, one of the men arrived at my door with a gunshot wound to his side. He told me they’d been betrayed during the arms exchange.”

“Betrayed?” Aubrielle shook her head. “Are his injuries serious? Will he recover?”

“Mrs. Moroney believes Billy will recover. I’m still trying to locate his friend, François.”

“I had no idea you were involved with assisting the French Army—”

“My part was minimal. I assure you. Had Billy not arrived when he did, I would have been with you last night instead of searching for François. Please, accept my apology.”

“
Oui
. Of course.”

“
Merci
.” John relaxed back in his chair. “And now, you should open your present.”

Aubrielle pressed her lips to stop her grin and reached for the container. “You should not bring me gifts.” The ribbon slipped from the box. She opened the package and pushed back the tissue paper. Ivory-white, kid-suede gloves were revealed. She caught her breath. “These are lovely.”

“Try them on,” John urged.

“I should not. These are costly gloves. Too expensive for me to accept.”

“Nonsense. There were far more high-priced gifts I could have chosen. Besides, these gloves suit you, and you need them. If you had worn gloves yesterday, your hands would have been spared.”

Reminded of the attack in the park, Aubrielle glanced at the scuffed skin on the heel of her palms and placed the glove into the box. “This is true, but then your fine gift would have been marred by my foolishness.”

“What happened yesterday wasn’t your fault. Never think that. You trusted someone you thought you knew.”

“And I barely know you,
Monsieur
Larson. How can I trust anyone anymore?”

The sadness in John’s eyes belied the smile on his face. “
Mademoiselle
Cohen, on my life I swear, I will never betray your trust.”

Something moved inside her chest, and her throat tightened. She took his outstretched hand and gave a short chuckle as she wiped away a tear. “You must think I’m daft,
Monsieur
Larson.”

“Not at all. And please, call me John.”

The sudden rattle at the back door caused Aubrielle to pull back her hand from his and wipe her cheeks as she came to her feet. She looked down the hallway and waved to Mae. “Papa is asleep,” she said in a hushed voice.

Mae nodded and removed her coat and scarf before joining the couple in the living room. “Your young friend is mending well,” she told John. “Oh, what lovely gloves.”

Aubrielle’s cheeks grew warm. “They’re a gift from John.”

“John is it now?” Her teasing smile was warm. “They’re beautiful.” She gestured down the hall. “Your Papa went back to bed?”

“Yes. He’s confused this morning.” Aubrielle glanced toward her father’s door. “Would you stay with him while I run an errand?”

“Yes, of course, dear.” Mae glanced between Aubrielle and John. “Perhaps Mr. Larson would accompany you?”

“It would be my pleasure.” John lifted his coat and hat.

“That is kind of you, but I truly don’t need an escort.”

“You are most capable, I know, but please don’t deny me the pleasure of your company.” John gave Aubrielle a short bow, then grinned and winked at Mae.

Aubrielle rolled her eyes and paced down the hall to her room.

Why am I so taken with this American?

His playful banter was not unlike Henri’s, which only annoyed her. She shrugged on her coat and pulled her long hair from beneath the collar, then tied the scarf around her head. When she stepped from her room, John was waiting in the cloakroom near the back door.

“Don’t forget your gloves. It’s cold outside.” John held out the leather gift with a question in his dark eyes.

Aubrielle took the gloves with a smile. “Thank you, John.”

CHAPTER 16

The mist from their breath trailed them down the steps and across the yard.

John eyed the low clouds as he held the gate for Aubrielle. “Must you run this errand today? I believe we may have snow.”

“Yes, I must.” She tugged the scarf beneath her chin. Her nose had already turned pink from the cold temperature.

“Where are we going?” John followed her down the alleyway and onto the narrow cobbled street.

“To the
Synagogue de la Victoire.
I must speak to a rabbi about Papa.
”

“That is too far to walk with snow threatening. I will flag a cab up ahead.
”

Aubrielle glanced back at John. “I don’t take cabs when I can walk.”

“Nevertheless.” John raised his hand to a passing cabbie, and the vehicle slowed to a stop. “This will make your task much quicker—and warmer.”

At the synagogue, Aubrielle opened the car door as soon as the cab stopped.

John paid the driver, then stood on the sidewalk beside Aubrielle, his interest drawn across the street to the magnificent architecture.

“Do you know the rabbi?” John looked at Aubrielle.

She caught the side of her lip between her teeth. A frown line creased her brow. “
Non
. I’ve never been inside.”

Together they crossed the street and stepped beneath the tall arches. John opened the middle door, and they walked in from the cold.

A thin-haired middle-aged gentleman in a dark suit and a yarmulke approached. He greeted them with a short bow. “
Shalom mademoiselle, monsieur.
”

“
Bonjour
.” Aubrielle cast an uncertain glance at John. “Would it be possible to speak with a rabbi?”

“Certainly. How may I help you?” He responded in English, and his smile took in both John and Aubrielle.

Aubrielle blinked. “I’m sorry—I didn’t realize—”

“No need to apologize.” His welcoming grin grew wide. “You are tourists then?”

“No.” Aubrielle swallowed. “I had hoped to speak with you concerning my father.”

The rabbi handed John a yarmulke from a wooden case by the door. “In respect for our King.” He gestured toward the side of the temple. “Perhaps some privacy is needed. There is a room this way we may use.”

John removed his hat, fit the yarmulke on the back of his head, and then followed Aubrielle and the rabbi away from the sanctuary.

In a small meeting room lined with chairs, the rabbi gestured to the seats. “Please, be comfortable. I am Rabbi David. Again, how may I serve you?”

Aubrielle took a seat in the nearest chair.” My name is Aubrielle Cohen. My father is Louis Cohen. He comes here to worship, or he did before he became too ill.”

“I’m sorry.” The rabbi’s smiling face grew somber. “I remember Lou Cohen. I didn’t know he was sick.” He turned to John and offered his hand. “Rabbi David.”

“John Larson. I’m a friend of the family.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Larson. American?”

“Yes.”

Rabbi David released John’s hand and sat across from Aubrielle. “Tell me about your father.”

Aubrielle looked down and wrung her gloved hands.“He suffers from Mad Hatter’s disease.” She shrugged one shoulder. When her gaze rose, tears filled her eyes. “The illness has progressed so rapidly this fall, and has taken much of his memory.” She shifted in her seat. “I fear he hasn’t much time left.”

John pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

She dabbed her eyes. “I apologize.”

“It’s quite all right. Losing your father this way—” Rabbi David shook his head. “How may I help?

“He has asked me to help him pray. He can’t always remember the words.” She paused and took a breath. “But I can’t. My mother raised me in the Catholic faith. I don’t know any of papa’s prayers.”

“And your father has no family, other than yourself? Do you not have an uncle or aunt who practices Judaism?”

“
Non.
” Aubrielle held the handkerchief to her nose. “None that I know.”

Rabbi David brushed his palms together as he considered his response “Teaching you the prayers, which are learned over a lifetime, would be difficult.” He tipped his head and set his palms on his thighs. “Although, perhaps there is another way to give your father comfort.” He glanced between Aubrielle and John. “Hanukkah begins in a few days. It may be that the joy of ceremony—lighting the
hanukiah
and celebrating together—will bring your father the peace you wish for him.”

Aubrielle sat straight. “When does Hanukkah begin?” Hope blossomed in her face.

“At sunset on the sixth. Are you familiar with the celebration?”

“Somewhat.” Aubrielle nodded. “It has been years since we celebrated Hanukkah. When Mama was alive, we celebrated both Hanukkah and Christmas.” She looked at John. “I know where Papa stored his
menorah
, the
hanukiah
, but I’ll need to purchase candles.”

“We can do that.” His chest tightened as though her smile tugged at his heart.

“Your father may also enjoy a game called
dreidel
. Do you know it?”

“I think so.” Aubrielle lips curled in a slow smile. “We played it when I was a child.”

“Good. Then I recommend you also purchase an inexpensive toy
dreidel
and perhaps a few chocolate coins—
gelt
. Those are very popular now. Otherwise, use small candies or coins.” The rabbi gave John a significant nod.

Rabbi David is giving them something to share. A memory for Aubrielle to hold.

Rabbi David leaned forward and laid his hand over Aubrielle’s. “Please remember that we are here for you, as well as your father. When he passes, send a message to the synagogue. We have volunteers that serve the community, and will take care of matters necessary to bury your father within his faith.”

Aubrielle’s eyes widened, and she swallowed. “Yes, of course.
Merci.
”

Rabbi David rose to his feet and shook hands again with John. “Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.” He turned to Aubrielle. “Take all the time you need. You will not be disturbed.”

“Thank you, Rabbi,” John said.

Rabbi David tipped his head to Aubrielle and John then departed.

John sat beside Aubrielle. “Are you all right?”

“I am.” She sniffed into the handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “Rabbi David is a thoughtful man.”

“He is.” John nodded. “He had good suggestions.” John took the handkerchief Aubrielle offered and put it back into his inside pocket. “Are you ready to go home?”

“I am.” She rose and moved to the door. “I need to make a list of things I’ll need before Hanukkah and find Papa’s
hanukiah.
”

John returned the yarmulke to the visitor’s box and slid his fedora on his head as he escorted Aubrielle out of the temple.

When their cab stopped in front of the bakery, John asked the cabbie to wait as he followed Aubrielle from the car. “I have an errand of my own to run.” As he spoke, his head bent naturally toward her.

Aubrielle leaned forward and tilted her head back. “I’ll be waiting.” She licked her lips and closed her eyes.

John’s stomach clenched with desire. He wanted to taste the mouth she so innocently offered. His arm encircled her waist and tightened as he pulled her close to his side. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed one of Mae’s bakers standing at the window of the
boulangerie
.

Instead of claiming Aubrielle’s parted lips, he kissed the apple of both cheeks in quick succession. “I won’t be long.” He released her. When he glanced at the window, the baker had gone.

Aubrielle backed from his arms. A blush deepened the color on her face. She waved her gloved fingers as he returned to the cab, then walked to the side of the Cohen’s Fine Millinery store and disappeared between the buildings. Her frozen breath hung in the still air.

“
Où allez-vous?
”
The cab driver inquired as he looked over the front seat at John.

John closed the cab door.
“La Banque de France. Merci.
”

John paused as he entered the bank and raised his index finger to catch the attention of a bank official. He removed his gloves one finger at a time and nodded as he approached the man. “
Bonjour, monsieur.
I would like a word with your head banker,
s'il vous plaît.”
He spoke both English and French with a noticeable British accent.

“Of course,
monsieur
. May I present your name and the nature of your inquiry?”

“
Bien sûr.
Tell him John Locke, Earl of Hawthorn, would like to open an account and withdraw funds.” He tossed his hat on the lobby sofa and stared down at the official with a steady smile. “A transfer from my London bank would be the first order of business.” He removed his overcoat and laid it alongside his fedora. “I trust the paperwork and authorizations can be accomplished without delay?” From his inside suit pocket he withdrew the envelope, the Earl of Hawthorn crest embossed on the front. He offered it to the banker.

The bank official hesitated, his eyes round. He took the envelope, nodded and took a step back.

“There’s a good lad. Off you go. I’m in a bit of a rush.” John folded himself onto the sofa, crossed his legs and adjusted his cuffs. “I’ve dinner plans with a young woman this evening and simply cannot be late.”