Tangled Ashes (26 page)

“We need to call the police.”

Fallon nodded, taking a cell phone from his pocket. He got through to the operator at the police station and explained the situation in British-accented French. “Jojo? No, I don’t think it would have been him,” he said after a brief silence. “The old chap’s harmless.” He paused, listening. “We’ll be here,” he concluded, ending the call. “They’re on their way,” he said to Beck.

While they waited, the two men examined the gouged-out hole in the wall.

Becker shook his head. “This doesn’t look like something Jojo would do.” He was surprised at the defensiveness he felt for the old man. “I know he’s an odd character and all, but . . .”

“He’s not a criminal,” Fallon agreed.

“That why you haven’t kicked him off the grounds?”

“He’s part of the château’s lore, really. And the French have strict squatter’s rights that would make it illegal to evict him. As it is, I’m not sure he’d have anywhere else to go if I did force him to leave.”

“And he’d have to get used to life without Jade’s cooking.”

Fallon smiled. “She’s a bit of a saint, isn’t she?”

The men turned and exited through the dining room doors as they heard a car coming to a halt outside the castle. They joined the two gendarmes on the front steps and answered their questions as best they could. Becker had trouble taking the men seriously. They were dressed all in blue—navy-blue pants and a pale-blue button-down shirt under a navy vest—and wore on their heads the kind of hat Becker had thought only existed in old movies. Their képis were ridiculous pillbox hats with gold trim and a small, hard bill. It was all Becker could do not to stare.

Fallon introduced them to Becker as Officers Vivier and Maréchal, then informed the gendarmes that there had been a few other minor nighttime incidents in recent weeks. He was soundly reprimanded for not reporting them. After taking pictures of the damage and discussing possible motives, the only conclusion all four men could reach was that a better security system would need to be installed, including surveillance cameras, particularly as Thérèse’s antique furniture and decorative accents could potentially create more incentive for break-ins.

“We need to ask Jojo a few questions,” the older of the two gendarmes, Vivier, said after they’d covered all the bases.

“There’s no need for that,” Fallon told the man. “He’s never done any harm around here, and I doubt he’d be involved in this.”

Maréchal looked at Fallon in surprise. “You seem fairly sure of him.”

“I hardly know the old chap,” Fallon said. “But he’s lived here since Shakespeare was a child, so I can’t imagine that he’d choose last night to begin wreaking havoc in the castle.”

The gendarmes headed out of the castle and stowed their camera in the ridiculously common Renault they drove. Becker was certain he’d be able to outrun them on a moped. “We’ll just drop by and ask him a couple questions,” Vivier said. “See if he heard anything last night.”

Becker had had enough. “He doesn’t talk,” he said, hoping the information would disarm the policemen’s plans.

Vivier smiled a little too confidently. “We’ll see,” he said.

Fallon and Becker watched them walk the short distance to the gatehouse.

“Barney Fife has nothing on them,” Beck said to Fallon, anger searing the edges of his consciousness.

“Barney Fife?”

“Never mind. American reference. But those guys are not the ones I’d call if I was in trouble.”

Vivier walked up to the front of Jojo’s gatehouse and pounded on the door. It took a second knock before it was opened. From where Becker and Fallon stood outside the castle, they couldn’t hear what was being said. Jojo stood on the threshold, disheveled and squinting, shaking his head occasionally. Beck couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Jojo’s lips moving a couple times. He couldn’t imagine what the old man’s voice might sound like and had to resist the urge to stroll over to the gatehouse for a closer listen.

The younger policeman, Maréchal, finally closed his notebook, and, after a few more words, the two gendarmes walked back to the castle.

“Says he was in the barn across the way tending to a sick horse all night,” Vivier said. “Didn’t hear a thing.”

Fallon nodded. “Probably true. He spends quite a bit of time over there, from what I’ve gathered. I can check with the owner if you’d like.”

“No need for that. We’ll swing by on our way back to the gendarmerie.”

“Did you actually get him to talk?” Becker asked.

The gendarme shrugged. “Some. It got easier when I started asking only questions that required one-word answers. He’s not much of a conversationalist, is he?” He crossed his arms and divided
his attention between Becker and Fallon as he continued. “From what we’ve seen here, there’s very little we can do. We’ll keep our eyes open and make sure we send a car by at night. Are those gates always closed?” He pointed to the large wrought-iron gates that led into the castle grounds.

“I lock them every night after the workmen have gone and open them again in the morning before they arrive,” Becker said. “Unless Thérèse or Mr. Fallon gets here first.”

“And has it ever looked like someone had tampered with the lock?” Maréchal asked.

“Not that I remember. It’s just a padlock.”

“I’ll look into having a better lock installed, gentlemen,” Fallon offered. “And if you hear anything at all that might explain this break-in, do let me know. It’s the oddest thing, really—going to all that trouble to destroy a section of wall . . . and just a day before the opening festivities. The timing couldn’t be worse.”

“You call us if you see anything suspicious—anything at all,” Maréchal said, shaking Fallon and Becker’s hands. “And make sure you contact your insurance company before you start cleaning up. They might want to see the damage as it is.”

The two gendarmes folded themselves into their Renault and drove away, leaving Fallon and Becker no further ahead than when they had arrived.

“Well, my lad, it looks like I’ve got a couple calls to make. What do you think the chances are of having that door replaced by tomorrow?”

Becker hunched a shoulder. “It’s custom made. I’m guessing it’ll take longer than that.”

Fallon pursed his lips and nodded, turning back to look at the broken door again. “You didn’t hear anything last night?”

“Not a thing.” Becker had run himself to exhaustion just after midnight and had been dead to the world within minutes of
crawling into bed. “But I can assure you that I won’t be sleeping so soundly tonight.”

Fallon chuckled. “Don’t lose too much sleep over it. If whoever broke in felt any animosity at all, it was clearly directed at inanimate objects.”

Becker’s mind was on the task ahead more than on his own safety. “We can’t adequately repair the hole in the wall in the time we’ve got left,” he said. “The best I can offer is to hang something over it for now, until we can get new sandstone blocks cut and installed.”

Fallon’s eyes lit up. “I’m sure Thérèse has something splendid that would look just stunning there.”

Becker smiled. “I’m sure she does.”

“That’s it, then. Though Thérèse is not going to be pleased.”

The mere thought of Thérèse’s reaction had Becker smiling more broadly. “Break it to her gently.”

“I’ll be the epitome of British diplomacy, my lad!”

AUGUST 1944

T
HOUGH THE EVACUATION
of the manor had started as a slow and meticulous process, by midafternoon it had escalated into something approaching mayhem. Marie had spent a couple of hours packing up two of the residents, trying to keep them calm but knowing too little to truly assuage their fears. They wanted to know what was happening, when the Américains were going to reach Lamorlaye, and what would happen to them when they did. All Marie could tell them was that Kommandant Koch wouldn’t let any harm come to them. She wondered if the expectant mothers could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

It was just past 3 p.m. when an officer carrying a portable radio rushed across the lawn from the communications office and stormed up the stairs to Koch’s office. He hadn’t been there more than a minute before the Kommandant came out into the hallway and began barking orders. “Get the women into the cars! Pack the remaining boxes into the trucks and fill the rest of the space with whatever artwork you can take off the walls! You!” he yelled at Marie. She’d been helping a panic-stricken Elise down the stairs. “Leave her and fetch Frau Carpentier instead. She’s in the solarium. You can take care of your friend when the other women are out of harm’s way!”

Marie froze. She couldn’t just abandon Elise, not while she shook with fear, pale-faced, terrified of what the next twenty-four hours would hold. “But—” Marie began.

“Now!” Kommandant Koch bellowed, making Elise whimper and Marie start.

“I’ll be quick,” she whispered. “Can you make it to the couch? You go sit there while I find Frau Carpentier, and I’ll be right back. Okay?” Elise didn’t respond. She just stood immobile, three steps up from the bottom of the stairs, slightly bent and clutching Marie’s arm. “Elise?”

The eyes she turned on Marie were glassy. “I think . . .” She couldn’t formulate the words, but when Marie’s eyes traveled down to her friend’s feet, she instantly understood. Elise stood in a small pool of fluid.

“Oh no,” Marie said, her own panic rising at the sight. “Elise . . .”

“It’s too soon,” Elise murmured, her voice tremulous, one hand protectively covering her belly. “What if . . . ?”

“Fräulein!” Kommandant Koch yelled from the top of the stairs. “I’ve given you an order!”

“But Elise is—”

“Now!”

Marie stood immobile for another couple of seconds before launching into action. Her legs felt wobbly and her mind was numb with the riot of thoughts clashing in it, but she knew she’d have to be the one making decisions for her friend. “Elise,” she finally said, her voice as firm as the hand that gripped her stricken friend’s arm. “Go sit on that couch. Right now. Your water broke, but you still probably have hours before the baby arrives, and the sooner I get the other residents squared away, the sooner we can get you to the castle!”

Elise didn’t budge.

“Elise!” At her wits’ end, Marie half dragged Elise down the last few stairs and to the sofa near the window. “I’ll run upstairs and get some fresh clothes for you. Change into them and stay here. You hear me? Stay here until I come back.”

Elise’s eyes were filled with tears when she looked up. “Are they going to take my baby?” she asked, the words barely above a whisper. “Are they going to take my baby, Marie?”

“Fräulein!” came the Kommandant’s voice again.

“No,” Marie said hastily. “They’re not.”

“But—”

“We’ll figure something out, Elise.” She grabbed the terrified young woman’s chin and forced her to make eye contact, hoping her gaze held little of the panic she felt. “We’ll figure something out,” she repeated.

This time, Elise nodded.

“I’ll be back with your clothes,” Marie said, backing toward the stairs. “Just take deep breaths, okay?”

While the remaining residents prepared for their departure, the military personnel gathered every document they could find and filled large boxes to the brim with the paperwork of the twelve months of the Lebensborn’s existence. There was no organization to their methods. They threw the documents into boxes pell-mell and carted them out to the front of the manor as quickly as they could. This was not the rigorously metronomed labor Marie had come to expect from the Germans, and their haphazard efforts to vacate the manor only accentuated her conviction that something was terribly wrong.

An hour later, the last of the expectant mothers had been helped into a limousine and sent off to the château. When Marie reentered, she found Elise still sitting on the sofa where she had left her, a look of abject despair mixed with surprised pain on her face.

“Elise, are you all right?” she asked, hurrying over to her friend’s side.

“I think I’m in labor,” Elise said, wide eyes begging Marie to contradict her statement.

“You probably are.”

“Fräulein!” Kommandant Koch barked from the library’s entrance. “You will finish emptying the library before tending to your friend.”

Marie bristled. Though she’d been a willing employee for over a year, the imminent liberation of her town gave her courage. “No, Kommandant Koch,” she answered calmly, standing to face him. “I will not empty the library. Not until I’ve taken my friend outside for some fresh air. She’s in the process of giving birth to the Führer’s child, and the least you can do is allow me to walk her out the door and find a place to sit.”

There was a brittle silence while the Kommandant considered Marie’s words. She stared him down, hands on hips and eyes blazing.

“Fine,” he finally clipped. “Take her out the side entrance.” He motioned toward the delivery doors at the side of the manor. “Then report straight back to the library!”

Afraid that he might change his mind if she hesitated again, Marie hoisted Elise to her feet and walked with her in the direction the Kommandant had pointed. A small Citroën cargo truck waited outside the door, nearly full with the boxes of documents, books, and small works of art the soldiers had been carting out of the manor for the better part of the afternoon. Marie ushered her friend toward the double doors open at the back of the truck.

“Come on,” she said. “We’re getting in there. I’ll help you climb into the back, and you’ll be at the château in no time.”

“I’m going in a truck?” Elise wailed.

Marie grabbed her friend by both arms and shook her. “Listen! There are no more cars out front. Frau Carpentier took the last of them. I don’t think the Kommandant has any plans to take you to the castle.”

“But the other mothers—”

“Are carrying SS children,” Marie said, disgust in her voice. “Yours is the child of a stable boy, Elise. It doesn’t matter to them whether you’re in a safe place or not when your baby is born.”

Elise stared at her friend, paralyzed by dread. When she finally spoke again, it was in a broken voice. “But they told me they’d take care of me. . . .”

Marie shook Elise again, conscious that the Kommandant might come searching for them if too much time passed. “They’re
boches
, Elise. They’ll do anything to preserve the Reich, and you and your baby don’t count for much in that equation right now. So either we get into this truck and hope the drivers will take us to the castle, or we stand here and wait for the Kommandant to come looking for us.”

“There’s no room in there for me,” Elise said, her voice rising again as she glanced into the packed truck.

“Shh,” Marie soothed. “We’ll make room.”

Elise’s hand gripped Marie’s arm so tightly that she flinched. Glancing at her friend, Marie saw the pallor of her face and the rigid set of her jaw. “Contraction?” she asked.

Elise nodded mutely, her eyes filling with tears of pain. “I think the baby’s coming,” she said, horror and awe dueling in her voice. “What am I going to do?” she begged. “Marie—what am I going to do?”

Marie climbed into the truck, quickly stacking some boxes and repositioning others until she’d carved out some room. She moved a small trunk to the center of the space and motioned for Elise to come forward. “Here,” she said, pulling her friend up into the truck. “You sit on this, and I’ll stand behind you, okay?” she coaxed, wondering if the stacks of boxes would withstand the bumps and turns between the manor and the castle.

At that moment, two guards came hurrying around the side of the building, headed for the truck. When they saw the young women—one sitting, one standing—in the back of the vehicle, they came to a simultaneous halt.

“Was machen Sie hier?”
the taller one asked.

Marie stood as tall as her five feet four inches allowed and, in as authoritative a voice as she could muster, said, “This is the last of the residents. Kommandant Koch’s orders are that you get us to the castle now.”

The men hesitated, suspicion in their eyes.

“Listen, you can go back in there and check with the Kommandant if you’d like, but she might have her baby in your truck if you wait any longer!”

The mention of Koch’s name and the prospect of childbirth in their presence sent the men into action. They hurried to the truck, taking a good look at the precarious stacks of boxes surrounding the young women and, with an uncomfortable glance at each other, closed the girls into the back of the vehicle.

Though the small windows on either side of the truck were partially obscured by boxes, there was enough light in the close confines for Marie to see her friend’s pain. “We’ll be there in a couple minutes,” she said as the engine roared to life and the truck lurched forward. One of the boxes slipped and narrowly avoided falling on Elise’s head. Marie pushed it back into place and held it there with an outstretched arm. “Speak to me, Elise,” she said.

Her friend looked up at her with so much torture and fear that Marie nearly let go of the box to grasp Elise’s hand. “You can do this,” she said instead, trying to infuse confidence and energy into the words. “We’ll get you to the castle, and the nurses will be there to help you. You can do this, Elise. You hear me?”

“It’s too soon,” her friend said, a sob catching in her throat. “It’s five weeks early, Marie. Five weeks! Even with the nurses there, it might not . . .” Another sob interrupted her sentence. “And what about Karl?” she wailed. “What if he gets sent to the front? What if I never see him again? What if . . . ?”

“Premature babies survive all the time,” Marie said, the optimism in her voice not quite believable. “And Karl loves you. He’ll find his way back to you. He will. I know he will.”

“Don’t let them take my baby,” Elise pleaded, wracked by guttural sobs. Marie crouched down next to her friend in the crowded space and tried to soothe her. As the truck made a sharp turn, the box that had threatened to fall before toppled, hitting Marie’s back and rolling off onto the floor, scattering manila folders around the girls’ feet. As another contraction seized Elise, she rocked back, her head against the row of boxes behind her, biting her lip so hard that blood pearled around her teeth. Marie rubbed her arm and shushed her while her eyes skimmed the manila folders on the floor. Elise’s name, at the top of one of them, caught her eye.

With one hand still stroking her friend’s arm, she reached for the folder and flipped it open. Among lineage charts and medical reports were two pictures, one of Elise on the day she was admitted, a genuinely joyous smile radiating from the black-and-white paper. And one of Karl, standing erect in uniform next to an impressive stallion he held by the headstall. Marie handed the picture to her friend. “Look,” she said. “Look at what I found!”

Elise focused her eyes on the small photo in Marie’s hand and hiccupped, nearly smiling before a contraction sent her backward again, clutching her stomach and groaning. Marie pressed the picture into her friend’s sweaty hand and folded her fingers over it.

“Hold on to this,” she said. “Hold on to Karl.”

And while her friend cried out in agony, Karl’s picture crunched in her balled fist, Marie gathered the rest of Elise’s file together and slipped it into the waist of her skirt, under the white shirt of her uniform.