The French War Bride (45 page)

2016

I
sit there, letting her story settle in my mind. The things she's told me mingle with my own memories. They all float around in my brain like flakes in a snow globe.

The day after the fire, the newspaper came out with the headline, “War Bride Braves Inferno, Saves Four Lives.”

Overnight, Amélie went from persona non grata to the toast of the town. Everyone raved about her strength of character, her selflessness, her generosity of spirit. Caroline's stories about her work for the Resistance were repeated, growing more stupendous and outrageous with every telling. Even Daddy sang her praises.

“A woman who does a thing like that—well, sometimes God puts a certain person in a certain place at certain time to do a certain thing. Ernie and Minxy and the Andersons would all agree that Amélie was meant to be in Wedding Tree.”

Oh, just peachy, I'd thought—my own father believed God had conspired for Jack to jilt me for a Frenchie! Caroline had circulated the word that Amélie had gone to visit a sick relative. The whole town was planning a hero's welcome for her when she returned. I couldn't get out of Wedding Tree fast enough.

My thoughts circle back around to Amélie's words.

“So Jack really said all that at the bus station?”

“Yes.” Her expression is somber, her eyes kind. “I didn't tell you that to hurt you.”

I wave my hand. “Oh, I'm not interested in that he-loved-you-more-than-me stuff. Of course he thought he loved you more; he'd had sex with you. Men think with their little heads. They always think sex is love.”

Amélie's eyebrows fly upward, as if this surprises her. How could it? She is a woman, after all. Plus she is French.

I lean forward. “What I want to know is, did he really say the other part?”

“What other part?”

Her refusal to see the obvious irritates me. “Did Jack really say I was very beautiful?”

“Oh! Yes. Yes, of course, Kat.” She cocks her head in that graceful, birdlike way. “He said you were beautiful many times. And you were. You were gorgeous. You still are.”

I sit back and clutch this information to my chest like a beloved doll. “That's all I ever had, you know.” I know I was never particularly smart or funny or brave. “I only had my beauty.”

“That's all any of us have.”

“No.” I refuse to let her take away my specialness by pretending it isn't so special. “Not everyone has real beauty.”

Her eyes catch the light in way that reminds me of an owl at night. “Yes, they do. Some have more than others, of course—and some people have more on the inside than the out.”

I think about it for a moment. “Well, I suppose that's true. You're one of those, aren't you?”

She laughs, as if I'd said something extremely amusing. “That's not for me to say. What's the English expression? ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.'”

“Jack was one of those people who had lots of both.”

“Yes. Yes, he was.” She tilts her head. “And your husband?”

“Oh, he was good-looking—very handsome. And he had the beauty of being rich.”

Amélie laughs again. She makes me feel as if I am a most amusing person.

“He adored me,” I say.

“Then you are a most fortunate woman. I hope the adoration was mutual.”

I nod, but I'm not quite sure. So many memories are swirling around, I still feel like a shaken snow globe.

“I've always wondered about something.” Amélie leans forward. “You and your family never returned to Wedding Tree—not even to move. As I recall, a moving service came and packed up everything and shipped it all to Dallas. Was that because of Jack and me?”

“No. No, not at all!” There is no need to tell her, but at the time, I would have eaten dirt before I would have set foot in Wedding Tree again. “I met my husband in Dallas—he was an orthopedic surgeon, did you know that? He sent some of his patients to the rehabilitation center where Daddy stayed, and we met the week after we arrived. We were engaged within three months, and married just five months later. He was afraid I'd slip away if he didn't marry me fast. He was so smitten with me! He couldn't believe that a man would choose another woman over me. He said Jack must be crazy.”

Amélie smiles. “That is exactly how a husband should feel.”

“He was very sought after. All the nurses used to just swoon when he came by. Orthopedic surgeons make a lot of money, you know, and he knew how to invest—in oil and computers and things that really took off after the war. Anyway . . . his practice was in Dallas, so of course we lived there. Mother discovered she just loved living in a city, and she and Daddy wanted to be close to me, so they stayed. As for the packing and moving—well, Daddy couldn't do it and it was too much for Mother, and Hugh—that was my husband's name, Hugh—well, Hugh just had money to burn, so he arranged it all.”

“That's wonderful.”

“Yes.” We fall silent for a moment, and the flakes of memory settle in my brain. One piece continues to float and hover. “What about the babies on the ship? Did Jack ever believe you about that?”

Amélie nods. “Once he realized that he knew me—really knew me, knew my heart and my motives—he knew I wouldn't have lied about a thing like that. And then it came to light that it had happened again! Another group of war brides sailed on the
Zebulon B. Vance
from England—some were English, of course, but others were French, Italian, and German—and the same thing happened. The staff took the formula and mixed it for the mothers, and seven babies died. The army tried to blame it on the mothers, saying it was their lack of hygiene.” Amélie paused. “Jack had tears in his eyes when he told me of it.” Her voice softened. “He was such a dear, dear man.”

I feel a scratch of the old envy. I try to batten it down by remembering an old Spanish proverb my hospice counselor had told me:
Envy is thin because it bites but never eats
. “So you and Jack—you were happy?”

“Oh, yes. We made each other feel loved and accepted and treasured. I think that is all one can ask for in this life.”

“Yes.” Hugh had made me feel that way. I'm not sure I had fully reciprocated. I hope I had. I hope he believed I had.

“So,” Amélie says. “Did you get the answers you came for?”

“I'm not sure,” I say. “I'm not sure I asked the right questions.”

Again, Amélie gives that appreciative laugh. “Is anyone, ever? And yet the right questions might be more important than the answers.”

“You didn't really give me a chance. You insisted on telling the story your way.”

She lifts her shoulders in that little French shrug. “It's my life. I have the right to tell it my own way, as long as I'm the one doing the telling.” She gives a smile. “Now that I have, you are welcome to ask me anything you like.”

“I think I have heard enough,” I say.

Once again, she laughs, as if I have said something witty. She glances at her watch and rises to her feet. I reach for my cane and do the same.

“Well, Kat, it has been good seeing you.”

“I thought you'd resolved to quit lying.”

Once more, I make her laugh. “I wasn't so thrilled at first, but you're like fine wine, Kat. You've improved with age.”

Really? I thought age had brought nothing but decline. It cheers me to hear her say otherwise, although I don't quite believe it.

She stands with her hand on the doorknob. “Now that you've heard my whole story, do you think that you can forgive me?”

“I hope so.” My hospice counselor tells me it is necessary for my peace of mind; my religion tells me it is required for the good of my immortal soul. “I will try.”

“Then you will succeed.” She opens the door and holds out her hand.

I impulsively lean in, and awkwardly give her a kiss on both cheeks. It rattles me, doing something so out of character. I straighten my dress and put my purse on my arm.

She pats my shoulder and gives a little wave. “Au revoir, Kat.” She turns and heads back into her apartment.

“Good-bye,” I say, and reach to close the door.

“Oh, please leave it open,” she calls.

I walk away, oddly unsettled by the thought of a still-open door between us.

T
his is a work of fiction, but I've tried to describe the historical events as accurately as possible.

One of those events was the Rafle du Vélodrome d'Hiver, a massive roundup of Jews by the French police that took place July 16 and 17, 1942. Tragically, 13,152 Jews were arrested, including 5,802 women and 4,051 children. They were held at the Vélodrome d'Hiver, an indoor bicycle racetrack and stadium, with almost no water, food, or restroom facilities. They were then transported in cattle cars to Auschwitz, where they were murdered.

The roundup accounted for more than a quarter of the 42,000 Jews sent from France to Auschwitz in 1942. At the end of the war, only 811 returned to France. In 1995, French president Jacques Chirac issued an apology for the complicit role the French police served in the raid.

Another event the novel describes is
l'épuration sauvage à la libération
, or the savage purge during the liberation—the way the French turned on their own citizens who had collaborated with the Germans during the occupation. An estimated 10,000 men were killed without a trial after the Allied landing, and many more were beaten. Women accused of sleeping with the enemy were publicly humiliated. Throughout France, approximately 20,000 women had their heads shaved. Known as
les femmes tondues
, these “shorn women” were stripped of all or most of their clothing and paraded throughout town to be pelted by garbage, spat upon, cursed, kicked, and beaten.

On a happier note, the U.S. War Bride Act enabled an estimated total
of 100,000 foreign brides to come to the United States from the time it was enacted on December 28, 1945, until it expired in December 1948. These women were given non-immigrant status, bypassing stringent immigration quotas.

The Red Cross assisted the military and the State Department in getting foreign brides to America. The organization ran assembly centers, taught courses on life in America, and accompanied the brides on requisitioned ships.

Unfortunately, there were, indeed, baby deaths on board the
Zebulon B. Vance
as depicted in my novel. Two voyages with fatalities from widespread intestinal infections are documented: one sailing from Le Havre, France, on May 2, and the other sailing from Southampton, England, on June 24. To fit the timeline of my story, I changed the sailing date and created a fictional trip, but I tried to depict the actual conditions of the ship as accurately as possible based on historic accounts.

Although initially the military tried to blame the deaths on poor hygiene of the mothers, the problem was found to be a lack of sanitation on the ship.

1. Amélie told Jack, “In war, the concept of ‘right' stands on its head.” Is there a different moral code during times of war? Where does one draw the line?
   
2. In Chapter 21, Yvette said, “[Guilt] is the price we pay for being alive during this terrible time.” What does she mean? Do you believe in survivor's guilt?
   
3. Amélie learned to lie and keep secrets to help free her country. Is lying always wrong, or are there exceptions? Would it be hard to “turn off” such learned behavior?
   
4. Pierre thought the Nazis would win the war. Is it human nature to want to align with the winners, or to stand with your fellow countrymen? Why or why not?
   
5. What was behind Yvette's decision to become the mistress of a high-ranking German? What do you think of her decision?
   
6. What do you think of the statement, “In war, we must use everything we have at our disposal. Nothing done to save France would be unholy.”
   
7. Kat said that her father had never talked about his time during the First World War. Why do think that was? Why did many Second World War veterans not talk about the war once they came home?
   
8. Do you think Jack would have married Kat as planned if he hadn't met Amélie? Why or why not?
   
9. How did it affect the characters in the story to learn that the French government had fled Paris, then surrendered? Can you imagine how it would feel to have your own country overtaken and occupied by a foreign army?
   
10. Why do you think the French treated the collaborators so cruelly after the war?
    
11. In Chapter 16, when Amélie doubted that she was serving a useful purpose, Joshua told her that this was not for her to know; she must just believe she was and keep going. How did this advice impact her? Was it wise? Is this advice applicable to your life?
    
12. All of the women on the bride boats were leaving their families behind and traveling to a foreign land, not knowing when or even if they'd ever see them again. Can you imagine doing this? Why or why not?
    
13. In what ways does the book illustrate the era's attitudes toward women?
    
14. Describe Amélie's faith journey. Did Kat grow and change? What about Jack?