Two Crosses (45 page)

He finished the psalm and closed the book. He had a daughter now. Perhaps the God of Gabriella would teach him how to be a father.

David turned out the light in his room and watched the crescent moon cupping a piece of the sky in its hand. He saw the beautiful face of Ophélie in his mind. He laughed at the irony as he relived the night of October 17 with the wounded child. He had found her by the bridge where he was to meet Emile Torrès. He recalled the note he had received those months ago. Torrès had information for him.
Was it you, Ophélie, he had for me? And by a wild providence, we are here together.

He rubbed his eyes with his long, thin fingers and sighed.
I don’t know where you are, Anne-Marie. But Ophélie is safe with me. I’ll keep her safe for you, until you come back. I promise. I will be her father. I’m ready now.

The sliver of a moon cradled a lone star in the black Algerian night. Anne-Marie’s breathing came in gasps. Her eyes were glazed. A wet rag lay on her forehead as Moustafa desperately tried to bring down her raging fever. He cursed himself for not having taken her to the hospital. But hospitals were not safe in Algiers. A whole ward of pied-noirs had been murdered in one a few months ago. Equally gruesome stories were reported weekly.

But now he feared he had been wrong to try to care for her himself. Both legs had become infected from the bullet wounds. A thick yellow pus oozed from below her right knee. She didn’t speak coherently.

Marcus Cirou came into the room, wringing his hands and begging Moustafa to take her to the hospital. “She is dying here,” he said. “She can’t do worse there.”

They drove through the night to the Santa Maria, a Catholic hospital on the outskirts of Bab el-Oued. The French nurses greeted Moustafa with a suspicious air. “Let me take care of this,” Marcus ordered. “You can’t help her now.”

Moustafa waited outside in the cold night air, stamping his feet and cursing the moon. He tried to think of something besides Anne-Marie’s gaunt, pale face.

The list of names had appeared miraculously in the mail last week. This was good news. He supposed that Ophélie had given the list to the redhead, and she had mailed it to him. Now the operation could continue.

But Anne-Marie had seemed indifferent to the long-sought-after list. She had only cried out feebly for Ophélie, staring blankly into space. Then she had gotten the fever and the infection. Moustafa had no stomach to continue his work if Anne-Marie died.

“Live!” he cried out to the moon.

He was not sure how much time passed before he felt Marcus’s hand on his shoulder. He wheeled around to face him, fearful to read the verdict in his eyes.

“She is stabilized. They said we got her here in time. Just in time.” They walked to the car in silence.

Normally the aging history professor and the dashing young American teacher didn’t meet for drinks on a Sunday afternoon. But this afternoon they sat like old friends sipping pastis while the mistral howled outside.

“He’s still in Marseille, I’m sure,” Jean-Louis commented. “He didn’t bother us at the port as you had feared, when I picked up the children. But when he came calling at St. Joseph last Wednesday, I followed him back home.” A smile crept across his face.

“Good job, Jean-Louis! And what did you find?”

“Here is his address, right in the middle of the slums. No surprise. He’s got a screw loose, that man. At first glance he appears perfectly normal, but there’s something not right about him.” He lowered his voice. “I’d be getting rid of that one as soon as I could, if I were you. I’m glad I can leave the dirty work to someone younger.”

“Thanks.” David scowled.

“You should not waste any time, David. I’m not sure what he would have done if he had found Mlle Madison and the children. He might be capable of just about anything.”

“I’ll be leaving again then. Tomorrow morning,” David agreed reluctantly. He thought of Ophélie. “What did Jacques tell you about the
Capitaine
incident?”

“Pretty messy. Apparently the woman who was with them was shot and pushed into the water. Someone else killed Ali’s boy, and the children got away. Jacques didn’t waste any time waiting around to see what happened, you understand. He took off with the kids.”

“I’ll make the rounds again. Aix, Aigues-Mortes, and Les Baux. You talk to Pierre. I’ll be back as soon as I have news.” David scratched his head. “You don’t mind handling my class again,
mon pote
?”

“No problem for me, David. It’s just your girls. They can’t seem to stay awake for me.” Jean-Louis chuckled.

“Women.” David rolled his eyes. “Listen, I was just thinking … second-quarter exams are scheduled for the first full week in March?”

“
Oui, bien sûr
,” Jean-Louis confirmed.

“Then you can start a review for them, of both quarters. I’ll leave all my notes. I hope I won’t be gone long.”

The two men nodded, touched glasses, and parted ways.

David knocked lightly on the door to the parsonage. After a moment’s wait, a voice asked from within, “Who is it?”

“It’s M. Hoffmann.”

The door opened slowly. The nun looked surprised to see him. “M. Hoffmann? How may I help you? You don’t look well.”

“Mother Griolet, I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night. I must talk to you.”

“Yes?” Her expression was worried, reserved. “Come in.” She showed him into the office and offered him a chair.

“I know you are not fond of me, and for that I’m truly sorry. You are … you are a fine woman.” He hesitated. “I admire your work with the orphans.” He looked at her straight in the eyes. “And with the pied-noir and harki children.”

Mother Griolet raised her eyebrows. “Exactly why did you come to see me tonight, M. Hoffmann?”

“Because it’s time that you know. Things are becoming more confused, and I think it best that you understand … in case anything happens to me.”

“What do you mean?” She sounded alarmed and almost angry.

“I mean, Mother Griolet, that I am Hugo.” He met her eyes again, and they were filled with shock. “I’m sorry to announce it to you in such a way. For a long time I thought you were safer not knowing. But now there are so many other things to consider, and the war will soon be over. There will be more refugees, many more.”

Mother Griolet was sitting forward now, eyes dancing. “You, David Hoffmann, are Hugo? You are behind this operation?”

“Yes.”

For a moment she looked bewildered. Then her face broke into a wide smile, and she clapped her hands together. “It’s impossible! I mean, excuse me, but I would never have guessed. Amazing.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Why, this is wonderful news!” Impulsively she came around her desk and kissed him on both cheeks.

David’s face turned crimson. “I’m glad that you find it so good. I was afraid you would be concerned … about the future of the operation.”

“Oh yes, of course I’m concerned about the future and the dear pied-noir and harki children. But the wonderful news is that I was wrong about
you
, M. Hoffmann! I was sure you were working against us. And then when I found out about Ophélie—” She stopped short. “But perhaps you do not know?”

“Yes, I know. Gabby told me yesterday. It was this that made me realize I must have you on my side. For Ophélie’s sake. My daughter’s.” He pronounced the word with an air of wonder. “Forgive me, Mother Griolet. It’s all so new and strange. I had no idea I was a father.”

They smiled at each other.

“It’s ironic, you know. The whole idea of the Huguenot cross came from her mother, Anne-Marie. She wore the cross, a gift from her father, who was Protestant. I met Captain Duchemin years ago in Algeria. He was a respected and much-decorated pied-noir from World War II.”

“Did you know that Ophélie now wears her grandfather’s cross?”

“Really?” David exclaimed. “No, I have not been close enough to her to notice … yet.” He paused, looked away, and then continued. “I also met the captain’s beautiful daughter. We were rebellious adolescents, but she gave me hope for the first time in years. I left Algeria for my studies in Princeton, and we lost contact. The letters I sent her were never answered.” David stopped himself and apologized. “I’m sorry to bore you with my past.”

Mother Griolet shook her head. “
Au contraire!
Please go on.”

“Then, out of the blue, Anne-Marie wrote me, a desperate sort of letter. It was December of 1959. She said that a madman named Ali, who was with the FLN, had a personal vendetta to eliminate all the soldiers with whom his father served in World War II, and their families. He blamed his father’s platoon for leaving his father, the lieutenant, to be murdered by the Nazis. And he blamed Anne-Marie’s father, the battalion captain, for setting up the raid that cost his father his life.”

Mother Griolet waited, intent on every word.

“Anne-Marie’s parents were killed in a bombing in Algiers in 1958. Afterwards, she was tricked into disclosing the names of some of the men in the platoon. Ali then began systematically eliminating them, disguised of course in the realm of terrorism and a war that kills at random.

“That is when Anne-Marie begged my help to get these families out of Algeria—especially the children. And so I devised this little operation. The cross, I remembered, was the jewelry of a persecuted minority. I am from a persecuted minority too.” He cleared his throat and didn’t try to hide the pain in his eyes.

“Yes, I have not forgotten after all these years,” Mother Griolet said.

David read compassion on the old nun’s face.

“It came back to me not long ago. You were here with us for a few months,
n’est-ce pas
? A Jewish orphan?”

“Yes, I was.”

For a moment neither could speak. When David broke the silence, it was with a hoarse whisper.

“You gave me life, Mother Griolet, in this orphanage. I didn’t remember it was you, but the only happy memory of my childhood after my mother was taken from me is of a warm, smiling woman in black rocking me in her arms.” He swallowed hard.

“There were so many orphans here at that time. I had completely forgotten your name,” Mother Griolet said. “I only realized last week that you had been here. Then I was really confused.” She winked. “But now I’m beginning to understand.”

David rubbed his forehead with his hand. “I did a bit of research after receiving Anne-Marie’s letter and found that St. Joseph was still here. I figured this part of France would be a good contact point. And I was sure there would still be some members of the Resistance around who would help me.”

Mother Griolet’s eyes twinkled. “Dear Jean-Louis. So you’re the one who got him back into this!”

David nodded. “Jean-Louis and several others. I hoped in the process to find Anne-Marie. I haven’t heard from her directly now for months. I don’t know where she is, or if she is even still alive. And now things have changed. I have a daughter …” He looked away, past Mother Griolet, out the window. “And I’m in love with another … with a Raphaelite angel who also wears a Huguenot cross.”

He took a deep breath and composed himself. “It’s good news, Mother Griolet, but there is also great danger for Ophélie and Gabby. It’s my fault. This Ali is determined to have his revenge. You have already met one of his assistants, Jean-Claude Gachon.”