Two Testaments (56 page)

Opening behind the living room was an eating room that expanded the whole length of the house. It was crowded with five long metal tables, much like the ones in the refectory at St. Joseph. This room adjoined a well-equipped kitchen, clean, orderly, the appliances new.

“We had to enlarge a bit to meet the regulations for the center,” Henri explained as Anne-Marie stared wide-eyed into the shining facility. She touched the counters, the cabinets, the white gas stove. Then Henri led her through a long hallway that smelled of fresh paint and was lined with photographs. There was even one of M. Krugler with her father in his army uniform.

Leading to the second floor was an old, tiled, winding staircase that emptied into a vast hall with doorways running off it in every direction. “How many bedrooms are there?” she questioned, stunned.

“Seven, Mlle Duchemin, and two bathrooms.”

“Seven bedrooms? Why, it’s practically a castle!”

Henri chuckled. “It’s big all right.”

Anne-Marie felt distressed. “I can’t take this place from you. You’ve spent your own money fixing it up. It wouldn’t be right.” She began opening doors and peering into the rooms, each one expansive and recently redecorated. At the end of the hall, one door led into an apartment.

“This was the servants’ quarters long ago and was later joined to the house,” Henri explained.

“Is this where you live?”

Henri shook his head. “No, I have a little place in town. It’s quite nearby.”

Anne-Marie pushed open the doors. “Servants’ quarters! Why, it’s a perfect place for us! And look! There’s even a fireplace and bathroom.” She turned her radiant face to Henri. “May I go in?”

“Of course,” he said kindly, and she thought she heard a strange catch in his voice.

In the corner of the room sat an old oak rocking chair with a crocheted baby quilt hanging over one arm. She ran to it, fell on her knees, and buried her face in the pink and green needlework. She looked around at Henri Krugler as if he were her closest friend. “The quilt Mama crocheted for Ophélie when she was born … and the chair I rocked her in.”

She clutched the quilt, pulling it close to her, and then gasped. “And look! Ophélie’s baby book!” A narrow bookshelf stood on the opposite wall, filled with scrapbooks and worn volumes. “It’s all from home. All of it!” Anne-Marie sat down in the chair and began to rock back and forth, back and forth. It was as if someone had come ahead to prepare this place for her, a home just to her liking. Someone who knew all about her.

“It’s like this room has been just waiting for me,” she said in wonder.

“Indeed it has, Mlle Duchemin. For the longest time.”

Overwhelmed, Anne-Marie reached out and clasped Henri’s big, rough hand. “M. Krugler, keep your center open. We will help you run it. Ophélie and I will live here, in these rooms. Where we belong.” For just a brief second she looked longingly at the sturdy double bed and thought of Moustafa.

“Mlle Duchemin, give yourself time. We will talk of details later. If you desire it, I’m sure something can be arranged. I cannot tell you how much it means to me.”

Anne-Marie, still holding his hand, rocked back and forth gently. “Nor I. Thank you, M. Krugler. You’re a very good man.”

On July 31, the official end of the church’s thirty-day period, Gabriella and David met with Père Thomas at his office in the old part of Montpellier to sign the papers concerning St. Joseph. To Gabriella, it seemed she was signing away her life. Her hand trembled, and her simple ring caught the rays of the sun and glittered. What might have been was swallowed up in what was actually happening.

“Excuse me for asking, Père Thomas,” she said after penning her signature. “But I am so curious. What made the church change its mind? Just the money? Even with the funds, you could have decided to send another nun to take over the place. Why did you choose us?”

Père Thomas chuckled, scratching his white head. “My child, do you know the verse in the Holy Scriptures that says God’s ways are far above ours?”

“Yes, Père.”

“Then that is my answer. God made hard hearts soft. How else can you explain a French Catholic priest listening to a Swiss Jewish businessman who wanted him to hire two American Protestant young people to run an orphanage filled with French, pied-noir, and Arab children?”

Gabriella laughed out loud. “Yes, I see what you mean. Are you telling me not to try to understand?”

The old priest smiled, and the wrinkles by his eyes spread across his temples. “I am merely saying that I myself am confounded. Confounded and delighted. As for your question about the church’s backing, you must also realize that Mother Griolet did not come to us very often for help.”

Gabriella blushed. “Yes, I am not surprised.”

“And by this new contract, we will keep St. Joseph under the church’s standing, with minimal aid,” David clarified.

“Yes. As M. Cohen has told you, the donations given at the time of the funeral will assure that the orphanage functions smoothly for several years. In that time, the church will decide upon its funding. And of course you have the jewels. I suppose M. Cohen is working on that end with the goldsmith?”

“Yes,” David replied. “And then there is the question of the exchange program. It will have to borrow funds from the orphanage at first, until we can find other benefactors. But I’m not worried. My father has several ideas.” He grinned at Gabriella. “Old friends from Princeton whose kids are college-age now and just itching for a year abroad.”

“Oh, yes, very good of you to mention that, M. Hoffmann,” Père Thomas added. “This letter came a few days ago. I opened it only to realize that it would be best for you now, considering the circumstances.”

Père Thomas shuffled through a stack of papers, retrieved a letter, and handed it to David. Then he stood and shook hands with Gabriella and David. “God be with you, children. You are taking on quite a task, but I believe Mother Griolet knew what she was doing when she picked you. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

As they left his office, David skimmed the letter. “Hey, listen to this, Gabby. It’s from Caroline Harland’s father, sending his condolences for Mother Griolet’s death. He says that he has contacted his friends and that, under the circumstances, they are willing to continue their support if the right director is found.”

“And you think they’ll approve of you, after all the heartache you’ve caused Caroline?” Gabriella teased.

“Of course! All is forgiven,” David countered. “He even says Caroline will be coming back for another year.”

Gabriella’s face went white. “No …”

David picked her up in his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth. “Just kidding!”

She flashed her eyes. “Honestly, David. You are always looking for a reaction! And you usually get one!”

He took her hands and led her beside the fountain of the Three Graces on the place de la Comédie. “Gabby,” he said, “now that the question of our jobs is settled, is there any reason we shouldn’t get married soon? Right in Castelnau, while our families and friends are here with us?”

“Are you serious? We couldn’t possibly be ready!”

He raised his eyebrows, pulled her close to him, and murmured, “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

David and Gabriella were still discussing the idea of an impromptu wedding two hours later, as they stepped off the bus in Castelnau.

“David, I feel like my head will explode with decisions. How can I know? It seems that for the year I’ve known you we’ve only jumped from one crisis to the next, one wild adventure to another. I wish I had some time just to get to know you, the way normal people do. I think it’s called dating.”

“You’re right, of course. But as long as we’re doing everything else backward, couldn’t we start being normal
after
we’re married? We’ll be legal and can do whatever we jolly well please. I’ll even take you on a two-week honeymoon to Paris and Switzerland.”

“You will? How? We’ve got our jobs to do.”

He flashed her a smile. “Leave it to me. There are many willing souls around here right now. I’ll bet your family could be persuaded to stick around a few more weeks to help out while we go away. And my dad is having a blast here, obviously. He keeps prolonging his leave of absence. Plus Moustafa’s mom and sisters. Piece of cake.”

“It sounds so nice.” She sighed. “David, I’m just so very, very tired. You do what you want; just let me rest for a few days.”

“Good idea!” he said and scooped her up in his arms. He carried her across the cobblestones, as she settled comfortably against him. She handed him her keys, and he let them into Mme Leclerc’s apartment, where he laid her gently on her bed. Bending down, he kissed her softly. “To bed with you, my dear. Sweet dreams. I’ll work it out. And I don’t want to see you until breakfast tomorrow, understand?”

She smiled up at him dreamily as she kicked off her shoes and snuggled beneath the sheets. She hardly remembered him leaving the room. She was already dreaming of a long white dress.

It was the first time David had seen Moustafa alone since their planned escape in Algiers had failed. The two men regarded each other with a mixture of compassion and awe.

“I never expected to see you again.”

“No.” Moustafa smiled wryly. “I imagine not.”

“How on earth did you get away? I was there. I saw the horror.”

“There was no getting away. I saw Hacène pushed off the boat, and then an Arab soldier found me lying there and stabbed me, twice. He would have slit my throat, only right then, from out in the harbor, I heard my name. I swear it; someone shouted my name.

“The soldier heard it too. It distracted him, and he went to the water’s edge and fired into the harbor. In that brief time, I managed to pull myself under the dead bodies of two other harkis, and that was my shelter from the massacre. It was a blessing that my wounds were cruel and deep. I fainted from loss of blood, and I guess the soldiers thought I was dead.” Moustafa paused.

“Much later I woke up to a terrible silence. Bodies everywhere. My compatriots, my brother.” He closed his eyes and wiped his hand over his face. “I began crawling back to the water, petrified that the soldiers would return and see me. But as it turns out, only a poor Arab woman with kind eyes saw me. And she came into the bloody square. Can you imagine the courage it took? The courage and iron will to walk past the slaughter and drag me to the safety of her apartment?

“I must have lain there for two weeks, coming in and out of consciousness. Until one day I opened my eyes and asked her to take me to Rémi’s house.”

David whistled softly. “What a remarkable story.”

“I still wonder about the voice calling my name, distracting the soldier. It was like a messenger from heaven.”

David looked at him. “It was my voice,” he said.

Moustafa’s eyes grew wide, and David shrugged.

“We swam, Rémi and I, toward the dock, the boat. I couldn’t see you, but I screamed your name, twice. Then when the soldiers came to the water’s edge, we knew we had to leave.”

Moustafa shook his head and grinned. “I should have known. You promised you would get me out, and you did. You’re a pretty rough-looking angel, I might add.”

They clasped hands and held the grip, neither saying a word.

Finally Moustafa asked, “Why? Why did I survive? What do you call it? Luck?”

“I call it an answer to prayer.”

Moustafa leaned back in the bed, his eyes closed. “An answer to prayer. Yes, I believe you’re right.”

David stood. “When are they going to let you out of here anyway?”

“In a week, they say.”

“Good. Then you’ll be able to make it to my wedding.”

“Your wedding? So soon?”

“I figure we might as well do it while we have all the family and friends in one spot. Who knows when that will happen again.”

“And your Gabriella? What does she think?”

David laughed. “Poor Gabby. She panicked at first, declaring that we weren’t ready, that it couldn’t be done. But I promised her a two-week honeymoon, complete with Paris and Switzerland. She has reconsidered.”

Moustafa laughed heartily. “You’re a strange man, David Hoffmann. I have yet to meet this Gabriella, you know. Imagine! A wedding! So soon. Well, just tell me the date, and I will be there.”