Far From Home

Chapter 3

Once they passed the barrier and the two sentries, they drove down the winding driveway bordered by tall oak trees that led to the chateau. Everything looked familiar to Arielle. She had spent part of every summer there as a child, to get to know her French cousins. Jeanne was two years older than Arielle, and had always treated her like a little sister. She was forty-six now, and Louis would be fifty. As an only child, Arielle had loved playing with them and having a cousin who was like a big sister to her. Louis had considered them both a nuisance and ignored them most of the time. The two girls had been very close while growing up. Jeanne had married a year before Arielle. Jacques de Beaumartin had been a handsome boy from a local family. He and Louis had grown up together. Jeanne’s and Arielle’s sons had been born a few months apart, and had played together as toddlers. The cousins had begun to see less of each other then. Gregor liked to spend summers at his family’s schloss once he inherited it, and he and Arielle spent very little time at the Chateau de Villier after that. They came for occasional visits, but infrequently, as their lives grew apart, with the cousins’ respective married lives, and their own growing families. And once married, the difference in their social circles had begun to stand out. Gregor had a much broader, more elite, sophisticated circle, and he and Arielle had a demanding social life, while Jeanne and Jacques led a quiet country life and seldom even went to Paris. Jacques was a true gentleman farmer, Gregor a man of the world.

Arielle had last seen them right after Germany had declared war on France five years ago, before the German army occupied it, and Jeanne had been openly hostile to them as Germans, despite their close family ties. Arielle was hurt by it, and Jacques had tried to calm his wife down. She had treated Arielle like an enemy agent and a traitor, and not as the best friend of a lifetime and beloved cousin. Nine months later, the German army had occupied France, and Arielle hadn’t heard from Jeanne since. She had written to her several times, and Jeanne never responded. Arielle finally gave up. That had been four years ago.

Just cruising down the driveway brought back a tidal wave of memories, of the trees they had climbed, with Louis’s occasional tutelage, the fruit they had eaten in the orchard, all the good times they’d had and mischief they’d gotten into and been scolded for together. They had been inseparable, and both girls cried every summer when Arielle left to go back to Germany. And then, silence for four years. But Arielle had nowhere else to go now and no one to turn to. She was alone in France, and couldn’t go home to Berlin, with a husband who had been shot as a traitor. Her chest tightened and tears filled her throat every time she thought of it. The orchards looked the same as they drove past them. When they saw a wire fence up ahead, Arielle knew they were halfway to the chateau. The driver slowed when he saw it and glanced at her.

“I think I should leave you here. Is the house far?” He didn’t want to risk further scrutiny by the soldiers.

“Not too far,” she said in a soft voice.

“My papers are in order, but I don’t want to push my luck,” the man she knew now as Oscar said. “I don’t want to draw attention to either of us. Your suitcase is heavy. Can you carry it?” She nodded. She’d have to. He stopped the car, got out, took the case out of the car, and handed it to her. It was heavier than she had realized when she packed it, but she’d have to manage.

“Thank you for everything,” she whispered. “Please thank the general for me too.” He nodded and got back in the car. He had helped her flee Paris and escape to safety, and she knew she’d never see him again. There was no way to thank him for taking the risk of driving her. Carl-Heinrich had orchestrated her escape, and “Oscar” had carried it out. It probably wasn’t even his real name, she realized. He was going back to Paris to report to the general. He was a young soldier in the German army. He was resourceful and had done delicate errands for the Kommandant before. The young soldier had gotten the bellman from the Ritz to go and get her. He was a friend who worked there, and was willing to help them, and owed Oscar a favor.

He turned around on the driveway and headed back the way he had come, and Arielle approached the wire fence and the three German soldiers standing beyond it, praying they’d let her through. If they didn’t, she didn’t know what she’d do.

“I’m a member of the family,” she said quietly to them in French, and handed one of them her French passport and travel documents. Luckily, the name on her passport matched the name of the chateau. The soldier glanced at her papers and saw that they were signed by the commander of France, which was good enough for him. He handed them back to her quickly, and she put them in her purse with the passport he returned. They had a jeep standing by but didn’t offer to drive her up to the chateau. She didn’t expect them to. She carried the cumbersome suitcase, setting it down occasionally. It took her twenty minutes to get to the chateau. Arielle was remembering when she and Jeanne had raced each other down the driveway on their bikes, and once she’d run over a rock, had a bad fall, and hit her head, and Jeanne had run back to the chateau to get help. Jeanne’s mother had come, and Arielle had to stay in bed for two days with a sprained wrist and a mild concussion. It was so long ago now. They were children then.

As she came around the last bend in the driveway, her breath caught. There were soldiers everywhere, in German uniforms. There was a large staff car with two small SS flags on it, trucks, Jeeps, motorcycles, the entire courtyard was full of their vehicles, and there were soldiers hurrying in and out of the house, looking official, even though it was early. She was surprised that no one stopped her, as she stood there with her suitcase. A few of the men glanced at her and hurried on their way. It was obvious they had taken over the chateau. She wondered what had happened to her cousins, if they had been sent away.

Not knowing what else to do, she walked up the familiar front steps to the huge front door with the ancient brass knocker and knocked smartly. A young soldier who’d been passing by in the front hall opened the door. She could see all the same family furniture in the front hall just behind him.

“I’m looking for Louis de Villier, or Monsieur and Madame de Beaumartin,” which was Jeanne’s married name. “I’m their cousin.” Her French was fluent and flawless as always. She didn’t speak German to the soldiers, as that would seem suspicious to them, given her French passport

“Try the back door,” the soldier said simply, and closed the door. She went back down the steps and all the way around the chateau with her suitcase, to the door in the courtyard that had been used by the servants, and the children when they didn’t want to get caught by their parents. There was an old-fashioned bell and Arielle rang it. It was a long wait before someone came. She had set the suitcase down, and there was a thin film of perspiration on her forehead from carrying it. She couldn’t remember what she’d packed, but it was heavy, and so was the fancy brown alligator suitcase that matched the three larger ones she’d left in Paris with her clothes. She wondered what would happen to them. Some SS officer’s wife would get three suitcases full of French haute couture clothes, and everything that went with them. It didn’t matter. She had lost Gregor.

The door finally opened and Arielle found herself staring at a familiar face, but she was shocked to see her cousin Jeanne. She was rail thin and looked like a skeleton in an ugly shapeless dress, a pair of men’s socks, and sturdy shoes. Her hair was knotted into a small scraggly bun, and she looked twenty years older than when Arielle had last seen her. Jeanne didn’t look happy to see her. She stood wedged in the door and didn’t open it any further. Arielle felt instantly sorry for her. While they had been entertaining in Berlin, comfortable and safe in their luxurious life, Jeanne had been living with hunger, rationing, soldiers in the chateau, and hardships in France.

“What are you doing here?” Jeanne asked Arielle. There was no warm greeting or embrace.

“I…I was in Paris…” Arielle said, her voice shaking, “I need a place to stay, for a short time,” she whispered.

“Why don’t you ask them?” Jeanne said coldly, indicating with a nod of her head the chateau filled with soldiers. “You’re a German, like they are.” It was a harsh thing to say, although technically true.

“I’m traveling with a French passport and travel papers,” Arielle whispered. “Real ones, not forgeries.”

“Are you in trouble?” Jeanne asked. She looked like she’d seen a lifetime of grief and misery since they last met.

“I’m not sure,” Arielle said. “I might be. Something terrible happened yesterday.” Her eyes filled with tears as she said it, and Jeanne’s face softened and she stood aside. “Come in. We live down here now. I clean the house for them. Louis does all the outdoor maintenance work. We’re the only staff here. They all live here. The upstairs bedrooms are all dormitories. There are eighty-two men in the house. Thank God they have their own cooks, all soldiers.”

“How long have they been here?” Arielle asked as she followed Jeanne into the basement.

“Four years this summer. They showed up a few weeks after they took Paris. They love it here. At least they let us stay.” Jeanne had walked her into a small kitchen, in what had been the guardian’s quarters. The furniture was threadbare and sagging, and the only heat in the winter came from a fireplace.

“How are Jacques and the children?” Arielle asked as they sat down at the kitchen table. She was exhausted and her back hurt from carrying the suitcase. And as she looked at Jeanne more closely, she was shocked at how gaunt she was. She had been a beautiful girl and young woman, with thick auburn hair that was a limp brown now, peppered with gray. It was shocking how old she looked. Jeanne could have been Arielle’s mother, not her cousin, and her eyes looked devastated.

“Jacques and Arnaud were killed two years ago,” she said in a soft, defeated voice. “They were in the Resistance. Jacques became an expert in explosives. He blew up a train the night he was killed. Arnaud was with him and was killed too. He was learning the ropes from his father. He was seventeen. They were caught and shot, but they derailed the train and killed a number of Germans. Sylvie is with cousins of Jacques in the south. I couldn’t keep her here. She was twelve when they took over the house. She’d be sixteen now. I couldn’t have her here with a house full of soldiers. She’s safe there. I’m living here with Louis.” Jeanne’s brother had been widowed in his forties, before the war, and never remarried that Arielle knew, unless he had since the war started.

“I’m so sorry,” Arielle said, and reached out and touched Jeanne’s hand. She didn’t react, she just looked at her with eyes full of pain. She had lost her husband and son, and had to send her daughter away, and she was a maid for the German army, in her own home.

“Where are yours?” Jeanne asked. Arielle’s chin trembled as she answered.

“Marianna is married to a German fighter pilot, and Viktor is in the army in Poland. They’re both loyal Germans. And Gregor wasn’t,” she whispered. “I don’t know what happened, but I just heard from Marianna that he was shot as a traitor last night. There was some kind of plot to kill Hitler and it failed. He belonged to a group which opposed everything Hitler stood for. I don’t know the details, but Gregor was executed. He was supposed to meet me in Paris today. One of his friends, who is high in the German Command, helped me escape. I don’t know if they’re going to come after me. I knew nothing of Gregor’s plan. He never told me. He wouldn’t have. I don’t know what to do now. I don’t think I can go home to Berlin. They might execute me too, if they think I knew something.” She broke down in sobs then, and Jeanne took her in her arms, like the big sister she had always been to her. “I’m worried about Marianna and Viktor. And I can’t believe Gregor is gone. I can’t live without him.” She felt breathless as she said it, and gasped for air, as Jeanne patted her, and then sat back and looked at her and smoothed back her long blond hair.

“You’re still so beautiful. I look like a witch now,” she said.

“You don’t. You’re still you. You just look tired. It must have been very hard here, especially after you lost Jacques and Arnaud.” Jeanne nodded. The pain had been impossible to describe. And now Arielle was living that same pain over Gregor. The acute agony when the enemy murders your loved ones, in a war you don’t believe in.

“I’ve missed you,” Jeanne said softly. “I thought you were one of them, and I hate them. Now I can see you’re not. I’m so sorry about Gregor. He was a good man.” As she said it, Arielle started crying again. The grief came in waves and overwhelmed her. “You can stay here for a few days, but you can’t stay long. There are too many Germans here. Someone will get curious. For a short time, you can be my fancy cousin from Paris, whom I never see because you’re a big snob. But if the SS is looking for you because of Gregor, sooner or later someone will see you and recognize you, no matter how good your papers are. The only good news is that the Americans are trying to advance. If they succeed, the Germans will leave. Right now they’re too busy dealing with that to pay much attention to you.” Arielle nodded, and hoped she was right about the Americans who would come to free them.

“I don’t know where to go,” Arielle said, looking desperate.

“We’ll ask Louis tonight. He’s been away for a few days,” Jeanne said. Arielle had the feeling that Louis was in the Resistance and Jeanne was too, but she didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know. The less she knew the better. She had her own share of problems being Gregor’s widow. “He may know someone you can stay with, somewhere else in France, where it’s peaceful now. If your papers are good, you can get a job.”

“My papers are in the name of de Villier.” Jeanne looked surprised. Her own maiden name was de Villier, not Arielle’s. Jeanne’s father and Arielle’s mother had been brother and sister. Arielle’s maiden name and her mother’s married name was von Marks, her father’s name. Her father’s name was Manfred von Marks and her mother had been Constance de Villier when she married him. Arielle guessed that Gregor had suggested to Carl-Heinrich that he use Arielle’s mother’s maiden name because it was French. Her own maiden name, von Marks, wouldn’t have played well on a passport meant to convince the authorities that she was French. He had wanted above all to protect her if something went wrong, and it certainly had. That had always been a possibility, but Gregor and his friends believed it was important enough to take the risk, if they could save Germany from the hands of a madman, but the madman had won. There were dozens of families mourning the murdered conspirators. Arielle didn’t know who most of them were, but she grieved with them. And Marianna had said that Ludwig Beck had been part of the plot and had been killed too.

“Have you eaten today?” Jeanne asked her, as they sat in the tiny kitchen of the quarters she and Louis occupied. “I don’t have much. Louis was going to try to get some sausages on the black market on his way back. I have some stale bread and eggs in the chicken coop. The army takes most of them, but they leave us a few. They eat like kings. They bring food from Paris, and they emptied our wine cellar the first year. I suppose we’re lucky they let Louis and me stay here. But it’s a little too close, to have them so near.

“Louis goes away a lot, and I’m here alone. They don’t bother me. I stay down here. I only see them when I clean their rooms.” It shocked Arielle to realize that her beloved cousin was now their maid, and that they were living in the chateau while her cousins froze in the damp cellar rooms. Arielle realized that Jeanne was right, she couldn’t stay. It was too dangerous for all of them to risk someone recognizing her if they had seen her in Paris or Berlin, with Carl-Heinrich or Gregor. And her looks were more distinctive than Jeanne’s. She hadn’t been living in an occupied country for four years as Jeanne had. Jeanne looked like any other beaten-down woman now, her losses etched on her face. And everything about her was drab.

“I’m not hungry,” Arielle assured her, not wanting to take the little food she had. And she wasn’t hungry. She couldn’t have eaten. She was too badly shaken by her husband’s death. It hadn’t fully sunk in yet that he was gone forever and she would never see him again, but she was conscious enough to know she had just experienced the most shattering loss of her life, more even than the loss of her parents. Her life would never be the same again.

Arielle fell asleep on Jeanne’s bed, and Jeanne moved silently around the small quarters, and eventually had to do her chores for the officers at the chateau. She was back at the end of the afternoon and Arielle was waiting for her. Arielle had changed into black cotton pants and a black sweater and had tied her blond hair back. Jeanne’s hands looked red and chafed from all the cleaning and scrubbing she’d done. She changed the soldiers’ beds, twenty at a time on a rotating basis, and the low-ranking soldiers did the laundry.

They shared the stale heel of bread, and peaches from the orchard, and Jeanne boiled an egg for each of them. It was a small meal, but neither of them was hungry. Louis returned at nine o’clock that night and was shocked to see Arielle with his sister.

“Where did you land from?” he asked her with a suspicious look. He looked at her as though she was an enemy agent.

“I was supposed to meet my husband in Paris. How are you, Louis?”

“We’re managing. So, where’s Gregor? In the SS?”

“He retired from the army years ago. He was killed last night,” Arielle said with a lump in her throat. She could see from Louis’s eyes that the war had hardened him. He looked like an angry, bitter man. He had seen too much tragedy and senseless death. It made it easier to kill Germans when he went out on his missions for the Resistance. He was part of a cell farther into Normandy. They had had many successes and had done a lot of damage in the last four years. He was proud of it. Every dead German was a victory.

“He was shot as a traitor,” Jeanne informed her brother, and he looked wary.

“That’s why you’re here?” he asked Arielle, and she nodded.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually believe there are good Germans, but he was one, before all this insanity started.”

“He was involved in a plot to kill Hitler. I knew he hated him, but I didn’t know about the plot. Somehow it went wrong, and he was executed. That’s all I know.”

“They’ll talk about it on the radio sooner or later,” Louis commented, “and brag about how many men they killed as punishment.” He had brought the promised sausages for Jeanne. The three of them shared one, and they each ate sparingly. When they had finished, Louis looked at their cousin thoughtfully. “You should leave here tomorrow,” he said. “Don’t wait for them to come snooping around and ask about you, if they’re looking for you.”

“They haven’t shown any interest so far,” Jeanne said. “Colonel Heimlich asked me about her, and I said she’s my fancy cousin from Paris. I said you had a fight with your husband and found out he has a mistress so you came to see me for a few days for advice. He thought it was funny.”

“Where should I go?” Arielle asked Louis, worried.

“They’ve had their hands full since the Allies landed on the beaches. The Germans are putting up a hell of a fight, but the Allies are too. They won’t be interested in you right now. But I’ll think about it tonight,” he said. He looked tired. He hadn’t slept in two days, but the mission had been a success. He never talked to Jeanne about what he did or where he went. The less she knew the better. With no wife and no children, he had nothing to lose, and risked his life constantly for love of country. But it was good news if the Allies were coming. He went to his room then, and the two women went to Jeanne’s room, put on their nightgowns, and got into Jeanne’s narrow bed. They turned off the light and lay talking for a long time. It was almost like old times, except that they had both lost husbands, and Jeanne a son.

“Do you remember when we used to sleep in the same bed in my bedroom?” Jeanne reminded her. “You were about six and I was eight, and you used to bring all your dolls with you.” There was a silence then as they both remembered it. “And now those bastards are sleeping in our beds.”

“It won’t be forever,” Arielle said sadly, and thought about the house in Berlin that would be taken now, with all the things she loved in it. But since Gregor had died as a traitor, everything he owned would be considered the property of the Reich now, and the von Auspecks had beautiful things of great value. The Germans would take the schloss too, and everything the family owned. The people who had worked for them would be interrogated. If the Gestapo trusted them, they would be reassigned or remain with the house. And if not they would be sent to labor camps. It made Arielle sick when she thought of their faithful employees, and particularly Monika, who was such a sweet young woman. Her greatest fear now was for her children.

Arielle knew she would be penniless when the war was over, if she survived it, if they didn’t kill her first. She thought of the Allies landing on the beaches of Normandy and hoped they’d come soon to rescue them from the Germans. She was hoping her own countrymen would lose the war, and she would be reunited with Marianna and Viktor.

The two women fell asleep lying next to each other, and morning came quickly. A rooster crowed and Jeanne got up at the first signs of daylight. Louis was already in the kitchen, drinking the evil fake coffee that was all they could get and that he never got used to. Arielle joined them a few minutes later. She was wearing a plain black cotton dress and flat black shoes. Jeanne could guess that she was in mourning for Gregor. Louis pushed a map across the table to her, and she looked at it.

“There’s a small town fifty kilometers from here. I can drive you there, or you can take the train. It was a summer community, but people live there all year round now. It has a few restaurants, a couple of stores, a post office, a church, even a small library. You should be able to get a job. The young people leave and go to Deauville or Paris, so someone might hire you. There is no army billeted nearby. There was a small hotel, but it’s closed now. But someone might rent you a room. You can say you’re a widow from Paris. There are plenty of them these days.” She was now one of them, she realized, and was shocked all over again. “You should stay below the radar as much as you can. Don’t draw attention to yourself or get too close to anyone and tell them your story. No one is your friend, Arielle. Trust no one, keep to yourself.” She was going to have a lonely, isolated existence, but she didn’t care, if it was safe. Louis thought it was. And she trusted him. He was family. He had spoken to her the way he did when they were children. Louis always knew everything, and he still did. And Arielle knew she had to stay alive for her son and daughter, whenever they would be together again. They would need her even more now, without Gregor.

“I listened to the wireless last night,” Louis said then. “I heard the story of what happened to Gregor and his friends. They’ve made it public. Hitler must be furious. They listed the names of the men who masterminded the attempt on the Führer’s life. There were some big names, people who were close to him. I wrote them down in case you know them. I couldn’t remember them all.” He slipped a piece of paper toward her, and she read what was on it. She knew all of them. They were some of Gregor’s closest friends. The news report said that Ludwig Beck, retired general, had been the leader of the assassination attempt. He had tried to smuggle a briefcase containing two bombs into the Führer’s study at the Wolf’s Lair in Poland. Someone had moved the briefcase, the first bomb had failed to detonate, the second one was far enough from the Führer so he was only slightly injured, and the plot had been exposed quickly. The other men responsible for it included Claus von Stauffenberg and two generals, Friedrich Olbricht and Henning von Tresckow. They mentioned Gregor’s name and his rank, and they said that the commander of France was involved too—Carl-Heinrich von Stülpnagel had been relieved of his post and was on his way back to Germany. The attempt was apparently called Operation Valkyrie, and Arielle instantly remembered hearing Ludwig Beck say those words to Gregor one night as they left the library. Arielle had teased Gregor about how much he hated Wagnerian operas, when in fact it had been the code name of an assassination plot. It broke her heart that they had failed. She hated Hitler more than ever. Louis said that the military reserves had been involved, allied with the aristocrats, and scores of them had been shot too. It had been a surprisingly detailed plan, but once unveiled they would all be dead men in a few days, and many already were. Hitler had wasted no time in meting out retribution to serve as an example to others who might want to do the same. The report said that Beck had committed suicide in deep shame for what he’d done, and the announcer had read a statement Beck had supposedly written before he killed himself, which neither Louis nor Arielle believed, and she knew him well. The others had been shot individually or faced a firing squad. It had been one of the most intricate, well-planned plots against the Führer, and they had bungled it. Louis said that they were publicizing the failed attempt heavily, as a warning to other dissidents not to try it. The announcer had said that the military involved had been criminals, the aristocrats who had organized it were degenerates, and Germany would be better off without them. There was no doubt after Arielle read what Louis had written down from the radio announcement that Gregor was one of them and had lost his life in the process. His name was prominently mentioned, and although it had ended in failure, she was deeply proud of him for what he had tried to do, for the good of the nation and the world. Gregor had died a hero, and it made her cry all over again, as she read it.

“Your husband was a hero,” Louis said simply to his cousin. “I’m proud to have known him. You’ll have to be careful,” he said, “they might be looking for you, assuming that you knew about it too. You left Germany before the attempt, which they may find suspicious. Or they may not care about the wives. They’ve punished the men who did it. That might satisfy them. Or they may want to make an example of you to discourage brave women from similar heroic acts. Women can be more dangerous than men sometimes, and more courageous.” He had discovered that again and again in the last four years, although he hadn’t gotten personally attached to any of them. But he liked working with them in the Resistance. They had never let him down on missions with them. He was still mourning the wife he had lost to cancer before the war, and he had vowed never to love another. Jeanne was sorry about it. Her brother was a good man, and he needed more than his vendetta against the Germans to warm him. But all he wanted was to kill as many as he could. They had lost too many good men to them and suffered too greatly at their hands. He was determined to be as cruel to them as they had been to the French. He lived only for that now. He avenged his brother-in-law and nephew, and so many others, almost every day.

“You should leave this morning,” he told Arielle, after she’d read his notes of the radio broadcast the night before, and she looked startled.

“Can’t she stay another day?” Jeanne asked. After losing sight of each other for four years, they were enjoying their reunion, and the comfort they offered each other.

“No,” he said coldly to his sister. “Every hour she spends here puts her life at risk, and ours, if someone gets suspicious or sees her and recognizes her.” He turned to Arielle then. “And don’t try to contact your daughter or your son. With luck, they may leave them alone, with only a warning, if they think well of Marianna’s husband and Viktor is a loyal soldier. She will be branded as the daughter of a traitor, and so will Viktor. If you try to see them or call or write to them, or go back to Berlin, you’ll be risking their lives as well as your own. If you love them, stay away. You can find each other later, when it’s over.

“You can’t come back here either.” He handed her a small piece of paper then with a phone number on it. “Memorize this number. If you’re in danger, call it. Tell them, ‘The moon is full tonight.’ They’ll send someone to help you. Do what they tell you. You can trust them. I’ll take you to the train station in an hour.” He left their small, dank quarters then, and went to do his chores in the yard. He came back an hour later, and Jeanne and Arielle sat close to each other, holding hands. They knew they wouldn’t see each other again until the war was over, if they were still alive. From that moment on, Arielle would have to find her way on her own, far from home and anyone she loved. She had no idea when she’d see her children again, but she couldn’t put them at risk, nor her cousins. She would have to see to her own survival. She had none of the tools or skills that her cousins had acquired, living in proximity to the invading army in an occupied country. She would have to figure it out as she went along.

She wore her sober simple black clothes when Louis carried her suitcase to the truck and threw it in the back, and the two women held each other tight for a minute. They were about to lose each other again, with no idea for how long, or if they’d ever see each other again. Every day could be their last.

“Take care of yourself,” Arielle said to her softly.

“You too,” Jeanne said, her eyes brimming with tears, afraid they would never meet again. That had happened too often—people you loved who disappeared forever, moments after you saw them, stolen by the war and the German army.

There were no other words left to say, and no need for them. Their brief night together had reminded them both of better times, and gave them something to hang on to.

No one stopped them as they left the chateau in Louis’s truck, and Jeanne watched them until they got to the wire fence and two soldiers asked Arielle for her papers. She handed them over with a solemn expression. They checked her passport and papers and handed them back to her. One of them opened the gate and they headed down the driveway, the two sentries waved them through without checking again, and Louis headed toward the train station. They didn’t speak on the way. Arielle knew she would have cried if she did. From now on, she would be on her own, without even being able to contact her children. All she had was the phone number Louis had made her memorize, which was obviously that of someone in the Resistance, someone like him, saving the lives of people he didn’t know and would never see again.

Louis knew of an excellent forger in the town where she was going, but he didn’t give Arielle his contact information. She didn’t need it. If their paths did cross, it was better that she didn’t know his connection to Louis. They had used him several times to produce documents and alter passports. It was a talent he had developed since the Occupation. Before that, he had been an amateur artist in his spare time. They had all developed special talents since the war began. Louis didn’t know his real name, only a code name, and a contact person.

—

Colonel Heimlich, the commanding officer at the chateau, said good morning to Jeanne as she entered his room to clean it, after Arielle left. He was about to go downstairs to his office. He had seen Louis drive out in his truck from the window, with the suitcase in the back.

“I see your cousin has already left,” he commented in his heavily accented French. “That was a short visit.” He was just making idle conversation. He always felt sorry for Jeanne. This had been her home once, and now she and her brother lived in the freezing cold basement, and she cleaned toilets and made beds. But the Germans wouldn’t be there forever. He knew they would be leaving soon.

“She went back to Paris,” Jeanne said in a flat voice about Arielle.

“What did you advise her about her husband?” he asked her, curious about her.

“I told her to go back to him and forget about his mistress. Things happen in wartime that you have to forget and put behind you,” she invented as she went along.

“That’s good advice,” he said kindly. He was always polite and pleasant to her, and gave her and Louis some extra food now and then from their own stores. “One day our lives will all return to normal. We’ll go back to our families and our jobs. Wars don’t last forever,” he said, carrying a stack of papers out of the room with him. “Have a good day.” She thought about what he had said. She couldn’t even imagine what normal was anymore, when everyone you loved was killed, or those you loved most. She thought of Arielle going to a town she didn’t know, in a country not her own, to try to survive the remainder of the war all alone, far from home. Jeanne already missed her, now that they had reconnected, and she wondered if they would see each other again. Nothing was certain anymore, except that Jeanne’s husband and her son were never coming home again. But one day she hoped to see her daughter. She lived for that now. Her daughter Sylvie and her brother Louis were all she had left. And now Arielle.

Louis dropped Arielle off at the train station with her suitcase, and she bought a ticket with the money she had. She had to find a job soon. The money Gregor had given her for Paris wouldn’t last forever, and it was all she had now, except for the jewelry she could sell. But she’d have to go to Paris to do that, and it might be dangerous for her there. She was safer in Normandy where no one knew her.

Louis waited with her for a few minutes and then said goodbye. He didn’t like lingering goodbyes, especially now. And even dressed in plain clothes, Arielle was noticeable, with her looks, and the way she carried herself. She had all the earmarks and traits of the upper class.

“Be careful, Arielle,” he said softly. “With luck, we’ll see each other again. Maybe soon. The Americans will get to us sooner or later.” They had pummeled the beaches and were advancing through France.

“You be careful too,” she said with a serious look. They both knew what she meant. She fully understood that he was deeply involved with the Resistance. “Jeanne needs you,” she reminded him.

“We all need each other,” he said. And with a wave, he walked away to his truck, and drove back to the chateau. She watched him, wishing that she had known it would be the last time she’d see Gregor when she said goodbye to him in Berlin. You never knew now who you would lose and who you would see again. Louis’s truck disappeared as the train came into the station. A few people got on when she did, and she struggled to get her suitcase up the steps and into her second-class compartment. It was a short trip, so she hadn’t bought a first-class ticket. As the train pulled out of the station and she saw the countryside slip by, she wondered if she would ever see her children and her home in Germany again. She couldn’t let herself think about it. She was afraid she would lapse into German without thinking. Her survival now depended on everyone around her, including herself, believing that she was French, just as her papers said.