Far From Home

Chapter 9

By the end of May, some of the American troops were already leaving the Chateau de Villier. Their goal was to maintain a skeleton crew there to ensure peace in the area and help France get on its feet again. The commanding officer felt that the Villiers had been intruded on long enough. As the men left, he wanted to reduce the area the Americans were occupying in the chateau to one or two of the upper floors, and let the family settle back into their home. The U.S. Army was paying them a very fair amount for the inconvenience, and Louis and the commanding officer together chose an area where the soldiers could park all their vehicles without choking the courtyard and making it inaccessible. It was a far cry from Jeanne and Louis’s experience with the Germans, which already seemed like a distant memory. The Americans had been in Normandy for nearly a year now, since the previous summer, when they landed on the beaches.

The young soldiers were helpful, and gave Jeanne a hand with whatever she needed. They had helped her move all the heavy furniture back into its original locations. The antiques had taken a beating, some curtains had fallen down, rugs had been worn thin by heavy boots. There were a few cigarette burns here and there, and a few items she loved had been stolen. The Germans had not been respectful tenants, but the Americans were. They helped more than they hindered and she would be sorry to see them leave by the end of the summer, if the area remained peaceful.

She and Louis had already moved back into the two master suites. The commanding officer had graciously moved into the best guest room upstairs, of his own volition. For all intents and purposes, Jeanne and Louis were home again. Jeanne had spoken to her late husband’s relatives, and her daughter, Sylvie, was coming home in the fall to start school again. Jeanne didn’t want her home until even the Americans were gone. It seemed prudent, given her womanly appearance, and her youthful age.

Arielle had called Jeanne as soon as the German surrender was signed. She was still being cautious. She was in an awkward situation with her papers, and in a dilemma using either her French documents, which were real but in the wrong name, or her German ones, which put all the restrictions on her of a conquered nation, and could raise questions as to where she had been for the last year. She didn’t want to get her cousins in trouble for harboring or assisting the enemy. Although she hadn’t stayed with them, they hadn’t reported her either. It was a delicate position to be in, but at least she could visit them openly at the chateau now. Jeanne said that the American officer in charge had been very good to them, and didn’t intrude on them, or ask questions about who was around. Jeanne invited her to visit the Sunday after Arielle’s call. They hadn’t seen each other in ten months, although they were a short distance apart. It had been too dangerous for Arielle to contact them, and would have put her cousins at risk.

“You know, you can stay with us now if you want,” Jeanne said generously.

“I don’t want to cause trouble for you before I get my document situation sorted out. It could be awkward for you. But I may take you up on it later.” Arielle was comfortable in her tiny room at Madame Bouchon’s, but in the long run it wouldn’t make sense to stay there with an entire family chateau at her disposal. It was fine for now, and she had grown fond of her landlady. Arielle knew that Madame Bouchon would miss her when she left, and she would miss her too. It was like living with a kind aunt, or a nice mother-in-law. Arielle had lost her mother so young, at eighteen, that she was used to not having a mother figure present in her life, and it was comforting having an older woman to relate to, and talk to at times. But Arielle was more used to being a mother than having one. Nicole was just an intelligent, dignified, respectful companion, with her ritual cognac every night.

Arielle felt the same way about her boss, Olivia Laporte, at the general store, although she was more outspoken, a little rougher, and slightly younger than Nicole Bouchon. She was very free with unsolicited advice, and had a good sense of humor, which was slightly raunchy at times. She was going to miss Arielle too. And although it wasn’t challenging mentally, Arielle had appreciated the job, not just for the small amount she was paid, but for the distraction, and she had met Sebastien that way, and he had become a cherished friend. Arielle appreciated him deeply, and it was entirely mutual. They were confidants and close friends. She was well aware of how much he missed his daughter and wife. They were always foremost in his mind and his heart. And with each passing day, he was more anxious to get to Berlin. He had been in contact with several organizations to help locate his family since the day after VE Day. He hadn’t lost any time, but the aid workers had explained that conditions in Berlin were still chaotic, and they would be better able to help him if he waited a few more weeks. He had waited four years to find his family, with the war still on, so he forced himself to be patient, with Arielle’s encouragement. What they had told him made sense. Reports of the conditions in Berlin were still terrible.

Sebastien and Arielle had gone to their last Resistance meeting together. The cell was being disbanded, but they had spent time together which would never be forgotten. It was etched in all their minds, and Arielle’s for the months she had spent with them. Their final meeting was emotional for all of them. Sebastien packed up his art supplies that he’d used for the forgeries, and smiled at Arielle as she watched him.

“If you ever need a new driver’s license, let me know. I’m fast and you won’t have to stand in line, and the service is free.” She smiled, and it reminded her that she had some important things to tell him.

She thanked Pascal when they left, for allowing her to join them.

“Your translations were excellent. You kept us from getting caught by a fatal error many times, Marie.” He called her by her code name.

“Arielle,” she corrected him.

“Bernard,” he said with a smile. “If you ever need a doctor, call me.” He handed her his card. “Will you be going back to Paris?” he asked her, and she hesitated.

“I’m not sure. I have some things to take care of first.” He nodded. He knew she had lost her husband, which would be a big change for her. “I have to find my children and see what they want to do, and where they’ll live.” The doctor looked at her with compassion. All of their lives would be different now, after six years of war. Sometimes peacetime was even harder to adjust to, when nothing was the same as it used to be. Bernard had lost his wife too, she knew, although they seldom spoke of their personal lives at the meetings of their cell. It was strange to think now that the work they had done was so important and affected so many lives, and saved some, and now they would return to more mundane pursuits. It was going to be an adjustment for all of them. They had been so desperately needed for six years and now it was over.

She and Sebastien were both quiet when they left the house for the last time. The wine cellar would be empty now, and all the members of their cell gone, disbanded, and back to their peacetime lives. For some it would be a great deal less interesting and exciting than what they had done in the war.

“I talked to my cousin today,” she told him on the drive home, after the meeting. He knew she had cousins in France that she couldn’t contact so as not to endanger them, but he didn’t know who or where. “She invited me to lunch on Sunday. Would you like to come?”

“They’re near here?”

“Fairly close,” she said, and then she told him the rest. “I lied to you when I said they weren’t the family whose chateau was taken over by the Germans fifty kilometers from here. I couldn’t put them at risk by association with me.”

“I wondered about it,” he admitted. But he had never pressed her on the subject. He wasn’t surprised. They all had secrets they couldn’t share while the war was on.

“There are still some American soldiers there. My cousin says they’re very nice and keep to themselves. The Americans have the upper floors now, and my cousins have the main part of the house back.” It sounded like a lot more than a “house” to him. “She invited me to move in if I want to. And she invited me to lunch on Sunday, and you, if you’d like to come.”

“Do you think you will move in?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “Maybe later, not now. I’m going to miss Madame Bouchon,” she said with a smile. “And Olivia.”

Sebastien glanced at her and added, “I’m going to miss you.”

“Do you want to come over tonight after dinner?” she asked him seriously. “We can sit in the living room. Madame Bouchon lets me use it now whenever I want. And she likes you.” Arielle had important things to tell him that couldn’t wait any longer. It would be a test of his friendship as to how he viewed her after that. Until then, it had been easy to be her friend. He might feel differently now. She needed to know. He deserved the truth. She couldn’t risk it before the war ended and she didn’t want to wait any longer. The time had come. She was nervous about it. What if he hated her after he knew?

“You look worried,” he said to her as he drove. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. But he knew her well and could tell that she had something on her mind.

“No, I’m fine. We’ll talk later. I’m just sad to say goodbye to our friends at the meeting. I’m going to miss it a lot.”

“Me too. I guess I won’t have a chance to do forgeries again.” He smiled at her. “Who knew I’d have hidden talents? I thought I was just a simple lawyer.”

“There’s nothing simple about you, Sebastien.”

He dropped her off at Madame Bouchon’s a few minutes later. “See you later?” she asked him. They had gone to the meeting place early to say goodbye and pick up their things.

“Sure. Around eight. And thank you for the invitation on Sunday with your cousins. Do I have to wear a suit and tie?” He looked anxious about it and she laughed.

“If I know my cousin Jeanne, she’ll be wearing gardening boots, an old sweater with holes in it, and forget to comb her hair. And my cousin Louis will wear overalls with hay in his teeth. Country aristocrats are never formal. Their tenant farmers dress better. I’m not even sure Louis owns a tie anymore. They never go to the city. They’re happy here, now that they have the house back.” She’d been wondering if she would be happy here too, but she didn’t think so. It was peaceful and easy, but she loved Paris, and at times she missed Berlin. She was sad to hear what a mess it was now, and how badly damaged. She had seen pictures in the newspapers, the city was decimated and barely recognizable, except for the major monuments. And there were soldiers of every nationality crowding the streets, heavily armed. It wasn’t a peaceful city yet. With so many people displaced and without money or jobs, crime was rampant, rapes, murders, thefts, looting. It was a dangerous city for now.

Arielle chatted with Madame Bouchon in the kitchen for a few minutes, and went upstairs. Madame Bouchon was having dinner. She ate very little and was very thin. They all were after five years of the occupation. Only the American soldiers looked well fed and healthy. Most Europeans were pale and gaunt, and Arielle was too.

She brushed her hair, and sat thinking about what to say until Sebastien arrived, on time as usual. He looked serious, having caught the mood from her on the way home. And he was sad too to say goodbye to their Resistance friends. He wondered if they’d see them again. Probably not, since they came from many walks of life, and some were from different regions, and were moving away after the war, to go home. Normandy had been a refuge for many during the occupation.

He walked in and sat down on the couch. Madame Bouchon kept her living room immaculate and neat as a pin. He dwarfed the small couch with his tall frame and long legs. Everything in the room was scaled to a meticulous older woman with a small frame.

“Wine?” Arielle asked him. She needed it more than he did to tell him what she had to say.

“Sure.” He opened it for her, and poured two glasses of red wine. And then he looked at her. “You’re killing me, Arielle. What’s wrong?” He had the feeling that she was leaving and had waited until the last minute to tell him. He could feel panic rising up in him. He needed her support and loved seeing her every day.

“I don’t know if you’ll think it’s wrong or not. There are some things about me that I never told you. I couldn’t until now. It would have put both of us in danger.”

“You’re a German spy,” he teased her, to lighten the moment, “or Hitler’s daughter.”

“No, thank God. But you’re half right. I’m not a spy. But I’m not French. My mother was French, her maiden name was de Villier. My father was German, and my maiden name is von Marks.” Sebastien knew that “von” and “de” were the same thing in French and German, indicating nobility. So she was an aristocrat on both sides. “I grew up in Germany, in Berlin, but I spent my summers here as a child in my mother’s family chateau, and I’m bilingual in French and German, which you know. But I’m German, not French. My married name is von Auspeck. We were good Germans, if you can still call it that, after everything they’ve done.”

“Do you have dual nationality?” he asked her, and she shook her head.

“My husband, Gregor, was not French and didn’t die of tuberculosis in Paris. I’ve never lived in Paris, only Berlin.” She could see that he looked stunned but was trying not to be. “Gregor was part of an elite circle of aristocrats and high-up military men, mostly generals, who hated Hitler and wanted to get him out of power. They formed a plot to assassinate Hitler at his refuge in Poland. One of them brought him a briefcase with two bombs in it that were set to go off. Something went wrong and Hitler wasn’t killed and only suffered a punctured eardrum. All of the conspirators, including my husband, were executed that day. It was last July, and it was in the press. I didn’t know about the plot until he was killed. I was in Paris, waiting to meet him for a holiday. The commander of Paris was part of it, and my husband must have arranged with him to get me French documents in case something went wrong. I was given a French passport in my mother’s maiden name, and legal travel papers, not forgeries. They’re real, but they are false in the sense that I’m not French, and they’re not in my correct name. I could have been killed as a traitor for having them. I have to straighten it out now, because it was a crime if I’d been caught by the Germans. And if I use my correct German passport now, I’ll be treated as the enemy.”

“Not if you explain it to someone in a high position. You were in danger from the Germans and had to hide with the French passport. You had to use the means you did to stay alive. The Nazis probably would have killed you, because of your husband.” He made it sound very simple, but it didn’t seem so to her. She was trapped between two worlds, and two half-truths which, when added up, made a lie. A big one.

“More than anything, I wanted you to know the truth, that I am not truly French. And legally, technically, by nationality, I’m German. My daughter, Marianna, is married to a Luftwaffe pilot, a loyal German, a real one, not like us. My husband was violently opposed to everything Hitler stood for, and risked his life to prove it. My son is in the German army, and was devoted to the principles of his country. He was fed years of propaganda in the Hitlerjugend and believed it all. He’s very young, only twenty.

“I don’t know where my children are. I assume Marianna is still in Berlin. From the time my husband was killed, I had to disappear. I couldn’t contact her and haven’t in ten months. I want to see her now. And I want to see my son. I have no idea where he is or what they’ve done with German soldiers in the aftermath of the war. I want to go to Berlin as soon as possible, to find them.”

“And you want to go back there and live in Germany?” He looked disappointed more than shocked.

“No, I don’t. I want to see my children, and I suppose they’ll want to stay there. I can’t live in Germany again, even without Hitler. They killed my husband. They committed atrocities. I’ve always been half German and half French and torn about it, but I grew up there, I felt comfortable being German. I no longer do. After everything that happened in the war, I realize that I’m French more than German. I have a German passport, that’s all. I’ll apply for a legal French one, which I can do because of my mother, though it might be a problem right now, so soon after the war. But I wanted you to know what parts of my history are true and what aren’t. Being German is not something to be proud of. There are people who will hate me for it. I just hope you’re not one of them. And just so you know, I couldn’t see my cousins the whole time I’ve been here, or even call them. I didn’t want to get them in trouble if I was discovered. The Germans had taken over the chateau. They’re gone, and there are American soldiers there, but it’s not as big a problem with them, and they’re not going to demand to see my papers if I go to lunch. My cousin says they’re very agreeable and helpful. But at some point they will want to know if I was a loyal German and a collaborator. I didn’t speak to my French cousins for five years, until Gregor was killed, because Jeanne hated me so much for being German. They killed her husband and son, who were in the Resistance. She still has a daughter.”

Sebastien paused for a minute before he responded to the tidal wave of information she’d given him, but it all led to the same thing. She was a good person and a decent woman. She had committed no crimes. Arielle and her husband were Germans with a conscience, and her husband had died nobly for a good cause. If she had pretended to be French, who could blame her in the situation she was in? They had paid a high price for their opposition to Hitler, and gone against the tides of their country courageously.

“Arielle, I don’t care what passport you use, or what nationality your papers say you are. I know who you are, what you believe in, and what you stand for. You’re not a criminal. You lost everything for what you and your husband felt about Hitler’s regime. And from what I know, you were a good wife and a good mother, and you’re a profoundly good person. You risked your life in the Resistance while you were here. What passport you have means nothing to me.”

“But I lied to you,” she said with tears in her eyes.

“About something very unimportant, and you were right not to tell me. It could have been dangerous for both of us and for other people, if I ever slipped about your nationality. I would have done the same thing.”

“You’re not angry at me?”

“Of course not. You really don’t think you’ll go home to Berlin after this?” He was curious and concerned.

“Only to see my children, and to visit. I couldn’t live there again with the memories I have. And I never want to have to say again that I’m a German. I’m not anymore.” He nodded. He was thinking.

“I have an idea and a favor to ask you. I want to go to Berlin as soon as feasible, to start tracking Naomi and Josephine. I don’t speak German, most Germans don’t speak French, and I’m ashamed to say my English is very poor. It’s going to be a complicated process. Apparently the Germans kept very precise records in the camps, so the information is there somewhere. The American authorities and the Red Cross are trying to collect it now from each of the camps, and bring copies of those records to Berlin, to a central location. I’ll need help dealing with them. And you want to go to find your children. Would you go with me? You’ll be safer with a man, not alone, and you can help me deal with the Germans to get through those records. I need you as a translator, and I could be your bodyguard in a war-torn city.” His eyes pleaded with her and she smiled. It was a perfect idea, for both of them. “You’re my best friend, Arielle. Will you go with me? And to be honest, it’s a stroke of luck for me now that you are German.” She smiled broadly when he said it. She had always believed that destiny had joined their paths so they could help each other in the hard times, and this was another opportunity to do it.

“I would love to. I’d be honored. And if we have to, we can go to the camps if we can’t get the information in Berlin. I have the time. We can look for our children together.” They were both smiling. He had come up with the perfect plan for both of them. “When do you think we can go?” she asked him.

“On our own, we’d have had to wait longer. Without the language, I needed to wait until they were more organized to deal with foreigners in English. They’re looking for translators now to handle the inquiries from survivors. And you would have had to wait for Berlin to calm down. Together, I think we could go in a couple of weeks.” It was good news to her, and then her face clouded.

“I have to go to Paris first, or on the way. I have some jewelry with me, not much, but I want to sell it to pay for the trip, and to live on. Things will be more expensive now.” She’d been living on her salary from Olivia Laporte. She had run out of her petty cash from Gregor months before.

“I thought the same thing. I’m going to sell my father’s gold watch. I think cash might be useful, it’s supposedly even hard to buy food in Berlin, except on the black market.”

“We have to sell it in Paris,” Arielle said practically. “No one will buy jewelry here.” He agreed. “I have one piece with me that will be worth more than the rest.”

“And one last thing. Can I take a look at your French passport, now that I know its origins? I’m just curious. I want to see if it’s a good forgery or real, given how you got it.” She ran up the stairs to her room to get it, came back downstairs and handed it to him. He studied it carefully for several minutes, holding it up to the light, and took a small magnifying glass out of his pocket to look at a detail, before handing it back to her, satisfied.

“It’s real. I thought I could learn something from it. He just used the name that’s on it, but it’s a fresh passport, the pages were new when they wrote your name in it, even though they didn’t have the documents to back it up. He probably pulled rank to do it. It’s a real passport, Arielle. It’s just the wrong name. That’s not really a crime, not in the free world. And you don’t have French nationality officially, but you have a right to it through your mother. I don’t think they’ll make a big deal of it when you straighten it out. There’s going to be so much confusion in places like passport offices for a long time. You might not even have to apply for French nationality, because of your mother. You can get it automatically, you’re eligible for it.”

“Which do you think I should use when we go to Germany?” she asked him. She had been in a quandary about it, afraid to do the wrong thing.

“I think I’d use that one. They’re going to be less worried about letting French citizens into Germany than trying to figure out who are the good Germans and who are the bad ones, but that’s just my guess. I could be wrong.”

“I think you’re right, and I’m glad it’s real and not a forgery. I’ll take both just in case.” And the best part was that he didn’t hate her, and they were going to Germany together to find their children and his wife. And they were going as exactly what they were, best friends. And even after her confession, they still were.

—

The lunch with Jeanne and Louis at the Chateau de Villier on Sunday went well, and was very different than Sebastien had expected. In spite of her telling him how countrified and informal they were, Sebastien wore a suit and tie and shined his shoes. He looked very proper and like a serious lawyer when they arrived. Jeanne had made an effort and wore a sweater she hadn’t worn since before the war, with little pearls on it, a gray skirt that hung on her, and her gardening boots, and she had combed her hair. And Louis, true to form, had worn his overalls and the work boots he wore every day.

The commanding officer who was responsible for the American soldiers had chosen a recreation area for his troops, with Louis’s permission, in order to give his men space and the chateau owners privacy, and they were playing football and having a picnic in a distant field, and Jeanne had set a lovely table in the garden, and had made a delicious lunch with one of their chickens, vegetables from the garden that no one was taking from them anymore, and a tarte tatin with apples from the orchard. Arielle had forgotten what a good cook Jeanne was. And all four of them got on splendidly. Jeanne and Louis liked Sebastien enormously, and he explained that he and Arielle were going to Berlin together, to find their children and his wife. Jeanne was skeptical that it would be successful, for him at least, but she didn’t say so. She thought the likelihood of his daughter and wife having survived one of the concentration camps for four years was extremely low, but she didn’t want to dash his hopes. Marianna and Viktor would be easier to locate, and she was sure that Arielle would succeed. But she was relieved that her cousin wasn’t going alone.

They all took a walk in the woods afterward, and the two men walked ahead, talking about politics and the war, the outlook for the economy, and the policies of Charles de Gaulle. It was standard male conversation between two men who felt comfortable with each other and had hit it off from the moment they met that day.

As soon as the men were out of earshot, Jeanne asked Arielle a pointed question.

“Are you in love with him?” she asked her, and Arielle smiled and shook her head.

“We’re best friends.”

“Sometimes that’s the best way to fall in love,” Jeanne said wisely.

“He’s still in love with his wife, and determined to find her, and I can’t imagine being with any man but Gregor. I had twenty-three happy years with him. I don’t need to be married again, or even want to.”

“I hope you change your mind about that,” Jeanne said. “I hate to say it and I wouldn’t to him, but he has about one chance in a million of finding his wife in one of those camps. They killed millions. And you had a wonderful life with Gregor, but you could have a wonderful life with someone else. Sebastien is a really lovely man, he’s intelligent, obviously devoted to his family, serious about his career, and you seem to like each other. If you could be happy with him, don’t hang on to the past, Arielle. This is a new chapter in your life. You have a right to more than just memories. See what happens in Berlin, but if you’re both free, don’t deprive yourself of happiness. The war taught us that, if nothing else. Seize happiness with both hands if it comes your way. We don’t know what’s coming tomorrow. We all just lost six years out of our lives and so many people we loved. Don’t turn your back on love out of respect for the past. Gregor would want you to be happy, and Sebastien’s wife would probably want that for him too. His project to get people’s homes back for them sounds wonderful, by the way.”

“I want to work on it with him, if I move to Paris.”

Jeanne smiled as she listened. They might be best friends, but she thought they were already in love and didn’t know it. They’d figure it out eventually when they put the past to rest.

When they met up with the men again, she was more convinced of it than ever when she saw the tender, affectionate way Sebastien put an arm around Arielle. The men were laughing about something and Louis shared it with the women.

“I can’t remember if I told you, Arielle, but I think I mentioned that I worked with a fantastic forger in the Resistance. I never met him and I only knew his code name, Olivier. He saved several families for me at short notice, and many individual children. And his work was exquisite.” He pointed to Sebastien then, who was smiling. “I just met him. He does the best forgeries I’ve ever seen.” Arielle laughed at the recommendation, and Jeanne was smiling.

“It’s a little hard to add that to one’s CV,” Sebastien said modestly, and they all laughed, “particularly as a lawyer.”

They stayed until nearly dinnertime, and Sebastien promised to come back soon. He and Arielle were in good spirits on the way home. He had put his tie in his pocket and taken his jacket off halfway through the afternoon.

“I like your family a lot,” he told her. “They weren’t what I expected at all. I thought they’d be snobs, or very fancy, but they’re not. They’re real people.”

“They loved you too.”

They had to get busy planning their trip to Berlin now. They had work to do, and dreams to pursue.