Читать книгу Sins of the Flesh - Fern Michaels - Страница 14

Daniel Bishop stepped foot onto English soil, his heart thrumming wildly about in his chest. This, the first leg of his journey, was over, and he was still alive, but he was far from his final objective and had no way of knowing how much longer it would take to reach that final objective. Someone had said they were in Plymouth, but the Brits were a secretive lot, and when he’d questioned the man who seemed to be his guide, he’d just shook his head and said, “Later,” then called him a bloody fool for leaving the safety of America to come on a wild goose chase. In the end Daniel had followed the man blindly through the driving rain to the metal airplane hangar where he was now sitting, waiting for someone in authority to tell him what his next move would be.

Daniel closed his eyes and did his best to focus on a map of England and France. Plymouth, he thought, was at the southern tip of England on the English Channel and directly across from Cherbourg, and directly southwest of Cherbourg was Brest, a true deep-water harbor that was mined by the Germans.

Angry sounds of dissension bounced off the tin walls of the hangar. Obviously the men weren’t happy with his presence and didn’t want the responsibility of crossing him over to French soil. And he didn’t blame them. What the hell was he doing here? Patience, he told himself. An hour later he was still telling himself to be patient when the discussion became more heated. The group’s words carried clearly to him.

“The old man gave the order himself, so we can’t ignore it. Bear in mind, all of you, it’s an order and not a request. When the prime minister says jump, lads, we jump. The best thing as I see it,” announced the speaker with the loud voice, “is to draw lots. Short stick takes him over.”

Daniel listened for what he was sure would be more muttered curses, but the little group grew strangely silent. His stomach heaved when a short, stocky man with a thick growth of beard approached him. “We’ll go now.”

“Now! But it’s storming outside,” Daniel protested.

“Exactly. Put this slicker on, follow me, and try not to open your mouth again until I dump you into the hands of the French Resistance.”

Daniel did as instructed. “How are we going to cross the Channel if it’s mined?”

The bearded man turned to him. “We aren’t crossing the Channel because it’s too dangerous. I have a wife and three children to think of, so we’re going out to the ocean and head due south. Those important friends of yours that know the prime minister said you wanted to go to Marseilles, so I’m going to drop you off at Bayonne; if we’re lucky, someone will meet you at Saint-Jean-de-Luz and take you the rest of the way. It won’t do to ask me any more questions because that’s all I know.”

It was a garbage scow, Daniel was sure of it. Minutes later his suspicion was confirmed when the howling wind drove the stench of rotting garbage past his nose. He could see the wisdom of using the storm as a cover; if they were stopped the scow’s captain could say he was blown off course. But the chances of that would be dim, he thought. Even Germans liked their comfort.

The scow, sturdy as it was, was no match for the storm they were sailing into. Rain sluiced downward, streaming over Daniel and the captain as waves strained upward to meet the onslaught from above. It seemed to Daniel that he was immersed in water from head to toe. Desperately he fought for toeholds that didn’t exist, used his hands that were now raw and bleeding from hanging on to the rope the captain tossed him.

Twenty minutes into the trip found Daniel violently ill, the contents of his stomach spewing onto the slippery deck. He tried to think of pleasant things, safe things, to keep his sanity as the scow pitched forward, then sideways, always ending with what seemed like tons of water pouring over him. What time was it in Washington or California? His brain refused to function when he tried to calculate. No sane person would go through what he was going through, regardless of who owed who what. There was every possibility that he wouldn’t even find Mickey.

Reuben…What was Reuben doing now? Most likely on his way to Washington to find out where he was. Of his two friends Rocky and Jerry, Rocky would be the one to give in to Reuben and tell all he knew. Reuben would gnash his teeth, stomp his feet, curse, bellow, and then calm down. Then it would all flood back to him, and the reason behind this trip would be clear.

Daniel found himself wondering if he would die trying to help Mickey. Probably not, since he still had a good many things to do in his life. God always seemed to listen to him when he begged for something. He hoped He was listening now.

Night crawled into day and then into night again with no letup from the storm. Daniel craved dry land and sleep, both of which were impossible. “Tie the rope around your waist, it will free your hands,” the captain called. It seemed a simple order until Daniel tried to knot the rope with his raw, bleeding hands. Finally he gave up and resumed holding the rope as he’d been doing.

“You Yanks are a prissy lot, and the prime minister thinks you’re going to be our salvation. Bull turds!” the captain bellowed.

“We’ll save your asses because you Brits don’t have the sense to do it yourself,” Daniel shouted. “Go ahead, tell me to shut up, see if I listen.”

“Feisty, aren’t we. Who’s saving your ass now, Yank?” the captain bellowed a second time. “I haven’t met a Yank yet who didn’t cry in his beer.”

“I don’t drink beer, and I don’t know any American who cries in his beer. We’re on your side, you asshole!”

“What are you, some kind of crusader?” the captain said, giving the wheel a vicious tug.

Daniel gasped and sputtered and almost lost his hold on the ropes when a ten-foot-high wave slapped him full in the face. “I’m a lawyer,” he groaned.

“A blimey solicitor getting fat off other people’s misery,” the captain snarled. Daniel refused to be baited or to dignify the man’s remarks with one of his own. He was a damn good lawyer, and no one was going to take that away from him.

“Won’t be long now,” the captain called cheerily.

Stuff it, Daniel thought nastily.

“It won’t be long now” turned into four hours more of the same torture. Daniel decided he wanted to die and be buried at sea. He’d have voiced the thought aloud but didn’t want to give the captain the satisfaction of knowing how miserable he was.

“Hang on, mister, I’m heading into the cove. We’re going to be doing a full turn, so hang on.”

Full turn, half turn, three-quarter turn, what the hell difference did it make? Daniel realized the difference the moment the scow turned and he found himself free of his ropes, sliding down past the captain, his body ricocheting from one garbage bin to the other…finally slamming into the last bin, which upended, burying him beneath its contents.

“Hold on, Yank, I’ll have you out in a minute, we’re in calm water now.” Free of the rotten garbage, Daniel wished for a return of the heavy rain that seemed to have faded. “If I were you, I’d give myself a good dunking or the Germans will smell you a mile away. Come on, Yank,” the captain said, holding out his hand. “Look, all those things I was saying back there was just to get your dander up. Not too many men could have held up the way you did. I wanted to make you mad. I’ll drink with you any day, Yank, and good luck with whatever the hell it is you’re here for. There’s a copse of trees over there, you wait it out and someone will find you. Don’t wander.”

“You’re not staying?” Daniel groaned.

“My country awaits,” the captain said gallantly. “Good luck.”

Daniel crawled to the copse and flung himself down. He wanted to sleep, needed to sleep, but he knew he couldn’t. It was as if he were a straw doll with no nerves, joints, or spine. His head rolled crazily about on his neck, and for the first time in his life he felt totally out of control. He had no strength to marshal to the surface, no inner untapped reserve. Over and over he asked himself what the hell he was doing here. The answer was always the same: He was here to repay a long-overdue debt. An emotional debt, to be sure, but a debt nonetheless.

The fine rain misting downward felt cool and refreshing on his face and body. Unfortunately it would also cover the sound of footsteps as it splattered on the leaves of the trees overhead. And he was too tired, too worn out, to strain his ears for alien sounds in this quiet, temporary shelter. If the storm worked its way inland, he was in deep trouble, he thought.

Daniel struggled to lift his arm so he could see the time, then remembered he’d been stripped of everything back in the metal hangar—his billfold, watch, and passport were all in a canvas bag awaiting his return, along with the labels that had been severed from his clothes. He knew he was inappropriately dressed for his trek to Marseilles. His shoes were the softest calf with thin leather soles, his shirt and trousers cotton seersucker. To his mind they screamed America.

Within minutes he was dozing, his eyelids full of weights he couldn’t dislodge. He had no idea how long he had slept when a sound reached his ears, a sound other than the dripping rain. Instantly he was alert, his eyes closed, his ears straining to pick up the sound again. Concentrating deeply, he began to count backward from a hundred and was on eighty-six when he opened his eyes to see four men, their bayonets fixed and pointing at him. In the gray drizzle of the copse he was unable to discern their features. Weakly he raised his right arm, the palm of his hand facing the men as though to say, Hold it, I’m an American. Then he quickly withdrew his hand. Jesus, what if they were Germans?

The tallest of the four stepped forward, the bayonet pointed at Daniel’s throat. “You have something to say?” he said in French.

Hell, yes, he had a lot to say in both French and English, but he knew what the man meant. “I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down,” he responded shakily.

Daniel’s relief was overwhelming when the man reached down to pull him to his feet. For the barest second he thought his knees would buckle, but they didn’t. His mobility had returned with the short nap he’d taken.

“I want to go to—”

The tallest of the men shook his head. Obviously they knew where he wanted to go, or they wouldn’t be walking so purposefully as he trailed along behind.

“Voices carry, especially in weather like this,” the man whispered to Daniel as he fell in beside him. Daniel had thought the rain would muffle voices and movement. But he nodded to show he understood.

“This is good weather to travel, the sky is dark and swollen, there’s fog near the ground, and the rain lowers visibility. Normally we travel only in darkness unless we have a day like this. We have many kilometers to cover and we must do it on foot.” The man looked down at his hiking boots and then at Daniel’s elegantly shod feet. Wearily he shook his head.

“How long?” Daniel whispered.

The man shrugged. “Days, nights, weeks. It depends on where the German patrols are. For the moment they are concentrating their strength to the north. They’re like locusts; they are everywhere. But the heaviest concentration is in Paris. So far we’ve been lucky.”

Lucky, my foot, Daniel thought eight days later. Never in his life could he remember being so tired, so heart-sick, and so very hungry. The soles of his feet were raw and bleeding; the soles of his calfskin shoes were long gone, replaced by ripping the sleeves from his shirt to tie around the instep of his foot. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never do anything as foolhardy or as brave as he was doing now.

Daniel almost burst into song when the tall man said, “Five hours at the most and we’ll have you at your village. It’s a little past midnight now. I’d say you’ll be creeping into the church at, say four-thirty. Someone will meet you and take you to the château. Can you make it, monsieur?”

“I can make it,” Daniel said grimly.

As he trudged along behind his guide, his steps lagging more and more, Daniel marveled at the French underground network. Every stop was anticipated. The inhabitants of the safe houses, as he thought of them, seemed to know when they were to arrive, yet no signals had been sent that he was aware of; no man had gone ahead of the small parade to alert those ahead of them, and he knew when he reached the village church the curé would be waiting for him.

They were on time, he calculated by the smile on his guide’s face. On their stomachs, they peered over the rise to the small village nestled quietly among sturdy, leafy trees. How many times he’d bicycled into this village, how many times he’d prayed in the village church. A moment later his guide handed him the binoculars. Nothing had changed. There was the boulangerie with its life-size loaf of iron bread outside the door, the pharmacie next door with its shaded awning, the épicier where he’d shopped for Mickey, the docteur where he’d gone with Reuben at the close of their stay…. How was it possible that the village hadn’t changed in all these years, Daniel wondered as he handed the binoculars back to the man on his right. By God, he was here, he’d made it!

“Adieu, monsieur,” the tallest of the men said quietly. “Bonne chance.”

Daniel stretched out his hand, but the men were already on their way back to wherever they’d come from.

The curé must have been watching from the bowels of the church, for the door to the sanctuary was thrust open as soon as Daniel approached. It was dark in this quiet place the priests used before Mass. And peaceful. If they walked into the church proper, there would be candlelight, he knew. How many he’d lighted for Reuben’s recovery years earlier. How many prayers he and Mickey had said. So many rosaries, so many novenas. And when Reuben was finally well, he’d come back to this church one last time and had sat for hours, saying rosary after rosary in thanks. It still smelled the same. Even in this tiny closet of a room he could smell the beeswax and the faint odor of turpentine mixed with the smoky smell of the burning candles.

The curé paced nervously about the room. “It will be but a few minutes. You will travel to the château on my bicycle. Your…escort will have one of his own. Ah, I hear him now,” he said in relief. Daniel hadn’t heard a thing. How did they do it? “Go now, he waits for you at the main entrance. Bonne chance, monsieur.”

“Thank you, Father,” Daniel whispered, and made his way outside.

Instinctively, he knew that he was staring at Reuben’s son. Even in the dark he could see the same body build, the same chiseled features, the same unruly dark hair. The boy was straddling his bicycle as though readying for a race, and in a way it was a race. A race to reach the château before dawn. He nodded curtly and mounted the bicycle. At first he started off uncertainly, but as confidence returned he picked up speed and pedaled after Philippe until they were traveling side by side.

Reuben’s son. The knowledge was so astounding, Daniel still couldn’t quite believe it. But he had to believe it since the boy was right alongside him. At that moment he’d have given anything to know what Reuben’s replica was thinking and feeling. How much did he know? What had Mickey told him all these years? Obviously not very much, or the boy would at least have written to his father. Daniel sighed wearily. Soon enough he would have all the answers.

Now he recognized it all—the beautiful château where he’d been so happy after the war. The road was the same, the deep ruts, the straggly dry grass along the sides and ditches, perhaps a little more overgrown, but still the same.

The boy was pedaling furiously now toward the huge barn where Mickey always kept the Citroën. With dismay he saw one of the huge swinging doors hanging by a single hinge. He remembered his dog, Jake, a gift from Bebe. How they’d romped through the meadows behind the château! The field had been full of bluebells and yellow flowers. Tears burned his eyes. Memories were a wonderful thing, happy or sad, but he had no time now to dwell on them.

The boy was waiting for him as he pulled up by the barn and dismounted. Daniel hesitated a moment, then extended his hand. “I’m Daniel Bishop,” he said.

“I know who you are,” the boy said in Reuben’s voice, his English perfect and unstilted. He ignored Daniel’s hand and started walking to the château.

It was strange, Daniel thought that the boy wasn’t going to enter the château by way of the kitchen door; but a moment later he understood why when Philippe opened the front door, held it aside for him, and then walked into the library. Daniel watched as Philippe glanced at the portrait over the mantel. Jesus, it was the same. Had he ever been that young? How beautiful Mickey was, and Reuben…Reuben looked…Reuben looked just the way the boy looked now except Reuben’s eyes were happy and smiling. The boy’s eyes were filled with anger and hatred. Why, Daniel wondered.

Philippe towered over the mantel, one long arm reaching up to lift the heavy painting from the wall. The boy’s movements were so sure, so defined, Daniel knew he’d had a lot of practice removing the picture from the wall. When he spoke his voice was cold and furious.

“I know why you’re here. It was a mistake for you to come. This is what I think of you and your Three Musketeers.”

Daniel watched in horror as the boy brought up his knee to puncture the aged canvas. The canvas didn’t rip, but it tore loose from the tacks and frame. Philippe tossed it aside like a toy he was tired of playing with. Daniel felt like crying.

The boy and his angry deed were forgotten as Mickey rushed to him, her arms outstretched. “Daniel! Mon Dieu! I told you he would come, Yvette! Daniel, I can hardly believe my eyes!” Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them away. “The same, chéri, you look the same. I would know you anywhere. How I’ve missed you, my friend. I’m so sorry that I’ve called upon you like this, but I had…Forgive me, Daniel, my manners are atrocious. Daniel, this is Philippe, my son, and, of course, you remember Yvette.” The boy nodded curtly and turned his back to his mother. Mickey looked at Daniel and shrugged helplessly.

Her arm around Daniel’s shoulders, Mickey led him to the table, where she offered him food. Yvette was already setting a place for him. “It’s not much,” Mickey said apologetically.

“The last thing I had to eat was a raw potato, skin and all, several days ago.” He did his best to ignore Philippe’s stormy eyes as he wolfed down the food.

“A good, soapy bath,” Yvette said, her eyes on Philippe. “You, young man, find some clean clothes for Daniel and some strong boots.”

The moment Daniel finished the last bite on his plate, Mickey leaned across the table. Her eyes were swimming with tears. “I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world, Daniel. I thought I would never see you again. He does answer our prayers, I know He does. You are the proof. A day didn’t go by that I didn’t think of you and Reuben. Ah, the tears I shed, they would fill a river. Tell me, what do you think of my son?” she asked in a trembling voice.

“He looks to be a fine young man, Mickey, so like Reuben it’s spooky. Why didn’t you tell us? You never wrote, you…My graduation, how do I thank you for that?”

Mickey dismissed the statement with a wave of her hand. “No thanks are required, my friend. When one gives, one gives from the heart, out of love. I couldn’t tell you or Reuben. He was all I had after you left. He’s a fine young man. Right now he’s angry because he suspects why you are here. He wants to stay here and join the French Army and fight Germans. He believes he is French, at least half French. I’ve told him Reuben is his father, but he believes, I…could never tell him I’m not his mother. He…he doesn’t know about Bebe. He does know that Reuben is married to her, but not…I couldn’t, Daniel, it would have been like ripping the heart out of my chest. Tell me you understand, tell me you forgive me.”

“Mickey, I can forgive you anything,” Daniel said sincerely.

“The years have been kind to you, old friend.”

“And to you. You’re as beautiful as ever. Reuben…”

“You must tell me—how is he? I can’t stand it another minute, chéri, how is my darling?”

“Right this minute I’d say he is one very angry man.” Daniel quickly told her how he’d managed to make the trip with the help he received from his friends. “I know Reuben is sitting in my office right now waiting for news. He has never forgotten you, Mickey, and I think I can truthfully say he loves you now as much as he loved you when he left here. I don’t think he’s done a single thing over the past years without first wondering if you would approve. Everything was for you, to prove himself. Always for you. He’s told me he booked passage here a dozen or more times, but he was so afraid of your rejection, he canceled his plans. He had no wish to cause you…what, Mickey, I don’t know…”

“And Bebe?”

“Bebe was…Bebe was a result of Reuben’s anger at you, I think. You see, he’d written this letter to you, and in his mind he gave you a certain amount of time to answer it. It was his last letter to you, if I’m not mistaken, other than the note about my graduation. He told me he poured out his heart to you and knew if you didn’t answer the letter that you wanted nothing to do with him. He told me so many times that he could understand if you were angry with him, but he couldn’t understand why you ceased communication with me. At least I understand now. But he was so tortured, so unhappy. When you didn’t respond to his letter he married Bebe. Out of defiance, never out of love. They have no marriage; they never had a marriage.”

“They have two children,” Mickey said brokenly.

“Bebe leads her life and Reuben leads his. They don’t see each other for months at a time. Bebe was away for a whole year not too long ago. Reuben has been talking about a divorce, and this time I think he means it. Do you still love him, Mickey?”

“With all my heart. That will never change.”

“What fools you both are,” Daniel said sadly. “So many years of aching and longing, of this one thinking this, and that one thinking that, and all because of pride. Do you recall once telling me that pride is the deadliest sin of all? You both could have had a wonderful life if you’d just settled things between you. So many years…” he repeated.

Mickey sighed. “Yes, I did say that, and yes, I am guilty. At the time…”

“At the time it seemed like the thing to do, and you had the baby, and then you grew fearful that either Reuben or Bebe would come and take him from you. Is that what happened?” Daniel asked gently.

“Yes,” Mickey whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. “I can’t change the past; we must speak now of the future, my friend.”

“Philippe said he knew why I was here. He’s been told, of course.”

Mickey shook her head. “I…he suspects, I can see it in his eyes, but so far he’s said nothing. Over the years I’ve explained about Reuben and told Philippe he was half Jewish. He accepted that. He doesn’t know that both his father and mother are Jewish, and that’s the reason you must take him to America. The stories, Daniel, the atrocities! Who knows if they are true…but true or not, I can’t take that chance for my son. He was becoming politically involved at the Sorbonne, poring over the newspapers, making plans. Some of his friends from school have disappeared, those who spoke the loudest. I don’t want my son to disappear or to be marched off to some labor camp. He wants to join the French Army, can you believe that?”

“Yes, I can believe it. You raised him too well, gave him the best education money could buy. What kind of person would sit still watching his countrymen killed, his country raped and plundered? Do you want a son who is a coward?”

“No, but…I’m a mother, Daniel, I want him safe—safe, do you hear me? Somewhere, someplace, there is a record of his birth. They will find it, believe me when I tell you this. The old doctor in the village helped me when Philippe was born. I have two copies of all the papers, French and American. I guess you could say he has a dual citizenship, but the Germans won’t look at it that way. You must take him away to his father. It’s all I can do.”

“The boy looks…he seems to me…what I’m trying to say is, I don’t think he’s going to go with me. He’s not a child, Mickey, we can’t force him. I thought…when you called, I assumed it was all settled.”

“It is settled. He’s going. He won’t defy me. Oh, he’ll be angry and he’ll carry on, but in the end he will leave with you. He’ll be very angry with me for a little while, and hopefully that will pass.”

“And Bebe?” Daniel asked.

Mickey swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I must leave the telling of…he will…Reuben will have to explain things. Hopefully, Reuben will tell him I…I kept him safe for a little while. He’ll know what to say.”

Daniel wasn’t so sure. The shock alone was going to rock Reuben back on his heels. Explanations were going to be difficult. He told her then of Philippe’s actions in the library.

Tears spilled from Mickey’s eyes. “I lost count of the times he’s taken that picture down. He gets so angry. All those wonderful stories he made up about his father. They broke my heart, Daniel. Right now he’s stewing and fretting because you’re here instead of his father. He is so angry. My…my sins of omission are catching up with me.”

Daniel felt Mickey’s pain. “If you think it will do any good, I can try to talk to him. You and I both know that if Reuben had known, he would have moved heaven and earth to get here.”

“No, Daniel, it is I who will have to explain, and I will. Philippe thinks of you and Reuben as his enemies. Somehow things got turned around, and it was too much effort to stop his hatred. He simply would not listen. He made up his mind when he was twelve or so, and he has not changed it one little bit. That painting is the last thing holding him back. He wants to destroy it, but he can’t. He knows that if he does, there will be nothing left of his father to either love or hate.”

“He did a damn good job a short while ago,” Daniel snorted. “He tried to put his knee through the canvas. It didn’t tear, but he’d hoped it would, Mickey, I saw his eyes.”

“All the more reason for him to leave. It’s time for him to meet his father,” Mickey said in an agonized voice.

“When do we leave here?” Daniel asked anxiously.

“Tonight after dark. The curé will come for his bicycle and tell me where you will be met. Probably the rise above the village, but I can’t be sure. After your bath you will rest. Going back will be no easier, possibly worse than coming here. The Germans are closer now. If you put your ear to the ground, you can hear the rumble of their trucks and tanks.”

“And you and Yvette?”

“We’ll try to get to Spain. Yvette is…she saw the Germans gun Henri down in Paris. It was so unbelievable, Daniel, I still cannot cope with it. We’ll be fine, you mustn’t worry about us.”

But he was worried, and the fact that Mickey wouldn’t meet his eyes told him she had no intention of going to Spain. In his gut he knew she was going to join the Resistance. And how in the hell was he going to tell that to Reuben?

“Is that what you’re going to tell Philippe?” Daniel asked uneasily.

“Yes, but he won’t believe me. Still, he can’t very well call his mother a liar, now, can he?”

“Your bath is ready, Daniel, and your bed is turned down,” Yvette said in an emotionless voice. “Leave your clothes and shoes outside the door, and we’ll bury them out by the barn.”

“This is for you, Mickey,” Daniel said, handing over the sack of diamonds Jerry had given him.

Tears welled in Mickey’s eyes. She wiped at them with the back of her hand. “It seems all I do is cry; what must you think of me? Daniel, this is too much. There must be a fortune here,” she said, sprinkling the diamonds on the tablecloth. “How can I ever repay…they…those hateful bastards confiscated everything. Just last year I transferred the major part of my holdings to America. They’re held in trust for Philippe. I have a packet for you when you’re ready to leave. There is a letter for you, too, one for Reuben, and please, don’t read or study any of the…don’t…wait till you are home safe. Promise me, Daniel.”

“Of course, Mickey, whatever you want. As for the diamonds, fortune or not, you will need them before this is all over. Now, m’lady, I think I’ll have that bath,” Daniel said, striving for a light tone.

“Like old times, eh?” Mickey said, smiling. “Oh, Daniel, I prayed you would come. I almost wore out my rosary. Seeing you like this has wiped the years away. If only the circumstances were…Daniel, I…”

“Shhh.” Daniel took her in his arms. “Everything is going to be fine.” On this end, anyway, he thought. As he cradled her dark head, he crooned softly, rocking sideways on his heels. “When we first got back to America I would play a game with myself if I couldn’t fall asleep. I’d picture this château and try to imagine where everything was. I had it down so pat, I knew every nook and cranny. It was so wonderful walking in here and seeing that memory come alive again. We were all so happy here. I never wanted it to end. I’ve never felt that same kind of happiness since then.”

“Until Bebe came,” Mickey said sadly.

“Until Bebe came,” Daniel agreed. “Come with me and talk while I have my bath, for once I’m asleep I will be dead and then it will be time to leave. I want to hear everything, every little detail of what went on since I left here. Jake, I have to know what happened to Jake. God, so many times…”

While Daniel soaped himself over and over, Mickey sat on a stool, her eyes averted discreetly. She talked nonstop until she was hoarse, leaving her story of Jake till last. “Our little Jake was a hero, Daniel. He saved Philippe’s life, what do you think of that!”

“The hell, you say! Everything, don’t leave out one piddle, one paw print,” Daniel cried excitedly.

“In the beginning he missed you terribly when I sent him to Yvette’s farm. There were many girl dogs that he made happy, and he finally settled into a blissful routine. Philippe was almost a year old when he came down with pneumonia. We sat up around the clock, taking turns, Yvette, Henri, and myself, and, of course, the doctor. The doctor had just about given up hope. It was my turn to sit up with Philippe, and I’d gone almost a week without sleep. Several days before, Yvette had brought Jake over for company. He stayed by the door, never venturing anywhere near my chair or the baby’s bed. I guess I dozed off and Philippe started to choke. I didn’t hear him. Jake jumped all over me, woke me up, and, as they say in America, I got to Philippe in the nick of time. Jake was a hero. He’d sat so long, guarding us both that no one thought to let the poor thing out to do his business. Once he saw the baby was safe, he peed on the rocking chair. We gave him some sugar cookies for his bravery beyond the call of duty. He and Philippe were inseparable after that. He was fourteen when he died and Yvette, Henri, and myself gave him a warrior’s funeral. Henri said a blessing. No human’s passing was more grieved. Philippe wasn’t himself for months afterward, none of us were. He did leave a legacy, however, a pup named Dolly, but she died having her first litter. Philippe wouldn’t take one, though. Even now I cry when I think about it. He…he…Jake, I mean…used to go to your room and…and sniff about, picking up your scent. When he did he would…he would just lay there…his eyes so big and sad…I’d talk to him about you…but I don’t know if he understood, and then one day I was cleaning the room you had while you stayed here and I found a sweater that you left behind. I made a bed for Jake and put it in as a blanket. It…it’s still in the closet….” Mickey howled her grief then, and Daniel joined her.

Alone in his old room, Daniel shed his towel and dressed in the clothes Yvette had placed on his bed, his eyes centered on the closet door all the while he dressed. Unable to bear it another second, he pulled open the door and stared down at the wicker basket that held his old gray wool sweater. He dropped to his knees. He reached for the sweater, bringing it to his cheeks. His touch was reverent as he plucked several dog hairs from the collar. “Oh, Jake, Jesus…Oh, God, Jake, I didn’t want to leave you…Oh, Jesus,” he blubbered, hunkering down…the sweater a lifeline to his past. He slept then, on the floor, his sweater with Jake’s scent, after all these years, against his cheek.

“It’s time to wake Daniel,” Yvette said quietly. “It’s almost dark, Mickey. Do you have everything ready?” Mickey nodded. “This is wrong, Michelene,” Yvette continued. She used Mickey’s Christian name only when she wanted to make a point. “You should have told Philippe before…. This is…it’s wrong. Now there’s no time for fancy words. You’ll have to blurt it all out and send him away in an eye’s wink. This is not going to be pleasant,” she said ominously.

“Philippe knows he’s going. He’s pretending he doesn’t know….” Mickey called him then and he came to her, his face cold and frightening. “It’s time to…Do you have everything ready?”

“I’m not leaving,” the boy said defiantly, tears shimmering in his eyes.

“We’ve been through this a hundred times. You must leave. I am not giving you a choice; I’m telling you you must go with Daniel. I don’t wish an argument, Philippe, this is hard enough as it is. I don’t want to carry your angry face with me to Spain. I must know you are safe and sound in America with your father.”

“You seem to forget, Maman, that I am no longer a child. You may ask me to leave, but you cannot order me to do so. I’m an adult now, and I don’t want to see my father. I begged you not to call Daniel Bishop. I’m too big to spank, so what will you do?”

For the first time since leaving Paris, Mickey felt the cold prickle of true fear. “So, this is what I raised you for, to defy me to my face. Is this the son I raised? You are not of age, Philippe, and you will do as I say when I say it, and I say you are going with Daniel. Not one more word!” she shrilled.

“I mean no disrespect,” Philippe blurted out. “But I can’t leave you. Who will look after you and Yvette?”

“We’ve been looking after ourselves for a very long time, and we can continue to do so. I love you more than life, and I wouldn’t send you away like this if I…It’s for your own good. It’s time I turned you over to your father.”

“I’m not going, and I hate him. Why isn’t he here instead of that man upstairs?” Philippe said.

Yvette stepped forward purposefully. “Enough, Michelene, it grows late. Tell him now and be done with it!”

“Tell me what?” the boy blustered, his eyes fearful.

“The truth,” Yvette answered for Mickey. “You should have been told years ago, but your mother loved you too much. Too much, eh, Michelene? Now either you tell him or I will. We have no time for this!”

Philippe sat down. “Somebody better tell me or it will take what’s left of the French Army to move me from this room,” he said belligerently.

“Why don’t I tell him,” Daniel said quietly from the doorway.

“No, I will,” Mickey replied. She held her son’s eyes with her own and spoke softly, haltingly. “I’m not your mother, Philippe, your real mother…I…it’s true that I raised you from birth and I…loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. For reasons…”

“Bah, tell him! He’s a man, he says; he can stand to hear the truth,” Yvette stormed. “Your mother…Bebe Rosen was young when she gave birth to you. She told us to throw you out with the garbage; she wanted no part of you. She gave birth to you and walked away. Mickey took you and raised you. Your real mother is married to your father, and as far as we know, he knows nothing of your existence. That’s the beginning and end of it. There is no place for you here; you’re Jewish and you belong in America with your parents.”

Mickey looked helplessly from her friend to Philippe and back again. “Yvette, surely there was a better way of…Philippe, I am so sorry; I’ve wanted to tell you so many times. As Yvette says, this is the beginning and the end of it. There’s no place here for you now. You must leave. Your parents will see to you once you reach America.”

Seeing Philippe struggling for words to lash out at his mother, Yvette stepped into the foray again. “There is no time for recriminations. Daniel must leave in fifteen minutes. They won’t wait for you. Kiss your mother, Philippe, and bite your tongue if you are thinking harsh thoughts.”

Philippe struggled with his emotions. He’d heard all the words, had watched his mother’s face, felt her pain on top of his own. And it was true: he had no choice; he had to go with the American. A sob caught in his throat when he took his mother in his arms. “I’ll be back,” he whispered. She clung to him, and it was Philippe who gently removed her arms.

He embraced Yvette and again whispered, “Take care of her. And that tongue of yours is the devil’s own.”

Then he was at the door, watching as Daniel wrapped both Yvette and Mickey in his arms. Mickey handed him a thick packet, which he stuffed inside his shirt. “How will we know if you are safe?” she asked.

“Your Red Cross. If we can, we’ll get word to them.”

“Take care of my son, Daniel, he’s all I have left. Tell Reuben I entrust him to his good care. Au revoir, my friend.”

“There is no more time, Mr. Bishop,” Philippe called from the doorway.

When the door closed behind them, Mickey fell into Yvette’s arms. “Why can’t I cry?” she asked brokenly.

“Because you did the right thing, and Philippe knows it, too. He was never yours to keep, Mickey. You had him…on loan. Come, we must get ready ourselves.”

“Yvette, I…I will go with you to the…But I’m not going to cross over. I’m staying here. I spoke to the curé yesterday, and there are people waiting for me two kilometers south of here. I’m—”

“Joining the Resistance. Yes, I know. I said I would join you. What would I do in Spain by myself? I’m too old to fight bulls. They will take us, these Resistance leaders? What can we do? We’re old women.”

“Chérie, we’re not that old,” Mickey said with a touch of her old sparkle. “We made it here on our own from Paris; that says a lot about our stamina and our will to live. We’ll be an asset to the Resistance. Come, my friend, we must start our new life so that someday we can come back here in peace.”

Yvette’s eyes darkened. In her heart she knew she’d never see this château again or the farm where she’d been so happy. “Yes, peace. I’m ready if you are, Michelene.”

Mickey smiled. Together they walked away from the château into the waiting arms of the Resistance.