“Since the war we have had a problem with looters and some who prey on the vulnerable,” said Cedric. “The ones who hurt you most likely travel from village to village so as not to be caught. The police are aware of these people, but there is little they can do. They can vanish into thin air when they need to. It was a problem before the war, and it is still a problem since.”
He asked again about my brother, and they took longer this time to examine the photograph that had fortunately remained dry inside my jacket, though the couple still did not recognize those pictured.
“I can make inquiries of people who lived in Bailleul if you wish. I am certain someone will know something. There were several orchards in the region at the time, but we were not supplied by the one you have described.”
I thanked them for their sincere concern. Simone brought up soup later on with some bread, but that is the last thing I clearly remember about that day. In the morning my headache had worsened, and I couldn’t get out of bed.
Someone was knocking loudly on the door, and when I didn’t stir, I heard a commotion on the stairs and the clinking of a key in the door.
“Are you all right, monsieur?” Simone asked, entering timidly.
My vision was blurred, and I did not feel well at all. She spoke fast in French and gave some hurried instructions to a maid who had walked up behind her.
“We will bring our doctor for you. He is retired now and only visits his old clients, but he will come if I ask. We will also report the incident to the police for you, and make sure they keep a lookout for the scoundrels.”
I was only awake long enough to hear this before I fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of war and death and men chasing Samuel. I woke to Cedric lifting me up into a sitting position at the instruction of another man who was small and stout.
“Monsieur Watts, you must stay awake!” said the stranger. “You have sustained a bad concussion, and I will need to check that you are okay.”
The man, then introduced as the doctor, checked my head wound and temperature; performed an eyesight test, moving a stick in front of my eyes; and listened to my heart through his stethoscope. As he was placing his instruments back in his bag, he said, “I saw the photo. Madame Bernard asked if I recognized anyone from it. Though the photograph is a little unclear, I think I know the people you are seeking, in particular the soldier I treated here. Simone described in more detail the girl you spoke of, red hair, very dark eyes, and I am fairly certain that I met her once, too.”
I sat up a little straighter, the pain in my head momentarily eased by the news. The doctor gently pushed me back again. “Just relax. You have had quite a trauma. Before we discuss that, I want to check that you haven’t damaged anything else. Do you feel pain elsewhere?”
He examined my shoulder that was stiff and sore, which must have also suffered in the fall.
“I think that you must take these painkillers I will leave you. You must not try to walk anywhere until the pain is gone.”
I nodded, but I did not care about that. I only wanted to hear of my brother and Mariette.
“I don’t know what became of her, but I remember treating the Englishman,” said the doctor. “A man named Jerome Lavier was looking after him. The doctor who had treated him and his family in the past had cleared out of Bailleul during the chaos, which was why he approached me for my help. The Germans were searching houses, looking for those who might have harbored deserters. I remember thinking it was very brave. I lived in a village not far from here, but dangerously far for Jerome to travel to at the time. He did not say where the patient came from, but I suspected that he was on the run.”
“What was his injury?”
“He had shrapnel in his thigh. It wasn’t serious, but it could have been if there was an infection, as can often be the case.”
“Do you remember the date?”
He thought for a moment and said that he could not remember exactly but that the Germans arrived for the second time in spring, so it was around then. Late April, several weeks after the evacuation, he said, though he chose to remain behind. It was the time also that Edgar was listed as missing in action, but I did not tell him that. I did not feel it necessary to state that my brother might be one of those deserters or the fact that he had an injury of the mind, which the doctor did not mention, presumably kept hidden.
“Their fruit orchard was decimated, I learned later. The girl you spoke of sometimes came to this town with her father. I knew Jerome briefly, and I recognized him also in the photo. He seemed like a good man, but he kept to himself. After the Germans left and the war was over, I was tired and went to stay in Paris with my son and his wife. My son was injured, too. I was keen to leave here and help them for a while. War nearly destroyed me, I have to say. So many people dead, dying, diseased, and broken. Then I came back to the region to semi-retire. This is my home. I can’t live anywhere else. And people still need me here.”
I tried to imagine what he must have gone through and read the sadness in his words.
“Do you know if Jerome had any other family?”
“He had a sister. I did not know him or his family very well. People tell me things if they wish me to know. But Jerome and his family kept to themselves for the most part. There were rumors before the war, though I am not partial to them of course. I think that Jerome would not have stood for any trouble. It was just people with too few things to concern themselves with. But you know how people talk. After the war started it was a different story of course. The town pulled together. Gossip at the time was more about the Germans and the fate of France.”
“What sort of rumors?”
“Jerome’s sister and the daughter, I believe, did not get on. Jerome’s sister was unhappy with her behavior . . . A pretty girl amongst fertile youths, getting them flustered . . . Oh, I’m sorry. I see by your expression this affects you greatly. Don’t mind such talk. I should not have even mentioned it. They seemed like people that kept out of the way. The girl, Mariette you say, was married to your brother, is that right?”
I nodded.
“Stories are exaggerated, and I can tell you that when war came they did their part. I know that firsthand. Jerome and his family, and others also, took in Allied soldiers, and it was much to ask since war went on for as long as it did and with food so hard to come by.”
“And Jerome’s sister,” I asked, “is she still here somewhere?”
“No, I believe that she moved away.”
This news was everything I wanted, that someone who had been here with Mariette was alive to tell me what had happened. I tried to sit up, but my head felt as if it had been anchored to the pillow with weights. The doctor saw me grimace.
“You need to rest; otherwise your next destination will be a hospital. I will find out the address in the meantime, but you need to spend the day in bed at least, and I will be back this afternoon to check on you.”
I thanked him. I really did feel quite dizzy at the time and very tired.
“I will have Madame bring you up some food. You need to eat something.”
I thanked him. I was very grateful for his help and especially for the news. Mariette was who she said she was. That much was very clear. I offered to pay the doctor, but he declined. He said he owed a great deal more for my brother Edgar’s sacrifice, and that of all the other brave men who fought on French soil.
“You must rest!”
Over the course of the day, I felt better, though I drifted in and out of sleep, and the times I was dreaming, my head was swimming with faces of Edgar and my assailant, of finding dead bodies, one of them Edgar’s. Whatever medicine the doctor had given me took over my imagination, and I woke up sweating profusely, and dazed, but at least my headache was gone. My appetite returned; Madame Bernard brought me some tea and some sweet rolls and a small casserole pot of meat and vegetables.
Dr. Durand came back to check on me as promised and reported that I was on the mend. He also came back with som
e information about Jerome’s sister, Lenore Lavier.
“I managed to find her address from the post office. She lives in Rouen. I also took the opportunity to ask around, to see if I could find out any details about the family. It seems the fate of the girl is unknown, but I learned something sad and that is that Jerome volunteered to work near the front line in the final months of war and died. And there is something else, which I have only just learned, which may or may not be the news you want.”
I held my breath.
“It seems that Jerome had a habit of taking in strays and feeding the homeless. The girl was not his, and Lenore did not approve of her living there. Mariette appeared out of thin air, it seems, when she was younger. I also learned that his own son from his marriage had died many years earlier. But I think, though, if you are to learn something other than gossip and guesswork, you had best seek out Madame Lavier.”
I stood up to shake his hand, and this time my brain did not pound against the walls of my skull. “Thank you so very much. I must leave straightaway.”
He did not push me back down this time but said it would be best to leave in the morning on the train. Without other travel options at that point, I agreed.
“One final thing I do remember also. Jerome and I did have a brief conversation when he was returning me home on his trap after I treated your brother. He was planning to leave the area very shortly. He saw no future there.”
He spoke then about the region and gave me some history of the surrounding towns, about Rouen and the train times, and I told him about my home. He was warm, and I felt as if I had made another friend. I did not feel disappointed that Mariette was fostered, but the other hearsay about her distracting the men in the town perhaps affected me more than anything else. Regardless, I slept well that night, and in the morning after a breakfast of bacon, bread, and cheese, I thanked my hosts, paid them a little extra for all their help, and continued my quest for the truth.
CHAPTER 17
The train entered the station of Rouen, which was vastly different from the towns and villages I had passed. Here it was untouched by shelling, picturesque on the banks of the Seine River, and bustling with commerce and arts. I asked several people to direct me to the address Dr. Durand had given me and came upon a smaller, less ornate part of the city. I climbed the stairs to Lenore’s apartment that sat above a bakery on a tired-looking street.
My first impression of Lenore was that she did not like visitors. It felt as if I had only seconds to explain myself, as the door she had first opened was closing again at the sight of a stranger. I quickly explained how I obtained her address and showed her the photo. I had her attention at least, and she curiously inspected the faces in the image before looking up at me. She was tall, thin, with gray hair, the skin on her face sagging from the weight of disappointment, though there was no doubt she was related to the man in the photo. She was a woman who was not used to smiling much, and I could tell immediately she did not view the world at large as anything to celebrate.
She asked for my name again, some of the suspicion fading.
“I hope you didn’t give her any money!”
I pointed to Mariette. “Is this who you are speaking about?”
She nodded.
I tensed with anticipation, edging so close to the truth now. I had found someone who knew Mariette, who could offer more clues, but who perhaps knew some things that I did not want to hear.
“Do you know where she moved to?” I asked.
“I have not seen her,” she said shortly, the gap in the door slowly narrowing.
“What about this man, your brother?” I said, pointing to Jerome in the photo.
She looked at me then, and I could tell she wanted to say something.
“Do you mind if I come in and talk to you about it?”
This woman was my only link. I could not let her go.
Perhaps it was my boyish face or the fineness of my clothes, I’m not sure, but I felt lucky that she let me in at all given the suspicion I was initially greeted with. She walked with a cane, which she used to point to the chair she wanted me seated in.
It was a small apartment, empty of those cherished items that people of a later age acquire through time. There was only a photograph on the shelf of her and a man, and a second one of her and another male from when she was much younger. When I asked about the pictures, she did not look my way. The subjects perhaps were the chink in her armor.
I then broached the subject gently because I could tell she was not someone who opened her heart to just anyone. I told her about my loss, my mother’s grief, and the fact that we were searching for more information about Edgar’s last days before his final battle. I did not suggest that there were things that led me to believe he might still be living.
She told me that she did not meet Edgar, though she heard through a friend that soldiers were living at her brother’s house. After Lenore left Bailleul at the beginning of the war, she communicated very rarely with Jerome and did not wish to keep in contact with anyone else there. She had left for Rouen to get away from the shelling noises and the town, which had turned into a soldiers’ fort. She did not like the foreign-speaking soldiers and their loud ways. She did not like the smell of fighting men, she said. She seemed cold and bitter, though I suspect that life had led her this way, and I tried to wade through the resentment to see the person beneath.
“My husband and my brother were friends as children. My husband was killed in the Franco-Prussian War. Only my brother came back, but he lost his own wife and young son to influenza a short time later. We had an orchard, which had been handed down from our parents, though I never really took to the work. I studied here in Rouen to be a teacher and then thought I would retire with Jerome to some years of peace, but Mariette came along, and that ended that. I supposed he needed help around the orchard, which I didn’t give him. I have arthritis. It wasn’t possible.
“I have to tell you, Monsieur Watts, that it is my belief that if not for Mariette, Jerome would have probably lived, perhaps the two of us here in Rouen, the orchard sold before the war came. His focus changed.”
“What do you mean?” I was suddenly afraid of what she might tell me. Was Mariette a liar, a serial offender of such crimes as to enter people’s lives to prey on them, to take advantage of their kindness?
“Before I tell you any more, why don’t you tell me something about the girl yourself and how you came to be here, interrupting my afternoon rest.”
She was a canny woman, I had discovered, her feelings cleverly masked. Perhaps my expressions had given something of my heart away at the mention of Mariette. Whatever it was, I had to give her more to receive more.
I told her then about the encounter with Mariette in some detail. I said that Mariette had become Edgar’s wife and that they had a son, to which she raised her eyebrows. I left out the obvious details of my affections. I also wanted to know why there seemed to be so much secrecy surrounding Mariette’s past.
“I do know Mariette, and she is not what she appears. I suppose she tried to pass herself off to you as my brother’s daughter.”
“She spoke of her father, Jerome Lavier.”
“Yes, Jerome took them in, vagrants they were. He loved those girls despite what they were. But I didn’t trust them.”
“Them?”
“She and her sister Helene.”
She studied me before getting up to sift through some papers in a drawer, digging something out from the bottom of the pile. She passed me the item.
It was a photograph of Mariette, several years younger, and beside her another girl just a fraction shorter than Mariette and darker skinned, dressed in trousers and a long-sleeved shirt rolled up to the elbows. The girl’s hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she had a slightly harder look than Mariette, with catlike eyes and wide, sharply angled cheekbones. I saw no resemblance between the pair.
“She didn’t tell you about her sister. That’s interesting,” s
he said. “Perhaps they had been fighting over a man. Who knows? The gypsies are a crazy lot.”
“Gypsies?”
Lenore viewed me carefully. “Oh, I see. You have absolutely no idea of her background. That makes sense she would not say anything. Now you know! She came from a band of thieves, and you might now see why I felt uncomfortable living with the girl. She had eyes that were always looking for trouble.”
The organized and gentle interrogation I had been planning was lost as I was struggling to rearrange it with new questions.
“Mariette and Helene were thieves when we first met them, and I suspect they still are. I don’t believe a person can change.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to be as scathing of her as she was of Mariette, judging unfairly someone I had loved. It was hard to believe that the girl I met was the same girl Lenore was talking about, but at the back of my mind was the image of my mother’s face at the discovery of her missing jewelry.
She told me how Jerome had brought them in as very small children even after they had attempted to steal food; though she did let slip during the course of the conversation that the girls were frightfully skinny, which explained why they would steal. Two homeless children who even Lenore admitted had been let down by the older gypsies in their wandering communities.
“Jerome dressed the girls in his dead wife’s and son’s clothing. I think it was this loss that made him act irrationally. He believed he could somehow replace his missing wife and son. But they were nothing like the quiet, sweet boy he had. They were wild, roaming around the streets, and Mariette was a troublemaker. Jerome was called in by teachers at the school several times to hear that Mariette was disruptive for fighting with others or jumping in the creek without her clothes on. Shameful really! I suppose old habits are hard to lose. I moved away quickly after that. First just to a town close by, and then after the Allied soldiers came, I left for Rouen. The older one was more stable, more a thinker. But still a gypsy, so I have to judge her much the same.”
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