The Winemaker's Wife

by Kristin Harmel

  “Michel.” Relief flowed through her. “Thank God. I was worried about you.”

  “I’m so sorry I’m late.” He made his way into the room, kissed her on both cheeks. “Inès wanted to talk, and—”

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” In fact, Céline did not want him to. Just thinking of Inès, hearing her name on Michel’s tongue, made her feel terrible. When Inès had tearfully apologized earlier for suspecting Céline of having an affair with Michel, it had been all she could do to stop from throwing herself at Inès’s feet and telling her everything: the fact that they had already begun their affair, the fact that she had been helping Michel with his underground work for two months now. The fact that she was painfully, irreversibly in love with him.

  “Céline,” Michel breathed, and this time, he kissed her on the mouth, long and deep. “I must tell you something.”

  She realized for the first time that his clothes were rumpled, his expression heavy with guilt. “Michel, has something happened with the network? Please tell me it’s not Madame Gaudin.” Céline had grown fond of the tough middle-aged woman who had become their point of contact in the past few months. By day, she was the stout, hearty housewife of an unsuspecting vigneron. By night, she was a crusader who slipped from hiding place to hiding place with rifles concealed beneath the folds of her dress. Just a few weeks ago, she had been stopped by a German sentry while hiding six long guns, and the man hadn’t suspected a thing, had merely waved her on in disgust when she began babbling about pig manure and fertilization. She had laughed about it for twenty minutes that night as she’d helped hide the guns in a Maison Chauveau barrel bound for the north.

  “No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Michel said. He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s Inès. Céline, I’m sorry, but I had . . . I had relations with her tonight. I had to.”

  “Oh.” Céline took a step back and her breath caught for a moment. But she had no right to be hurt, did she? He was married to Inès, for goodness’ sake. And perhaps the other woman was turning over a new leaf. Maybe this was a sign that Céline should put a stop to their affair. But she couldn’t.

  “Céline—” Michel began.

  “No, you don’t have to explain,” Céline said. “You did nothing wrong.”

  “But you are the one I love.”

  “And she is the one you married.” Céline smiled through her tears. “And that puts you and me on the wrong side of things, doesn’t it?”

  They stared at each other for a few moments, and just as Céline had finally summoned the courage to say the words she needed to say, Michel spoke. “It’s time, Céline.”

  “Time?”

  “For the drop.” Michel studied her face. “Are you sure you want to help with this? I’m still reluctant to put you in danger.”

  Céline hesitated for only a second before nodding, her heart racing. Since Michel had finally agreed to let her help him with his underground activities in August, she had worked only in the caves, receiving arms shipments brought in by Madame Gaudin and a man known only as Le Renard, the Fox. Michel said it was safer that way, that if anything went wrong, she could claim she’d merely been working with the wine in the cellars. But she had been begging to do more for the cause, and finally, the night before, Michel had agreed, saying that he might need a hand with something. He hadn’t told her what they’d be involved in, though.

  “Come,” Michel said. He laced his fingers through hers, and together they hurried out of the cave and made their way aboveground.

  The sky was clear, the moon half full, casting just enough light over the rolling hills that Céline could see the skeletal outlines of the naked, resting vines in the darkness. “What’s happening?” she whispered. “Where are we going?”

  “Trust me,” he said. In silence, he led her into the vineyards, where they made their way along a neat row, their footsteps crunching on the cold earth and fallen leaves in the darkness. Surely they were being too conspicuous, their footfalls too loud, their movements too obvious, but she believed in Michel, and so she followed.

  A moment later, they reached the road, and at first, Céline couldn’t understand why they’d come. There was no one here, and it would be crazy for someone to be driving around at night doing anything illegal; noise on the empty roads could be heard from miles away. Simply standing there seemed foolhardy; what if a German truck rumbled by and a soldier spotted them? “Michel?” she began tentatively.

  But then, from the shadows near the curve of the road just fifty yards away, two men dressed all in black emerged in silence, both of them pulling some sort of cart. “You’re late,” one of them growled in the darkness. “And this is the help you bring? She’s a woman!”

  “She’s strong and capable,” Michel said firmly.

  “And you trust her?”

  “With my life,” Michel said, his voice soft.

  Céline could barely make out the man who had spoken; he wore the darkness like a cloak, and only the whites of his eyes glinted in the half moonlight.

  “Well, I suppose you’d have to,” the man said at last, “since if she gets you caught, they won’t hesitate to shoot you in the head.” He snorted, a sound that was somewhere between amusement and annoyance, but he beckoned to the man with him, and together they pulled their cart toward Michel and Céline, both of them grunting with the effort. The second man was slightly smaller and thinner, and as he drew closer, Céline saw something that looked like kindness in his eyes. He nodded to her, and she nodded back.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” said the larger man to Michel, utterly ignoring Céline, and then both men slipped back into the shadows and were gone.

  “Come, we mustn’t delay,” Michel said, moving forward and grabbing one of the cart’s two arms. “Just do your best. I’ll handle as much of the weight as I can, but I’ll need your help to make sure we don’t tip it on the uneven ground. The shipment’s larger than I expected it to be.”

  Céline hesitated as she looked at the cart, the wooden kind that mules pulled across farmland. The bed was full of something heavy, concealed beneath a layer of straw. “Guns?”

  “And explosives.” He gestured to the second arm of the cart, and Céline bent to slide under it, propping it on her shoulder. Michel grunted, and Céline felt the cart jerk forward. She joined him in pulling, and they began to wheel the cart across the dark vineyard, back toward the entrance to the cellars.

  “But where do the weapons come from?” she asked several silent minutes later as she struggled to catch her breath. They were nearly halfway home.

  “I don’t ask. The British, maybe? The Dutch? Hell, maybe America or Canada. All I know is that the bend in the road is the perfect place for drops to happen. From here, the arms can be stored in our cellars until our contacts can come pick them up.”

  She stumbled on an exposed root, nearly overturning the cart, but Michel reached out to catch her before she hit the ground, and she quickly regained her balance. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said. He grunted as they heaved the cart over an uneven patch of ground. “This is too much for you. I should have figured out how to do this myself.”

  “No, Michel, please. I want to be a part of this.”

  “But why, my love? Why not let me keep you safe?”

  Céline looked up at the tiny pinpricks of light overhead and wondered if somewhere out there, her father was seeing the same sky. What about the people working for Resistance networks all over France? Or the soldiers in trenches all across the Continent, trying to beat back the Nazis? Out here in the star-dusted darkness, she was tiny and insignificant, a mere speck of light on the earth. But doing this made her feel, at least for a moment, that she was more than that, as if the decisions she was making might play a role in changing the world. “Because,” she said at last, “I want to be part of something bigger, Michel.”

  “You are. We all are, those of us who work
in the shadows,” Michel said. The main house was in sight now, and Céline imagined Inès inside, fast asleep and oblivious to the danger outside her door. “We are soldiers in an army that the Germans will never see coming,” he added. “We are the ones who will win back France.”

  Céline could feel tears burning her eyes as she turned her attention from the stars to the man beside her, the one who had changed her life in ways he couldn’t yet understand. “We are the ones,” she said softly, “who will reclaim the future.”

  • • •

  Madame Gaudin arrived sometime after midnight, a cloak drawn tight around her. She was built like an ox, but there was something feminine about her yet the same. Her voice was sweet, her mannerisms rough, and as always, Céline was fascinated by all the contrasts that seemed to exist within the same woman. Then again, Céline knew better than anyone that people had multiple sides. Who would have thought, even six months earlier, that she could have betrayed her husband, loved a man who belonged to someone else, and fought for France, all while pretending to be the same industrious, proper wife she’d always been?

  “You have the guns?” Madame Gaudin singsonged as she descended into the cellars, her eyes darting around nervously, as always.

  “They’re just in there,” Michel replied. “Explosives this time, too.”

  “Good,” Madame Gaudin said. “Good.” She glanced at Céline. “And you? I understand you helped?”

  “Yes, madame.” Céline didn’t know why she felt suddenly nervous.

  Madame Gaudin studied her for a moment, and Céline had the uneasy sense that the older woman was reading her like a book. Could she see all of Céline’s secrets? “Good,” Madame Gaudin said again after a long pause. She turned back to Michel. “The boys are upstairs with a cart. Why don’t you go get them? Céline and I will ready the barrels for transport.”

  Michel nodded and headed for the stairs. Madame Gaudin gestured to Céline, who followed her into the cave where the arms-laden barrels were waiting.

  “What you’re doing is dangerous, you know,” Madame Gaudin said as soon as Michel was gone. “You should be careful.”

  Céline took a deep breath. “But it’s the same work you’ve been doing all along, madame,” she said. “I want to be useful, too.”

  Madame Gaudin’s eyes bore into hers. “I wasn’t talking about your work with the Resistance. I was talking about the romance between you and Monsieur Chauveau.”

  Céline could feel herself turning red. “How did you—”

  Madame Gaudin held up a hand to stop her. “I remember what it was like to be young, and I know that the heart wants what it wants. But there’s danger in betraying those close to us, especially in times like these.”

  Céline swallowed hard, guilt coursing through her like a river. “I know.”

  “I know you love him. I can see it in your eyes. He loves you, too, I think.” She sighed. “But you’re on treacherous ground.”

  She turned away before Céline could reply. Céline took a few deep breaths to steady herself before following Madame Gaudin into the cave where the arms were hidden. Madame Gaudin gestured to a barrel and began to roll a second one into the hall.

  “Where do the guns go from here?” Céline asked abruptly after the silence between them had grown uncomfortable. “Who do you give them to?”

  Madame Gaudin stopped and looked at Céline, her hands on her hips. “Questions are even more dangerous than falling in love with the wrong people.” She paused, staring at her, before adding, “You’ve never asked before.”

  “I’m asking now. Please. I want to know that I’m doing some good.”

  “It’s better that we only know our own role on the line,” Madame Gaudin said. “That is risk enough.” She brushed her hands off and strode out of the cave before Céline could ask another question, and by the time Céline finished pushing her own barrel into the hall, the older woman had disappeared. For the next twenty minutes, Michel and two other men came up and down the stairs, lifting barrels between them and making their way back up into the inky night.

  “What did you say to Madame Gaudin?” Michel asked once the arms-laden barrels were all gone and he had descended back into the caves to get her. “She seemed upset.”

  “I—I asked her what the guns were for.”

  Michel raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t wise.”

  “I know.” Céline hesitated. “Is she gone?”

  “Yes.” Michel beckoned Céline to a stone bench in the hall. They sat together in silence. “Céline, you must know that at some point, these guns might be used to kill the enemy. The Germans, they will not listen to reason. The only conversation they understand is one that takes place at gunpoint.”

  Céline nodded and closed her eyes. “I understand.” And she did. But there had to be a cost for taking a life. What did it mean for her soul that she was putting weapons into the hands of people who might use them to kill?

  “What is it, Céline?” Michel asked, putting a hand on her cheek.

  She opened her eyes to look at him. “Madame Gaudin knows about us.”

  Michel studied her, his expression impassible. “She doesn’t miss a thing, does she?”

  Céline shook her head, and as silence fell, she tried again to force the words she needed to say to the surface, the ones that would change everything. She took a deep breath. “There’s something else I need to tell you, Michel. Something important.”

  He took her hand, and she wondered if he could feel how clammy it was. “What is it, my darling?”

  Céline steeled herself to say the sentence she’d been rehearsing for two weeks now, ever since she had missed her time of the month for the second time. “Michel, I am pregnant.”

  She held her breath as Michel stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. In the silence, she imagined that he might be regretting this complication, hating her for letting it happen. “Oh, Céline,” he said at last. “It is Theo’s?”

  “No, no!” She reached for his hands. “Michel, it is yours.”

  He squeezed her fingers tightly, his eyes widening. “You are certain?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t explain, but she knew she was right. She hadn’t had relations with Theo in months, although as soon as she had realized, she had rushed to lie with him, which she knew made her the worst person in the world. It was the only answer, though, wasn’t it? What else would happen if her belly began to swell without his involvement? Certainly he would understand immediately who the father was, and who knew what kind of revenge he might take? No, there were too many deadly secrets at the Maison Chauveau to risk it. “Are you angry?” she asked when Michel still hadn’t said anything.

  “Oh no, Céline, of course not.” He blinked, and she could see his eyes glistening. “I’m so very, very happy.”

  “You are?”

  He wiped away his tears. “Céline, I love you. There’s nothing in the world that will change that.”

  “But a baby will complicate things.”

  “Things are already complicated. And yes, we will have to keep this a secret for now, but Céline, we will have a child. Together. The best pieces of you and me. It’s—well, it’s glorious.”

  She threw herself into his arms and he held her more tightly than ever. She didn’t realize she was sobbing until he pulled back slightly and reached down to wipe her cheeks with his thumb. “What is it, my love?” he asked.

  “I’m so very frightened.” Céline put her hands on her belly. “For you, for me, and now for this baby. And what happens once the child is here? We won’t be able to keep the truth from Theo and Inès forever.”

  “We will figure it out.”

  “I just imagined this happening so differently one day.”

  “But it’s happening this way. And a life conceived in love is always a blessing, no matter the complications.”

  “I know.” But it was difficult to feel the joy she wanted to, for the baby’s arrival into the world would always be cloak
ed in wrongdoing. The joyous news also drove home the reality that her child would probably never meet his or her grandfather, and that would be a burden Céline would have to bear. So much had been taken from her, but she recognized that by claiming Michel as her own, she was guilty of taking something, too.

  “Céline,” Michel said, grasping her hands. “I think it would be best if you end your involvement with our little group now.”

  Céline had already thought about it, the idea that stopping her work with the underground would help keep her—and more important, the baby—safer. But she couldn’t, not with so much still at stake. “No. If I don’t fight for a better future, I have already failed our child.”

  “But if you don’t survive . . .”

  “I am already dead if I stop being who I am.” Céline’s tone was firm, though she had no idea whether she was making the right choice. “All of us have personal reasons to step back, don’t we? But nothing great happens without great risk. I’m certain, Michel. There’s more to fight for than ever before.”

  “But—”

  “Please.”

  He looked at her for a long time. “All right.”

  As he took her hand and led her deeper into the cellars, she imagined that she could feel the baby stirring within her, though she knew it was far too soon.

  twenty

  JUNE 2019

  LIV

  Liv knew she’d been rude to snap at Grandma Edith the day before, but she was tired of walking on eggshells, of fumbling her way through the dark while Grandma Edith held all the cards. Besides, what was so wrong with expressing disgust over the possibility of an affair? She still couldn’t believe Julien had kissed her—and that she hadn’t immediately stopped it. The thought had kept her awake all night, and she was up before dawn, ready to apologize to her grandmother, at least. But Grandma Edith spent the morning holed up in her own bedroom, refusing to talk to Liv beyond barking through the closed door that she was perfectly all right.