by Jan Moran
His voice faltered, but he drew a breath and went on. “Then, the church was set aflame in what became a fiery inferno of death. The entire village was massacred. More than six hundred innocent people. I searched through… until I found my aunt’s remains and then I buried her.” The stench of charred bodies was forever burned in his brain. Henri wiped cold sweat from his brow and gulped his wine.
Glancing at Juliana, he could tell she was shaken. Yet she leaned in and brought her arms around him, as if to shield his present from his past.
Henri clasped her to him. She’d pried open a rusted door in his soul where his nightmares resided. Only the sunshine of another soul could banish the darkness from this hellish dungeon. For years he’d been unable to feel pleasure. Only Anne and Beatrice could shine light into the recesses, but they were children, and he could not share what he’d been through with them.
“I’m here for you, Henri, and I’m not going anywhere. You can tell me anything. I won’t judge you.”
For the first time since Solange had held him on his darkest nights, he let sadness seep from his eyes. When he was spent, Juliana kissed the wetness from his cheeks. Her heart beat against his and for the first time in his adult life, he felt the depth of a woman’s true love.
But there was more he needed to tell her.
He brought his hands to her face, framing the most beautiful, empathetic eyes he’d ever hoped to see. “You must know that I am not without sin. I did… things that had to be done to protect others, but I will always regret taking another life, even those of my enemies. They, too, had families and loved ones.”
Juliana held him as he continued talking. He was beginning to feel as if he could tell her anything.
“Most of my work for the French resistance was disruptive. We made it hard for the Nazis to operate and advance. We jammed communications, sabotaged railroads, and blew up bridges. Solange worked with us, too. We also ferried people to the south when we could, passing them off to others who helped them escape through the Pyrenees to Spain. A lot of these escapees were downed Allied pilots who needed to return to the fight. Others were regular citizens who faced certain death if they remained—Poles, Jews, political dissidents… and so many others.”
Henri poured more wine into their glasses. “One time, my team got word that a train loaded with Nazi troops and supplies was heading our way in route to Normandy. We worked out a plan to mine a train tunnel through a mountain with explosives to block the entrance before the train entered. But our equipment jammed and the connection was delayed. When it finally worked, it was a few seconds too late, and the entire tunnel caved in. Those poor souls never had a chance.” He hung his head. “We saved troops at Normandy, but that day still haunts me. Most of those troops at that mountain didn’t want to be there any more than we did. They were sons and brothers and husbands, too. Some blokes even had cousins in Germany—families were divided by borders. At any other time, we probably would have been friends. But wars are started by angry old men, and there was nothing any of us could do except follow orders.”
He took another swallow of wine. “Now you know.”
Juliana raised her eyes to his. “You were at war.”
“On the other hand, we helped bring an end to the war. Did you the Great War almost ended on Christmas in 1914 when men on both sides laid down their arms and sang Silent Night together and exchanged greetings and souvenirs? During the Christmas truce, French, British, and Germans came together on the Western front. They played football, swapped prisoners, and sang carols. But the commanders weren’t having it, so the war dragged on. Just shows that reasonable people can usually solve their differences because we’re more alike than different.” He gave Juliana a wry smile. “I just wish we could have saved more people. We would have, too, if....”
“If what?”
Henri blew out a breath. “If we hadn’t been captured. Me, my team. And Solange.”
Juliana looked up at him, her eyes wide with shock. “What?”
“Solange was sent to the women’s camp at Ravensbrück. It was rough on her. She was near death when the camp was liberated. She never really recovered.”
“And you?” Juliana asked gently.
“Late in ’43 I was sent to Natzweiler-Struthof in the province of Alsace, which is in northern France, but the Nazis had taken the region. We were called the Nacht und Nebel prisoners, meaning that we were sent there to disappear into the fog and night. Few people even knew of the camp’s existence. It’s where resistance fighters were sent. We were separated from the rest of the prison camp population. I managed to escape, along with a couple of others, a few months later.”
Henri fell silent, though there was more, much more. He stretched his neck, trying to relieve his tension.
“I am so sorry you had to go through that.” As if to soothe his troubled heart, Juliana stroked his chest. “How are you now?”
“My nightmares have decreased, but I’m told they might never go away entirely.” He sighed. He had returned a changed man. HypervHyper-vigilantigilant, reclusive, depressed. Only Anne and Beatrice could lift his spirits. When he met Juliana, she had drawn him into her sunshine, where he felt more like his happier, younger self.
Juliana was quiet for a few moments. “How did you come to have Anne and Beatrice?”
“My most cherished souvenirs,” Henri said. “After the camps were liberated, I set out to find Solange. Our grandfathers were brothers, which makes us second cousins. She was like the kid sister I’d never had. Anyway, prisoners from the concentration camps poured into the DP camps for displaced persons. I visited several before I found her.”
He blinked hard, remembering all they’d gone through. “Solange had a friend who had been impregnated by a guard, but unfortunately, the woman died giving birth. She had no family left, so Solange took care of the baby.” He smiled. “That was Anne. Just look at that sweet child now.” He paused, his eyes misting with memories.
“And Beatrice?”
“A few days later, Solange woke to little Anne’s cries. When she looked in the basket, there was another infant that someone had left. So Solange claimed them both as her own.” He looked down. “After the medical experiments that had been inflicted on her in the camp, she knew she’d never have children of her own. I took them all back to her grandfather’s vineyard. But Solange needed more medical care. After the war, the hospitals were overcrowded and underfunded, so I brought her to my parent’s home in Boston.”
“That explains a lot. Do Anne and Beatrice know about their history?”
“We shared a lot with them because we didn’t know if we could keep them. In the end, I claimed them as my wards in a French court to get them into the U.S. Once we arrived, we heard so much about the California wine country that we moved here. We wanted to be as far away from our wartime memories as we could get. Solange had lost her family in the war, and her grandfather left the winery to a grandson when he died. I’m glad we came here because Solange died in a beautiful, peaceful place.”
“And how did you learn the winemaking craft?”
“From Solange and her grandfather. Of course, I couldn’t manage Chateau Laurent without help. And that includes you, too, I hope.” But to what degree? Under a professional relationship, or something more?
They both fell silent. Even if his past was too much for her to understand, he felt stronger having finally unburdened some of his heart’s troubles.
“That’s quite a story,” Juliana finally said, her voice subdued. “I can’t imagine what you went through or how you made it out alive. It makes my childish behavior seem even worse.”
Outside, the rain subsided and the winds calmed. Henri caressed Juliana’s face, touching his lips to her smooth skin. “So now you know my past and why I’ve kept to myself. And then there are the girls. I won’t blame you if you decide it’s too much to handle.”
Henri held his breath, waiting for her reply. He knew that for the rest of his life he
would bear the scars of war, but having someone who understood would make it tolerable. If she would have him.
Slowly, Juliana sipped her wine, and then pushed it aside. “Thank you for being honest with me. It’s one of the most important traits I look for in people. I’m sure you feel like you took a risk in telling me about your past.
“It’s a risk I had to take.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, keeping it close to his heart.
Juliana began to say something, but then seemed to think the better of it. Henri knew the words he longed to hear from her, but he wouldn’t force them from her. Each time he saw her, his feelings only grew stronger. But he had learned to be a patient man.
10
Juliana folded her arms under her head and stretched her woolen-encased toes toward the end of the bed, thinking about the difficulties and tragedies that Henri—and poor Solange—had lived through. The stateroom walls were thin, and as she lay awake, she could hear Henri’s low, heavy breathing—almost in rhythm with the waves that slapped the wooden hull and the rain that pelted the deck above, lulling her to dreamland.
She breathed in. The musky air held the salty scent of the sea—so different from the earthy wines she often analyzed, yet just as nuanced in its own way. The night air was cool, but Henri’s plaid flannel shirt and socks kept her warm.
Henri had insisted she stay the night. “The storm should pass by morning.”
“Then I’ll be on my way.”
“Wouldn’t want to worry Mrs. M.,” Henri had said, kissing her.
Soft murmurs floated down the hallway. She could hear Beatrice and Anne whispering and giggling.
Juliana’s eyelids felt heavy. As she rested her eyes, Henri’s words floated through her mind.
“Come sail with us tomorrow,” he had said, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
“I can’t just leave,” she had said, laughing. “Besides, I haven’t a thing with me.”
“I’ll make sure you have everything you need. The girls will be disappointed if you don’t come along.”
“Now that’s not fair,” she had replied.
“Wait until morning to decide.”
She had promised she would. Now, as the vessel rocked and sleep began to overtake her, she drifted to sleep.
“No, no…no!”
Juliana bolted upright, clasping throat, her heart thundering in her ears. It took a moment for her to remember where she was.
Henri was bellowing in his stateroom. “It’s too dangerous. Get them out of there!”
Footsteps padded swiftly past her door.
Juliana’s pulse raced. The desperation in Henri’s cries was almost palpable.
“Stop, stop, you’re going to kill them all!”
Juliana scrambled from bed, adrenaline coursing through her. She hurried toward Henri’s stateroom.
Two soft voices broke through his distress. “Shh, Henri, shh, it’s okay. You’re having a nightmare.”
Juliana rushed in. “Is he all right?” Juliana asked, alarmed.
Anne looked up, frowning. She and Beatrice were on the bed, kneeling on either side of Henri, rubbing his forehead and whispering to him. “He’ll be okay,” Anne said as if to convince herself.
“Get them out now!” Henri thrashed in bed, thrusting his arms against an imaginary assailant. The girls recoiled in fear.
Juliana took charge and shook him by his bare shoulders. “Henri, wake up,” she said in a gentle, yet firm manner. “You’re safe.” While the girls watched with concern, she kept repeating these words until he opened his eyes.
“Wha-at?”
“You’re safe now. You just had a bad dream.” She helped him sit up and brushed his hair from his damp forehead. Even though the night was cool, sweat beaded his brow and gathered on his chest.
“Juliana?” Breathing hard, Henri blinked several times and then wrapped his arms around her. “Thank goodness you’re here.”
“You sure know how to draw a crowd,” Juliana said, managing a smile. As she held him in her arms, she wasn’t sure which of them was shaking more. The muscles across his broad back were taut.
“I’m so sorry I woke you all.” Henri stretched out an arm to the girls, and they snuggled next to him.
Teary-eyed, Beatrice looked up to Henri. “We’re awfully glad you woke up.”
Juliana realized Henri wasn’t the only one in the household affected by the stress of the war, and it tore at her heart that the fallout of war burdened such young, innocent girls. Moonlight shone through a porthole, resting on the worried faces of Anne and Beatrice. They looked immensely relieved that Juliana was there. Juliana kissed Henri on the cheek, and then took Anne’s soft little hand. “Let’s go back to bed, girls.” Glancing back at Henri, she added, “You rest, and I’ll be back in a moment.”
After the girls climbed back into their bunks, Juliana tucked the covers tightly around them and kissed them goodnight. Their sweet smiles tugged at her heart.
Anne yawned and said, “Thank you for helping Henri. We always stay with him when he screams, like Solange used to do.”
Juliana gathered the blanket to Anne’s chin. “That’s a big job for little girls. But I know you made him feel a lot better by being there.” Anne’s eyes fluttered, and while Juliana stroked the little girl’s hair, her eyes closed.
Juliana eased herself from the bed.
Henri stood behind her, watching. He wore a robe over his pajama bottoms and held one out for her, draping it over her shoulders. They left the room as quietly as they could, the polished wooden floorboards creaking beneath their footsteps.
“Now you’ve seen my nightmares for yourself.”
“Lots of people have suffered from combat exhaustion. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Her fiancé, Alfonso, had talked of battle fatigue among the troops. When he’d returned home on leave, she’d seen the stress he’d been under. The war had changed him, too. He’d confided in her, telling her of feeling blue and having a hard time sleeping.
Henri paused at the entry to her stateroom. “Thank you for being here.” Cradling her face in his hands, he kissed her lightly on the lips.
Juliana had just regained control from his nocturnal outburst when the touch of his lips sent her heart racing again. She sank into his kiss, gliding her hands around his neck, sharing the desire that she felt surge through him.
Not since Alfonso had she felt the wondrous warmth that spread through her now. She’d never thought she’d experience this sensation of pure love again. Henri was different; he was more mature than Alfonso, but the two men shared an honesty that Juliana admired.
Despite his desire, Henri pulled away from her to maintain decorum. “Good night again, sweet Juliana.”
* * *
The gleaming yacht arched through the waves, rising and falling with the motion of the morning sea. Juliana tented her hand against the morning sun, watching Henri maneuver through the sloop, the full sails resplendent against golden rays.
Last night when she had arrived at the marina, sailing the California coast to Monterey peninsula the next morning had been the farthest thing from her mind, but now, as she faced the cool breeze, she was glad. Otherwise, she would have missed all this—and him. Thinking about Henri, a feeling of love bloomed in her again.
As if reading her mind, Henri glanced at her, a smile crinkling his eyes and lighting his face. This morning he seemed as unburdened as she’d ever seen him, as though the confessions of last night had partly cleared his mind.
“Hey, beautiful,” Henri called out.
Juliana smiled at him. Against his ivory, cable-knit fisherman’s sweater his cheeks shone ruddy in the sun, the brilliant blue sky framing him like a photo. He looked healthy and carefree; even his voice sounded lighter than it had before. Still, she knew he harbored deep psychological damages—she’d seen her share of young men who’d return to the valley shattered by war.
Would she be up to the task of helping him heal from trag
edies he’d witnessed? She had loved Alfonso to the depths of her being, and she didn’t know if she could ever let her heart become so entwined ever again. When he died, the pain of loss had been so great that she had nearly succumbed to it. Only her mother and Caterina had helped her keep her sanity.
And there were the girls to consider—they needed a mother, a woman who had experience caring for children.
As attractive as Henri Laurent was, he was a complicated man.
A few hours later, Half Moon Bay came into view. After sailing around Pillar Point, they motored into the marina.
“Who’s hungry?” Henri called out as he finished tying off the boat. “I know a great spot for hot clam chowder and sourdough bread.”
Anne and Beatrice clambered onto the dock ahead of them.
“Hope it’s casual.” Today, Juliana wore another one of Henri’s shirts over the dungarees she’d worn the day before. She’d knotted the shirttails at her waist.
“You look fine. I’m starting to like you in my clothes. But after we eat, I’d like to take you shopping.”
They found the café in the harbor and went in. As they sat down at a table with a view of the harbor and bay, a waitress leaned in and said to Juliana, “What a lovely family you have, dear.”
Juliana felt her face flush. “Oh, no, we’re not—”
“Thank you,” Henri said, beaming with pride. He winked at Juliana. “See, we belong together,” he said, kissing her.
Beatrice and Anne giggled at this, watching every movement between her and Henri.
After they ordered, Henri pulled a folded map from his shirt pocket. “Here’s where we are,” he said, tapping the image. “Half Moon Bay. We can spend the day here, doing some shopping, have dinner, and then set off for Monterey in the morning.” He looked across the table at the girls. “We’ll visit some shops after lunch. As good as Juliana looks in my shirts, she needs a few other things to wear, don’t you think?”
