“Of course.” Marie explains my request to Margot. The two have a brief conversation.
Jonah leans in close. “Her grandmother wants to be the one to tell it.”
I wipe a tear from my cheek, and he gently squeezes my hand. Margot begins to speak, and I keep my eyes on her.
“It was in the middle of the night,” Marie interprets. “And we were home alone.”
* * *
Our mother had died the previous winter, and Papa had gone south to help at our uncle’s farm. We were not allowed to leave the house at night. The Germans patrolled, and there was a curfew.
We woke to the sound of gunfire, and in the distance a loud explosion. We ran from our room, downstairs, and out onto the porch. It was still dark, we couldn’t see anything, but we heard a cry, a man in pain. Charlotte told me to go back inside, and she ran towards the sound, out into the field. Charlotte wasn’t afraid of anything.
I went to the house, scared of what was out there, and waited. When Charlotte returned, she had blood all over her nightgown. I thought someone had hurt her, but she told me that a man needed our help. We carried him to the barn. He couldn’t walk, and he was heavy. There was a wound on his leg that wouldn’t stop bleeding. Charlotte spoke English and asked him his name. He told us he was William Paxton, an American soldier. He kept saying he wanted to get back to his men, but he was in a lot of pain.
He clawed at his leg, and said he needed to get the bullet out. We found a first aid kit in his gear and made a tourniquet. Charlotte told me to hold him down. He screamed in agony as she dug through his flesh, trying to find the bullet. By the time she got it, William had lost consciousness.
Charlotte dressed the wound and stayed by his side all night. She told me that we must not tell anyone he was there. That he would have to stay hidden until he was well enough to join his men. Charlotte brought him food and water. Cleaned his wound. Made him take medicine. She nursed him back from the brink of death.
I avoided the barn as much as I could, not wanting to be anywhere near him. He was a stranger, a man who had come from the sky. I was afraid of him. Then one afternoon I was feeding the chickens when I heard a scream from the barn. A woman’s scream. Charlotte’s.
I ran as fast as I could, thinking William had done something to her. When I got there though, it wasn’t him but another soldier I found. He had Charlotte pinned down and was grabbing at her clothes. I tried to pull him off her, but he struck me in the face.
I remember how afraid she was, but she told me to run. The soldier yelled something and picked up his gun, pointing it at me. Charlotte screamed, and then there was a bang. The soldier fell to the ground, blood rushing from his head.
That was the day I stopped being afraid of William. He saved my sister’s life. My life. I’ve often thought about what would have happened if he hadn’t been there. It is a nightmare I cannot forget.
Things were different with William after that. I liked spending time with him. We would play cards, and I would teach him things in French, and he would attempt to teach me English. Things were different between he and Charlotte also. I could see the way he looked at her, and she at him. They spent all their time together.
There was a war though, and he had to return to it. He’d been with us for over a week when Papa was finally able to get home. He could not get through the road blocks, and so he’d stayed to help fight.
William had been staying inside the house for a few nights. He was sitting at this very table when Papa walked through the door. Charlotte was upstairs, and I was in the kitchen. I remember Papa yelling, demanding that William tell him why he was in the house. Charlotte came running down and tried to explain. They argued, and Papa said he had to go. Charlotte was crying, and she said she was going with him, that she loved him.
That’s when William told her that Papa was right. He had to leave and return to his battalion. Charlotte begged him not to go, but he said his men needed him. He promised he would come back for her.
Charlotte cried for days after he left. We tried to find out everything we could about the American soldiers, where they were, hoping and praying that William was safe. One day we learned that his battalion had already left France. Charlotte was very quiet after that.
When she found out she was pregnant, we were both so afraid. We knew that Papa could not find out, so we hid it for as long as we could. Then, just before her twenty-first birthday, Charlotte was on a ladder in the barn when she fell.
Papa had to take her to the hospital. The doctor told him about the baby. At first, he wouldn’t speak to her, and then he got angry. He said that she could not keep it, that she had disgraced herself and the family. Charlotte told him that William was coming back for her, and that they would leave and go to America.
After Iris was born, Charlotte became very weak. She lost so much blood, and nothing I did would make her better. We took her to the hospital, but there was nothing they could do. She died a week later.
Papa blamed the child and told the hospital to take her. I begged him to let her stay, that she was a part of Charlotte and I couldn’t bear to lose her too, but he would not listen. It broke my heart to leave her there. She was the most beautiful baby.
Months went by. The war ended. And one day I was sitting on the porch when I saw William walking down the road. I thought I was dreaming.
He had come back. Just like he said he would. He seemed older than I remembered, but when he smiled at me, I saw the William we had known. When I told him what had happened to Charlotte, he fell to the ground and would not get up. Papa came out and said that it was his fault.
William left, but I followed him. I told him about his daughter, and I took him to the hospital. When Iris was born, Charlotte had given them William’s name to add to the record of her birth. I told the nurses that he was her father, and they let him hold her. And once he had her in his arms, he would not let her go.
He left that day with Iris, and it was like losing Charlotte all over again. Though I never knew what became of them, I knew in my heart that Charlotte’s baby would be alright. That she would be loved. Because I knew that William had loved Charlotte.
* * *
No one says a word after Margot finishes telling her story. The tears stream down my face, but I don’t touch them. For weeks, I’ve searched for answers, but nothing could have prepared me for what it would feel like to know the truth.
It isn’t only my grandpa who lost someone. It was my mother, it was Margot, it was everyone this story touched. How could so much tragedy hit one family like this? Where is the justice in parents losing their child, in children losing their parents?
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t hear Margot at first. I feel her gaze on me though, and I lift my eyes to find her staring. “Sorry,” I tell her.
She smiles at me, and I can almost see the girl she once was. “We will meet again,” she says in careful English before speaking the rest in French.
“Your grandpa taught her that,” Jonah translates. “She says that he was right. In you she sees her sister, she sees William.” Jonah’s lips curl into a smile. “She says that because you came today, they have all come back.”
My tears fall freely, and I reach across the table to touch her arm. “They are the ones who brought me here.”
Marie translates and Margot nods. “Un don de Dieu.”
Jonah looks at me, his own eyes glistening with tears. “She says you’re a gift from God.”
In any other circumstance, I might laugh off such an undeserved compliment. But here, knowing what I now know, I only feel gratitude. I look at them all, amazed. “I am so glad I found you.”
* * *
We spend most of the day with Marie and Margot. They tell us stories of life on the farm, how Margot and her husband Guy took over after her father passed. They raised three children here, including Frederic, Marie’s father.
I tell them about my parents, about life in Seattle. Jonah explains all the pla
ces we visited trying to find them. The commune we’re in, Amfreville, wasn’t even on the list.
By late afternoon, I’ve learned about distant relatives from all over France. Names I couldn’t remember if I tried. Marie and I exchange email addresses, and she promises to write it all down for me.
When it comes time to leave, I’m reluctant to part with them. I don’t know when we’ll get to see one another again, but I promise them that I’ll come back. Before we go, Margot takes something from the box on the table, and hands it to me. It’s the framed picture of Charlotte.
“Grand-maman would like you to have it,” Marie explains.
“Thank you,” I say, taking it from her.
She embraces me, and I sniff back the tears that have been a constant all day. When I go to say goodbye to Margot, she holds on to me with more strength than I’d expected, kissing me on each cheek.
“We will meet again,” she says in English.
Jonah and I return to the car, and as I get into the passenger seat, I keep the photo clutched in my hand. Marie and Margot wave at us from the porch, and I think about Charlotte. How my grandpa walked down this very road, coming back to her, just as he promised he would. We drive away slowly, down the narrow lane. When we reach the end, I burst into tears.
Jonah stops the car and pulls me to him.
“I thought I was alone,” I sob into his sleeve. “All this time I thought I was alone.”
He holds me as I come undone, the mix of emotions overwhelming. Grief, sorrow, joy, and disbelief. I can’t separate one from the other.
“How?” I ask, sitting back and wiping away my tears. “How did this happen? How did we end up here?”
“I have no idea.” His brows knit together. “I’m the one who made the list — it’s my fault we didn’t include this place. It’s just outside the search area I gave you. Right on the damn cusp of it.”
“How could you have known? I mean, we might have come here and still not found them. It doesn’t make any sense that we did, and I know it’s probably just happenstance.”
“No,” he says emphatically. “I don’t think it is. And believe me, I’m the last person I thought would ever say this, but after today, I think you were right.”
“Right how?”
“What you said last night about your grandmother guiding you. I don’t usually subscribe to the idea of destiny, but somehow, every decision we made got us here. I’m not sure I’m ever going to understand it.”
“Me neither.” I think about all the choices that led us to turning down this lane. “But whatever it is, I’m so glad for it.”
“Me too.”
“I have a family. A lot of them, it seems.” I laugh, my heart filling with gratitude. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For this. For helping me. I wouldn’t have found them without you.”
He gives me a dimpled smile. “Thank you for letting me be a part of it.”
“I’m going to stay,” I tell him.
“What?”
“I’m going to stay, in France. With you.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
His smile broadens. “What made you decide that?”
“I think I already knew. But today, after everything that’s happened, it’s made me realize that I don’t want to waste time. My grandparents never got their chance to be together again. I don’t want us to miss ours.”
Jonah lifts his hand to my face. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll earn it, every second I have in this life, and every moment beyond it.”
“Even after death?” I tease.
His gaze is penetrating. “Charlotte, neither war nor death could stop the way I feel about you.” He kisses me to prove it.
And just like that, every inkling of doubt fades away, making space for something new.
24
When Jonah and I left for Mont-Saint-Michel we were staring into the face of uncertainty. Just over twenty-four hours later, as we pull up into the driveway of the B&B, everything has changed.
“So I was thinking,” Jonah says as we grab our bags from the trunk. “Next weekend we should take a trip to Paris.”
“That’s a very romantic idea.”
“I thought so, too.” He takes my hand, and we walk down the path towards the barn. “Did you know my parents wanted to start hosting events here?” he asks.
“I did hear something about that.”
He pushes the door open for me. “Do you think you’d be interested in playing?”
“Piano?” I walk inside and drop my bag on the floor.
“Are there other instruments you play?”
I consider that for a moment. “I’m not terrible with a ukulele.”
“I’m sure you’re not,” he says suggestively.
“What about you? You could play guitar.”
“That’s a hard pass.” He laughs. “You couldn’t pay me to play in front of people.”
“Shame.” I walk over to the kitchen. “I’ve always had a thing for guitarists. All that skill in those fingers.”
I barely take another step before Jonah’s hands are at my waist, turning me to face him. “Well, you’ve seen what I can do with my fingers,” he says, leaning in close.
A familiar stirring takes root, and I reach my hand around his back, drawing him in. “I might have forgotten.”
He smirks and lifts me up onto the kitchen island. “How about a reminder?” His fingers trail down my neck, across my stomach, and further down still.
“Jonah! Anyone walking by could see us.”
He follows my gaze to the window overlooking the garden, the evening sun still offering plenty of light. When he looks back at me, there’s a hunger in his eyes. “I think we need a shower.”
He helps me down and then takes my hand, leading me over to the bathroom. I wait at the door while he turns on the faucet. He pulls off his shirt, and I stay where I am, enjoying the show.
“You know,” he says, undoing his jeans. “This would be a lot more fun if you got naked.”
“Oh, I’m already having fun.” I let my gaze travel over him.
He takes off the rest of his clothes, and I feel a fire ignite within me, watching as he steps under the rainfall showerhead. He runs his hands through his hair, the muscles in his arms contracting. I decide I’ve reached the limit of my observation.
Quickly removing my own clothing, I join him, slowly tracing my fingers down his back. He turns and bends his mouth to mine, and then grips my waist, turning me around. Bracing my hands against the wall, I feel his hand on the back of my thigh, trailing higher and higher.
“Tell me,” he murmurs into my ear, “if any of this is familiar.”
* * *
We lay languidly in Jonah’s bed, the sheets damp from the water we brought upstairs with us. With my head on his shoulder, I feel his chest rise and fall. Then all at once it hastens, the sound of his laughter filling the air.
“What?” I ask, craning to look up at him.
“I just realized I never got my jumper back.”
“What jumper?”
“The one I gave you that night at Omaha.”
“Oh, you mean the night you left me alone, in the pouring rain?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
His laughter increases, and I narrow my eyes at him. “That wasn’t funny.”
“It wasn’t,” he agrees. “I was freaking out the whole way back to the beach. I thought you were going to kill me.”
“Trust me, I wanted to.”
“I felt terrible.” He moves his hand slowly over my back. “When you got into the car and started shivering, all I wanted to do was take you in my arms.”
“I wouldn’t have appreciated it,” I say, remembering how angry I was.
He smiles. “No, I don’t think you would have. That’s why I offered the jumper instead.”
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of asking for the swea
ter back?”
“No, you can keep it.”
I turn myself over to face him. “What made you think of that?”
“I don’t know. I guess I was thinking about when we first met.”
Resting my chin on his chest, my thoughts go back to that day. “I remember thinking how handsome you were.”
“Oh yeah?”
“But then you opened your mouth and spoke.”
His body vibrates with laughter. “You know what I thought when I first saw you?”
“That I was an ignorant American?”
“I only thought that after I heard you talk.” He laughs at my playful glare. “When I first saw you, you were on the couch in the parlor, and you turned your head to look at me. There was this expression on your face, like you’d been expecting me. I don’t know if it makes any sense, but I got this feeling as though we knew each other, as though we’d had that exact experience before.”
“Déjà vu,” I say, contemplative. “I’ve been getting that a lot here.”
“I’ve never felt anything like it. To be honest, it freaked me out a little bit.” He runs his fingers through my hair and down my back. “The more time we spent together, the stronger the feeling got.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know,” he says, pensive.
“A more spiritual person might say we met in a past life.” I expect him to laugh the notion off, but he doesn’t.
“I guess that kind of makes sense.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised by his response.
He looks at me, a slight smile on his lips. “I’d like to think that whatever lives we’ve lived, I’ve found you in every one of them.”
I don’t expect the tenderness of his words, the way he speaks them without a hint of pretense. Moving closer, I bring my lips close to his. “I’m glad we found one another in this life.” I kiss him slowly, wanting him to feel the truth of my words.
Jonah tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Are you hungry?”
The Sea of Lost Things Page 21
