Sins of the Flesh

by Fern Michaels

  “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, th
e 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.”