Chateau of Secrets: A Novel

by Melanie Dobson

  Conflicting emotions flooded through her. Even though she knew this man would take her life if she was caught in her lies, confusion and something akin to compassion warred in her. It was more like sadness, not for him as much as for all the children and innocent people who were losing in this war. For the little French girl who might never know her parents and for the German grandson of this Oberst, the officer who would decide her fate.

  Oberst Seidel dismissed her, and as she passed back through the dining hall, she saw Hauptmann Milch sitting at the table alone, pecking with two fingers on the Hermès typewriter. He was quite handsome, with his short dark hair and brown eyes, now intent on his reading. His face was clean-shaven like the rest of the men, and his German uniform would have inspired fear in most people in France, but if one looked close enough, there was kindness etched beneath his Nazi façade.

  Even as she stepped up beside him, he didn’t look up. She fixed a curtain before leaning down to whisper. “Thank you.”

  His glance darted back toward the office and then his gaze dropped back to the typewriter. “I have done nothing,” he replied, the prickliness in his voice like the thorns that protected the valley trees.

  She pressed on through the main hall and down into the kitchen. Émilie was frying ham while Adeline played with blocks in her playpen. Beside her, Lisette was scooping dried acorn grounds into a pot to boil for what they called coffee—the Germans had secured crates of food but they hadn’t been able to plunder any coffee beans.

  She understood why the Hauptmann couldn’t acknowledge her, but still it hurt. Perhaps, like a guardian angel, he would have to remain her benefactor in secret.

  It might be difficult, but she would pretend as well that he was invisible.

  • • •

  Instead of taking her picnic basket to the chapelle, Gisèle brought a knapsack stuffed with the Germans’ food, in case Michel had returned. Most of the officers were out patrolling Saint-Lô and the valley below this evening, but if one happened to stop her, she’d say she was continuing to feed the hungry in Agneaux. They could argue with her charity, as the Oberst had questioned her about the ghosts, but she was sticking to her original story.

  No one was praying when she opened the door, but four candles continued to burn, the incense a sweet reminder of the way the Spirit moves, wafting into crevices and into the hearts of those willing to listen.

  God used ordinary, often unexpected people throughout the Old Testament to rescue others—Esther and Moses and Jael, the woman who drove the tent peg through her enemy’s head. Even though God could use anyone, Gisèle had never expected to find an advocate among the Germans.

  Kneeling at a pew, she thanked God for using a Nazi soldier to save her life and the life of Adeline.

  When she finished her prayers, she locked the entrance to the chapelle so no visitors would surprise her. Then she swept the sanctuary, blew out the flickering candles, and gathered the dried flowers into a pile. The aroma from the incense lingered around her as she unlocked the gate to the sacristy.

  It seemed so strange to think Michel and his men were below this floor even as the women of Agneaux prayed above them. Michel and the others could hide in the tunnel, but none of them could escape God’s presence, above or below the ground. The Nazis couldn’t escape either. They might not care now, but one day they would be required, good or bad, to account for all they had done. Just as she would have to account for what she had done.

  She slid back into the closet and opened the panel. Before she put the basket inside, she gasped.

  Someone was sitting on the ledge.

  The man blocked the beam from her flashlight with his hands. “Put that away, Gigi.”

  She collapsed against the thick coat of robes, scared and yet relieved that he hadn’t been the one killed in the convoy. “Don’t scare me like that, Michel.”

  “I needed to speak with you.”

  Dark whiskers peppered his smooth face. He looked thinner than she had ever seen him, and she wondered how much he’d eaten while he was gone.

  “You’d best speak fast,” she said as she dumped the contents of her knapsack into the waiting basket. “We have eyes and ears everywhere these days.”

  “Your last letter said the boches had taken over the château.”

  “Don’t call them that,” Gisèle whispered.

  “I’m not afraid of them.”

  “You should be.” She nudged the basket toward him. “Your men must be quiet when they are near the house.”

  “Sound echoes all over down there.”

  “Then you must find another place to hide—”

  He shook his head. “This is a meeting place for people from all over La Manche.”

  She reached for his hand, clutching it in hers. “They will kill you if they find you.”

  “I am prepared to die, but you cannot.” He thumbed her cheek. “You, Gigi, must live a long life and carry the name and legacy of the Duchant family forward.”

  She shook her head. She didn’t want to speak about Michel’s dying or the family legacy. She and Michel were both going to survive this war. Michel and Lisette were to marry, and perhaps she would marry one day as well. Their children and even their grandchildren would grow up to be the best of friends.

  “Have you seen Lisette?” he asked.

  She nodded. “The Nazis recruited her to work with me in the château.”

  “They haven’t—” He stopped. “She is a beautiful woman.”

  I squeezed his hand. “A beautiful woman who has eyes only for you.”

  “If something happens to me—” He stumbled on his words. “Tell her that I loved her too.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said, trying to reassure him.

  “We won’t stop fighting, Gisèle, not until the Nazis are gone.”

  “The officers were talking of another convoy coming through here on Wednesday.”

  “They are trying to fortify all the Normandy beaches against an invasion.”

  She prayed the Allies would invade. Soon.

  “You can no longer bring us food,” he said.

  “But you need it—”

  “If the Germans find out about this tunnel, it will jeopardize everything.”

  She sighed. Now she was the one who was dangerous. “How will you get food?”

  “The farmers are helping us.”

  “Michel, I—”

  A soft thud pounded on the other side of the closet, and she dropped his hand. It sounded as if someone was hitting the wall with a pillow.

  He hopped up. “You must go.”

  She reached into the small space and hugged her brother before he slipped down into the darkness.

  Quickly she replaced the panel and stepped out into the sacristy. The pounding on the chapelle door grew louder, someone insistent about getting inside.

  Her hands trembling, she locked the gate and then threw a handful of spent candles and two bouquets of decaying flowers into her knapsack. At the back of the nave, she unlocked the door and shined her flashlight into the faces of two men: Viktor Braun and Major von Kluge.

  “What are you doing?” the major demanded.

  “I was praying and then cleaning out the nave.”

  Suspicion flooded his gaze. “In the dark?”

  “We have no electricity in here,” she said as she held up her light. “Only candles and lanterns and flashlights.”

  The major stepped into the nave. “What took you so long to answer—”

  “I didn’t realize it was an urgent matter,” she said, desperately trying to keep her voice calm. “The villagers often knock on the door at night, wanting to pray.”

  She started to step outside, but the major stopped her. “We will take a look around your chapel.”

  “Of course,” she said as he shined his flashlight toward the altar. “You may pray as well if you’d like.”

  His eyes were filled with indignation, but she ignored it. They
reminded her of the rock by the river, immovable and cold. The aroma of the incense lingered. God’s Spirit was still here, present in the midst of the evil. She prayed the men would feel the fear that came from Him, the fear of doing wrong instead of that which was right.

  She waited by the door as the men tromped up the aisle. Fahnrich Braun stared for a moment at the sculpture of Christ hanging on the wall. The Jew who had been killed by the Jewish people. But even as He hung on the cross, Jesus showed His love for both the Jews and the Gentiles.

  The Nazis passed under the picture of Saint Michel and the dragon, seemingly unfazed by the power of the archangel to defeat evil, and then stopped at the sacristy. The major shook the locked gate. “Why is this locked?”

  “It’s a supply room.” She held up her key. “Would you like me to unlock it for you?”

  “Right away.”

  She rushed forward. Any hesitation, she feared, would alert him to the fact that she was hiding something. Inside the sacristy, the major opened the closet, and she held her breath as he combed through the robes. Then he opened the drawers in the middle of the room, rummaging through each one before he turned back to her. “What is in your bag?”

  She opened it and dumped the contents onto the small table. The spent candles rolled out across the polished wood, the old flowers piling on top of them. “I always clean up when I leave,” she said with a shrug.

  Fähnrich Braun searched through the used supplies and when he looked up at the senior officer, she saw disappointment in his eyes.

  “Let’s go back to the house,” the major said.

  They waited for her as she relocked the gate and then the main door.

  Moonlight crept over the stained-glass windows, and sadness filled her heart as she followed them past the small cemetery into the house. She had fed the Germans, but she’d balanced her work by also feeding the men who resisted them.

  But Michel was right—it was too dangerous for her to continue. Until the Nazis were gone, her work feeding Michel and his men was over. Instead she would pray for Michel while she cared for Adeline.

  — CHAPTER 40 —

  I checked the headlines when I got back to my room and discovered that my breakup with Austin had blitzed the national news. The media seemed preoccupied with the fact that I’d gone missing . . . and that Austin’s poll numbers were slipping.

  FORMER SHOO-IN FOR GOVERNOR GETS BOOT FROM FIANCÉE.

  FIANCÉE OF VIRGINIA’S VALE GOES AWOL.

  AUSTIN VALE FREE-FALLING IN VIRGINIA POLLS.

  It seemed the monument Austin had built for himself, brick by brick, was crashing down.

  My flight back to Virginia had been scheduled for Sunday morning, the day after Riley left, but I wasn’t ready to return to Richmond. I called the airline and changed my flight to the following week. Then I emailed the itinerary to my parents.

  A few minutes later, my cell phone rang, and I answered my mom’s call.

  “I just got your new flight schedule,” she said.

  “That was fast.”

  “I thought you were coming home this weekend.”

  “I decided to linger in the peace.”

  She sighed. “Austin stopped by your dad’s office yesterday. He’s not going to let you go easily.”

  “That’s why I can’t come home yet.”

  I looked out the windows at the silvery-blue ribbon of water combing through the valley. Today had been a day of questioning for me, but it had also been therapeutic.

  “You should stay as long as you want, Chloe.”

  “I sure wish Dad would come back here with me.”

  “He can’t—” She stopped. “The memories are too confusing for him.”

  “Did he tell you about Adeline?”

  “He did, and I think the truth is scaring him.”

  I told her about Madame Calvez, about her animosity toward Mémé.

  “Something horrible must have happened at the château,” Mom said. “Some reason why Gisèle refused to return. It would have been impossible to live through that war unscathed.”

  I fiddled with the window until it opened. “I wish she would have told us.”

  “She wanted to remember all that was good about France,” Mom said.

  But now it seemed Mémé’s heart yearned to find out what happened to her daughter, even if the truth wasn’t good.

  • • •

  Riley tossed his duffel bag and suitcase into the back of the Peugeot that he’d rented in Saint-Lô. The sun was barely up, and I clung to the coffee that I’d managed to brew in the kitchen. He said he was headed over to Coutances and then driving farther down into France.

  “Who are you interviewing next?” I asked.

  “A Jewish officer who fought in the Wehrmacht, and then the children of four other Jewish soldiers who’ve passed away,” he said. “When are you going home?”

  “In a week or so.” I hesitated. “You said that Gisèle rescued your grandfather. And that he met a Jewish soldier here at the château.”

  Riley nodded.

  Perhaps his grandfather was a key as well to my past. Through his stories, perhaps I could figure out some of mine. “Did he write down his stories?”

  “I don’t believe he wrote them down, but he made a video of his stories for my family.” He slammed the hatch and rounded the vehicle to stand by me. “Unfortunately, my parents have it.”

  “Can you get it from them?”

  He grimaced. “That would mean I have to call my father.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  Instead of answering, he climbed into the car. “If my father won’t send it, I’ll make you a copy when I get back to New York.”

  “When do you go home?” I asked.

  “In a week. When I finish my other interviews.” He turned the key in the ignition. “They drive on the left side here, right?”

  “Only if you want to scare the pants off oncoming drivers.” I tilted my head. “You do know how to drive a manual, don’t you?”

  “Sure I do.” He glanced down at the stick shift. “It’s just been a few years.”

  “Can’t you take a train?”

  He shook his head. “There is no train station where I’m going.”

  For a moment, I wished I could explore France with him.

  “I need to return this car before I take the train back to Paris.” He smiled. “If my dad will send the DVD, perhaps we can watch it before we leave.”

  He shut the door. The gears ground as he shifted it into first. He waved and the poor car shuddered as he steered it up the lane. It died near the top, and Riley started it again.

  A few minutes later, my cell phone vibrated.

  You want to fly back to New York together?

  I stared down at Riley’s words.

  Fancy that, a man who wanted to get on an airplane with me.

  Chapter 41

  “Lisette!” Gisèle called as she walked through the empty corridor of the west wing.

  Cold air slipped under the cracks of the closed doors, and she rubbed her arms. It had been months since she’d been on the third floor. Even though Fähnrich Braun had been reassigned back in November, she was still afraid of meeting another German alone.

  When Adeline went down for her afternoon nap, Lisette volunteered to bring up linens to the north wing and clean the two bathrooms. An hour had passed, and Adeline had already awakened, ready for a walk outside before night fell. Gisèle would have taken her, but she was helping Émilie prepare for the evening meal.

  Of all of them, Lisette was most comfortable among the Germans after working for almost two years at their headquarters. Since Lisette could translate, the major had sent Lucien on to Cherbourg, and when Gisèle pretended not to understand, Lisette translated for her. After months of serving the soldiers, Gisèle now spoke the basics with them anyway. Unlike Lisette, though, she maintained her distance as much as possible through the barrier of language.

  In the past six months
, Lisette and Adeline had developed a special bond, and Gisèle was glad that Adeline was well loved, though she still despaired that Adeline’s idea of normal was to be living among the German soldiers. Some of the men liked to spoil her, while others instilled fear in her heart.

  As the months passed, it seemed as if Adeline had forgotten about her parents. Adeline had begun to call her Maman and Lisette Tante. She was sad that the girl had to forget—and perhaps would never be told of—the parents who loved her. Her lies had become Adeline’s reality.

  While Gisèle avoided the Germans, Lisette seemed to find a sense of belonging with them and with Adeline. On long winter evenings, after dinner, Lisette told the men some of the chilling stories that Michel had told her, about those who had been murdered in the château during the revolution and about the ghosts who sought revenge. Gisèle cringed when Lisette told them about a tunnel underneath the castle that harbored dangerous trolls and how they came out at night to haunt the floors above them. The Germans laughed at her stories, and yet they kept coming back around the fireplace to listen to more.

  Sometimes Gisèle wondered if the men were coming to hear Lisette’s stories or if they were there to admire her beauty. Lisette had always been beautiful and she’d matured into a lovely woman, with her blond curls and shapely figure that was so unlike those of many of the hungry Frenchwomen who’d become shadows of themselves. The way Lisette flirted back with some of the soldiers made Gisèle’s stomach roll, and she prayed Michel never found out how the woman he loved had toyed with them. They all had to lose a bit of themselves to satiate the enemy, she supposed, but she prayed that in their hearts, they all would remain true to God and to France.

  She knocked on the bathroom door. “Lisette?”

  There was no response.

  Most of the men were patrolling in the valley and town, and she wondered for a moment if Hauptmann Milch was among them, though she had learned through Lisette that when he wasn’t needed to type correspondence, Hauptmann Milch worked in the registration office in Saint-Lô, issuing identity cards and certificates. He avoided her, speaking only when it was of utmost necessity, but even with his brusqueness, he intrigued her. Sometimes she wondered if he was trapped like the French people who had no choice but to entertain the men they despised.