Chateau of Secrets: A Novel

by Melanie Dobson

  Was he here on government business as well as to inquire about the property?

  Gisèle was no longer the girl who had run with Philippe during the bombing. The château was her father’s home. Her brother’s refuge. Her family’s legacy.

  One day good would defeat the evil in their midst. She didn’t know when, but she clung to that hope. Philippe might expose her, but she had no regrets for what she had done.

  It was too late for her to go back on her story about the marriage and there was no place for her to run. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold together the pieces before everything unraveled, but like her brother, she would continue to fight. Resist.

  Even when she was afraid.

  — CHAPTER 44 —

  The quaint chapel had been beckoning me for days. The place where my parents and I had prayed with Mémé so long ago.

  Out my bedroom window, I watched as strangers strolled down the long path from Agneaux every morning and slipped through the door. Marguerite said she unlocked the door so villagers could pray and tourists could explore the medieval treasure.

  This afternoon I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, the color of fire, before strolling across the courtyard like the locals. I wasn’t alone. Madame Calvez didn’t want to see me again, but Isabelle’s friend was still sick, so for the fifth day in a row, Isabelle and I spent the afternoon playing at the same park where Riley had lain back in the grass and told me how God rocked his world. The quiet time, the laughter, had soothed my heart.

  Isabelle made me smile, and she made me forget for a few hours all that had transpired back in Virginia. It had only been two weeks since my mom called and asked me to come to France, but it felt like a million years ago. I never could have imagined that I would be exploring the corridors of our family’s château, visiting the parks with a ten-year-old, and beginning to dream about a future without Austin.

  Oddly enough, I was content.

  It wouldn’t be long before I had to face my reality and get back on an airplane, but what I would do in Virginia now, I had no idea. There was enough money in my savings account to cushion the blow of unemployment, and my parents would let me tap into my trust fund if I drained my bank account, but I wanted to support myself. It was the Duchant in me, I supposed.

  The breeze rustled the trees as Isabelle and I walked along the drive. Dozens of messages had flown back and forth between Riley and me this week. The château seemed empty without him here. Even though my own faith had been shaken, I took shelter in his and Mémé’s and my parents’ faith.

  Tombstones were clustered together in a small yard outside the chapel. We found the graves for Vicomte and Vicomtesse Duchant—my great-grandparents—and placed wildflowers Isabelle and I had picked on top of each of them. Michel rested beside them, and I had the faintest memory of Mémé and me putting flowers on these graves before I’d left her alone to her tears.

  She’d said something odd to me as we stood in front of the chapel so long ago. Something about secrets. A secret that shielded their family.

  Dad thought childhood memories shouldn’t be trusted, but something about this memory pricked my mind, like the thorn that had stung my finger.

  I read the epitaphs on the twenty or so stones, wondering if the girl Mémé remembered might have been buried with the rest of the Duchant family, but there was no Adeline.

  I pushed open the wooden door to the chapel, and Isabelle scooted around me to get inside. We were the only ones there, but the smells from time past permeated the old wood—wilted flowers and incense and dirt from the fields. The stone floor was worn smooth from years of shoes scouring it, and near the altar was a picture that captured my attention. It was a pencil drawing of a man with wings—there was a sword in one hand and the head of a dragon in the other. I suspected he was an angel, but he looked like a warrior. A sculpture of Christ’s body hung on the wall, his head missing. An old gate stood open at the side.

  She tugged on my hand, toward the pew. “Let’s pray.”

  Isabelle knelt like an old pro.

  Until my grandmother became bedridden, she’d attended Mass every Sunday and often during the week as well. I remembered going with her to a chapel in the months after Grandpa died. The chapel overlooked the Potomac River and I would stare down at the water. Tears had streamed down her powdered cheeks as she prayed in French, and I determined then—as a thirteen-year-old—to master the language my grandmother loved.

  Isabelle folded her hands in front of her, and I did the same, though I wasn’t certain what to say. Ever since I’d begun attending church with Austin, my faith had become sterile. Riley had been so passionate about his faith, but I felt like I had lost my passion for just about everything.

  I wanted it back. My passion to love kids and see the world. My desire to talk to God and not run the other way. To love again and not hide. To revel in the honesty of being able to share my story.

  Isabelle prayed quietly beside me in French, and I prayed as well, that God would reveal Himself to me as He did with Riley. That He would show me what to do next.

  When she finished praying, Isabelle crossed herself, and I followed suit. I didn’t want to leave though. The château was full of mystery, but the chapel was different. Instead of questions, there was peace here. Answers, perhaps.

  We lingered at the foot of the cross, and I knew . . .

  I was at a crossroads like Riley had been. No matter what happened when I returned to the States, no matter if I never married or had children, I would have to trust God. Only He could fill those empty places left in my soul.

  My peace was disturbed by the sound of gravel crunching outside. I didn’t want to move, but Isabelle took my hand and urged me toward the open door.

  I expected to see Pierre or Marguerite in their station wagon, or a delivery truck, but instead a black Mercedes crawled like a spider across the courtyard, searching for prey.

  The door opened, and when the car’s driver stepped onto the gravel, I cringed.

  Austin Vale had stepped back into my world.

  PART THREE

  To love another person is to see the face of God.

  —VICTOR HUGO

  LES MISÉRABLES

  Chapter 45

  May 1944

  Below the château a torrent of flames fractured dusk’s fading light. Gisèle swallowed her gasp and almost dropped the bowl of mashed potatoes onto the lap of the officer in front of her. The row of paned windows in the dining hall framed the blaze, but the men were all focused on their discussion and their plates instead of on the fire raging on the hillside across from them.

  The Allies were pushing hard into France, their planes becoming more daring the past few weeks as they flew farther inland with their bombs.

  Had a German plane crashed near the river? Or was it a Royal Air Force plane?

  The Allies, Oberst Seidel said, knew Château d’Epines was a Nazi headquarters, and he feared they would target the house. She’d heard the planes overhead at night, but the rattling of the engines didn’t bring her fear. Instead they inspired her with hope. Michel had said they must do anything they could to help the Allies win this war. “Hitler has mandated that we increase the deportation of Jews,” the major told his men.

  “I thought the French police already sent all the Jews in Saint-Lô to work camps,” Hauptmann Milch said.

  “He is convinced there are more hiding here.”

  Gisèle would have been alarmed at their discussion had her attention not been solely focused on the fire.

  As the men talked about Hitler’s new mandate, she switched on the electric lights and then stepped carefully toward the windows, taking care not to gawk at the glow. The Germans in her home may not have seen the crash yet, but someone in Saint-Lô must have.

  Still, if it was an Allied plane, she might be able to help the crew buy a little time.

  Instead of waiting until after dinner to pull the blackout curtain across the rod, she closed them.
None of the Germans even glanced up from their meal.

  She stole away from the table, down into the kitchen. Adeline was asleep in the playpen, and Lisette was washing pans.

  “I must run an errand,” Gisèle said. “But I’ll be back within the hour.”

  Lisette dried her hands on a towel. “It’s past curfew.”

  “If they ask, tell them I went to lock up the chapelle.”

  “You never lock up before the nineteen hundred hour.” Lisette tossed the towel onto the counter. “They will ask questions.”

  She couldn’t wait for another hour to go out. “Then tell them I’m unwell and have to rest in my room.”

  “But—” Lisette began to protest, but Gisèle was already out the door. If the crew had survived, there was no time to spare.

  While the men were still eating, she retrieved a flashlight and locked her bedroom door before rushing outside and down the smoky path. The flames had subsided, and on the other side of the river, her flashlight beam rested on the blackened shell of the downed plane. At the edge of the river was a broken wing, but instead of a hooked cross painted on it, there was a star.

  Her heart pounding, she clicked off her light. There was no time to waste. If the Germans hadn’t seen the blaze, someone from town would surely report it to them soon.

  “Is anyone there?” she shouted in English. Her mother’s language.

  When no one answered, she tiptoed forward until she reached the footbridge. There was no use crossing the bridge to search inside the plane—no one could have survived the impact of those flames. If they didn’t parachute out, the crew would have perished.

  In the moonlight she scanned the valley and hillside for any movement. If there were survivors, they would need a place to hide right away or the Germans would find them. Would they send the airmen to work camps like they did the Jews or would they execute them like they had her father and the men in the forest?

  She stepped into the ribbon of trees by the river, calling out one last time. “I can take you to a safe place, but if you don’t come with me now, it will be too late.”

  Seconds crept by, and still no one answered. Disappointed, she turned back toward the path. She’d been hoping she could help the Allies and selfishly, she had been hoping for some news of their fight. If the men weren’t here, she prayed the crew had bailed out in a safe place where people would care well for them.

  She had to hurry back to the house now. The Germans might not search for her in her room, but if they found her down here, they would know with certainty that she was collaborating with their enemy.

  “Psstt . . .”

  The whisper came from behind a hawthorn, and her heart plunged to her toes. She turned on her light, scanning the branches. “Who’s there?”

  A tall man limped onto the path, his forehead bloodied. Balled up in his arms was a parachute. “How do you know English?” he asked.

  She swallowed. “I only know a little. My mother was from England.”

  He stuck out one of his hands. “My name’s Eddie. From the US of A.”

  She studied his face in the light, the thin mustache over his lips and the bloody gash over his right eye, before extending her hand. He gave it a hearty shake.

  She pulled her hand back to her side. “You have a nasty gash on your forehead.”

  “I’m in much better shape than Deborah D.”

  She examined the grassy path behind him. “Where is Deborah?”

  “Over there.” He pointed toward the river, at the smoke still pouring from the plane. “We’ve flown eighteen missions together.”

  She wasn’t sure how one was supposed to mourn the loss of an aeroplane.

  A dog barked in the distance, and she shivered. “We must hurry.”

  “Are the Krauts near?”

  She turned off the flashlight. “There are almost twenty of them. Staying on top of this hill.”

  He whistled.

  “Stop!” she said, and her command silenced him. “Only Americans whistle like that.”

  He stepped back toward the trees. “My navigator injured his arm when he landed.”

  “Where are the rest of your men?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  The dog barked again, closer now. Whether or not the animal was searching for them, in minutes a host of Germans—and perhaps some of her fellow French citizens—would clamor near the river to hunt for survivors. With their lanterns and flashlights, rifles and dogs, the Americans wouldn’t have a chance.

  Somehow she had to find a way to get them up the cliff, and then while the Germans were searching by the river, perhaps she could sneak them into the chapelle. She’d heard the rumors about loud Americans, but as she followed Eddie into the hawthorns and apple trees, she prayed these men knew how to be quiet as well.

  A second American, a young man named Daniel, sat on a log close to the river, cradling his arm.

  “Did you break it?” she asked.

  He forced a smile. “Technically, a tree broke it.”

  Just what she needed, a smart aleck. If these men didn’t take the Germans seriously now, they would soon. “We must hide your parachutes first and then I’ll take you to a safe place for the night.”

  Not far was a wide crevice cutting through the cliff. She and Eddie stuffed the chutes into the gap and then camouflaged it with leaves and branches.

  “The Germans will search all night for you,” she told both men.

  “Where will we hide?” Daniel asked.

  She motioned him forward. “You must come with me.”

  The navigator hesitated.

  “If you don’t, they will kill you.”

  Daniel stood and collected his backpack, ready to follow her, and the responsibility weighed heavily on her. These Americans had decided to trust her with their lives.

  If they could cross over the path before the Germans arrived, she could take the airmen west along the river, crossing under the shadow of the château before they snuck back up the forest on the other side of the house and into the chapelle.

  But when they stepped forward, she saw a flare of lights through the smoky air, descending down the hill toward them like a swarm of bees. And then she heard Major von Kluge shouting orders.

  There would be no going through the chapelle tonight. They had to run as fast as they could in the opposite direction.

  “Hurry,” she commanded.

  When they heard boots hammering down the hill, Eddie and Daniel collected their backpacks and this time, they followed her quickly through the forest. She didn’t know if Major von Kluge knew about this narrow path, set back from the river, but she guessed it wouldn’t take his men long to find it.

  Eddie lagged behind them for a few minutes, as if he needed to pay a final tribute to his plane. Then he caught up again as they hurried through the trees.

  Before they moved right at the river’s bend, toward the Batiers’ house, she crept to the edge of the forest and scanned the bottom of the valley to her left. A pool of lights collected on the valley floor. It wouldn’t be long before the Germans spread out to comb every inch of the forest and cliffs.

  Would any of them wonder why she hadn’t returned from the chapelle? Hopefully they would be too distracted by the aeroplane . . .

  Still, she needed to hurry home.

  It was too late to take the airmen to the locked door at the chapelle. For a moment, she considered trying to hide them in the Batiers’ home, but the gendarmes knew about the house in the forest and if they didn’t already, the Germans would find it soon. They would search all the vacant homes and the occupied ones as well until they found the crew.

  There was one other place nearby that she could hide the Americans.

  She prayed the cross around her neck would open the door.

  — CHAPTER 46 —

  Isabelle didn’t stick around for the showdown. Right after Austin stepped out of the Mercedes—and informed her that he was my fiancé—she ask
ed if she could return home. I’d kissed her on both cheeks and sent her on her way.

  If the Plaza had never happened, I’d have been flattered by his resolve to fly across the ocean to see me, like I’d felt the night he literally swept me off my feet and proposed. This time his determination wasn’t romantic. It was maddening.

  Now he paced in front of the château. His button-down shirt was slightly wrinkled, but he held the composure of an attorney who usually got his way. I couldn’t physically remove him from the château’s property—and I had a suspicion that as long as Austin wasn’t threatening to hurt me, the local police wouldn’t want to get involved with two Americans disputing over whether or not they remained engaged.

  He leaned back and glanced up at my family’s château again. “It looks like a castle.”

  “It is a castle!”

  His gaze remained locked on the building. “How much do you think it’s worth?”

  I put my hands on my hips. “You flew all the way to France to ask how much the château is worth?”

  “No—I came to apologize,” he said, turning back to focus on me. “I still want to marry you.”

  “You still want to . . .” I said, appalled at his audacity, as if he was willing to humble himself. “I told Olivia the wedding is off.”

  He shook his head. “It’s only been postponed.”

  “Austin—” I crossed my arms and asked the question I should have asked a long time ago. “Why do you want to marry me?”

  He paused, his handsome eyes squinting as he seemed to search for an answer. “I need you.”

  “That’s a lousy reason, Austin.”

  He seemed shocked at my retort.

  “Let me help,” I said. “You want me to marry you because you think I can somehow help you win this election.”

  “It’s not just about me, Chloe. It’s about us. We make a good team, a team that will last far past this election.”

  He was asking me to play on his team? He might have thought he was being winsome, but the blinders had been ripped from my eyes. He didn’t love me. He loved the idea of having a teammate—and a cheerleader who knew when to look the other way.