Chateau of Secrets: A Novel

by Melanie Dobson

  “Stéphane will be furious when he finds out.”

  “It’s Lisette’s story to share,” he said. “Besides, it’s a good excuse for me to return to Normandy. I hear there’s decent food over there.”

  I laughed. “Pretty good wine too.”

  “And a whole lot of cows.”

  “You should definitely go back to see the cows.”

  “Come to France with me,” he said, his voice low.

  I glanced at the television screen again, at Austin’s victory smile. Instead of the lights of the television cameras, the glamour of the celebration parties to follow, my heart longed for Normandy, for the beauty and the history and the time to savor all of God’s gifts, for the stories that I knew about and the stories that remained untold.

  “Perhaps I will . . . ,” I said.

  But this time I wouldn’t be running away.

  This time I would be running alongside Riley and his daughter, I hoped, to the place where my heart had begun to mend.

  — EPILOGUE —

  Three Months Later

  All five of Louise’s children attended the memorial service for Gisèle Duchant in the Chapelle d’Agneaux, each of them telling my father how much they appreciated all she had done. Lisette read a beautiful tribute to her and so did my dad. I’d tried to read the tribute I wrote, but Riley had to step up and read it for me.

  Mémé’s body now rested in the small plot by the chapelle, beside her parents and her brother. And my father had arranged for the remains of Grandpa to be returned to France as well, so he could be put to rest beside his wife. His epitaph read:

  Henri Sauver, also known as Hauptmann Josef Milch

  A man of God

  And a protector of God’s children

  As the priest recited the Rite of Committal in front of Mémé’s grave, my father clutched my hand. After my return from France last summer, I’d waited for months to tell Mémé about Adeline. With peace in her heart, I feared she would finally let go of this life for the paradise beyond.

  I don’t know if Mémé understood when I shared Adeline’s story, but three days later, Pamela opened the window in Mémé’s room and when she turned around, my grandmother was gone. It was as if she’d hitched a ride on the breeze and sailed away to those who’d been waiting for her for so long.

  I imagined Josef and Adeline and Michel and my great-grandparents crowding around her, kissing her on both cheeks, showering her with their hugs. I imagined her remembering again all that happened in her life, but with joy instead of pain, for in the end she’d conquered even death.

  I imagined Christ welcoming her with open arms, saying the simple but profound words.

  Well done.

  Along with Mémé’s will, Dad had received a letter from his mother explaining much of her story in case Philippe—or his son—tried to fabricate it. No one else except Philippe had known Henri Sauver was a former Nazi officer. Just as Philippe kept Madame Calvez’s secret, he kept the secret of Josef’s and Michel’s histories, as long as Gisèle didn’t expose that he’d murdered Vicomte Duchant. And allowed him live in the château.

  Philippe hadn’t told Stéphane all the details of the past before he died, but he’d told his son that Michel wasn’t a Duchant by birth so Stéphane could fight to retain the château.

  Gisèle had clung to the good memories of her home and the chapelle she loved, but with the exception of honoring her brother almost twenty years ago, she never wanted to return. Still, she wanted to keep the château for her son, hoping he and his family would love France as she had once loved it.

  Enclosed with her letter and will was another paper, stamped by the Commonwealth of Virginia. In 1948 Henri and Gisèle had legally adopted Michel, and—much to the dismay of Stéphane Borde—adopted children in France now received the same inheritance as biological kids. Both the United States and the French government would treat Michel Sauver as Gisèle’s legal heir.

  Two days ago, after Stéphane had dropped his lawsuit, Dad offered to let Lisette stay in the house year-round, but she declined; her memories inside the château were too overwhelming. This evening Monique was taking her back to Paris.

  But Dad was dreaming again—this time about using the château to house other orphans, older kids in need of a home. Mémé’s spirit may have been embracing those she’d lost during the war, but her legacy was alive here in Saint-Lô.

  When the service was over, Abigail and Isabelle raced off to play in the park. They’d become inseparable since they had met at the airport. Both of them needed a good friend.

  As Dad and I walked away from the cemetery, he slipped something into my hand. “She wanted you to have this.”

  I smoothed my fingers over the amber beads of Mémé’s crucifix “Are you certain?”

  He nodded. “Look at the cross.”

  I held it up and realized it was also a key.

  He nudged me toward the chapelle door. “She said to find Cair Paravel.”

  The ruined castle in Narnia, before it was rebuilt.

  Riley’s hand enclosed mine as the two of us stepped into the chapelle and then through the iron gates at the side. Dust clung to the old sink and table in the sacristy and it streaked across the large closet at the side of the room.

  I thought of the times my grandmother had read the Narnia books to me and how fascinated I’d been with the magical world behind the wardrobe. Oftentimes we’d create our own worlds where good always triumphed over the bad, where death had no victory.

  Cair Paravel could only be found in one place within the chapelle.

  I opened the door to the large wardrobe and the smell of mothballs flooded out. I pushed aside the robes and other vestments, and at the very back, I knelt down and searched the wall until I found a tiny keyhole on a panel. Riley shone the light from his video camera into the closet, and I used the cross to open the door.

  We’d found Mémé’s tunnel.

  Riley’s light illuminated the walls for us as we descended under the ground. They were packed with dirt, the air musty and cold. We crept forward until the passage opened into a room with old newspapers, shoes, blankets, and cigarette butts scattered like muddy snowflakes on the ground.

  “It’s like a time capsule,” I whispered in awe.

  Riley swept the room with the lens of his camera and then he zoomed in on me. “How long do you think it’s been since someone was down here?”

  “Probably when my grandparents hid my father and the other orphans. Seventy years ago.”

  I leaned down and picked up what looked like a wallet. Inside was an identity card for Michel Duchant and I stared at the look of abandonment in my uncle’s eyes, the windblown hair that he hadn’t bothered to comb. Behind the card was a slip of paper, folded in half, addressed to Lisette Calvez. I smiled. Perhaps my uncle had loved Lisette as much as she had loved him.

  I stuck the note in my pocket to take up to Lisette.

  In front of Riley and me, the tunnel had caved in, from the impact of a bomb I assumed. Where it led I might never know, but here I felt my grandmother’s presence, her passion and purpose, to rescue when the enemy was determined to destroy.

  I followed Riley up the steps, and when we got back into the nave, I found a broom and began to sweep the floor. When I looked up, he was watching me. “What?” I asked.

  “You may not be a Duchant by blood, but you have the heart of your grandmother.” He stepped closer to me, and my stomach fluttered again as it seemed to do these days whenever he drew near. He glanced over at Saint Michel and then at the stained glass glowing against the gray walls. “This would be the perfect place for a wedding, don’t you think?”

  I tilted my head. “Are you planning to get married?”

  “Only if you’ll marry me.”

  Riley pulled me close to him and kissed me with the tenderest of desire, as if he feared he might hurt me. And I kissed him back.

  In the past months, God hadn’t given me what I thought I wanted.
Instead he’d given me exactly what I needed—a man who loved me and a daughter I adored, hope for the future and a peace that settled deep in my soul. And He’d blessed me with the gift of my family’s story.

  As Riley held me in his arms, I glanced back up one more time at Saint Michel and his defeated dragon.

  Mémé’s story was finished at the Château d’Epines—the château of thorns—but the Duchant family legacy, I prayed, would live on in the children of France.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  On a rainy evening in March, I wandered alone through the halls of an old mausoleum in Normandy. While visitors swarmed the white crosses above Omaha Beach, honoring the lives of courageous Americans, the German cemetery was a lonely, grim memorial to twelve thousand Nazi soldiers who’d died on French soil.

  It was curious to me that the French people chose to honor their enemy with this beautiful plot, set on a hill overlooking the island of Mont Saint-Michel and the English Channel, but during my visit to France I learned something new, something the French know well. While many of the German soldiers chose to battle for the Third Reich, others were forced to fight for a madman, like those French citizens forced to make weapons for Germany and the Russian prisoners forced to build roads.

  As I stood in that eerie place, reading the epitaphs of soldiers as young as sixteen, I wondered who among them had been trapped in the German army. And who were the Jewish soldiers who fought and died for Hitler, believing that by joining the Wehrmacht they could protect themselves or someone they loved?

  Until I began researching this novel, I had no idea that so many men of Jewish descent were in the Wehrmacht. No one knows the exact number—many of these men probably took this secret to their grave—but Bryan Mark Rigg in Hitler’s Jewish Soldiers estimates that 150,000 Mischlinge fought during World War II. He interviewed a number of these men in recent years. Some of their stories were courageous, others cowardly, but all of their stories fascinated me.

  The past slowly may be forgiven in France, but it will not be forgotten. What Hitler and his fellow Nazis did to the people of France was evil. Seventy-six thousand Jews were deported from France during World War II, eight thousand of those children. Only 3 percent of those “sent east” returned home. Horrific . . .

  While visiting France, I heard stories about the Germans who occupied France for four years and I heard the stories of the resilient French people who chose to resist them. Thousands of men and women, conflicted in their hearts, stood against evil and sacrificed their lives so others could live. Some were shot. Others sent to concentration camps. Many of them refused to talk about their service even after the war.

  This novel is loosely based on the life of one such heroine—a noblewoman named Genevieve Marie Josephe de Saint Pern Menke. Genevieve was raised in a medieval château outside Saint-Lô called Château d’Agneaux. The tunnels under the de Saint Pern home are no longer accessible, but the stories of her heroism are being passed down through generations of Menkes.

  As a young woman, Genevieve rescued Allied airmen and volunteered for the French Red Cross as a driver and medic. She was awarded two Croix de Guerre medals for bravery in war—the first one for courageously telling a German officer that “an honorable man would not kill innocent people” and then successfully negotiating the release of the villagers in Germolles from execution by firing squad.

  Genevieve married an American officer and moved to the United States after the war though she returned often to France. She passed away in 2010, but her legacy of courage and kindness continues on through her children and grandchildren. I hope this glimpse into her story and the stories of so many other heroic men and women during World War II inspires you as much as it has inspired me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to the entire Menke family for gifting me with Genevieve’s remarkable story. To Kellee Menke Hernandez, who first told me about her beloved grandmother, and her parents, Doug and Ann Menke, who graciously answered my many questions, shared their favorite memories of Genevieve, and critiqued my rough manuscripts—I am so grateful for all of you. To both Darwin and Emmanuelle Menke for their hospitality—I loved spending time with your family, overlooking the lights of Paris. To Liz Menke for helping me navigate the French language, and to Anthony (Tony) “Yany” Menke, the oldest of the five Menke boys, for sharing the memories of his mother as well as educating me on the landed aristocracy in France. And a huge thank you to Herman Menke, an American lieutenant who fell in love with a French noblewoman seventy years ago and moved from Washington State to France with her in their twilight years. Herman asked me to portray the marvelous things his wife did in this novel, and I hope I have given her the honor she greatly deserves.

  Thank you to my agent, Natasha Kern, for her enthusiasm for this story, and to my wonderful editor, Beth Adams, for all her wisdom in helping me build it. To my dear friend and sister Ann Menke, who invited me to spend an unforgettable week at her family’s manoir and shared her love of Normandy with me. To my other “sistas”—Orlena Ballard and Mary Kay Taylor—who ventured to France with us and ended up stranded in a spring blizzard. Thank you for your flexibility and laughter, and for rescuing me when I got trapped behind the barbed wire on the Norman coast . . . Apparently “sortie de secours” does not mean “exit to the beach.”

  To my new French friends who shared their heroic stories with humility: Serge and Marie Charlotte Letourneur, the daughter and son-in-law of leaders in the French Resistance, thank you for welcoming us into your home and sharing both your stories and the pieces of an Allied parachute found after D-Day—I will treasure our day together. Jean (“Bobby”) Veuillye for sharing your love for America with us and your childhood memories of the war. And Monique Lopez, who welcomed Darwin, Ann, and me with a warm heart and a kiss on each cheek. She remembered well the German occupation, but those memories were too painful for her to share.

  To Martha DeLong for sending me her father’s stories about fighting in France. George Edick passed away while I wrote this novel, but his legacy lives on . . .

  To six amazing ladies who journey with me through every manuscript—Michele Heath, Nicole Miller, Leslie Gould, Dawn Shipman, Kimberly Felton, and Kelly Chang. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate each one of you! To Julie White, my longtime friend and elementary schoolteacher extraordinaire—thank you so much for sharing with me the many reasons you love teaching. To Lyn Beroth and Paul and Sheila Herbert for their gracious help with the authenticity of European birth and marriage certificates. To Sean and Adam at the Hillside House for the peaceful retreat and for spoiling me as I worked on this book.

  Thank you to my family and friends for their consistent prayers and support, and my dad, Jim Beroth, who flew out to Portland to help care for my girls while I was in France. And thank you to my husband, Jon, for his love and encouragement, and our sweet daughters—Karlyn and Kinzel—for cheering me on. I am so blessed by each one of you.

  He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.

  —REVELATION 21:4

  Thank you most of all to our Savior, Jesus Christ, for His promise that one day all things evil will be destroyed.

  CHTEAU OF SECRETS

  Melanie Dobson

  INTRODUCTION

  Gisèle is a young noblewoman whose world changes abruptly when German invaders bomb her hometown of Saint-Lô. Her beautiful home, the Château d’Epines, becomes the local headquarters for German officers. What no one else knows but her is that underneath the château are winding tunnels where her brother and fellow French Resistance fighters hide. Secrets abound within her heart, the walls of the château, and the snaking tunnels underneath.

  Gisèle’s granddaughter, Chloe, lives a life far removed from the times of war that her grandmother endured. After calling off her engagement to a prominent political candidate, Chloe agrees to participate in a documentary featuring her family history an
d the château in Normandy. She is surprised to learn that the documentary filmmaker, Riley, is interested in uncovering the story of Jews who served in Hitler’s army. How would that relate to her family? And she is even more shocked to learn that there are tunnels under the Château d’Epines that saved lives.

  As Chloe follows Riley on the documentary journey, she discovers secrets held by both her grandmother and the château that encompass profound depths of love, loyalty, and sacrifice entwining their generations.

  TOPICS AND QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  1. The idea of secrets is introduced early in the novel. Gisèle considers the following question: “When did a secret cross over the gray wasteland between protecting one you loved and destroying him”? In what ways did Gisèle’s secrets protect the ones she loved? In what ways did Gisèle’s secrets harm or cost the ones she loved, such as Lisette or even herself? How have you seen a secret destroy?

  2. Initially, Chloe is engaged to marry Austin. Chloe acknowledges that she has lost herself in this relationship though, “Somewhere along the line, I’d forgotten exactly who I was, silhouetted by those with greater dreams than my own.” How do Chloe’s romantic choices and consequences compare and contrast to Gisèle’s, both in her refusal of Philippe and in her love for Josef? How does each woman’s choice affect her identity?

  3. The events surrounding Gisèle’s young adult life differ drastically from those that surround Chloe’s. Different generations experience diverging degrees of luxuries, experiences, hardships, and upbringings that define their thresholds of “norm” and pain. How do you think someone from Gisèle’s generation views those of today’s generation? How have you judged someone in an older generation? What have they faced that you have not?

  4. In an eloquent comment on World War II, Gisèle says, “Hatred, it seemed, was a powerful unifier of even the greatest enemies. Hatred for the Nazis had also unified those resisting them.” Love is also a powerful unifier, seen in Josef’s desire to protect his mother and those who sacrificed their lives to protect Adeline. Describe how you have experienced the unifying power of both hatred and love.