The Witch's Grave

by Shirley Damsgaard

“Brother Sebastian has been ‘detained’ by the Germans,” he replied, wringing his hands.

  I stumbled to the couch and sank down. “Oh no,” I gasped. “When?”

  “Last night…he was with a man who sells food on the black market.” The young priest paced the floor in front of me. “We don’t know if they were after the man or Brother Sebastian.”

  “It doesn’t make a difference who was the target—they’re interrogating Brother Sebastian now.”

  “We must move the Gaspards as soon as possible.” He took a packet from his pocket and handed it to me. “Here are their papers and a map to a safe house in the north.”

  With eyes wide, I looked down at the envelope in my hands. “You want me to transport them?”

  “There’s no one else. We must move quickly—we don’t know what they’ll force out of Brother Sebastian.” The young priest’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed twice. “The Nazis are very persuasive.”

  I closed my eyes, thinking of the horrors Brother Sebastian might be suffering.

  “Did he have a plan to get them out of Paris?”

  “I think so, but he didn’t tell me. He said the less I know, the better.” He hurried to the door, then turned. “Can you do this?”

  I nodded.

  “Good, I’m going underground for a while, until we learn Brother Sebastian’s fate. I suggest you do the same.”

  I sat for a minute and tugged at my bottom lip. I couldn’t stand the thought of the Gaspards falling into the hands of the Nazis. I rose, clinging tightly to the envelope. I needed guidance. Running to the bedroom, I tore open my dresser drawer and removed my deck of cards. I sat on the bed and, placing the envelope next to me, shuffled the cards quickly.

  I drew nine cards, laid them facedown on the bed and flipped them over, one by one.

  The eight of clubs, the seven of spades, the ace of spades, the jack of spades, the jack of clubs, the nine of spades, the seven of hearts, the ten of spades, the jack of hearts.

  Clubs signified that I needed to take action against the enemy; hearts indicated I was emotionally vulnerable; and spades signaled a transformation.

  Reading the cards, I understood immediately what they said. The ace, nine, and ten of spades indicated some kind of death. The jack of hearts spoke of a man unable to commit. The jack of spades meant a man capable of deception. The eight of clubs told me of a journey. The death would be my relationship with a man unable to commit, meaning it was time to move on. We had been deceiving ourselves by thinking there would ever be a future for us.

  I looked down at the envelope. It would be so easy for Henrick to help the Gaspards. He could get them to Sweden safely. As a foreign businessman, he had a car provided by his father. It would be simple for him to drive them to the north. But no, if he couldn’t commit to me, how could I expect him to commit risking his life for strangers?

  Wait—the car.

  I flew out of the bedroom to the kitchen window and looked out at the back alley. His car was there—he hadn’t taken it that morning. I’d drive the Gaspards north and then disappear.

  Rushing back to the bedroom, I looked in the cup where Henrick always placed his keys. Indeed, they were there. I tossed them on the bed. Henrick’s gas rations from the bottom drawer joined the keys and the envelope. Next, I tossed in my cards.

  I crossed to the closet and, flinging the doors wide, grabbed my battered suitcase. Cocking a hip, I studied my clothes hanging neatly from the closet rod. So many fancy things, I thought, shuffling through them. Some Henrick had purchased for me, and some were from the fashion house. Had they brought me happiness? I asked myself as I fingered the fine material? No.

  Shoving them to the side, I grabbed simple clothes—skirts, blouses, pants—and threw them in the open suitcase. Sensible shoes and underthings followed.

  I rushed to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Expensive creams, perfumes, and lotions lined the shelves. I didn’t need them either. Grabbing only a few toiletries, I added them to my suitcase.

  I closed the suitcase and moved to the chair by the window. I pushed it aside and opened my hidey hole. Deep in the recess of the floor was another envelope containing all the money I had in the world. A sizable amount—not as much as Henrick had stolen from the Germans, but enough to get me by for a while. It might also come in handy to pay bribes.

  As I dressed, I thought once again of Henrick. I did love him, but I would never fit in his world. It was best for both of us to end it. My eyes swam with tears. Should I leave a note? And tell him what? Not about the Gaspards—the cards had warned of deception. No, just a simple good-bye.

  I wrote the note, folded it, and propped it on the dresser where he would see it. Shoving both envelopes in the pockets of my slacks, I picked up my suitcase and walked out of my bedroom for the last time.

  I drove to a quiet street and parked in front of an empty lot. Armed with a flashlight, I tramped through the high grass to the far corner. A wooden hatch hidden by weeds lay at my feet. Grasping the rusty iron ring, I pulled and the door creaked open. Cold, dank air wafted around me as I peered into the darkness below. After buttoning my wool coat, I turned on my flashlight and descended into the inky blackness. Pausing on the fourth step, I reached up and pulled the wooden hatch shut, closing off the square of sky above me. The only light was the faint beam of the flashlight.

  Rung by rung I climbed down the metal ladder. Each one was damp with condensation, and the leather soles of my shoes kept slipping. I clung to the ladder tightly with one hand and to my flashlight with the other. I couldn’t drop the flashlight. If it broke on the limestone floor I’d be alone, in the dark, in the kingdom of the dead.

  With each step, the temperature dropped, and I was thankful for my heavy coat. I hoped the Gaspards had been given enough blankets to keep them warm in the cold, clammy tunnels. As I moved lower and lower into the Catacombs, I heard the faint echo of dripping water.

  Finally, my right foot hit the stone floor. In with the Gaspards’ papers, Brother Sebastian had included a map of the Catacombs and where the Gaspards were hiding. I withdrew the map now and studied it. The Catacombs extended over three hundred kilometers underneath the streets of Paris, and without the map, I could wander down the wrong tunnel, lost.

  I would proceed straight ahead, past the ossuary, to where the tunnel split to the right and left. I’d stay to the left. According to the map, the Gaspards were in a small chamber off that passageway.

  I pulled a knit hat from the pocket of my coat and put it on my head. With a sigh, I began walking down the tunnel.

  My feet slopped through puddles while the beam of my flashlight bounced crazily off the walls, revealing graffiti over a hundred years old. My hand appeared to be shaking, but I didn’t know if it was from the cold or from fright. All I wanted to do was find the Gaspards and return to the sunshine.

  After going several meters, I stopped and checked the map again. The ossuary should be straight ahead. I shoved the map back in my pocket and marched on.

  When I passed the ossuary, I tried to keep my eyes focused on the path in front of me, but they strayed to the macabre sight on my left.

  A pile of bones, several feet high, marked the center of the room. Near the remains, a sign announced the name of the cemetery where the skeletons had originated. The walls of the ossuary were lined with femurs, one stacked on another, the knobby end facing out into the room. Among the femurs, as if watching over the ossuary, were hundreds of skulls.

  The sight chilled my blood. I couldn’t imagine what terror Rosa must’ve experienced as she walked by. Shaking off my fear, I took a step forward and sent something skittering down the passage.

  Shining my light ahead, a jawless skull with hollow eyes grinned up at me. A scream fought its way up my throat, and I clenched my jaw tight to stop out. The sound came out as a whimper that reverberated off the walls.

  Keeping my eyes averted from what lay at my feet, I hurried down the corridor an
d finally reached the section where the passage branched. Staying to the left, I peered down the tunnel, searching for the Gaspards. After walking a few meters, I called out softly. “Jacques? It’s Madeleine.”

  Another light suddenly shone into the passage from a chamber farther down and to my right. I rushed toward the light.

  Turning the corner to the chamber, I saw Jacques, Maria, and Rosa huddled in a corner. A loaf of bread and cheese lay half eaten on a blanket spread on the chalky floor.

  Jacques rose and hurried over to me. “Where’s Brother Sebastian?” he asked as he gripped my arm.

  I didn’t want to increase their fear, so I lied. “He sent me. I’m going to drive you out of the city, to the north.”

  I felt a deep chill as a voice seemed to prompt me, Give him the envelopes.

  I took them, and the car keys, from my pocket, and forced them into his hands. “Here, take these. It’s money and your papers. Do you know how to drive?”

  He nodded, stuffing the envelopes in his pocket.

  “Good, we can take turns.” Looking at Maria and Rosa, I smiled as I walked toward them. Crouching down, I laid my palms on the child’s cheeks. They were freezing. I ripped off my hat and settled it over her black curls. “This will help keep you warm.” My eyes traveled around the grim place. “It’s not very nice here, is it, Rosa?”

  Her wide eyes stared into mine. “No,” she said in a small voice.

  “Then let’s get you out of here and into the sunshine.”

  Standing, I helped Maria and Rosa to their feet while Jacques picked up their small bundles.

  “Follow me,” I said with a wave.

  Silently, we crept back the way I’d come. I tried to keep my strides short for Rosa’s sake, but I was so anxious to get out to the Catacombs, I kept pulling ahead.

  Soon, soon, I thought as I approached the ossuary.

  Then a light blinded me.

  “Madeleine, you’re a little far from the fashion salon, aren’t you?”

  My God! Vogel. “Run!” I shrieked.

  Thirty

  The sound of running feet echoed off the wall, and in the beam on my flashlight, I saw Vogel holding his own flashlight and a gun in the other. Raising my light, I aimed the beam at his eyes. He raised an arm to block the light just as the gun fired. The shot went wild, and the noise of the bullet pinging off the stone walls went on forever. He aimed again and I rushed him, using my flashlight like a club. Swinging hard, I sent the gun flying from his hand, Then flicking off my light, I whirled and ran.

  I’d only gone a few feet when my shoes hit a puddle. The slick leather soles gave me no purchase, and I fell on all fours, my flashlight rolling out of my hand.

  Vogel grasped the back of my coat and hauled me to my feet. He spun me around, grabbed my throat with one hand and shook me like a dog shaking a rat.

  In the dim light, I saw his face red with rage.

  He stopped and loosened his grip. “They won’t escape. The entrance is blocked.” His lips stretched over his teeth in a snarl.

  The flashlight he still held, pointing at the floor, cast his face in partial shadows. His eyes were hollow, and he looked like a death’s head—like the skull that had grinned up at me.

  Vogel released my throat and grabbed my wrist, spinning me around again with my arm at an angle behind my back. I heard a pop, and excruciating pain shot down my arm. My knees buckled.

  His other arm snaked around my waist and held me on my feet. I felt his body press against mine as he whispered in my ear.

  “I can save you, sweet Madeleine.” The hand at my waist held the flashlight, casting light at our feet.

  I spit on the toe of his shiny boot.

  He whirled me around, releasing my arm, and struck me hard across the face.

  My knees gave out and I went down. I tried to break my fall but my left arm dangled useless at my side. Hitting the floor, I rolled to my right side.

  Vogel stood over me, shining his flashlight in my eyes. I was inching backward on my side to escape the beam when the fingers of my right hand felt something smooth and round. I crept my hand slowly toward it until my fingers could curl around it.

  Somewhere in my fogged brain it registered that I was grasping the skull I’d kicked earlier.

  Vogel squatted next to me, resting his hands on his knees and shining the light toward my feet.

  Picking up his revolver, he stroked the side of my face with the barrel. “I don’t think I’ll turn you over to the Gestapo right away. No, I’ll keep you for myself until I tire of you.” He ran the gun along my chin. “Are you frightened, Madeleine? Or do you think your beloved Henrick can save you?” His laughter rang off the walls. “He can’t. If he tried, he would risk all the lovely money he’s stealing from the Third Reich.”

  My breath caught.

  “Ah, you’re surprised that I know.” He moved the gun away from my face. “I plan to talk to him about it one day, and demand my share.” He tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “You or the money? Which do you think—”

  I slammed the skull against his temple, and he fell backward.

  Scrambling to my feet, I ran into the dark passage, trailing my right hand along the cold wall to guide myself.

  There was a flash as Vogel’s gun barked, and I stumbled when the bullet hit my back, propelling me forward. My right hand suddenly touched nothing, and I pitched myself sideways to the floor in a small niche cut into the limestone. Scrambling back into it, I drew my legs up to my chest and waited.

  Footsteps thundered down the passage while the ray from Vogel’s flashlight careened off the walls.

  They came closer and closer, then passed right by me. I strained to hear them as they echoed into the darkness.

  I was alone and totally without light.

  Hot tears warmed my cheeks. I felt the blood seeping down my back. I’d failed—I knew what fate awaited the Gaspards, first at Drancy then at Auschwitz. I leaned to my side and vomited. After wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t hold me.

  Feeling the metallic taste of blood on the back of my tongue, I rolled onto my knees. I would die here, alone, in the dark.

  No, my mind screamed, I would die, but not in darkness.

  Slowly, I raised myself to my knees and, using my right arm, inched my way out of the niche. I edged my body toward the ossuary, stopping to pat the cold floor as I searched for my lost light. At long last my fingers touched a cold cylinder. With a cry, I clutched the light and flicked the switch. Cuddling the light close to me, I curled on my side. My legs grew numb. Maybe from lying on the cold stone? Maybe not. I didn’t care—I wasn’t in the dark anymore.

  From a distance, my ears picked up the sound of whispers. Did I hear my grandmother’s voice?

  Abruptly, hands grasped my shoulders and lifted me off the cold stone floor.

  “Please,” I whispered, “don’t let it be Vogel.”

  Looking up, Henrick’s face swam into focus. “Ah, Madeleine, I found you.”

  “How?”

  “Brother Sebastian.”

  My eyes closed. “Good. He lives.” I coughed and tasted blood again. “Family…Gitan…Vogel…save them.”

  Henrick lowered his face and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. My vision dimmed, and the last thing I saw was a golden circle surrounding four petals.

  My sobbing woke me. My throat ached and I had my wet pillow pressed tight against my cheek. Madeleine died, she died. Her cards hadn’t lied—only it wasn’t just the death of a relationship—it was her death she saw. Rolling over, I curled into a ball of misery and pulled my other pillow to my chest. And not only Madeleine, but Rosa, that sweet little girl who loved peppermint sticks; Marie, with her beautiful black eyes; Jacques, so protective of his family—they perished along with the millions.

  Can heartache kill you? I didn’t think so, but I felt like it would. Stop it! I had to get ahold of myself, but the more I tried, the ha
rder I cried. My nose clogged and I couldn’t breathe. I stumbled to the bathroom and, grabbing a tissue, blew my nose. Glancing up, I saw myself in the mirror.

  Swollen eyes above a bright red nose stared back at me. My hair tumbled around my face and looked like it had been combed with an egg beater. I hiccuped.

  Turning on the faucet, I picked up a washcloth and soaked it with cold water. Without wringing it, I held it to my eyes and let the rivulets of cold run down my chin and onto my shirt.

  Think about it, Jensen, if Abby was right and the dreams were of a past life, it meant Madeleine had to have died. Otherwise, right now I’d be older than Abby.

  That thought boggled my mind and only added to my confusion.

  And Rosa and her parents?

  I lowered the washcloth and wiped my face and neck with a towel.

  It had happened over sixty years ago and couldn’t be changed. All I could do was carry their memories with me. I had to deal with what was happening now, and dreaming of Rosa made me long for Tink. I needed to wrap my arms around her and keep her safe forever…so unless I wanted her to live in the mountains permanently, I knew I’d better find my answers. Then I could bring her home and hug her as much as she’d let me.

  I went back to the bedroom. It was still dark outside, and I looked at the clock: 5:00 a.m. I’d slept eleven hours. It would be sunrise soon. Stepping over to the window, I held the curtain back and stared into the night.

  What to do now? I hadn’t a clue what tonight’s dream meant, and all I had were some theories, but no proof.

  Dropping the curtain, I turned away from the window. What had Abby said in St. Louis about lessons? That maybe my lesson was to learn to surrender control and trust my gift? I thought I’d done that when I used the datolite, but maybe not. How did I get in touch with my inner spirit?

  It hit me. I knew exactly what to do.

  Crossing to the closet, I grabbed my white cowled robe.

  Thirty-One

  My robe slapped against my legs as I climbed the hill behind Abby’s house. In the east, the sky was beginning to lighten, and the world was quiet.