Never Turn Back

by Lorna Lee

  It did not.

  “Your primary responsibility is to my household.” Madame Dorval said through lips so tight Meri wondered how she could articulate any words. Her eyes were just as narrow. Madame Freels’s expression mimicked her sister’s. The family resemblance was unmistakable. I am a field mouse in the presence of two hawks. Madame Dorval continued. “If you have more pressing priorities, then I suggest you tell me and I’ll look for a suitable replacement for you.

  Good luck finding someone to manage this giant dog of yours. “Forgive me. I had to handle an emergency. I like my job and wish to remain here, Madame.”

  “Then don’t be late again! Feed these children. Can’t you see they are hungry?” Both Mesdames turned and vanished as if they had choreographed their dramatic exit.

  After they were out of hearing range, she whispered to Soldat, who was drooling on her shoes, “They never asked about my baby. We don’t matter to them. Only what I do for them matters. I thought working for a woman would be better than working for a man…Ha! These women don’t even have the sense to feed hungry children.” Meri gave Soldat his food and began preparing meals for the children. She still had her coat on.

  After the Meri cleaned the kitchen, she tip-toed to Monsieur’s study rather than going upstairs to check on the children and rest her weary body. Please, God, keep those children quiet and out of trouble until I have a chance to speak with Monsieur…and let Monsieur have an answer for me. She was relieved when she saw the light in his study.

  “Meri, keep your voice down. Madame will have us both sleeping with Soldat if she suspects you came to me with your problem. Worse will happen if she knows I’m helping you.” Monsieur had the Papa look—the one where his thin frown wobbled and his eyes sparkled under loosely knitted eyebrows in a paper thin attempt to appear stern.

  “Oui, Monsieur. I’m sorry, but I’m desperate.” Meri twisted the hem of the uniform.

  Monsieur noticed. “I can see how anxious you are, Meri. Could you stop pulling at your uniform? You’re making me nervous.” He smiled. “Perhaps if you sit…” He motioned for her to sit on the sofa, not on the chair in front of his desk.

  Meri sat on her hands. “Do you know of any women who might take Jeannine? I can pay…not too much.” Meri blushed. She knew Monsieur was in charge of the money.

  Monsieur sat at his desk, rubbing his chin. “I know a very fine woman who is loyal and trustworthy. She probably needs work…Annabella Barouche. I know her and her husband, Simon, very well. Annabelle served as my personal secretary and bookkeeper for nearly two decades. I know Simon only through his infrequent, brief visits to my boutique, but he seems a courteous, gentle man. As my business has suffered the economic downturn along with the rest, I had to make the difficult decision to reduce my staff in order to keep the company I built solvent. I sacrificed Annabelle’s job, deciding I could attend to my own correspondence and accounts. I still regret leaving Annabelle without a job…” He rolled his wedding band around and around on is finger.

  “Monsieur, if you trust her, so do I.” Meri was in no position to be picky. “Tuula can only keep Jeannine four weeks, then she’s leaving Paris for good.”

  “Meri, she may not be willing to take in a baby. Please do not get your hopes up until I contact her.”

  “Of course.” Meri tried to be demure, but could not help herself. “Monsieur, please. Time is of the essence.”

  Monsieur Dorval raised one eyebrow in feigned surprise. “I will see to it right away, Mademoiselle Vaarsara!”

  §

  One month later, Meri walked through the streets of Paris toting Jeannine and one small bag of her belongings to the Barouche residence. Jeannine wiggled in Meri’s arms and had cried or squirmed for most of the two hour walk from Tuula’s apartment to the baby’s new home. The old carriage was too damaged and Jeannine was too big, so Meri left it behind on the street for some other mother and infant. Meri now wished she had made a different decision regarding the ramshackle carriage.

  Meri stood in Annabelle and Simon Barouche’s kitchen with a fussy Jeannine in her arms after their long journey. “May I hold her?” Annabelle’s arms were already reaching for the squirming, healthy-looking nine-month-old. The woman’s voice and eyes were hesitant. She is asking my permission, Meri thought with amazement. I can’t remember the last time anyone asked my permission for anything!

  “Of course. She needs to become familiar with you…and you with her.” Meri handed her daughter over to the woman. Meri guessed she was at least ten or fifteen years older than she, making Annabelle somewhere between forty and forty-five years old. Simon looked older than his wife. He seems like a gentle man, but how can I know? The man hasn’t spoken, Meri observed. I suppose silence is a good quality in a husband.

  Their small home contained no other children. Meri approved. Jeannine will get Annabelle’s full attention, unlike the zoo Hulta ran. She also observed the home was clean and had fine adornments. These people are not poor. They were also French, so Meri didn’t have to worry about what language Jeannine would be learning while staying there. Much to Meri’s relief, the Barouche home was less than four kilometers from the Dorval residence.

  “She’s a darling baby, and I’m so happy to be working for Monsieur Dorval again!” Annabelle patted Jeannine on her diapered bottom and nuzzled her neck as she spoke.

  Meri balked. Although delighted to see Annabelle take such a liking to Jeannine, she needed the woman to be clear about their arrangement and who was working for whom. “I’m your employer, Madame Barouche, not Monsieur Dorval. I’ll pay you each week for Jeannine’s care.” Meri spoke directly to the woman, who made distracting silly faces to Jeannine. Hearing Jeannine giggle soothed Meri’s serious mood.

  Laughing at Jeannine’s antics, Annabelle said, “Didn’t Monsieur Dorval explain our arrangement to you? In addition to your payment, he’ll pay the same amount each week. Simon and I are so grateful for his generosity. We need the income.”

  “He will?” Meri didn’t know whether to be insulted or grateful. “Did he say why or for what?”

  “He simply said as babies grow, they need extra food, clothes, toys, and bigger carriages or beds. I’m supposed to use the extra money for whatever Jeannine needs.” Annabelle talked more to Jeannine than to Meri.

  Meri nodded and decided to be grateful. I don’t have the luxury to worry about my dignity.

  Several months passed. Jeannine thrived in Annabelle’s care. Meri thought about her daughter constantly, especially with Karla a frustrating reminder of how two girls were growing up without their mothers. Meri was feeding Karla and Kurt their lunches on a warm summer day. They were not at the Dorval residence in Paris, but over two hours away in the country estate on the Seine in Berville-sur-Mer.

  Jeannine had turned one year old and Meri missed her first birthday. What other important events am I missing because I’m a mother to these German children while my daughter grows up without me? Did Mamma ever care that she missed Jani’s first steps and first words? Meri felt pulled in different directions. She had grown fond of Karla and Kurt and her love for Soldat ran deep. Her loyalty, gratitude, and affection for Monsieur grew stronger each day. She often resented her constant worrying about the daughter she rarely saw but spent all her wages on. Sitting on the porch with a warm, gentle breeze caressing her skin, Meri realized she was content with her life only if she did not think of Jeannine. The moment her daughter entered her thoughts, Meri became distressed and anxious. Jeannine reminded her of everything that had gone wrong in her life and everything that could go wrong. Even those thoughts about her own daughter made Meri feel horrible. I don’t deserve to be a mother. That’s fine. I never wanted to be a mother…this way. Especially of a Jewish child.

  Soldat bumped Kurt’s plate with his big snout, toppling the partially eaten sandwich onto the wooden porch floor. Kurt’s shouts of “Bad dog! I’ll have you shot!” ended Meri’s ruminations about her maternal failings. At least my
child isn’t going to grow up to think killing is a noble profession! Karla giggled at her brother’s antics and kicked in her high chair. Meri calmed Kurt down by making him another sandwich and explaining that soldiers on the same side should not shoot each other. She did not have to clean up the porch floor. Soldat had the task well underway.

  Chapter 14: The Calm and the Storm

  “A pessimist, confronted with two bad choices, chooses both.”

  Jewish Proverb

  Jeannine stayed with Annabelle and Simon Barouche for six years, from April 1934 to September 1940. During that time, Meri visited her once a week. The only exception was during the two month vacation the Dorval entourage took to the country estate during June and July. Madame Freels and the children always accompanied them, so Meri had to go.

  Weekly visits with Jeannine were, for the most part, pleasant. Annabelle prepared Jeannine for her mother’s arrival by helping her to understand her “dear Mamma is coming to spend time with you after working so hard to make sure you have a good life.”

  Meri and Madame Barouche had a talk outside while Silent Simon—a nickname Meri gave Annabelle’s quiet husband—tended to the pouting child at the start of a particularly awkward visit during which three-year-old-Jeannine insisted on clinging to her “real Mamma”—Annabelle.

  Meri’s dark gray eyes and firm, downturned lips made up for her small stature compared to Annabelle’s larger frame. Meri was easily the aggressor. “What’s this? I’m paying you to tend to her needs, not replace me.”

  “Mademoiselle Vaarsara, Jeannine is just a little girl. She’s too young to understand the difference between me and her real mother. I care for her every day.” Annabelle’s eyes glanced everywhere but directly at Meri’s stormy eyes.

  “Are you saying I don’t care for my own daughter?”

  “Non. Non. I know you love her. I only meant I take care of her. Feed her. Play with her…”

  Meri understood Annabelle perfectly well. Jeannine’s rejection stung and she took her frustration out on innocent, sweet Annabelle. Jeannine is thriving under this woman’s care just as Karla is blossoming under my loving care rather than her starch-stiff mother’s hand. I’m just overly sensitive to any hint that I’m an absent mother, which I am. Meri’s pride still won out. “I didn’t come here to be ignored by my own daughter. I’m paying you good money. You shouldn’t be turning her against me.”

  Annabelle stiffened. “I’m not turning Jeannine against you. Quite the opposite. I speak of you every day. I correct her and tell her to call me Tante Anna if she calls me ‘Mamma.’ She gets confused. She’s only three and sees you so infrequently.”

  “I don’t need reminding.” Meri began pacing. Standing face-to-neck with this tall woman irritated her.

  Annabelle sighed heavily. “We love Jeannine. She’s a sweet child. We need the money you and Monsieur Dorval provide. But if you aren’t satisfied with this arrangement, do what you must do.”

  Meri stopped pacing. Mon Dieu! What have I done? There’s no other place for Jeannine. Monsieur will never help me again if I complain about his solution. “Perhaps when she gets older, she’ll understand the situation.”

  Annabelle stood silently—a virtuous statue.

  “She’s happy and healthy. If you weren’t so good to her, she wouldn’t be so attached to you. Better she loves you than runs from you in fear.” Meri’s apologies were rarely direct.

  §

  It was 1938, seven years since Meri started working for the Dorvals, five years since Jeanine was born and since Ilsa Freels came to live with them with her two children. Life took on a predictable and tolerable rhythm for Meri. She spent most of her time as a mother to Karla, Kurt, and Soldat. When she was not taking care of them, she prepared meals with Philippe, served those meals to the German Mesdames and to Monsieur, or cleaned the kitchen. Meri provided anything the children needed at night, too—even arms to hold them after a nightmare. I’m the same thing to the Freels children as Annabelle is to Jeannine. Do any children in this country know their own mothers?

  As the children grew and entertained themselves without constant supervision, Meri, with the support of Monsieur, finagled four days off each month (except for June and July when they all went to the country estate). Even on her days off, she had to take care of the children and Soldat in the morning. When her duties were completed, Meri left the residence and did not return until late afternoon. My days off are more like several hours off, Meri often fumed. The Mesdames required her to take the children off of their hands and deal with the ever rambunctious, although aging, Soldat by five o’clock.

  During her precious “free” days, Meri became Jeannine’s Mamma. The little girl was giddy with excitement when Meri arrived. Meri often brought her Karla’s dresses—tossed away by Madame Freels and replaced by new outfits—ones Meri altered to fit Jeannine, who was a larger girl than Karla. If Meri could not make the dresses fit, she fashioned them into doll dresses for Jeannine’s one, precious doll—a gift from Siri after she was born. If gifts endear her to me, so be it. At least she’s happy to see me.

  Meri always planned an activity or two for their days together. She remembered how much Elina loved adventures. Perhaps my little girl is curious and adventuresome like Elina was…if so, I must keep her entertained. Elina…I hope Tuula and Elina made it safely back to Finland….

  “Where are we going today? What movie will we see?” Questions poured from Jeannine as fast as a heavy rain overflowing shallow gutters.

  Meri put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders to stop her from popping up and down. “Calm down, Jeannine. You’ll see. Patience.” Meri smiled. My daughter is happy to see me. Nothing else matters. I’m a good Mamma.

  Annabelle smiled, too. “She’s so happy, Mamma. When I tell her you’re coming, she won’t settle down. She drives me crazy with her questions!”

  “Do I really drive you crazy, Tante Anna?” Jeannine gazed up at Annabelle with an uncanny impersonation of Shirley Temple. She lacked the movie star lighting and make-up, but Jeannine’s curly, light-brown hair, round face, big brown eyes, chubby physique, and impish smile all resembled the famous child star. Jeannine’s nose, however, was too long for her to be considered a Shirley Temple look-alike.

  “Non, dear. But you ask so many questions…especially when you don’t like the answers you get.” Annabelle tucked a stray curl behind Jeannine’s ear.

  Meri bent down and took Jeannine’s hands. Her little hand smell clean. Fresh. And they feel as soft as butter on a warm summer day. She kissed each one. “Say aurevoir to Tante Anna. We have a busy day.”

  Jeannine’s eyes danced. She kissed her mother’s hands with two loud smacks and then shook herself free from their grasp. The girl turned and squeezed Annabelle’s legs, not waiting for her to bend for a proper hug. “Aurevoir! Aurevoir! Aurevoir! We’re going on another adventure, my Mamma and me!” Then Jeannine grabbed Meri’s hand and tried to pull her out of the door.

  “One moment, ma cocotte. I must speak with Tante Anna before we go. You wait outside.” Jeannine frowned as she stomped out to the small yard inside a gate framing the Barouche’s walkway.

  “Is there extra money from Monsieur?” Meri whispered even though they were alone. Annabelle never had the money ready without the ritual of making Meri ask.

  “Oui. I’ll get it.” Annabelle gently hit the side of her head with her palm, in a gesture symbolizing she forgot the money to pay for Meri’s day with her daughter. She “forgets” every time, so I must beg as a way to remind me how poor I am. Meri tapped her foot while waiting. Annabelle went into the kitchen where Silent Simon was drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. I wonder if he’s really a mute? When Jeannine is older, I’ll ask her if Simon ever says anything.

  Annabelle came back with the usual black-velvet sack. “This is all I have for the month….”

  “I won’t spend all of it. Annabelle, I know the rules.”

  “Jeannine’s growing out o
f her clothes every week! You can’t alter them fast enough. And she—”

  “I said I won’t spend all of it. A simple meal and a movie—that’s all. We have so little to enjoy, it’s worth the money for the pleasure it gives both of us.” Meri took the sack and left Annabelle to spend her day with Silent Simon.

  On the return walk home, mother and daughter held hands. Both weary and content, they spoke about their day of walking the streets of Paris, sampling fresh bread and cheese, playing in numerous parks, and finally, watching a treasured picture show. As they were walking past one of the many wrought iron benches that lined the streets, Jeannine pulled Meri over to it.

  “I’m tired, Mamma. Can we sit for a little while?”

  “May we sit.” Meri corrected her daughter. “Oui. My feet are tired, too. Resting would be nice.”

  Jeannine let go of Meri’s hand and skipped over to the bench. Meri followed. Jeannine picked up Meri’s hand again as they sat side by side. She studied it. “Mamma, your hands look old.” She spoke without emotion; she reported a fact.

  Meri stiffened and pulled her hand away. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Look at them, Mamma. They have deep lines and are scratchy.” She grabbed her Mamma’s hand and rubbed the skin, which moved, forming wrinkled, dried ridges. “See? That doesn’t happen to my hands.” Jeannine pushed and pulled at her smooth and supple five-year-old skin. “Why are you so old, Mamma?”

  “Jeannine! Never ask a woman such a question.” Meri’s voice became stern and her eyes turned dark gray.

  “I’m sorry. Tante Anna looks older than you, but her hands are soft…compared to yours.”

  “Tante Anna is lucky she never had to clean and cook for a living. My job is hard…and it pays for your care.” Meri wanted to go on and tell her daughter she was only thirty-three years old. If her life had turned out the way she had planned, her hands would be supple. Fashion design doesn’t age the skin like dish soap and wet cleaning rags. I’m stuck doing domestic labor because I have an ungrateful daughter!