Behind The Mask

by Marianne Petit

  “Don’t say that. “She stiffened in his arms, leaned back and looked at him horrified. “I can’t bear the thought.”

  “There’s no telling how long it will take to get a visa. I have to finish what we’ve worked so hard for all these months.” He dragged his hand through his hair, frustrated he couldn’t tell her what she longed to hear; frustrated by a war he had no control over. Torn between helplessness and his desire to say, “to hell with it” and to hop on the train with her, he continued.“The longer you stay the more I worry.” He gathered her into his arms. “You are a distraction, I love, but if you stay both our lives will be in danger.”

  He wanted to tell her he was now involved with a group who smuggled artwork, previously hidden in castles throughout the countryside, out of the country for safekeeping, but kept his thoughts to himself. Hell she would have gotten a kick out seeing him dressed up as an old peasant woman and strolling down the street with that baby carriage full of art.

  André sniffled, controlling his emotions. It was better she had not been there, though it would have been heaven just to hear her laugh. “Tell me you understand why I need to do this alone?”

  She nodded, but he saw the lie in her shifting eyes.

  He bent down and picked up the brown valise at his feet. “Here I have something for you.”

  She opened the leather satchel, gave a startled cry, then threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “How?”

  “There’s a group in Paris going through empty apartments looking to save art, valuables, anything deemed significant. I learned of a restaurant that was sealing off a secret room to hide artwork. I got in contact with the owner before they finished construction on the wall. It seems your paintings sat among some well know artists.”

  “I can’t believe you did this for me.” He watched those beloved eyes well with emotion as she stared, once again, at her paintings.

  He drew her back into his arms. “Don’t think for one minute I want you out of my life. I love you. This is for the best. If anything should happen to you…” his chest heavy with grief, he blinked back tears. “I can’t lose you; not again.” He could not go through that pain again, it would kill him.

  “You’ll be so far away. I can’t bear the thought.” She sobbed in his arms.

  He clamped down on his cheeks suppressing emotion. There were no words of comfort. Nothing he could say. Nothing he could do, so he held her until she quieted. André swiped his eye and cleared his throat. “We will see each other again. Everything will work out.”

  She searched his eyes, needing to believe him and he hoped she didn’t see, hidden behind his confident façade, his uncertainty. He prayed fate would be kind to both of them. “I have some good news.”

  She brushed the tears from her cheeks and forced a smile. “I could use some good news, right now.”

  “I found the children, they are all safe, Hanna and Tanya, all of them.”

  She gasped, then her hands flew to her mouth covering her quivering jaw. “Where did you find them?”

  “In the Hotel Bompard. They were using the rooms as a detention camp.”

  “Where are they? Are they safe? How did you get them out?”

  “In Geneva and yes.” He tapped her nose, then explained to her that dressed as a police official carrying transfer papers, he ushered them out in a waiting van he borrowed from a doctor who, due to his position, had no fuel shortage. He then drove them to Lyon, where his brother waited to take them to Switzerland.

  After a few moments, she gathered her composure, dug into her suitcase and pulled out a square package. “Here. I hesitated giving this to you because I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

  André unwrapped the brown parchment and his eyes clouded withheld moisture. His neck heated and he cleared his throat several times before he could speak. There, looking up at him from the painted canvas was an image of Hanna’s smiling face as he held her on his lap. A roaring fire brightened the space behind them, giving the picture a warm glow and a Christmas tree stood tucked in the corner of the room. “It’s perfect,” he drew her into his arms. “You’re perfect.” He stared at the sky willing himself to be strong and not to fall apart.

  The train’s whistle blared, signaling it was about to depart.

  He held on tight, unable to let her go, desperate to hold her as if doing so could chase away the all-consuming ache of loneliness that had taken control. “No matter where you are, I will come to you. This is not goodbye.” His jaw felt locked, his eyes weighted.

  She was taking his heart and soul with her. How was he to function with an ocean between them? How was he to go on without her by his side? Dear God… he didn’t know if he could.

  “Yvette. It’s time.” Her father’s voice drew them apart.

  Yvette grabbed Andre’s hand hanging on to him like an anchor.

  “Monsieur Matikunas, I just want to thank you,” André held out his free hand and noticed the confusion on Yvette’s face. “I know how impossible entry into the US is without the immigration form signed by an American citizen. It is kind of you to offer your name to the affidavit.”

  “You are most welcome.” Yvette’s father returned the handshake. “I will take good care of her.”

  André gave a curt nod.

  Yvette threw herself into him. Her face hit his chest. Her sobs tore his heart and choked his throat. There were no words of comfort, nothing he could do, but wrap his arms around her and hold on tight. No wishes, no what ifs. He had to push those daydreams away. He had to let her go. Tears threatened. He blinked, sniffled and stared over her head at the train waiting to take her away.

  As their fingers slipped apart, leaving a void in his heart, Yvette looked at him with pleading in her eyes. He opened his mouth, to tell her not to go, not to leave him behind and said nothing. She turned and walked away.

  With a heavy heart, André watched them board the train.

  Refusing to move from the opening, Yvette threw him a kiss… a kiss that shattered his composure. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Unattainable desires lay unspoken in his throat.

  The train’s wheels began to turn and as the train pulled away, André ran alongside it.

  Unable to rip his gaze from the woman whose love he would hold on to in the trying days to come, he screamed, “I promise. I will find you.”

  As the last car left the platform, taking Yvette away from him, André’s shoulders hunched. His chin fell to his chest. He closed his teary eyes, as a soul-destroying emptiness seemed to envelop him.

  He had to keep his promise. Despite this damn bloody war—despite all obstacles, he had to keep his promise. For his life meant nothing without her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  YVETTE EASED HERSELF up from the sofa. Her posture not as straight as in her younger years, she walked slowly over to a small box she kept on the bookshelf. As she lifted the box from its resting place, she looked down at her gnarled fingers now wrinkled with age and sighed. Where had the years gone? Her days in France seemed like only yesterday.

  She made her way carefully back to the sofa where her granddaughter sat looking through some old photos.

  “I want to read you something.” Yvette opened the box, unfolded the worn paper that shook in her hand and began to read the familiar words; words that touched her heart and made the memories of war a little softer.

  “I know you will not recognize my name, but I have held yours close to my heart for many years. You see, because of you I have found my true love. Because of you, I have three beautiful daughters. Because of you… I live.

  Yvette’s voice quivered, but she kept on.

  The gift you gave me so many years ago saved my life. For you see, I am Jewish.

  In order to explain, I must go back to the beginning, to the day that will be forever etched in my nightmares.

  I was young, but I remember the train, big and black, standing like a monster waiting to haul us all away. I remember the tears, the clinging, an
d the terror on faces, as families, pried from the arms of loved ones, were herded onto that monstrous cattle train.

  A policeman ordered my family and me on board, but when I stepped up, he yanked me off. Looking at the angel pendant I wore around my neck, he told me Christians didn’t belong on the train.

  In the chaos that followed, I remembered standing on the platform alone, frightened, wondering what that man had said; wondering what was happening to my family and why I wasn’t going with them.

  Then a German soldier limped toward me and drew me into his arms. He told me not to worry and dried my tears. I recognized him as the same man who brought you to me that day in Lyon two years before.

  Yvette closed her eyes, recalling the day when she’d thought André was the enemy; thought about that train ride and the little girl who so bravely led her to safety. She sighed and continued.

  He brought me to a house where others, like me, were hiding, then he traveled with us to Spain. When I thanked him, he said he didn’t do anything, that it was the lady who gave me the necklace I should thank. Even in my young age, I knew he cared deeply about you by the tender tone of his voice when he said your name.

  Yvette reached out, opened the box and pulled out the gold necklace. It dangled between her fingers. Then she read on…

  It has taken me many years to learn the truth about my savior that day. Only by sheer determination did I learn you had left for New York. It has taken me, for what seems like forever, to find you, so that I could thank you, from the bottom of my heart and soul for your precious gift and to return what is rightfully yours.

  I hope this pendant will protect you and your loved ones as it has protected me.

  Sincerely,

  Daniah Kerzner

  Brooklyn, New York

  Yvette neatly folded the note. “Never forget, life is a precious gift and every act of kindness, no matter how small, counts more than you realize.”

  Marie nodded.

  “I want you to have this.” She handed Marie the gold locket with the image of an angel on the front.

  “Thank you Mémère.”

  “It is very special and you must promise that when you are a grandmother you will pass it on to your first granddaughter and read her this letter.”

  “I will.”

  Yvette could see by her blank expression that getting old was incomprehensible. Ah to be young… she smiled and patted her granddaughter’s leg.

  “There you are, my love.”

  André walked into the room and Yvette looked up into clear blue eyes that, despite their age, fluttered her pulse. After fifty-three years together, the love he felt when he looked at her still shone brightly.

  “Marie, your mother is calling. It’s time to go home.” His smile, his smooth, mellow voice, captured her heart.

  He reached down and helped Yvette up and together they shuffled, hand and hand, out of the room.

  As it turned out, no ocean… no war… not even the hand of time could keep them apart.

  André had made her a promise and had kept it.

  BASED ON TRUE STORIES

  The following scenes are based on real stories:

  In my Grandmother’s little village of Lucaney-le-Duc, the Germans confiscated a bicycle and my family had to wait, lined up against the barn, while their wine cellar was ransacked. Thankfully, no one got hurt.

  My mother, at the age of seventeen, rode the railroad with her bird, and German soldiers questioned her wondering why she was traveling alone. A handsome man from the Foreign Legion hid her in the lavatory. They met, once again, in Marseille, in church, but then never saw each other again.

  My father was in the French Navy. After his unit fell apart, he fought with the Free French under de Gaulle. One day, after walking for three days without food, he came across a farmer who offered him sun-ripened blue cheese, which my father hated. Since that day, we always had blue cheese in our home and whenever we didn’t want to taste new food, we’d hear about the time he was starving.

  From the stories he told me about his time spent in Africa, I believe my father was one of the thirty -six hundred men who fought along de Gaulle and the British during the invasion of Dakar.

  My mother worked for the American Consulate. She was bribed with a diamond from a gentleman who sought passage to America. She also passed on clandestine messages for the allies.

  My Grandfather left the States for France during the depression. He worked at the Consulate chauffeuring American diplomats around France. When he returned to America, he changed his name from Matikunas to McKay.

  My uncle was born in France during WWII. My grandmother, aunt, uncle, grandfather and mother escaped to America through Portugal and Spain and finally boarded a ship to New York.

  In the death scene, my great-grandmother was the one who placed a kiss on a stranger’s forehead.

  My Aunt Theresa, while visiting the grave of the young stranger who died in the street, hid in the cemetery when German planes came back and machine gunned the village.

  The image of gleaming motorcycles coming down the street and the melodic voices of the German soldiers in song, to this day, is recalled by my Aunt with clarity.

  My grandfather and his friends tied bottles of wine to a rope and lowered them into the pond. After the Germans left, they all got drunk.

  Since food was rationed and there was no flour, my family celebrated my uncle’s birthday by decorating a tin box to look like a cake.

  My mother did receive a dagger, but from the butcher’s son, which I have, and is on the cover of my third book, Amulet of Darkness.

  My father came to America after the war and met my mother in New York.

  The name Porteret and Rousselot are family names, the first records dating back to 1710 to Clerget Rousselot.

  In the village church that dates back to the 15th century there is a portrait of my grandmother’s brother, Marc Porteret, who died a hero in WWI.

  The villagers did take the statue of the Blessed Mother, into the streets to ward off the plague and not one child was stricken with the disease. That statue is listed in the historic registry of churches and miracles.

  The following stories were told to me by my friend, Francois Simon.

  When his mother was visiting her in-laws, she found out that a monk, at the monastery, was about to denounce a member of the family to the German authorities. In the middle of the night, she traveled 10 km on her bicycle, with no light to inform her brother, and he managed to escape just in time.

  The bicycle in the trench scene happened to my friend’s mother when she was returning home from work.

  The radio line above the trees was told to me by my friend based on his father’s experience. Lucky for him those Germans did not look up.

  The sad death of those men in André’s town is based on a story that happened after 1942 in the village of my friend’s parents. One of the men in the village destroyed a tanker of gasoline kept by the Germans in a tunnel. The men of the village refused to give up his name and all the men of the village were shot. As fate would have it, my friend’s parents were visiting elsewhere that night.

  The horse and the German soldier happened to my friend’s mother and she was arrested, but released.

  The “spy in the house” scene happened to my friend’s mother while the Germans occupied her house and used the rooms for a “post office.” She quietly closed the closet and never asked any questions.

  Jean Bonaventure is based on Jean Moulin, who in 1940, started contacting those who wanted to overthrow the Vichy Government and expel the Germans out of France.

  While doing my research, I came across the name Varian Fry, who was American. Thanks to his bravery and dedication to the cause, he saved many lives and I felt he deserved a place in my story.

  REVIEWS

  If you enjoyed this book, please consider reviewing Behind the Mask at online retailers. It is only by getting reviews from loyal readers, like you, that an author’s work ha
s the chance of standing out among so many other works of fiction that are on the market. I would truly appreciate you taking a few minutes of your time, while the story is still fresh in your mind, to go to online book sites. It doesn’t have to be a long review, a sentence or two would be great.

  Even with multiple editing mistakes slip through..

  Though we’ve done our best to make this book as error free as possible, if you find a typo, please let me know.

  Please feel free to email me with any questions or comments you may have, or if you would like to be put on my mailing list for future titles.

  Thank you for your support. I look forward to sharing many more of my books with you and I wish you many hours of enjoyable reads and thanks for choosing Behind the Mask.

  Follow me on:

  facebook.com/marianne.petit.140

  linkedin.com/profile/view?id=59222039&trk=nav_responsive_tab_profile_pic

  Marianne

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Marianne Petit lives on Long Island, NY. She is married to Steve, her husband of 36 years. She has two sons, Nick and Robert., a daughter-in-law, Jean, and grandsons Lucas and Brayden. She is a Past President of the Long Island Romance Writers and a Past President of the Melville Lions, a charity organization.

  You can email her at: riteromance@aol.com to be notified of new releases and to be added to her mailing list.