Elena stood in shocked silence as the Frenchwoman continued. What she was hearing and seeing was unfathomable to her.
“We help these abused young girls because there is no one else to care for them. Without us, they would either be dead or forced to work as sex slaves in the brothels of Kabul. What we are doing is illegal. You can see why we must be very careful that no one finds out about them.”
Elena felt like she was going to become ill. Please don’t let me be sick. She quickly swallowed several times, willing the clammy feeling to go away. I’ve never seen human beings who have suffered like these young girls. I thought the gang rape that happened to me was the worst thing in the world, but clearly these little girls have suffered far more than I have.
“Do many people know about this?”
“No. You look like a good person. I trust you not to tell anyone. Pierre and the lady he works for arrange for clothes and food. There are a few other women besides myself who come here daily to take care of them. As you can see, the Younts are too old and suffer too much physically to be of much help in caring for them. Pierre sends as much money as he can. I think he has friends who are chefs that help, because sometimes we get sacks of food dropped off at the front door, and often there are envelopes containing money in the sacks.”
She continued, “Because of what the Younts are doing, these young girls have a chance of finding homes where they will be well cared for. So far, nearly two hundred young girls in the last three years have been placed in homes in the United States.” She paused and then emphatically stated, “Pierre, his parents, and his employer are saints. I beg of you not to tell anyone.”
Elena had a hard time thinking of Pierre as a saint. This was a direct contrast to everything Jordan had found out about Pierre and his accomplice.
“Thank you for telling me. I didn’t expect any of this when I came here. I must get back to the house. I’m sure they are wondering what happened to me, but yes, you can trust me. I will not reveal your secret to the authorities. Bon jour, Madame.”
As Elena walked back to the house, tears begin to form in her eyes. She could only imagine what the young girls had witnessed and the horrors they had gone through. She knew the sight of the mangled, tortured bodies she had just seen would stay with her forever. She also felt angrier than she had ever been in her life.
Elena unsteadily entered the house through the back door, walked through the kitchen, and into the living room. Jordan took one look at her and knew something had happened while she’d been outside. He couldn’t imagine why she was looking and acting so strange. Although she was ashen and visibly trembling, two spots of anger were quite visible on her cheeks and her eyes were blazing. They hadn’t been together very long and this was a side of her he hadn’t seen.
“While I finish putting away the last of the groceries, may I start a little dinner for you before we leave?” she stuttered, as she walked over to Madame Yount.
“No, thank you,” Madame Yount said. “We have worked out a system. Giles sits at the table and tells me what to put in each pan. He is my eyes and I am his body. It works for us. It’s not what we would have chosen, but with Pierre’s help, we get along.”
“Well, it’s time for us to leave. We have several other stops to make. Your husband told me you don’t have any way to contact Pierre. I would like to leave my contact information with you, if I may. If you need anything, please call me. Will you promise me you will do that?” Elena said.
“Oh, we don’t need anything, but yes, leave us your number and the next time Pierre calls, I will tell him you came to our house looking for him. He may call you and help you get a job with that restaurant,” Giles said.
Elena took a pen and a piece of paper out of her purse, and wrote her telephone number and address on it. She also took out ten one hundred euro notes, and put them underneath the piece of paper. She knew the proud couple would not accept money if she offered it, but if they discovered it after she left, it would be too late to return it to her.
Jordan stood up. “We’ll let ourselves out. Thank you so much for your time and hospitality. Bon jour.”
CHAPTER 31
As soon as they got in the car, Elena began to sob, flinging her head back against the seat headrest. “Oh Jordan, you can’t arrest Pierre! He’s all they have. Stealing the paintings from the gallery in Laguna Beach was wrong, but maybe there’s a higher law working here. Please, please don’t arrest him. Can’t you do something to stop this investigation?”
“Let me think about it. Believe me, I don’t feel any better about this than you do.”
“No, you don’t understand,” she said between gulping sobs. “Yes, the Younts are very sad, but they’re saints. Let me tell you what I saw in the barn.” She paused, as the memory of what she had seen came flooding back to her.
She tried to talk again. “Remember, when we got out of the car, I told you I thought I heard children’s voices? Well, when I was in the kitchen beginning to put away the groceries, I walked out to the trash barrel and again I thought I heard children’s voices. I followed the sound to the barn and opened the door and, and…”
Elena was crying so hard that Jordan had no choice but to pull the car over on the shoulder of the highway. He turned off the engine and faced her, putting his arms around her.
“It was awful. They were maimed and scarred. Oh Jordan, you don’t know what I saw. These poor little girls, you can’t believe what they’ve been through and, and…” She stopped, her voice trailing off, hiccupping as she tried to get control of herself.
“Elena, you’re right. I don’t know what you saw. Tell me everything. Start at the beginning. I have no idea why you feel so strongly about stopping the investigation, other than how hard it was to see the Younts.” He handed her his handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes with it, swallowed and began.
“Well, when I went outside to dump some garbage in the trash barrel, I was certain I heard little girls’ voices coming from the barn. I walked over to it and opened the door slightly. There were about fifteen little girls inside. Some looked to be as young as a year and a half or so, probably not any younger, because they were all walking. The oldest was about seven.”
“You’re kidding! The children’s voices were coming from the Younts’ barn?”
“Yes, just listen to me. Something was horribly wrong with each of them. Oh Jordan, some had their eyes gouged out, limbs were gone, they were bruised, scarred, and some of them even had what looked like cigarette burn marks on their faces and bodies. Oh God! It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.” Elena sat perfectly still, with tears streaming down her cheeks, and her face ashen.
“What in the hell were they doing in the barn, for God’s sake?” He took his arms away from her and looked into her tearful eyes.
“The Younts and some volunteers take them in. The mysterious person that we were told Pierre works for, well, it’s a woman who lives in the United States who still has family members in Afghanistan. Evidently she takes her private plane there several times a year, and smuggles young girls out of Afghanistan and flies them to Marseilles.
“For God’s sake, Elena, this sounds like it’s out of some thriller novel.”
“Jordan, just listen to me,” she sniffled. “They live in the Younts’ barn and are cared for by some local women. After they’ve healed somewhat and gotten a little stronger with good food and some health care, this Afghan woman that Pierre works for flies them to the United States in her private jet. I don’t know the details. Oh Jordan, it was the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. You can’t arrest Pierre. You’ve got to stop the investigation. If you don’t, and if it continues, what’s going to happen to those little girls?”
She was out of breath from trying to tell him what she had seen and sobbing so hard, her body started shaking. “Pierre and his employer are responsible for saving those girls’ lives. So what if he stole from a gallery and the insurance company paid the gallery? If something happens to Pie
rre, there won’t be anywhere for those girls to go. Jordan, you can’t turn Pierre in, even if you find him.”
Jordan started the car and pulled back onto the highway. “I don’t know what I can do. What Pierre has done is not only wrong, it’s a felony. We both know that. Does the fact that he did it for an admirable cause make it all right? I can’t say. Let me think about it. This goes against everything I’ve ever known in my life and yet…”
CHAPTER 32
It was now late afternoon and they both were quiet on the drive to Aix as they thought about what had happened earlier in the day at the Younts. When they arrived in Aix, the town was bustling.
“I’d like to start by walking to the four galleries I looked up and see if it looks like any of them has the last painting, the William Wendt. There are also a couple of restaurants I’m interested in, but first I’d like to finish the search for the seventh and final missing painting,” Jordan said.
They parked the car, and, as in almost all of the villages and towns Jordan had visited, the galleries were near one another, usually in the older part of town. They spotted two, slowly ambled by them, and looked in their windows to no avail. A third gallery two streets over produced the same result. Just as they were walking up to the last gallery, the proprietor turned the sign on the door from “Ouvert” to “Fermé.”
“Come on, Elena, let’s go across the street and wait until the guy leaves. I couldn’t see what was in the shop or even in the window, and I’d like to finish up. I don’t want to have to return.”
They walked across the street and when the lights in the shop changed from bright overhead lights to a dim night light, they re-crossed the street. There, hanging on the wall just inside the entry, but clearly visible from the street, was the last of the stolen paintings, the William Wendt.
“My God, there it is. Look at it! It’s fantastic. I can’t believe it hasn’t sold. Although the green hills in it are a little sharper than the hills of Provence, the lavender and yellow-orange colors sure are reminiscent of the sunflower and lavender covered hills here in Provence.”
“I see what you mean,” Elena exclaimed. “I think I remember you telling me that Wendt was one of the leading artists of the California Impressionist movement. Looking at this painting, I can sure see why. It’s beautiful.”
Jordan turned to her. “I know I should be happy to find this last one, but all I can think about is what a hollow victory it is. I can’t get the picture of the Younts out of my mind. If I go ahead with this, there’s a good chance I’ll find Pierre and he’ll eventually go to prison. And then what will happen to his parents and the Afghan girls? Who’s going to take care of them?
“In some ways I wish we’d never gone to Travaillan. I honestly don’t know what to do. I know you want me to walk away, but this goes against everything I’ve sworn to do my whole life, uphold the law. Please, Elena, give me some time. Believe me, I need it.” They turned away from the gallery, each with a heavy heart.
Elena was having trouble seeing Jordan’s side of the dilemma. It seemed very cut and dried to her. Let Pierre go and let the little girls have a chance at living the rest of their lives in loving and caring environments. She knew she’d probably never see Jordan again after their time together in Provence, but she also knew deep inside, that if he decided to pursue Pierre, she wouldn’t want to see him again.
As they turned to walk away from the gallery, Jordan looked at her and said, “I read a very good review in the New York Times about a restaurant in Aix called Chez Feraud. It’s in the old part of the city; actually it’s pretty near where we are right now, so we can walk to it. Since the French usually dine much later in the evening, maybe we can get in without a reservation.”
“Jordan, I’m exhausted. I really could use some good food and wine. In some ways, this has been one of the worst days of my life. I can’t take much more.”
They walked the short two blocks to the restaurant and were immediately impressed with what they saw. A courtyard with a fountain, olive trees, a trellis and the requisite Provence blue shutters welcomed them into the small restaurant on the tiny street in old Aix.
Chez Feraud did not disappoint. A good Rhône wine with a dinner of pistou soup, grilled lamb, and warm figs with cold caramel ice cream for dessert lightened their mood considerably.
Jordan was just as tired as Elena, but even he was surprised at the words that came out of his mouth as they sat sipping their after-dinner coffee. He looked directly at her and said, “I think I’m falling in love with you. I’ve got to be honest. I didn’t plan on this happening, or even expect it. Falling in love was the farthest thing from my mind. I’ll admit that getting you into bed was the nearest thing in my mind, but something has gone either terribly wrong or terribly right. I know I’m not perfect. I’ve been told that at times I’m impatient and overbearing, and I know I’ve been a sexist in the past, but when I’m with you I feel different. You bring out the best in me. I don’t want to be without you.” He stopped talking and took a sip of his coffee.
Elena sat very still, waiting for him to continue and wondering where this conversation was going.
Jordan continued, “I’d like you to come to the United States for a visit. You can stay in my home. It’s very large, and it’s right on the beach in a small town south of Los Angeles called Sunset Beach. Come for a month. Let’s see what happens. If it doesn’t work out, you can always return to your cottage here in Provence.” He stopped talking, putting his coffee cup back on its saucer. “Why are you shaking your head?”
“I can’t go back to the United States,” she said softly as tears began to trickle down her cheeks for the second time that day. “I left in a hurry because of memories, and I don’t want to revisit them. They’re too painful. You‘ll always be welcome at my home here in Provence. I’ve fallen in love with you as well, but there are things about me you don’t know. I’d rather keep it like that. There is some sort of magic that exists between us. I can sense it and I know you can too. If you knew the truth about me, the magic would be gone, and you would no longer love me. Please, just let it be as it is now.”
“I don’t understand any of this, and I guess I’m not supposed to,” Jordan said angrily, sitting back in his chair and tossing his napkin on the table. “I can’t imagine there’s anything about you that would cause me not to love you. Please, stop crying. We won’t talk about this anymore. I was planning on doing all kinds of work tomorrow regarding this case, but I need a break. Let’s go to Arles and St. Remy.”
Elena nodded, tears still trickling down her face.
“I’ve always wanted to see where Van Gogh spent time both before and after he cut off his ear. I know it’s kind of weird, but it’s always fascinated me.”
She looked at him, laughing through her tears.
“And as long as we’ll be in Arles, let’s go to the Camargue and get some of the salt the region’s famous for. I don’t think it’s a very fair trade. You’ll stay here and the salt will come to California with me, but I guess it’ll have to do for now,” he said smiling, dissolving the tension between them.
“I’d love to do that,” Elena said. “And while we’re in the Camargue, we have to go to Les Saints Maries de la Mer. That’s where the Black Madonna is supposed to have come ashore. We can spend the day just roaming around, being lovers discovering Provence. I’d like to forget everything about Pierre, the paintings, the Afghan girls, and the fact that you’ll be leaving in two more days.”
As she spoke, her face darkened. For a brief moment she thought about the lonely days that loomed ahead for her once Jordan returned to California. She shook her head as if to ward off the unpleasant thoughts.
They left Aix and drove the short distance back to her cottage. It was a full moon and they could make out the olive groves and vineyards in the soft moonlight. Soon they saw the twinkling lights of St. Victor. They wound their way around the village, driving the short distance up the hill to Elena’s cottage
. It had been an emotional day for both of them, and although they were exhausted, sleep did not come easily.
Jordan kept running Elena’s earlier conversation through his mind, wondering what could be so terrible that it would prevent her from wanting to be with him. He thought he knew how she felt about him, and he still couldn’t believe he’d actually asked a woman to live with him. That was a first. And then to be turned down! Did that mean the only way he’d ever see her again was if he came back to Provence? His thoughts continued to tumble and turn until he finally fell asleep.
I’ve been so afraid something like this might happen. I wonder if I did the right thing. Yes, Elena thought, as she too, tossed and turned, it was the right decision. We’ll have two more days to enjoy each other, and then we’ll go our separate ways. There’s nothing else I can do.
CHAPTER 33
Wrapped in Jordan’s arms, Elena eyes flew open, positive she heard something walking on the gravel driveway in front of the cottage. Her mouth went dry, and she could feel her heart banging in her chest, certain the sound of it would wake Jordan up. She listened intently and knew she wasn’t imagining it. The fields around her cottage were rife with all sorts of animals, but this sound was unusual.
“Jordan,” she whispered in a raspy voice, “Wake up. I think there’s someone outside the cottage. I heard something making a sound on the gravel, and I don’t think it’s an animal.”
Before she even had the words out of her mouth, he’d silently pulled on his running pants, flip-flops, and had his gun in his hand. “Don’t move,” he whispered in her ear. “Stay right where you are.”
He cocked his head, listening intently. He, too, heard the sound of something moving on the gravel, and to Jordan it sounded like footsteps. From the distance of the sound, Jordan knew he could get to the door before the intruder tried to enter the cottage. He slipped past the bedroom doorjamb and quietly made his way along the wall to the window. Although the shutters were closed, with the help of the full moon and a small crack in the shutters, he could just make out the form of a man standing outside the front door. It looked like he was holding a crowbar. The man was inches from the front door when Jordan yanked it open, took two steps out the door, and held his gun to the man’s head.
02_Coyote in Provence Page 16
