“Aren’t you a little curious about the kitchen? It was part of the history of this land,” Megan said.
“Of course. But I’m practical. Let’s focus on one thing at a time. Baby first. And then Spring House. Summer kitchen or whatever will have to wait.”
“The foundation has been lost in all the underbrush. I’d love to locate it and get a better sense of the entire layout. It can’t be that far ahead.”
Helen stepped in front of her. “At least let me go first. If there’s a well, or a nest of snakes, I’ll go in first.”
“Helen, you’re going to ruin your shoes,” Megan said.
“They’re only shoes, dear,” Helen countered.
“Helen, that doesn’t sound like you at all.”
“I’m tired of sounding and being like myself. I have closets full of shoes, but I have only one grandchild. Let’s go, dear.”
For all Helen’s micromanaging, there were moments like this one when Megan saw the woman that Scott had adored. “Okay.”
Helen pushed back the tall grass with her hands and gingerly stepped forward.
Megan followed behind like a kid on a treasure hunt. The soil was soft from last week’s rains, but it was manageable.
“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight . . .” Helen proudly called out the small steps as they went.
By the time they had counted out the distance, there still was no evidence of any kitchen foundation. Helen held up her phone, trying to orient the picture with the view before her. “I don’t see it,” she huffed.
“It’s got to be close.” Megan looked back at Spring House. Realizing their angle might be off slightly, she moved east a dozen paces. Her foot caught on an unexpected stone, and she tripped. Her rounded belly threw off her balance, and before she knew it, she’d pitched forward.
Helen was at her side in a moment. “Good Lord. Are you all right?”
Megan reached for her belly. The baby jabbed hard. “The baby’s fine. I just lost my footing, but I think I found the kitchen.”
Helen helped her to her feet. “Can you stand? Are you sure you’re okay?”
She brushed the dirt from the palms of her hands. “I’m fine.”
Helen’s face paled, and she looked as if she could get physically sick. “Good Lord. I thought you had fallen into a well.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Megan said.
Helen was not a hugger, and her pride was her armor. There was a reason why it did not make any sense for Megan to hug Helen, but Megan wrapped her arms around her anyway. The baby landed a solid elbow—this time right into Helen’s stomach. “Jackpot.”
The woman drew back. “Oh my word. She kicked.”
Megan took Helen’s hand and pressed it against her belly. “She does that a lot.” To prove her point, the baby kicked again.
Tears welled in Helen’s eyes. “This baby is a miracle.”
Though Megan felt bloated, clumsy, and fat, she knew Helen was right. “Yes, she is.”
Helen kept her palm on Megan’s belly. “He loved you so much.”
“I know.” And in his way, he had. But Scott had been like Samuel. Love of a woman would never have been enough for him.
The clouds overhead grew darker, and in the distance, thunder rumbled. A raindrop hit her face and then another. “Let’s get back to Spring House.”
When they arrived, Mr. Tucker and his crew had stripped away the weathered white siding. What lay beneath were two log cabins joined together by a center section. Log cabins were sturdy and built to last if done right, but at some point, they had fallen out of favor and had been seen as outdated. Many had been covered in wood siding to give them a more modern look.
But she loved the humble building that now stood before her. It no longer had to pretend it was something else. It could embrace its proud heritage.
April 9, 1939
From the Journal of Samuel Jessup
My first mate, Billy, knows the waters off the coast of France well. For nearly a decade he sailed into Le Havre and picked up bottles of booze from a local couple named Gilbert and Diane Bernard. Diane, it seems, is Miss Claire’s younger sister, and there was always an exchange of letters and trinkets on the docks. Billy took the bottles back to Norfolk, Virginia, and delivered them to Claire Buchanan, who paid him well for his troubles and risk. In those days, selling booze in the States was illegal, but that didn’t stop Miss Claire from turning a fine profit. Billy has told me the best spots to drop anchor if I don’t want no trouble from the law or the Germans.
The winds of war are blowing hotter. I’d like nothing better than to tangle again with one of them U-boats and send it right to the bottom of the Atlantic.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Diane
Age 12
Tuesday, November 3, 1903
Normandy, France
As Diane stood at the cliffs and looked over the ocean, the stiff breeze ruffled the folds of her skirt and stirred up worries.
Since she had arrived in Normandy almost a month ago, she’d dreamed each night of the police arriving at the château. Grim-faced men dressed in uniforms placing handcuffs on her and escorting her to a darkened cell where Pierre waited. As always, his dark and unsettling eyes pinned her as he stood watching, his arm raised and ready to strike. She had nowhere to run.
Each time she awoke, she would pull out the planchette, hold it close, and ask her mother for strength and any kind of message to give her comfort. But no message ever revealed itself, and to her frustration, her loneliness grew. “You’re worthless to me,” she said to the device. “You don’t do anything but sparkle.”
The waves crashed against the rocks below as she extended her hand over the cliff and dangled the planchette. She was ready to release it and watch it fall to the rocks. It would be her last physical link to Madame LeBlanc, but something stopped her.
As tempted as she was, she could not seem to loosen her grip. It truly was her last connection to her mother. If she threw it away, her mother would be gone forever, and she just could not bear that pain.
She shoved the device back in her pocket. “Claire, where are you?”
The ocean waves crashed, the wind gusted, and seagulls squawked. But no one answered.
She cupped her hand over her eyes and stared out over the waves, praying Claire might be on the other side thinking of her. It had been so long since she had seen her sister.
The dog’s barking made her turn, smiling in spite of herself. She and Oscar were getting to be close friends. Like her, he had a sweet tooth, and though Madame Herbert frowned on it, Diane gave him bits of piecrust. He not only sat beside her at meals now but also found his way into her attic room and slept on the edge of her bed.
“It must be getting close to suppertime,” she said. The dog knew time better than most humans, especially when it came to meals.
Diane picked up the basket filled with the eggs she had gathered, and together they walked down the path away from the cliffs toward the château nestled into the side of a rocky hill. When she pushed through the back door, the scent of Madame’s bread blended with a chicken roasting in the oven. Madame was sitting at the roughly hewn kitchen table snapping the tips of string beans for dinner.
Diane found comfort knowing that Madame spent most of her days in the kitchen. She walked to the sink, then cranked the lever up and down until water gushed out. She washed the eggs before she put them in a bowl. She then toweled off her hands with a red-and-white-checkered towel.
Diane sat at the table across from Madame and scooped up a handful of beans. She began to snap off the tips.
“I see you were able to gather the eggs,” Madame Herbert said.
“Only a dozen today. The red hen didn’t have any, and when I checked, she was fairly annoyed with me.”
The woman chuckled. “That’s Esme. She has always been temperamental.”
“Always, or is it just me she hates? She doesn’t mind when you gather the eggs.”
Madame peered over the rims of wire half glasses. “I raised her from a chick. She’s still getting to know you. And like Oscar, when she realizes you aren’t going to hurt her, she’ll relax.”
Diane looked down at the red mark on the back of her hand. It was her most recent souvenir from Esme. Outside, the neigh of a horse signaled Gilbert’s return from the orchard. He left each day long before sunrise, and so far, he had never returned from the fields before sunset.
She peered out the window to see him dismount. His boots were covered in mud, and he was scowling as he walked his black steed toward the stables.
“That boy has been working himself ragged,” Madame said.
Diane looked away from the window, slightly embarrassed she had been caught staring. “What has he been doing?”
Bent, wrinkled fingers pinched off the top of a bean with an efficiency Diane’s own mama had had. “There’s always much to be done here. The work never stops. Just today he was rotating the oak barrels. It takes an artist’s touch to make the kind of ciders and distilled liquors we do. So many of the vineyards and orchards were struck by the blight and nearly destroyed. But Gilbert and his grandfather saw to it that the apple trees remained strong. When there was no wine to drink, people turned to apples and us.”
“His uncle, Mr. LeBlanc, wasn’t a help?” Diane asked.
Madame Herbert scrunched up her face. “I can’t speak ill of the dead, for they may come back and haunt me. Better I say nothing about Monsieur LeBlanc.”
“The dead don’t hear us.” Diane was feeling surly, still annoyed with her planchette.
“Of course the dead listen in to our conversation. They also speak to us, but we don’t always listen.” She leaned forward, glancing from side to side as if to make sure there was no spirit lurking close by. “Monsieur LeBlanc liked the finer things. That is why he eloped with Gilbert’s aunt while she was studying in Paris. He fooled her with sweet words and gestures.”
“What did Émilie study?”
“She was a great artist. It was a good thing, for she was not suited for farm life. Her papa finally relented and permitted her to study in Paris for one month. One little month. The next we know, she is married to Monsieur LeBlanc and soon after that, dead from typhus. When Émilie died and Monsieur LeBlanc realized he would not inherit the estate, he quickly found himself another woman. The woman you knew as Madame LeBlanc.”
“Was Gilbert’s father heartbroken when Émilie died?”
“Gilbert’s father died when he was very young. His grandfather raised him.”
“Was his grandfather sad?”
“The old man never showed much emotion, but after Émilie died, he grew quieter and more sullen, if that is possible. He died when Gilbert was seventeen.”
“Who took over the farm then?”
“Gilbert, of course.”
“How long have you lived here?” Diane asked.
“All my life. I came here with my husband when I wasn’t much older than you. My Louis was a winemaker at heart, and he worked closely with Gilbert’s grandfather. I raised Gilbert after his dear mother died giving birth to him. And when my husband passed, Gilbert moved me up to this house, and here we live.”
“If Gilbert didn’t like Madame LeBlanc, why did he come to Le Havre?”
“For you, of course. She told him you were his cousin. She told him you were Émilie’s child. If Gilbert is dedicated to anything more than this land, it is family.” She tsk-tsked, shaking her head. “Madame LeBlanc and her husband were as clever as they were evil.”
Diane could not imagine leaving this place. Here she felt safe. “Gilbert has not said a word to me since I arrived. Do you think he has forgotten about me?” She half hoped he had.
“I know he has spoken to Max several times about you.”
“Why?”
“He wants to make sure that man Pierre does not find his way here.”
She could feel Pierre’s fingers tightening around her neck. “Will he?”
“Max asked around and learned no one had noticed Gilbert. Max also made sure he told everyone he saw that you two went east toward Germany.”
On the heels of relief came the fear that Gilbert would tire of covering for her. “Perhaps Gilbert won’t notice that I am here and I can stay. I am a hard worker and can help you with all the chores. I am good with chores, and the dog likes me just fine, I think. And like you said, one day Esme will come to trust me.”
Madame glanced at the dog and arched a brow. “Oscar knows a soft touch when he sees one.”
“But I am a help to you, no?” Diane insisted.
“Yes, child. It has been lovely having you here.”
“When Gilbert decides to send me away, will you speak to him?” Diane asked.
Madame humphed. “Gilbert is like you. He develops a soft spot for any creature he puts under his protection. Once that happens, he is the most loyal of men.”
“But he doesn’t want me around.”
“Perhaps not. But yet, here you sit.” She scooped up a handful of beans and pinched the tops free with her thumb and index finger. “Have you written a letter to your sister yet?”
“I’ve written several.”
“Then Gilbert will post them for you.” Her old fingers worked quickly and efficiently, snapping off the ends of the beans. “Did you tell your sister about what happened in Le Havre?”
“I did in the first letter.” Diane wanted her sister to worry their father so he’d realize he had made a terrible mistake.
“Claire will surely worry when she reads it.”
“I know.”
Madame Herbert snapped her beans, saying nothing as she peered over her glasses at Diane. “It is not so terrible here, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”
“You eat well.”
“Yes.”
“Oscar follows you everywhere.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you should write a happier letter. Save the bad news for when you see your sister in person.”
The door opened and Gilbert appeared, his dark hair tousled from the wind and his tanned cheeks reddened by the cold. The dog rose up, tail wagging, and immediately crossed to him. Gilbert rubbed the dog between the ears.
He nodded to them both as he crossed the kitchen, washed his hands, and then tore off a piece of the cooling bread.
“That is for supper, young man,” Madame Herbert said.
Gilbert kissed her on the cheek. “I know. Thank you.”
He sat at the head of the table, and Diane could feel her fingers trembling just a little under his scrutiny. Fresh worries churned in her belly, and she feared her stay here was going to end. Why would he keep her around? She was not family. And she had been a part of a plan to defraud him.
“Good afternoon,” Diane said. Her sister Claire had always acted older than her years, and Diane desperately wanted to appear braver and older right now.
“You look well,” Gilbert said. “I think Madame Herbert is fattening you up.”
“The girl eats all the time,” the old woman chuckled.
“Should I eat less?” Diane said quickly. “Madame LeBlanc said ladies don’t eat.”
Madame Herbert huffed and muttered several words. “Perhaps ladies don’t eat, but this woman does. You like eating, don’t you?”
Diane nodded. “I do. Very much.”
“Then eat!” Madame Herbert said. “I will have no hungry children in my home.”
Gilbert poured a glass of cider and drank. “I understand you’ve been a big help to Madame.”
“It is no different than when I worked at home with my mother and family,” she said. “We are an ocean away, but it’s all very much the same.”
Gilbert regarded her as a man might a broken farm tool or a cracked wheel. “As to the matter of your sister and your father, I’ll need contact information so they know you’re safe.”
“You’re sending me away?” Diane could barely hold back the emotions
she had locked deep inside her.
“I didn’t say that,” Gilbert said. “But they are your family. They deserve to know you’re safe and well.”
“My father is at sea, I suppose, but my sister lives in New York. She works for the Buchanan family. I have their address memorized.”
“Good. Write her a letter, and I’ll post it in Le Havre.”
Mention of the city reminded her of Madame LeBlanc’s lifeless body and Pierre. “Madame Herbert said your friend Max told everyone we went toward Germany.”
Gilbert sighed. “He did, and that is a good thing. Though no one saw us together, there are people who saw you with Madame LeBlanc. The police were searching for you, but the idea of going as far as Germany for a slip of a girl is too much for them to bother with.”
She paled. “What if Pierre doesn’t believe Max’s lies?”
“Max is very clever. If he spins a story, everyone will believe it.”
“Has he seen Pierre?”
“There has been no sighting of him. What do you know about this Pierre?”
“Very little. When Madame LeBlanc went out in the evenings, he always went with her. A man once came to our house in Baltimore and was very angry with Madame LeBlanc. Pierre hit him several times and tossed him out. He never came again.” She snapped a string bean in half.
“Did he ever hit you?” Gilbert’s voice was quiet, but held a dangerous edge.
“Yes.”
Gilbert drank another sip of cider. “He won’t hit you again. You’re safe here.”
“So she shall stay here until her family can come and fetch her,” Madame Herbert said. “And there is no rush for her to leave. Winter is coming in a few short weeks, and travel is terrible when the snows come. And I’ve gotten rather used to having her around the house. The help has been a godsend for a woman with tired, old bones.”
“She belongs with her family,” Gilbert insisted. “And your bones have plenty of energy left in them.”
Madame shook her head. “Let the sister know she’s well. And we’ll see in the spring if she’s to travel to New York or stay here.”
“She cannot stay here forever,” Gilbert said.
Spring House Page 19
