Page 12 of The Widows of Champagne
Hélène
H ours after witnessing German thuggery firsthand, Hélène stepped out of Paulette’s room and drew the door closed with a furious snap. She stared hard at it, wondering if she’d gone too far. Or perhaps, she hadn’t gone far enough. She’d been harsh with her daughter, and there had been real shock in the girl, even a glimmer of fear. But only for a moment, wiped away by a willful refusal to understand the dire circumstances they now faced.
Reims was under siege. German soldiers looted businesses. They confiscated champagne from wine cellars. It was only a matter of time before they made their way to Chateau Fouché-LeBlanc. Yet all her daughter understood was that there would be no trips to Paris this week.
“It is more complicated than a canceled shopping excursion.” Hélène had tried to explain the situation without bringing in her personal reasons for taking greater precautions now that the Germans had invaded Champagne.
Again, she regretted not listening to her father’s warnings. He’d been worried ever since Hitler took power in 1933 and had kept her informed as a steady stream of Jews poured into France from Germany seeking refuge. He’d left for New York soon after the onslaught began.
Hélène hadn’t understood his insistence that she and her daughters join him in America. She’d thought he was being unnecessarily cautious. Now, she realized her mistake. With the German invasion came the hardest of questions: How long would French Jews be safe? “We are an occupied nation,” she’d said to her daughter. “Our government has given Champagne to the Germans. They are our rulers now.”
Paulette had shoved away her concern in a gesture reminiscent of her own dismissive hand flick. “What do I know of politics?”
Not enough. Which was Hélène’s fault. And so, she’d given it one final try. “Adolf Hitler has an agenda to rid the world of anyone who disagrees with him. His list grows longer by the day, Paulette. For now, he targets social democrats, Marxists.” She swallowed. “And Jews.”
Paulette’s response was to look away, her eyes troubled, but her voice was as stubborn as before. “We are none of those things, Maman.”
Hélène had not contradicted her. She’d chosen to let her daughter enjoy her ignorance a little longer and hope that with time Paulette would come to understand the reality of war. For now, Hélène stood in the hallway, feeling desperate and defeated. She considered reentering her daughter’s bedroom. Then decided to give the girl a few moments to think through their conversation.
Frustrated with herself, with Paulette—with them both—she went in search of more news of the German invasion. As she made her way toward the winding stairs, her heart was full of grief for the man she’d lost. étienne may have been able to get through to their daughter. Hélène felt the same draining energy she did every time her husband filled her thoughts. The sensation always left shadows on her soul. She’d seen what war did to good men. She knew what Herr Hitler wanted to do to people like her and, by association, possibly, if he changed his brutish laws, her daughters.
“You are in quite a hurry, Madame LeBlanc,” said a low voice at her back.
Startled, Hélène swerved around and nearly lost her balance. A hand reached out to keep her from toppling down the stairs. She fought against the hold, and tried to regain her balance on her own, which proved difficult as she found herself facing a broad chest covered in a German field uniform. What was such a man doing in her home?
Confused, and a little exasperated, she tilted her head and confronted a pair of piercing blue eyes. The man was stunningly handsome, she noticed that right away, also quite tall. His pale hair and angular cheekbones reminded her of every German she had ever met. Her fear was immediate.
Reims had only just been overrun this morning by the enemy and already she had one of them lurking in the halls of her home. Again, she wondered why such a man roamed unaccompanied on the floor where her family slept? The possibilities were few, each one more terrifying than the last. “You seem to know who I am,” she said, held captive by the icy stare. “But I am at a loss as to how we are acquainted.”
She could have met him any number of ways. But, really, what did it matter? It was unimportant how they met. Peripheral. This man was one of the invaders. And he was looking at her with a sense of ownership no man had ever dared, not even étienne. Especially not étienne.
The German took a step closer, saying in perfect French, “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Hauptmann von Schmidt. You may remember me as Helmut von Schmidt when I worked with the Becker and Shultz Import Company.”
The phrasing and his manner did nothing to dispel her disquiet. Nor did the fact that he was a wine merchant with ties to the region. He watched her closely as she shifted away from the stairs, and then—finally—his grip on her arm. It was that calculating look that brought another image to mind.
In a sudden rush of memory, she saw this man in a navy-blue suit with a swath of silk peeking from his pocket that matched his bloodred tie. He’d been leaving the champagne house as she’d been about to enter with a question for Josephine about...
Hélène couldn’t remember what.
She and this German had exchanged a few words. She did recall that. Their interaction had been nothing more than a nod and a cursory greeting, but she’d been left with a sense of never wanting to repeat the experience. When she’d asked Josephine about him, her mother-in-law had said: This man is not someone you want to be associated with.
“We met outside the champagne house last year,” she said. “Or possibly the year before.”
“The year before.” He was smiling at her from his great height, with something not altogether pleasant in his eyes. It was the same look he’d leveled on her that long-ago afternoon. A smile that hit bone and chilled her to the marrow.
This man is not someone you want to be associated with.
Her fear became a living, breathing thing. Without betraying her reaction, she ventured in a perfectly reasonable voice, “May I ask after your business here today?”
She kept the question vague. It was a clumsy attempt at getting him to reveal his intentions and he saw through it. She could see the knowledge dancing in his eyes. “Madame Fouché-LeBlanc has been kind enough to offer me lodgings while I am in the area.”
Hélène repressed a gasp. Josephine would never have offered this man lodgings. Her low opinion had been formed before he’d dressed himself in a German uniform. “Are we to find separate accommodations for ourselves?”
“I wouldn’t think of banishing you from the chateau, Madame LeBlanc.”
Such a polite way to indicate they were to be prisoners in their own home. It was unconscionable. It was the reality of occupation. “And will we be able to come and go as we please? Or will you dictate our schedules?”
The question brought an amused twist to his lips, as if he relished his newfound power in a house full of lonely widows. “Your behavior will decide how you are to be treated. Your future, Madame, is completely in your hands.”
Not true. The future was up to the whims of a wine merchant turned soldier.
“As I will be holding small, intimate dinners and the occasional party, I will require an impeccable female hostess to represent my interests. You, Madame LeBlanc, will perform this duty for me.”
What he requested was unthinkable. Her reputation would be in tatters before the first course was served at one of his small, intimate dinners. He might as well have put a stamp on her forehead that marked her as his property.
Hélène saw the future in her mind, the months ahead, possibly even years of protecting her secret—and the people she loved—with tiny little evasions and insignificant half-truths to hide the biggest lie of all. There would be constant watching what she said, how she said it, praying she never made a mistake, all the while performing her duties as this man’s hostess.
So much more to lose besides your pride , she reminded herself. A cold comfort.
“I am sure my mother-in-law extended you the courtesy that is your due. Let me add mine as well. Welcome to our humble home, Herr Hauptmann von Schmidt.” Could he tell that her heart was in her throat? Could he hear her words were slightly strangled? “Let me know if there is anything I can do to make your stay as comfortable as possible.”
With a long, slow smile, he took her hand in his, placed a kiss on her knuckles. “I see you understand the situation perfectly.”
Oh, she understood. She had a brief thought of relinquishing the chateau to this German. It wasn’t hers to give. She had another thought of leaving anyway, of stealing away in the night and taking the women she loved with her. They would never go.
So, then, neither would she.
“You and your family will dine with me tonight in celebration of our new alliance.” He issued the invitation as a command. “You will dress for the occasion.”
“Of course.”
“I expect the first course to be served at precisely eight o’clock, sharp.”
“I will see to the details myself.”
Before she could say more, a door opened and shut from down the hallway. Seconds later, Paulette breezed into view, a magazine in her hand. “Maman, I want to show you—Oh!” She froze at the sight of von Schmidt. A sliver of uncertainty pulled her brows together. Then it was gone. “Well, hello.”
Hélène did not like the way Paulette recovered from her shock so quickly. Nor did she like the way von Schmidt bounced his attention from her to her daughter and back again.
A sly smile curled at his lips. She had to press her knuckles against her stomach to still the churning. “And who is this stunning creature?”
“This is my daughter Paulette.” Hélène made the introductions through gritted teeth. “Paulette, this is Hauptmann von Schmidt. He is to be our guest for the foreseeable future.”
His smile grew slimy. “You are very beautiful, Mademoiselle. I see the echo of your mother in you.”
Paulette seemed very pleased with the German’s compliment. “What a lovely thing to say. Maman is one of the most beautiful women I know.”
Von Schmidt took a step closer to the girl and Hélène’s heart went stone-cold. The instinct of a mother had her moving quickly and without thought to consequences as she pushed herself between the two.
“Herr Hauptmann was just leaving,” she managed to say. It took tremendous concentration not to go for the man’s throat. “And you, Paulette, have unfinished schoolwork.”
Von Schmidt’s mouth thinned to a flat line, sharp as a blade. Hélène held her ground. “Go on, ma fille . I will check on your progress once I see our guest to the door.”
To her astonishment, her daughter obeyed without argument.
Surprisingly, von Schmidt did not watch the girl leave. He seemed only to have eyes for Hélène, as if her show of maternal protection had intrigued him. She saw him thinking, calculating. And then, something ugly came into his eyes. Something she knew to be masculine interest. “You will now walk me out, Madame LeBlanc.”
His tone was like a slap. She wanted to slap back. She was not that foolish. She sensed great cruelty in this man and that worried her as much for her family’s future as her own. “Yes, Herr Hauptmann. I would be delighted.”
At the door, he stood motionless, a pool of silence swimming between them. Hélène scoured her mind for something to say. She came away empty save for a bright, blank smile.
Her inability to find her voice seemed to bring him pleasure. Gaze locked with hers, he swung open the door, revealing the last threads of sunlight shining brightly in the courtyard.
The sun should not be shining. The sky should be weeping over the fate of the French people.
“You will personally select the champagne for tonight’s meal. I require a special blend that represents the best from Chateau Fouché-LeBlanc’s cellars. Do not disappointment me.”
With those unsettling words, he left her gaping after him.