Page 14 of The Widows of Champagne

Josephine

A fter von Schmidt released them from the dinner table, Josephine gave her promise to Gabrielle that she would head to bed shortly. First, she wanted a moment alone in the house that had been her home for over half a century. She wandered through the darkened chateau and thought of the countless generations that had come before her. The women especially, who, like her, had raised their children within these walls.

Exhaustion was heavy in her limbs tonight. It had been a long day. France had fallen within a month of the German mobilization. Josephine couldn’t quite understand how it had happened so quickly. A month, just thirty days and all was lost. Or had it taken longer for her country to submit to the invaders? Was this yet another trick of her mind?

She didn’t think so.

Josephine’s mind and body suffered from the endless sitting at the table with a man she’d never trusted. Join me for dinner , he’d demanded. Dress appropriately , he’d insisted . Supply me with your best champagne. And then, the coup de grace . Give me a tour of everything you hold dear so I can steal what is most precious to you.

Her feet ground to a halt and she looked around. This room, it was not known to her. She’d lost her way in her own home. A little circling would bring her back to the familiar.

The endless ticking of the clocks accompanied her from room to room, down one hallway into another. The rhythmic sound dragged her through time, back to when the end of a long day meant a well-earned rest and a chance to sleep beside her beloved Antoine.

Such a simple world she’d shared with her husband.

Was it any wonder her mind constantly wanted to return to that easier time?

Josephine entered a large entrance hall and stopped on the marble floor. Staring at the ornate door, she tried to recall when she’d first opened it to the German and his soldiers. Had it only been this morning? It seemed a lifetime ago.

She and her family rarely used this part of the chateau. Despite two hundred years of creating some of the world’s premier champagnes, Josephine and her husband had been farmers at the core. Their visitors and business associates were not always so humble. They expected to see displays of wealth from the owners of Chateau Fouché-LeBlanc. So here, in this grand foyer, and the adjacent rooms, the LeBlanc family presented the expected trappings of success.

She’d seen the lust in the German’s eyes when he’d stepped across the threshold. He wasn’t the first to covet what belonged to her family. Over the years, Josephine had welcomed dignitaries from three continents, including a prince regent who ultimately became a king. The many faces of those visitors were a series of blurred, bobbing buoys on the sea of her memory.

Why am I here?

Josephine spun in a slow circle, trying to find her bearings.

This was an impressive space, gilded, wallpapered and dressed to impress the most discerning connoisseur of fine architecture. Lit only by the thinning moonlight seeping through the paned windows, the ceilings rose three stories high. It hurt her neck to look to the top. Ah, yes, she knew where she was now.

Why had she come into the foyer?

That, she still couldn’t recall.

There was no sound but a silent, deafening hush. Then, the rustle of feathered wings had her searching for the phantom bird. Round and round she spun, until she nearly lost her footing and her vision clouded. She sat on the bottom step in an effort to regain her equilibrium. Her head throbbed. Her body ached. She wanted to go to bed.

Above her, the gabled windows bared their teeth. They glared at her, as if to say, I know your secret. I know your mind is failing.

She shivered.

The smell of mildew and something faintly rotten assaulted her senses. She tore at the pins in her hair, only managing to free a few. They sifted through her splayed fingers, landing on the marble at her feet with a series of quiet pings. The noise jolted her. She was in the entryway. Sitting on the bottom step, her knees pulled up against her chest.

What are you doing here, Josephine?

She didn’t know.

She looked down at her feet. They hurt. Her feet always hurt, but now they ached. No wonder. Those shoes with the thin black leather strap across the top. They were the ones she wore to church. Why had she gone to church at night?

She hadn’t.

She would pray anyway and speak to her God as she did whenever the darkness closed in around her. She let the Holy Spirit provide the words when they refused to form properly in her head. She begged for peace, for the eradication of evil in her home, for her family’s future, for...the ticking in her ears distracted her. “Marta?”

Her first call wasn’t answered, nor was her second. But her third, louder and a little more desperate, brought the sound of footsteps. From the corner of her eye, a shadow moved across the marble. It elongated, then morphed into a stooped form. The woman was small and slight, and almost familiar. The white hair cut short, grayed and curled at the ends wasn’t right.

“Josephine, mon Dieu , what are you doing all alone in the foyer?”

She had no answer. No outrage. No bluster. The fight had left her body. It was just...gone. Only bone-deep weariness remained. “I am tired, Marta.”

“Of course you’re tired. It’s been an eventful day.”

What had happened to warrant that look of devastation on her friend’s face? Josephine insisted her mind call up the memory. She couldn’t quite put the pieces together. “Has it been eventful?”

“Very.” The careful patience was unexpected. “We do not host marauders very often.”

The German at her table.

Josephine remembered now. The wine merchant, helping himself to her home. Her food. Her finest champagne flowing freely down his German throat. This could not continue. Josephine needed to settle some things with their guest. Not tonight, tomorrow. After she slept.

“I wish to go to bed now.” She tucked her legs under her and, leaning heavily on Marta, managed to stand without a single bobble. Rather proud of herself, she stood tall and issued a command in the voice of the family matriarch. “We will go up this way.”

Marta nodded. But before they mounted the stairs, Josephine shifted around to glance about the space again. Her gaze landed on the large, heavily lacquered door. Marta had asked why she’d come here. Had she answered the other woman?

Confusion fought with her fatigue, the two sensations twining together to form a new emotion that felt like panic. A silent taunt from the voices in her head. Why did they speak in German and not her native French?

Josephine pressed a trembling hand to her cheeks. “I was moving through the house, looking for...” Had she been looking for something? Someone? “I came in here to...”

Nothing.

Her mind simply had no answer to explain how she’d ended up sitting on the stairs in a part of the house she rarely visited without a reason.

“Never mind, chère .” In the other woman’s eyes, Josephine saw the worry she’d filtered out of her voice. “You do not have to explain yourself to me.”

Josephine hated this new frailty of hers. It was infuriating, never knowing when the shadows would sneak up on her and steal a thought.

She looked anxiously around, searching for her husband. It was easy to picture Antoine in his evening clothes, pacing across the marble floor, then pausing, turning toward her. His hand reaching out for hers, beckoning her to join him before their guests arrived.

She moved in his direction but was pulled up short by a hand on her shoulder.

“This way.” Marta threaded her arm through Josephine’s, guiding her up the stairs, up and up. Josephine paused at the second-floor landing. Thought a moment, then turned right.

She must have chosen well. Marta did not correct her.

By the time they navigated the gloomy hallway, Josephine’s head was pounding again. She entered the room first, Marta a step behind. A narrow band of light winked from the slit in the drawn curtains. Josephine heard her own soft intake of breath and desperately tried to focus on that single sliver of light.

Marta flipped the light switch. The room was suddenly flooded with harsh, unnatural light. Her body immediately drained of heat. “I am cold.”

“We’ll get you warmed right up. A bath is what you need.”

The suggestion made her brutally aware of how their roles had switched somewhere between the foyer and this room. “I want to sleep in my own bed.”

“And you will.” A single sweeping gaze from Marta’s brown eyes gently scolded Josephine. “Once you have had your bath.”

Josephine hesitated, wanting to argue, unsure if she should. Such moments between her and Marta were new, forged from the shift in their stations. Where once Josephine was in charge, she now took orders.

The voices had been right. Her secret was not so secret, after all.

“Come. Let us get you out of this dress.”

Again, she wanted to argue. The words disappeared as a frightening blankness rose in her mind. Something terrible had happened today. She mustn’t forget what it was. She reached for her journal even as Marta guided her into a luxurious bathroom of marble and tile and drew her a hot bath in the claw-footed tub.

Later, when she emerged from the scented water, it was with mild relief. The exertions of the day were still there, but sufficiently muted.

“You will sleep now.” As Marta wrapped her in a thick blanket, a new reality took hold. This was to be her life. Relying on another for her most basic needs at the end of a day when fatigue of mind, body and soul overwhelmed her.

Still, it was not without gratitude that Josephine allowed Marta to tuck her into bed.

Warm... Josephine was finally warm.

“Do you need anything else before I take myself off to bed?”

“You may go.”

Marta touched her arm. An intimacy Josephine would have never allowed in the past. Tonight, she let the housekeeper’s touch bring her comfort. “Sleep well, Josephine.”

“You too, Marta.”

At last, the other woman left her alone.

Despite her fatigue, sleep eluded her. She stared up at the ceiling, feeling alone, abandoned, with only the empty hours between yesterday and tomorrow for company. The weight of her failing mind brought tears to her eyes. She needed to keep her wits, but dejection crept across her thoughts like a reproachful ghost.

The whispers began again, calling her home to Glory. Josephine could not give in. The Nazis were coming. No, they were already here. In her house. The German with a taste for vintage champagne and a boastful air that could prove useful over time.

An idea began to form in her scattered brain, clearing away much of the mustiness. She would fight her oppressor. To remain passive was to invite extinction. There were things she could do, things only a woman dismissed as feeble of mind and body could accomplish. Her frailty could work in her favor. Or against her.

She must prepare for both eventualities.

Yes, she would prepare. She’d experienced war and its tragedy before. And had found a way to fight back. She would do her part again. While the enemy slept, she would begin. There was much to be done before the sun rose.

Josephine climbed out of bed and went to work.