Page 38 of The Widows of Champagne

Josephine

J osephine was in her room, lying on her bed, staring at the cracked plaster above her head, enduring the endless stretch of silence between waking, dressing and Gabrielle’s return from the police station.

Worry seared in her throat, but she kept her eyes on the ceiling. Kept trying to piece together the events of the past two weeks. There was something important she was supposed to remember. A moment, a thought, a quiet act of valor.

The answer was in her memory.

Her mind refused to cooperate.

The darkness that had once been only a nagging presence now bled into every thought, every image, sweet and velvety, more comfort than concern. The sound of hushed female voices filled her head. She thought she heard her name. She couldn’t find the energy to respond.

The voices changed, becoming more urgent, more agitated. When she heard the unmistakable sobbing from her granddaughter, she flew off the bed and fought her way across the room, pushing aside the foggy thoughts crowding her brain. She found Marta hovering over Paulette, who sat on the floor, hunched over, her arms hugging her knees to her chest, her lips flat, tears pouring from her eyes.

Josephine dropped to the floor beside the girl, gathered her into her arms and began stroking her hair. “Here, now, what’s all this?”

“Oh, Grandmère.” Paulette looked up at her, her eyes pools of anguish, her whole body shaking. “They’ve taken Maman away. They’re going to send her to her death, I just know it. Then, what will become of us?”

In that moment, Josephine felt as though someone had slapped her awake. Everything was clear. The smell of Paulette’s freshly washed hair, the scent of soap and shampoo, the chill in the air. The radiator against the wall useless without fuel. The terror in her granddaughter’s voice. “Your mother has only been taken in for questioning.”

“By the Gestapo,” the girl wailed. “They know she’s a Jew. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

“The Gestapo is a police unit, Paulette. They investigate crimes. Right now, they believe something has happened to Hauptmann von Schmidt.”

That, also, was clear in Josephine’s mind.

The German wasn’t, as she’d suspected, sitting behind some desk in Paris, smug and well rewarded for his loyalty to the Third Reich.

Where was he, then? Josephine’s mind spun with possibilities. An extended vacation he’d failed to report to his superiors, a missed train, a case of the flu. Foul play. Death. That last possibility seemed unlikely. Except, in her gut, she thought it was more than likely. “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”

“Do you think Maman did something to Hauptmann von Schmidt?”

“Your mother is not capable of harming another person.” Or rather, she hadn’t been capable before the enemy moved into their home and demanded she warm his bed. Josephine had witnessed Hélène’s transformation. The confident, elegant woman had become tense and watchful, her quiet fury bubbling just below the surface. “She did not hurt the German.”

“Will that matter? She’s committed other crimes.”

“What other crimes?”

Paulette shuddered so hard Josephine felt it in her bones. “She has lied about her name. If the Gestapo discover she falsified her papers. If they find out that she—”

“Hush, now. I mean it. Your mother is a LeBlanc. Our name will keep her safe.” Josephine knew that wasn’t true.

And so, too, it would seem, did Paulette. “We have to do something, Grandmère. We have to protect her or we will all be doomed.”

“Your sister is already working on the problem.”

“What can Gabrielle do?”

What, indeed? Once the Gestapo involved itself in a matter, a miscarriage of justice was sure to follow. Josephine was powerless all over again—as powerless as she’d been when Antoine had collapsed in the vineyard. When her beloved son had succumbed to his unseen wounds left from another war.

She wanted to climb into the dark shadows that awaited in her mind. She was not that much of a coward. She called on the Lord, praying for His divine deliverance. “We have to trust your sister will do everything she can to save your mother.”

Paulette said nothing, staring at the floor. The tears continued streaming down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook. Josephine looked to Marta. “She needs tea.”

“I will see to it at once.” The housekeeper closed the door behind her.

“My bones are too old for this floor. Help me up, Paulette.”

She watched the girl rise, her skin pale and gray. Then reach out a hand. “I will go to Friedrich. He will help Maman.”

Friedrich. Friedrich. That name, Josephine thought as she struggled to her feet, it belonged to a man she knew. A very bad man. “You were supposed to end that romance.”

Paulette bit her lip. “I did end it.”

The girl was lying. There was not a whisper of doubt in Josephine’s mind. She had a glimmer of a response to warn her granddaughter from this course. The argument was so clear. The words were on her tongue. And then, they were gone.

“Don’t worry, Grandmère. I know how to save Maman.” Paulette aimed her body toward the door, then slipped out of the room.

Josephine let her go, sensing she should stop her. But not sure why.

She needed to think. Organize her thoughts. Someone—a man—a fiend—had gone missing. No, not missing. Another ending. Guilt, it suddenly filled her until she was choking from the sensation. She took the emotion and turned it into resolve. She would remember. She wouldn’t let the thought fade. She closed her eyes a moment, let her bottom lip go soft and reached for the memory. Reaching...reaching...

The darkness came quickly, spreading like flame to paper, and she let it swallow her whole. It was easy to bask in the silence that followed. Soothing, pleasant. Infuriating.

She placed her fingertips to her eyes, pressing hard. No use, she thought, dropping her hands. Her mind was blank again. There was a minor scuffle out in the hallway. The furious female voices forced open her eyes. She tilted her head, listening.

Footsteps pounding, coming closer, the door swinging open, Gabrielle standing on the threshold. “Where is Paulette going in such a hurry?”

“I... Paulette?” Confusion blistered her throat, her mind. “Has the baby gone missing?”

“Oh, Grandmère.” Gabrielle’s shoulders slumped, then she glanced to the heavens. “Please, Lord. Please, not now.”

Josephine heard her granddaughter’s frustration, her fear. “The baby? Is she ill?”

“She’s fine.” Again, the frustration. Now peppered with impatience. Then, a snap of her shoulders. “I need to see your journal.”

Darkness and silence, they filled her mind, rolled around in her brain. Darkness and silence. “I don’t keep a journal.”

“Oh, but you do.”

In the next moment, Gabrielle was on her knees, tossing aside the rug that lay in the middle of the room, slipping her hands over the floorboards.

“What are you doing on the floor, dear?”

Her granddaughter didn’t answer. She pushed and tugged at a wooden slat. Her fingers were clumsy, slick with sweat, trembling. Her face had gone unnaturally pale, but her eyes burned with determination. At last, she worked one of the planks free. A low, strangled hiss escaped her lips. “It’s not here.”

Josephine peered into the shallow crevice, seeing nothing but wood shavings and dust. What had her granddaughter hoped to find hidden in the floor?

Gabrielle jumped to her feet. Hands planted on her hips, her eyes darting around the room. She made a choking sound in her throat. “Where did you put it?”

“Put what, dear?” The fog in her mind was growing thicker. She rubbed at her temples. The darkness crept over her thoughts. She wanted to succumb. Oh, how she wanted to take refuge in the blessed nothingness that called.

But Gabrielle was speaking to her, at her, asking her questions. One, and then another. The words came at her too fast. Josephine couldn’t keep up. She shook her head, forcing aside her confusion. “Does Marta know? Grandmère, does she know where you keep it?”

“Do I know where she keeps what?”

Gabrielle whirled around, the slab of wood still clasped in her hand. “My grandmother’s journal. I need to know where she hides it.”

The housekeeper swallowed, her nervousness plain as she caught Josephine’s eye.

Josephine didn’t know what to tell the other woman, except the one thing she knew to be true. “You may trust Gabrielle with my secrets.”