Page 44 of The Widows of Champagne

Hélène

S omeone was calling her.

She heard it again.

“Maman.” Hélène bolted upright.

At the sight of Gabrielle’s drawn face, the breath went out of her in a slow, painful exhalation. She felt surprise, shock even, that her daughter stood on the opposite side of the jail cell. She hadn’t been arrested, then. And, despite the events earlier in the day, Paulette hadn’t been arrested, either.

Both her daughters were safe.

Hélène wanted to sing praise to the Lord, to show her faith in worship. She’d heard Detective Mueller quote the Nuremberg Laws earlier, the ones that condemned Hélène for being a Mischling of the first degree who’d attended synagogue with her father. The same laws also pardoned her daughters because of their diluted blood. Part of her knew only bliss—Gabrielle and Paulette were safe—but part of her knew great sadness. Gabrielle was here to say goodbye.

She would accept this unexpected gift. And return it with one of her own, words that should have been said years ago. “You are the daughter I never deserved, but the one who brings me the greatest joy. Live well, ma fille . Love hard. And always let the Lord be your guide and your light.”

With a grief-stricken cry, Gabrielle reached through the bars and enfolded their hands. It was then that Hélène noticed the scarf around her daughter’s neck. It was a nice touch that highlighted her gray-green eyes. Now was not a time to discuss fashion.

They didn’t speak of von Schmidt’s disappearance. They didn’t speak of the labor camps or the fate of a woman with Jewish blood in her veins or why the police station was empty but for a single guard from the French police. They spoke only of the man they both loved. “Your father would be proud of the woman you’ve become.”

“I miss him, still,” she whispered, her eyes bright with the tears she fought valiantly to hold at bay. “I will miss you, I think, even more.”

Hélène’s heart ached at the knowledge that Gabrielle knew her flaws, knew the sins she’d committed, and still gave her no condemnation. She had to bite the inside of her lip then, to stop herself from breaking. “You cannot know how honored I am to call you my daughter and how very much I love you.”

“I love you, too, Maman.” The voice came at her like a dream, just a little hazy, a little distant. “You will survive this.”

She knew she wouldn’t. There was no more fight left in her. Sighing softly, she pulled her hands away, reached up to touch her daughter’s cheek. “I have one final request.”

“Whatever it is,” Gabrielle said, “ask. I will do it.”

“Send Paulette to Paris, to my friend Mademoiselle Ballard.” The obscure yet talented fashion designer had been one of Hélène’s closest friends, and far too mercenary to shut down her atelier during the war. “She will employ the girl in her shop and teach her skills that will serve her after the war.”

“Why do you protect her still?” Gabrielle asked, a chill in her voice. “When she is the reason you are locked in this cage?”

“It is as much my fault as it is hers. I told her my secret. That was my mistake.”

“Why, Maman? Why did you tell her?”

Hélène had asked herself the same question many times today. The answer never changed. “I had hoped she would understand the reason she needed to end her liaison with Lieutenant Weber. She did not break off the affair.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Unsure how to interpret Gabrielle’s tone, Hélène told her how Paulette had turned to her beau. “She thought he loved her enough to help me. She made a terrible mistake trusting him.”

Despite her momentary recoiling, and the look of judgment that filled her eyes, Gabrielle merely nodded.

Hélène thought about how broken Paulette had been, sitting beside her in this cell. The remorse in her posture, in her words—they had been real. Would her shame be enough to change a lifetime of selfish regard for no one but herself? “She cannot stay in Reims. Detective Mueller let her go because of her French blood. By definition, she is not a Jew. The laws protect her, both of you, but the lieutenant may press the issue of your complicity in my lies.”

Breaking eye contact, Gabrielle lowered her head, took a ragged breath but said nothing.

“You will see to this matter for me?” Hélène asked. “You will contact my friend and make the arrangements for your sister’s departure from Reims?”

“I will.”

“Bien.” Hélène gave her daughter the details she would need to make the arrangements.

No words were exchanged for several seconds after she finished. Hélène felt Gabrielle’s sorrow, saw it in the tears gathering in her eyes. This truly was goodbye.

She knew that now, accepted it.

She’d imagined the end of her life would be harder to face. All she felt was relief. No more lies. She didn’t have to run from herself anymore. She reached for her daughter’s hands again. “Take comfort in knowing I did what I did to protect you and your sister. For that, I have no regret.”

There was no time to say more. The guard came and tried to take Gabrielle away. She refused to let go of Hélène’s hands. Hélène held on as well. With a snort of impatience, he snatched at their fingers, prying them apart with brute force.

He dragged Gabrielle away.

“Maman.” She reached to Hélène.

Hélène reached to her, seeing the beloved child she’d borne in that tortured, twisted face of grief. The perfect little baby that had slept through the night almost from the start.

And then, the room was empty, her hand still reaching for Gabrielle. The sound of muttered, angry voices mingled with her own heavy breathing.

Alone now, she let out a choked sound, half gasp, half cry. There would be no escape, no salvation for her body, only her soul. Her legs gave way, and she fell to the cot, landing with a thud. She tipped to her side. There was a shuffle of fabric as she shifted and laid down her head. She tried to heave herself up, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her teeth chattered.

She lay there for hours, praying for mercy until the fat full moon was high in the sky.

The voices sounded again, closer this time. Her name. Spoken in guttural German. Then, “You will come with me, now.”

She looked into the eyes of Detective Mueller. Thin blue slits filled with purpose. He led her outside, to the back of the building. Cold air slapped her face, an angry, icy draft.

It is finished.