The French War Bride (25 page)

October 1945

I
put the baby in a pink dress with white smocking, and tied a pink bow in her hair. I put her in a secondhand boiled wool coat. She looked adorable—and then, on the Métro, she had a horribly malodorous diaper explosion. I had a terrible time figuring out where I could change her—it was too cold to go to a park. I finally disembarked near a department store and changed her in the ladies' room. I debated what to do with the diaper; I couldn't really afford to just throw it away, but neither could I afford to meet the man whom I hoped would change my life smelling of poo. I decided to sacrifice the diaper, and tossed it in the trash.

I got back on the Métro and rode it all the way to Neuilly-sur-Seine. Elise was fussy, so I put the rubber nipple in her mouth and let her suckle herself to sleep. She was heavy in my arms.

I was wearing a rose-colored dress—one of Yvette's that I had cut down to fit me—and I had on my winter coat, as well. I wore a little rose hat at a saucy angle.

I entered the 365th army hospital—it had been the American Hospital of Paris before the U.S. Army took it over—and went to the information desk, which was manned by two women wearing army uniforms, complete with smart little pointed caps. “Excuse me,” I said in French, thinking I should keep my ability to speak English under wraps. A farm girl from
Normandy was unlikely speak a foreign language. “I am looking for Dr. Jack O'Connor.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. I—I want to see him for a personal reason.”

“Don't we all,” sighed the second woman in the military uniform.

The one who was helping me shot her a sidelong smile. “May I tell him your name?”

“Yes, of course.” I had thought long and hard about this. There was no reason, I'd decided, not to give him my real name. It would certainly simplify a passport or visa. “Amélie Michaud.”

“And may I tell him the reason for your visit?”

“Yes. Please tell him that I am the fiancée of Doug Claiborne of Whitefish, Montana.”

She asked me to wait. The fact I had a baby made the other woman at the desk smile at me. I smiled back. At length, the first woman told me to go to a waiting room at the end of the hall on the second floor.

I went upstairs and took a seat. After a several minutes, a nurse came and escorted me into an office with a metal desk and two chairs opposite it. I sat down. My stomach was a hard knot of nerves.

After a few moments, the door opened. A young man with black hair and blue eyes walked in, wearing a heavily starched, immaculately white coat. “Mademoiselle Michaud?”

I rose to my feet, holding the sleeping Elise. “Yes.”

“Bonjour. I am Jack O'Connor.”

I was practically struck dumb. I had not seen him in the confessional; I had only heard his voice. I was unprepared for him to be so tall, or so good-looking. He was movie-star handsome—the kind of handsome that is universal, that anyone from any country would find handsome—and yet he was distinctly American. He had a wide American smile, and his eyes were kind. I could tell he had bad news to tell me and that it troubled him greatly to do so.

He held out his hand. I lifted one from around Elise and gave him a handshake—something Frenchwomen normally do not do. His hand
completely engulfed mine in a firm hold, and he pumped my arm two times. So strange, these American customs!

He sat down beside me in the other chair in front of his desk. “I understand that you knew Doug Claiborne.” Oh, there was something so sexy about a man speaking French with an American accent! He spoke it much better than most Americans I had met.

“Yes. We . . . he . . .” I looked down. I suddenly felt very shy in front of this man, and terrified about what I was about to do. “We were in love. Elise is his child.”

“I see,” he said. “She is very beautiful.”

“Yes, she is, isn't she?” I had not yet grasped all that it meant to pretend that Elise was my child. As soon as the words left my mouth, it occurred to me that from a mother, they sounded, well, boastful. “I mean, thank you.”

Flustered, I rushed ahead. “Doug mentioned you in a letter. He said he was serving with you and he spoke very highly of you. I figured that if anyone could tell me anything about Doug, it would be you. I do not know what happened to him, and I have tried to find out for a very long time. Many calls to many army personnel . . .”

He nodded somberly. “It's hard to get information through the army's bureaucracy in peacetime, much less in times of war. It's even harder if you don't speak English.”

He was more sympathetic than I had dared hope. “Yes. The concierge at the hotel where I work—she speaks English and she knew someone with the Medical Corps. He looked up your posting, so here I am.”

His eyes were somber. “I see.”

I leaned forward. “M. O'Connor, I lost my family, my home—everything, really—in the war. Doug's baby—she is all I have. I am now living and working in Paris, but it is extremely hard, as an unmarried mother.”

“I imagine it is.”

“So, can you tell me . . . where is Doug? We were going to be married.” I brushed my suddenly wet cheek.

The tears weren't an act; in talking to him, I felt my own loss and desperation. The loss of Yvette was a still-bleeding wound, and tears were always near my eyes. The circumstances I was relating were different,
yes, but the story of a young woman alone with a baby, a woman who had lost all her family and the man she loved . . . it was my story, too.

Jack's eyes were full of bad news and empathy. His Adam's apple moved. “I am afraid I have something difficult to tell you.”

I drew a deep breath.

“Doug is gone.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. “Are you sure?”

He solemnly nodded. “I was with him when he died. He was very brave. He had gotten separated from his platoon . . .”

“Yes,” I broke in. “We hid him at our farmhouse, my parents and I.”

“For how long?” he asked.

I felt as though I were stepping in a minefield. Did he know the answer? I did not. If he did not, what would make the most sense? Too brief a time, I would look like a loose woman. Too much time, it might not seem believable. “Well, it was just a short while, but it felt like longer.”

He nodded. “Under tense circumstances, people bond very quickly.”

I nodded, grateful.

“When he showed up at the evacuation hospital, he said his life had been saved by a French family. He intended to rejoin his platoon, but they'd headed in another direction while he stayed behind to tend a dying soldier.”

“Oui,” I said, although this, of course, was new information to me. “He was so devoted to his fellow soldiers. So very kind.”

“Yes. He was.”

“So . . . how did he end up with you?”

He looked at me strangely. “Your friends with the Resistance brought him to the Sainte-Mère-Église evacuation hospital.”

“Oh, right, right,” I said. Oh, la—I couldn't afford to make a mistake. I needed to memorize the information in case I needed it in the future. Sainte-Mère-Église, Sainte-Mère-Église. I wiped my eyes. “I meant how did you first meet him?”

“Oh. At the mess tent, the morning after he'd arrived. He went right to work that day. Did your friends make it back okay?”

Oh, my—so many things I did not know! I hedged my bets. “Not all of them.”

“Hell.” Jack blew out a hard sigh. “He was worried about an ambush or a mine. He so appreciated being shown the way to the hospital.”

“One of them never returned,” I ventured.

“I am so sorry. Doug worked at the hospital while he waited for transport back to his platoon,” Jack said. “Our commanding officer requested to keep him, because we were shorthanded and Doug was an excellent medic. It still wasn't settled if he was going to stay with us or go back to the front.”

I dabbed my eyes. “How did he die?”

“Doug and I had gone to the edge of the hospital grounds to meet a truck carrying wounded from the front. We'd heard that some of them were barely hanging onto life. A German soldier—I think he was shell-shocked; he didn't walk steadily, and he seemed so surprised to see us—lurched out of the woods. He had a machine gun. He pointed it right at me.”

He stared at the floor, then ran a hand across his jaw. “I think it was my white jacket. It had a medical insignia, and it must have looked like a target. He raised his gun and pointed right at it. And Doug . . .”

I couldn't help it; I burst into a little sob.

“He jumped right in front of me, pushing me to the ground. He pulled out a revolver—it wasn't military issue. He'd said he'd traded his for a smaller one from of one of his Resistance escorts.”

“From one of my friends,” I murmured. “That was so kind of Doug, to give him a better gun.”

“They fired at exactly the same time. The German's gun shot off several rounds. The German fell as Doug collapsed on top of me.”

I put my hand to my mouth, my horror real.

“I scrambled out from under him and immediately checked him over. He had a huge hole in his chest. It was a fatal wound; he could not be saved.”

My tears fell on the baby's hat. My sorrow was genuine.

“He knew he was dying. He asked for a priest so he could give a final confession. He was worried about you. He said . . .”

“What did he say?”

“That he had done wrong by you. That he wanted to marry you.”

“Oh, mon Dieu. Mon Dieu!”

“He cared very much for you.”

“Oh, mon Dieu,” I cried.

His eyes were full of sympathy. “I am so sorry I don't have better news to report.”

“So . . . where is he?”

“His body was shipped home to his parents.”

“To Whitefish, Montana?”

“Yes.”

“So Doug saved your life,” I murmured.

“Yes.”

Tears ran down my face as I gazed at Elise. “So you are alive, and he is not.”

His brow creased. He looked very troubled. “Yes.”

“And his child has no father.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

I sat still for several heartbeats. “Can you help me get to America? My mother's sister and her family live in New York. That is the only family I have left.”

“I will be glad to see what I can do.”

“I am hoping that you will have some influence. I have checked on my own, and there are so many people wanting to go to America that I was told it might take years.” My eyes welled up again. “Things are very harsh here in France, and I hear they may be difficult for many years to come. Doug wanted his child to be raised in America.”

“I will see if I can help. How can I reach you?”

“I do not have a phone. However, I will write down my address.” He handed me a piece of paper and a pen. I handed Elise to him to hold while I wrote. He held her as if she were spun glass and might break at the slightest bump.

“I work as a chambermaid at the Hotel du Chateau, so I can be reached there in an emergency, although they frown on employees getting phone calls. I will write down the name and address of the hotel, as well.”

He nodded and gazed down at Elise. “What do you do with the baby all day?”

“I live with a widow and pay her rent, and she watches the baby for me. But we are three people in a one-bedroom flat, and it is very small. I dare not continue to impose indefinitely.”

“I will check into things, and I will send word.”

I rose. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” He stood as well, then reached in the back pocket of his pants. He pulled out his wallet. “I would like to give you some money.”

“Oh, no. No!” I shook my head. “That would not be proper.”

“I would like to help you. Please.”

“You can best help me if you can find a way—any way at all—to get me and Elise to America.”

He nodded, his eyes somber. “I will do what I can.”

I thanked him and left the hospital, buoyed by the hope that this handsome young doctor could pull some strings. I believed that he had the power to do so. After all, German officers had exercised the power of life and death over us. Surely an American officer—especially one who was a doctor, who was highly educated—could do the same.

1945

I
did not hear from Jack for a week. And then I got a package with wine, cheese, chocolate, and a dozen diapers. It contained a note:
I am still working on your request.

More weeks went by. I received another packet, similar to the first, with the same message:
I am working on your request.

November became December. On Christmas Eve, I heard a knock on the door. I opened it—and there stood Jack O'Connor.

My hand immediately went to my hair, which was in a kerchief. “Oh! Bonsoir,” I said.

He held out two big boxes. “Bonsoir. And Merry Christmas.”

“Oh, my! I—I didn't expect you!”

“I just wanted to drop off a Christmas gift for you and the baby.”

“How—how thoughtful! Come in, come in!”

Nora came out of the kitchen, wiping her hand. She looked at me, and then at Jack, her eyes questioning. I had not told her about my visit to the hospital; she thought the gifts were from a gentleman I had met at work.

“Nora, this is Dr. Jack O'Connor—the man I told you about.” I hoped she would pick up the clue to pretend she knew about him. “And this is my friend, Nora Saurent.”

They exchanged greetings. Nora looked from Jack to me and back again. “It is a pleasure to meet you. You speak excellent French for an American!”

He gave a modest smile. “When I was young, I learned French from a Cajun nanny.”

“Well, you learned very well!” Nora motioned to the small dining table. “We are readying
le réveillon
. We would be delighted if you would join us.”

My heart pounded. If Jack stayed for Christmas Eve dinner, I would die of worry that Nora might inadvertently expose my lies.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Jack said. “I'm on my way to a dinner commitment. I just wanted to drop off the gifts on my way.”

“That is very kind. We are honored to have you here. Let me get you a glass of wine. Sit, sit, both of you.” Nora gestured to the sofa. Jack and I both sat on it, at opposites ends, as Nora bustled into the kitchen.

“Where is the baby?”

“She is asleep. Would you like to see her?”

“Yes.”

I led him into the bedroom. The single bed, the cot where I slept, and the little crib were crowded into the tiny room. I felt embarrassed at how shabby the place looked.

Jack did not seem to notice. He went to the crib and bent down. Elise was sleeping like an angel. He stroked a finger across her forehead. “She is beautiful.”

“Yes. I mean, thank you.”

We went back into the living room and resettled on the sofa. Nora bustled in with two glasses. Jack stood. She handed a glass to Jack and the other to me.

“Won't you join us?” Jack asked.

“Oh, no, no. I best get back to the kitchen. You two visit.” She disappeared around the corner.

I lifted my glass, feeling oddly embarrassed. “Well—
joyeux Nöel
.”

He leaned forward and clinked his glass against mine in that American way. “Joyeux Nöel and
bonne année
!”

“Bonne année,” I repeated, and took a sip.

I watched his lips as he fit them on the glass. He had wonderful lips. I watched the wine slide down his glass. It was hard to pull my eyes away. “Have you any news about a visa?”

“I'm afraid not. I've used every connection I can find. The immigration quotas are very tight, and they favor displaced persons.”

“But I am a displaced person!”

“Yes, I would agree, but the government defines displaced persons as people who were forcibly removed or forced to flee their home countries. You're a Frenchwoman, still in France.”

“Oh.” My spirits sank.

“But.” He set down his glass. “There might be something that will benefit you on the horizon. I understand that Congress is going to pass a War Brides Act in just a few days.”

“A War Brides Act? What is that?”

“It is legislation that will clear the way for the wives and children and possibly the fiancées of American servicemen to come to the United States.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“Yes. Since you have Doug's child, hopefully you will be included.”

I practically vibrated with joy. This was exactly what Yvette would have wanted.

“I assume you have Doug listed as the father on the child's birth certificate?”

My spirits nosedived. “I—I do not have a birth certificate.” My mouth was dry. My palms were suddenly damp. “Elise was delivered by midwife.”

“I see.” He took a sip of wine and looked thoughtful. “Well, I will find out what the requirements are. I should know in a few days.”

“So there is hope.”

“Yes.” He took a sip of wine. “What about you? Do you have identification and a passport?”

“Yes.” Yvette and I had applied for a passport at the local prefecture soon after Paris was liberated.

“That is good. If you didn't, I was going to offer to help you get them.”

“That is kind.”

“Yes, well . . . I wanted to let you know that I am shipping out in January.”

Next month! I had only a few weeks before my only hope of help would be gone.

“I—I see.” I forced a smile. “Do you have family in the United States?” I wondered if this was something I should know. I decided to clear the air on that. “Doug didn't write me about where you were from or your family—just that you were a wonderful doctor, very wise and capable, and how much he admired you.”

His eyes took on a pained look. “I am so sorry Doug is gone.”

“Yes.” I looked down at my lap.

“To answer your question, yes, I have family—my mother, a sister, and a brother-in-law. They all live in a small town in Louisiana called Wedding Tree.
L'arbre du mariage
.”

“How lovely.”

“I also have a fiancée.”

“Oh. I see.” For some reason, this depressed me immensely.

“Her father is a doctor. I plan to go into practice with him.”

“In Wedding Tree?”

“Yes. He is the reason I became a doctor.”

“He must be very special.”

“He is. He cares a great deal about the people he treats. I hope to be as good a doctor as he someday.”

“I am sure you already are.”

“Oh, no. It will take a lifetime of practice.” He took a sip of wine. “Will you open your gift?”

“But I have nothing to give you.”

“Oh, I want nothing from you. But I wanted to give you something.”

“I don't know that is it proper for me to . . .”

“Please,” he interrupted. “I want to do it for Doug.”

“Oh.” My eyes inexplicably filled with tears. I was always on the verge of tears these days. “Oh, that is very kind of you.”

“Here.” He placed a large package on my lap.

I untied the big red bow and opened the box. Inside was a pair of black low-heeled shoes, made of the softest leather. “Oh, these are wonderful!”

“I guessed at your size. If they don't fit, I can exchange them.”

I slid off my wooden-soled shoes and pulled the new ones on. They fit better than any shoes I had worn since I was sixteen—six long years ago.

“They are perfect!” I said.

“I noticed that your shoes looked uncomfortable the other day.”

“Oh.” My face heated. And here I'd thought I was dressed so well. I had painted the soles black, but the sound of wood on the hard floor had no doubt given me away. “Thank you. Thank you very much!”

“Will you open the gift for the baby?”

“Yes, of course.” I opened the other box, and pulled out a pacifier, a blanket, and a little blue dress with buttons shaped like daisies. “Oh, it is so lovely!”

“You like it?”

“It's beautiful!”

Jack looked at his watch, then gazed up, his eyes regretful. “I must be going.”

“Yes. I understand.”

“I will let you know in a week or two if we can get you to America through the War Brides Act.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much. Thanks for me, and on behalf of Elise.”
And, especially, on behalf of Yvette
, I added silently.

“You are welcome.” He looked at me, and his eyes were like the blue part of a flame. “Well, Merry Christmas.”

I leaned in for la bise. His lips brushed one cheek, and then the other. A jolt of electricity shot through me. “Bonsoir,” I murmured.

“À bientôt.”
Until later.
Oh, how I hoped to see him again—and how I feared he would leave for America without helping me. He straightened and walked off into the night, his broad shoulders squared, taking with him all my hopes of fulfilling my promise to Yvette.