Two Crosses (14 page)

Gabriella’s heart was thumping like a bass drum. She longed to gently close her fingers around his strong hand, but she didn’t dare. For a brief moment she imagined his lips brushing hers. Then she shivered. “I don’t know, David.”

“You needn’t worry about the arrangements. You’d be staying with a friend of mine. She’s very nice and would love to meet you.”

So that was it. He was going to Aix to see a woman.

“Why in the world do you want me to come?” She had not meant to blurt the question out loud, but the damage was done.

David laughed and removed his hand from hers, the spell broken. “I for one would be bored to death if I had to spend every weekend in this silent town. It’s a chance to see a little more of this great country. I guarantee you’ll love it.”

“I was just reading here what John Donne has to say about our all needing each other to make one big happy family. You know: ‘No man is an island.’ So sure, I’ll go, just so you won’t be alone.” A hint of a smile crept upon her lips.

“I’m not sure you’ve interpreted Mr. Donne correctly, Gabby,” said David. “Nonetheless, if he has convinced you to come along, I’m delighted. Bring some comfortable clothes. And an appropriate dress for Mass. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss it. My friend will be glad to go along with you.”

“But not you?”

“Me? I wouldn’t be caught dead in a church!” Then he laughed. “Or maybe I should say that’s the
only
condition in which you’d find me there.”

She watched him disappear into the doors of the parsonage and shook her head. So cynical. Yet she laughed aloud, thinking about his last remark.

Gabriella turned off the hallway light, leaving the basement of the parsonage dark. The last child had slipped out the door into the courtyard, where Sister Isabelle was waiting to lead them to the refectory. They marched in single file, stealing glances back, waving and smiling. Gabriella waved too.

She stood there a moment longer, satisfied. Mother Griolet had let her start teaching the orphans, twenty-three children from four to twelve in age. Sometimes she would throw in a detail from one of David’s lectures. Never too soon to introduce the children to history and culture.

She glanced at her watch. Seven o’clock. Just enough time to hobble home and get ready for dinner.
David is coming to dinner.
The thought brought a rush to her heart as she limped back through the hall toward the front stairs.

Then she heard a squeak, like a chair being pulled across the floor. What child was hiding out in the classroom? She was sure she had counted twenty-three leaving for dinner. She turned and reentered the empty classroom and flicked on the light. At first she saw nothing. But then she heard another slight noise. “Who is there?”

A young boy of about fourteen stood up behind a row of desks. He was thin and his skin dark olive. Gabriella knew at once that he was North African.

“May I help you?” she asked softly.

The boy said nothing, but stood trembling before her.

Gabriella tried to calm the fear mounting in her mind.
He’s only a boy. He won’t hurt you.
Still, she suspected he was Algerian, and Algerians and French were not on good terms right now, even in France.

“Do you need something?” she ventured.

He raised his eyes from the floor and stared at her sullenly. Then, quite unexpectedly, he moved toward her, reaching his hand toward her throat.

Instinctively Gabriella backed up, bumping a desk and tripping with her crutches. She scrambled to regain her balance.

The boy observed her silently. Then he reached out again and spoke. “The cross.” A look of understanding was in his eyes.

“Oh,” Gabriella said. “Is that all? You like my cross?” A wave of relief swept over her. This cross was going to cause her to have a heart attack someday.

“You wear the cross. Hugo?”

“Yes, the Huguenot cross.”

“Hugo,” he repeated again.

Gabriella stared at him blankly. “What do you want?”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper, which he held out to her.

Gabriella cautiously took it. Scribbled in one corner was the crude drawing of a Huguenot cross. “Where did you get this? What is it?”

He looked at her again, silent and hopeful.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t understand what you want. Is it my cross?”

There was a sound in the hall, and suddenly Mother Griolet appeared in the room.

“Oh my! Hakim! … Well, yes, Gabriella. I see you’ve met our new arrival.” Mother Griolet looked flustered. “Hakim arrived Thursday. I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to introduce him to you over the weekend.”

“That’s all right. I’m afraid we surprised each other, that’s all.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Come along with me, Hakim. It’s time for dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow, Gabriella. Thank you for letting the children out.”

Gabriella left the classroom and slowly climbed the steps to the ground floor as Mother Griolet turned off the light and hurried Hakim down the hallway and out into the courtyard. What could the old nun be planning to do with an Arab child at St. Joseph?

David placed a stack of neatly folded clothes into the small, hard vinyl suitcase lying open on his bed. He added several books and a map of Paris to the stack before closing the case and latching it. Then he walked across the room and leaned over the small oak desk. His eyes fell on the letter he had received in the mail two days earlier.

Algerians plan peaceful march in Paris on seventeenth. Possible information from E. Torrès. Meet him at Pont Saint-Michel, north side at 21h30.

David folded the paper and put the note inside his wallet. At last, possible information from an FLN informer. Six months of waiting might pay off tomorrow. Six months! Or was it seven years? He did not dwell on the thought.

He set the suitcase by his bed and left the room, locking the door behind him. Paris was a long way off. Meanwhile, dinner awaited at Mme Leclerc’s.

Gabriella heard the doorbell ring at precisely eight o’clock. Mme Leclerc buzzed the front door open, and after a moment there was a light knock on the door.

“Entrez.”
Mme Leclerc invited their guest in with a wide grin on her face. “
Ooh là là
,” she added as David presented her with a bouquet of flowers.
“Merci, Monsieur Hoffmann.”

The three boarders stood obediently behind their landlady, taking in the scene. David looked stunning in his pale yellow Oxford cloth shirt, tweed pants, and leather loafers polished to a sheen.

“
Mademoiselle Thrasher
,” he said softly, as Stephanie approached and smiled. He took her hand and kissed it lightly.

“
Enchantée, Monsieur Hoffmann
,” she stammered.

“Et Mademoiselle Harland.”

Caroline, who was wearing a tight-fitting red dress that set off her blond hair and perfect curves, came forward and lifted her eyebrows.
“Enchantée, Monsieur Hoffmann.”
She offered him her hand, and he kissed it also.

Gabriella felt a tiny pang of jealousy as she noted Caroline’s flirtatious ease. She felt embarrassed to meet David’s eyes.

“Et Mademoiselle Madison.”

Gabriella hobbled forward on her crutches and extended her hand in mock obedience.

Ignoring it completely, David bent down and held her shoulders gently. Then he softly kissed her cheeks, starting and ending with the left one. He whispered, “If I am not mistaken, it is three times on the cheeks in this part of France.”

Gabriella felt light-headed and at a total loss for words. They stood there gazing at each other until Mme Leclerc cleared her throat and Gabriella stuttered, “
Oh, enchantée, Dav … David … Monsieur Hoffmann.
”

Yvette busied herself in her kitchen, humming contentedly. The meal was progressing fabulously, and M. Hoffmann was charming. So gracious and smooth and seductive!
Ooh là là!
She could not wait to report every detail to Monique tomorrow.

The first course, avocado halves with shrimp sauce, had been appreciated by everyone. She laughed as she brought the steaming plate of
gratin dauphinois
to the table. Americans always liked her scalloped potatoes. She went back to fetch the green beans in garlic butter and placed the dish before her guests.

One more trip to the kitchen, and she brought out the specialty of the evening: young rabbit cooked in a rich tomato sauce.

“It all looks delicious!” Stephanie exclaimed.

Mme Leclerc busied herself with serving the plates as they were passed to her. She was pleased with the picture, the blend of yellow and red and green. Such a pretty table, with her fine china and the bright colors of the food. Such a perfect evening.

She announced the names of each dish, as was her custom with her American boarders, who often wanted the recipes.

“Tonight we have
gratin dauphinois, haricots à l’ail, et fricassé de lapereau avec tomates fraîches
.” She beamed as the four young people nodded approvingly and the steam rose from their plates.
“Alors, bon appétit!”

For several minutes the conversation stopped as everyone tasted the food that Mme Leclerc had placed before them. David, who had been talking with ease during the first course, stared at his plate with a pained expression on his face. He gingerly ate the potatoes and the green beans, as Stephanie and Caroline questioned him about one of the artists they had been studying in class.