Two Crosses (20 page)

Gabriella thought for a moment. “No, I’m not. Mother watched me grieve, and she told me and my sisters that it was okay to be mad. I could read in her eyes that she felt anger too. So senseless! In America Ericka would have had the penicillin!

“But little by little, Mother said, we had to forgive—that anger is a wound that festers and rots and turns to bitterness unless we let it go.” Gabriella looked up at David. “She said forgiveness is freedom. It’s not so much for those I’m angry at, as for myself. If I don’t forgive, I will live forever with the hatred until it destroys me.”

“And so you forgave, and everything was fine?” His voice held sarcasm.

She was suddenly afraid of his question. “I didn’t say it was easy.”

“You’re wrong, Gabriella. You and your mother are wrong. Forgiveness is not power or strength. It’s weakness. It’s kneeling before the enemy and forgetting. I don’t want to forget. The memory of their evil spurs me on! To forgive is to relinquish, and I will never do that. I will win my private war.”

Gabriella heard the doors from the basement of the parsonage squeak open and the sound of twenty-five children spilling out into the courtyard. She jumped to her feet and quickly went to the window.

“I have to go,” she said. “Good-bye, David.” As she pronounced those words, she felt the distance of an ocean between them, and she rushed out of the room and into the courtyard, chilled by his icy stare and the whipping mistral.

Ophélie sat on a lower bunk in the dormitory.
“Un, deux, trois, quatre …”
There were eight bunks. That made sixteen beds. And this bed belonged to her. The old nun called Mother Griolet had said so.

The first night, Ophélie had barely slept. She woke up three times screaming “Mama!” with the sound of gunshots in her ears. Sister Isabelle had come rushing in.

The second day was different. The woman with the long red hair had taken her to the beach. And she wore Papy’s cross. Ophélie smiled to think of it. She was a pretty lady, and she smiled a lot. And she had understood that Mama was not bad.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, Ophélie felt safe. The tall man who had rescued her had disappeared, but everyone else was very friendly. Friendly with a sad, pitiful look in their eyes.

But that did not matter. The red-haired lady who wore the cross had told her that her mama was a wonderful woman to have such a good girl.

Ophélie hugged her knees to her chest and smiled again. She heard the sound of the other children’s voices laughing in the courtyard. She didn’t know where she was, but it was a good place to be, she was sure. A place where adults were kind and children laughed. And best of all, there was school! Today she had gone to school!

Ophélie recalled the old nun’s words when she had whispered that she did not know how to read.
Ah, Ophélie! Reading! It is a gift. You’re a bright child. We will have you reading in no time at all!

Ophélie took the blue bag out from under her pillow. She could not leave it there because the Sisters changed the sheets every week. This was important for cleanliness, Mother Griolet had explained. No, they might take off the pillowcase and find the bag.

But now she had a little chest of drawers all to herself. It sat at the head of her bed. When she opened the drawers the first day, she couldn’t believe what she saw. Two long-sleeved white blouses, two black wool skirts, and a bright-pink sweater in the first drawer. And more treasures in the second: five pairs of white underwear. On one pair there was even lace! And two pairs of tights. The warm wool kind. Also a robe and a warm flannel nightgown and slippers.

She liked looking in the bottom drawer the best. Inside was a pink plastic brush and comb. All her own! And two sets of pink barrettes for her hair. But the last treasure she found had made her cry with joy. A doll with black hair that reached to her waist and fancy little eyes that opened and closed when she was rocked. And wearing a pretty blue dress.

The old nun had explained that the clothes were not new, nor the brush and comb, nor the doll. Kind people gave these things to the orphanage. But Ophélie did not care. These were her treasures! Hers! She wished she could tell her mama.

It is a miracle, Mama! I have a doll of my own. And lots of little girls to play with. And, Mama, very soon I will know how to read.

Ophélie pulled the pair of blue tights out of the second drawer. Carefully she slid the blue bag down into one of the legs. Then she placed the tights back in their place, beside the white ones and the frilly panties.

I will be safe here, Mama. Don’t worry. I will stay right here until you come to get me.

Mother Griolet watched the children playing in the courtyard from her chair behind the old mahogany desk. Through the closed windows, the muffled noise of their laughter rose like a faint melody, reaching into her office. Little Ophélie stepped from the dormitory into the sunlight. She stood on the edge of the grass, hesitating before she ran out to join the other children.

“This little one is a mystery to me, Lord. Oh, I know You know her well. She is one of Your precious sparrows. But, Lord, You understand that there are certain papers I must have. Certain regulations for the orphanage.” She leaned back in her chair. “Yes, I know. They are warm. They are fed. They are happy. You have always provided.”

Hakim stood off alone leaning against the far wall of the courtyard. He was taller than the other children, his skin darker.

“This one too, Lord. I am counting on You for the next step. I will wait. That is one thing You have taught me over the years. Your timing is best.”

She reached down, pulled out the bottom desk drawer, and lifted out a faded photograph of Rebecca Madison standing beside her, with all the children. “And one more thing, Lord. Dear Gabriella. You know she wears her mother’s cross. I find it a bit ironic, don’t You? And confusing? But nothing is too difficult for You. You see all: the past, the present, the future. Please prepare me for the next step. That is all I need or care to know.”

Settling back in the big chair, she held the old photograph in her hands for another minute. Then she closed her eyes and began a soft chant that flowed from her lips with the ease of years of repetition. Yet the emotion in her voice testified to her assurance as she prayed, “Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us. Unto Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end. Amen.”

Rachid waited until the middle of the night to trace his way through the maze of streets in the Casbah. At last he could make the lovely pied-noir talk. He had such an effective way with women!

Ali was angry now. Emile had let the girl get away, then he too had disappeared. But Rachid could not disappear. Ali would find him in Algiers. So he must make the woman talk. He was ready to watch Anne-Marie Duchemin squirm and scream.

He let himself into the tiny brick basement that smelled of mold and sewage. For almost a month the two hostages had been locked in this room with no facilities and no light except for the small barred windows at the top of the walls. He laughed at how easy his task would be. Bread and water and filth for a month. They would talk.

He entered the room where Moustafa and Anne-Marie lay sleeping on the two thin mattresses. He knelt beside Anne-Marie and softly brushed her hair with his fingers. She reached for his hand in her sleep, then woke with a start and screamed, sitting up quickly.

“Now my dear, why do you scream? I am only feeling your hair. It is so nice to the touch.” He moved closer, pressing his body down softly on Anne-Marie’s.

Moustafa awakened to the sound of Anne-Marie screaming. He scrambled to stand up, but before he could get to his feet, Rachid had his gun pointed toward him.

“Sit down, you fool. You do not know a lovely woman when you see one. We have left you here for so long together, and still you have not shown her the tenderness she deserves?” He laughed. “If you cannot show it, then I shall. I am very convincing.”

“Leave her alone! She’s very sick, this woman. You cannot bring her anything for her cough? It drives me crazy. She will die here, and then this place will reek even more!” Moustafa searched desperately for a way to divert Rachid. He was weak from hunger, and his head spun. “What do you want anyway, Rachid? You have not asked anything of us yet.”

Rachid turned away from Anne-Marie for a moment. “It has not been necessary. You see, we have found your daughter.”

Anne-Marie gasped.

“Yes, and the old shopkeeper. It’s a pity the old man wasn’t more helpful. But your daughter … yes! She too coughs a lot, our friend tells us.”

“Where is Ophélie? You have not hurt her?”

“Do not worry so, Anne-Marie. She’s a very cooperative child. She does, after all, have the information.” He watched for the mother’s reaction.

Anne-Marie said nothing.

“So you see, we have no need of either of you.” He toyed with the gun. “Unless there is something else you wish to tell us. Something that could help Ali in his mission?”

Anne-Marie turned to Moustafa, her eyes filled with fear. He shot her an angry look.

“Yes, Rachid. I think Anne-Marie has some very vital information for Ali. It would be a pity to kill her now. I have discovered several things she knows. As you say, it pays to be tender.” He met Rachid’s eyes and smiled. “She trusts too much, this woman. Tell Ali that she will meet with him. With all of the men together.”

Rachid struck Moustafa hard across the face. “Idiot! You will never leave here alive. You tell me now, woman, or I will kill your tender friend.” He held the gun to Moustafa’s head.