Lies Told In Silence (7 page)

Madame Larouche swept her arms left and right at the shelves
lining each wall, stuffed with bolts of fabric. “Soft wools and stiff cottons, a colour for everyone. Chenille, linen. Nothing but the finest Belgian linen. Over there, I have ribbons and lace and a selection of buttons and patterns.”

Grandmere selected bolt after bolt, which Madame Larouche spread across a wide counter, and gradually she and Helene acc
umulated a pile of favourites. While they were engrossed over different shades of blue linen, the bell clanged again, and two women entered the small shop.

“
Bonjour
Madame Dubois, Germaine. I will be with you in a few minutes. Have you met our new citizens, Madame Noisette and her granddaughter, Helene? They are living in the large house next to the Doucet farm.”

Although her mother was big boned and somewhat stout, Germaine was the exact opposite. Her petite frame was accented with dark brown hair that had been gathered into a bun and secured with a black ribbon, and she had such a pale complexion that Helene wondered if the girl ever went outside. Germaine’s full lips smiled.

“I’m sixteen,” she said. “And you?”

“
Moi aussi
,” said Helene.

“Wonderful. We’ll be friends then. Are you sewing a dress for the dance? You must come. There are more boys than girls, so you’ll meet everyone, and they will all want to dance with you. You do dance, don’t you?” Germaine did not wait for a reply. “I live just a few streets away. Maman, Papa, five brothers and me. Will you attend school this fall? Madame Rosnet teaches the older
students. You will like her. Sister Evangeline used to be our teacher but she left Beaufort to be near her mother, who is very ill.” Germaine took a breath and was about to continue when her mother cut in.

“I’m sure that’s enough, Germaine. You don’t want Madame Noisette thinking you are a chatterbox. Helene, we will look forward to seeing you soon. Madame Larouche, don’t rush. Germaine and I will visit the charcuterie and return shortly.”

As they walked towards the door, Germaine turned around and waved. “Remember to visit me, Helene.”

Finally
, Helene thought,
someone my age
.

When Helene and her grandmother left, Helene carried a cloth bag full of their purchases as well as three different dress patterns. After stopping for apple cider and collecting Grandmere’s prescription, they returned home.

“Maman, you must see the wonderful fabrics Grandmere bought for us,” Helene said as they entered the house. “We will be very stylish once we make up some of these patterns. Grandmere has promised to help me with them. Germaine—she’s a girl I met at Madame Larouche’s—Germaine said there’s to be a dance in a few weeks’ time. It won’t be like Paris, but I think this colour would make a lovely new dress. What do you think, Maman?”

Helene draped each fabric across her body, offering opinions about which was most suitable for what style and who would look best in each colour, and soon the salon was littered with fabrics, ribbons, lace, bits of trim and stylish buttons.

Her mother touched a piece of soft wool the colour of rich red wine. “These are lovely, Maman Noisette, and you’ve made Helene smile again. Now, tell me more about Germaine,
chérie
. Do you think you might become friends?”

Chapter 10

July 1914

As soon as Henri and Guy arrived, Lise knew something was wrong. She sensed it in her son’s careful glances and her husband’s forced heartiness. It loomed in Guy’s erect bearing and braced shoulders just as much as it did in the bags under Henri’s eyes. Anxiety took hold of her body, stretc
hing her already frayed nerves.

Wait
, she thought.
Arm yourself with calm.

Exclamations over Henri’s new camera and pictures he had taken of Notre Dame and Sainte-Chapelle were followed by the unwrapping of Marie’s gift to Helene, a leather-bound diary secured by a heart-shaped key. Then Henri produced Helene’s English dictionary, a fishing rod for Jean, a selection of candied fruit for his mother to use when baking and two bottles of perfume for Lise.

“I could not decide which you would prefer,” he said after Lise acknowledged the gift with a brief touch of her cool cheek to his.

“Tell us about the parties you’ve been to, Guy.” Helene tapped her brother on the shoulder.

“Where shall I start?” Guy thrust his hands in his pockets and paced back and forth as if deliberating over a very difficult problem.

“Don’t tease, Guy. Did you really take Marie to a picnic?” Guy nodded. “Tell us about the Belvoir party. You mentioned it in your letter. I’m sure it was wonderful.”

Guy described a dining room decorated with white and purple orchids, gold-rimmed plates, sparkling crystal stemware and shimmering candles, an opera singer who entertained between courses and the ballroom where a twenty-piece band played dance music until two in the morning.

“Tell me who you danced with,” Helene said, a dreamy smile playing on her lips.

“Well . . . several young ladies.” Helene crossed her arms, waiting for her brother to continue. “Andrea Lamothe was one of my partners. She dances very well.”

“What about her dress?”

“Pale grey taffeta, I think, with lace bits at the neckline, matching gloves . . . hmm, pearl earrings. You know I’m not good at this sort of detail.”

“What other parties did you attend?” Helene asked, a flush of pink suffusing her cheeks as she leaned forward.

“Your brother was much in demand this month,” said Henri. “Every week brought another invitation or two. Edouard and Emanuelle Montigny even rented a barge for an evening of cruising the Seine.”

“A barge?” Lise had intended to remain silent, but the thought of her fashionable friends agreeing to set foot on a vessel that normally carried items like coal or building materials or live animals was too much.

“The barge was a surprise, and it wasn’t the slightest bit dirty, Maman,” Guy said. “Vincent told me his mother planned the event for weeks, and none of the guests knew where they were going until they were collected by hired cars. Madame Montigny went so far as to have the entire barge cleaned and painted. The hull was shiny black, but the decks were white, and there were thick carpets everywhere except the dance floor.”

“I’m sure it was wonderful,” Mariele said. “July will no doubt be quieter.”

Lise looked up when her mother-in-law spoke. They had been in Beaufort only a few weeks, but Maman Noisette was turning into a different person. Instead of issuing sighs and disapproving glances, she had become someone who smiled and chatted, engaging both Helene and Jean in conversation, and she had taken charge of the kitchen.

“Indeed it has, Grandmere.” Guy seemed pleased at his gran
dmother’s interruption.

“And you, Henri. Have you been to many parties?” Lise fanned herself and arched her eyebrows.

“You know I don’t like going to parties without you. But Maurice and Adrienne had me to dinner last week, and the English ambassador was there.”

Lise lowered her fan. “Did he have any good news for France?”

When Henri was distressed, he twitched his nose, and Lise noticed that he did so now. “No. Britain keeps waffling. The worst course of action in my mind. Neither making it clear to Germany that she will side with France nor making a decision to remain neutral. But the worst news is the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Diplomatic circles are rife with speculation. And my ministry is working day and night.”

“We’ve been reading all about it. Will diplomacy work?”

Henri stretched a smile across his lips. “I’m sure it will. We’ll talk about it later.”

After hearing about the events of June 28, Lise and Mariele had spent hours talking about the assassination. Five days had passed, and still Austria had not retaliated. Henri would know more. The mention of Germany and the archduke brought Lise back to her primary concern. “Guy, I want to speak with you before dinner. Please come to my bedroom after you put your clothes away.”

A look passed between father and son. Henri shrugged his shoulders.

* * *

Despite keeping the shutters closed all day, her bedroom was stifling, and Lise opened the windows wide to catch an evening breeze. In the distance, a horse-drawn plow plodded back and forth across Monsieur Doucet’s fields, generating a small cloud of dust that lingered like early morning mist, blurring the tranquil scene. Beyond the plow, a flock of birds rose and fell as air currents shifted from day to night.

When a church bell sounded, she stepped back from the wi
ndow and fanned her face once more. Henri’s letters avoided worrying topics, and in her depressed state, she had allowed herself not to dwell on the looming threats facing France. The seclusion of Beaufort meant infrequent access to Paris papers; nonetheless, the papers from Amiens offered many articles covering foreign affairs, and recent headlines had been ominous.

“Tell me why,” Lise said as soon as Guy entered her room.

“Why? Why what?”

Lise snapped her fan against her palm and took a certain grim satisfaction when her son visibly startled
at the sharp, explosive sound.

“Do you think you can fool me? It’s written all over your face. And your father’s. You’ve enlisted. And I want to kno
w why.” Lise kept her voice under tight control.

“I know what you’re thinking, Maman.”

“You do?”

“You think I’m too young to defend my country.” Lise tilted her head but remained silent. “And you want me to go to university in the fall.”

“Why would I think these things?”

Her question seemed to catch Guy off guard, for he was slow to answer. “Because
 . . . because you’re afraid. You’re afraid I might be hurt.”

“Do you think you might be hurt?” Lise forced herself to breathe evenly, in and out, in and out. “Or killed?”

Guy sat a little straighter. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“I see.” She smoothed her skirt. “Have you investigated the statistics? The casualty rates expected from war? I’m sure your Papa can provide them. The War Ministry must be considering that sort of thing.”

The startled look on her son’s face suggested that she had surprised him and that he had not thought to ask his father such questions.

“But if I enlist now, I’ll have better opportunities.”

“Better opportunities!” She threw the words back at him. “What possible opportunity could come from your enlistment? An earlier opportunity to die or to kill men from another country? A better opportunity to watch the horror unfold? A chance to see your friends disfigured, their lives forever altered? Tell me. What opportunity, Guy?”

Lise sank onto her chair as her
fury collapsed and tears began.

“Don’t cry, Maman. I can’t bear to see you cry. I promise I’ll be careful.” Guy knelt beside his mother and laid his cheek against hers.

Her heart crumbled at his glib little-boy promise. Careful. There was nothing careful about war.

* * *

During dinner, Helene, Jean and Mariele kept up a steady stream of questions and relayed stories about Beaufort. Concerned for his wife and son, Henri responded with only half his mind; from Guy’s subdued behaviour and Lise’s puffy face, he knew their conversation had been difficult. After dinner, he found her in the garden, where vivid orange pierced the clouds shrouding the horizon and stars began to claim the night sky one by one.

“You must have had a difficult conversation with our son,” he said, noting her pale skin and drawn face.

“You promised, Henri. You promised that Guy would return to school this year.”

“I know. But he’s so determined. I told him he had to talk to you before I would sign his enlistment papers.”

“And what can I do to stop him now? He knows he has your support.”

“How would you have preferred me to handle it? Do you want him thinking that his father doesn’t support him? Would that have been better? At nineteen he can enlist with or without our
blessing.” Fear tipped his voice into frustration.

“Blessing! There’s no such thing as a mother giving her blessing to a son who might soon go off to war. I may not be in Paris, but we hear plenty of rumours even in Beaufort. You’ve made it too easy for him.”

“I know you’re afraid. Don’t you think I’m afraid too?” Henri dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his heel. “I know too much to be anything but afraid for our son. It’s no longer a case of whether war will occur. Only a case of when.”

Lise grabbed his arm. “Why are you so certain? Austria hasn’t retaliated. And Serbia has no treaty with us. When the Balkans erupted before, France was not affected.”

“This time, it’s different.” Henri patiently explained the complex and delicate balance of relationships. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the War Ministry is exploring many scenarios and none of them assume peace.”

Tears spilled down his wife’s cheeks. He put his arms around her, and for the first time in months, she did not withdraw from his touch but instead laid her face on his shoulder, shaking with sobs.

“I will do whatever I can to keep him safe, Lise. You know that, don’t you?” She nodded, her head still buried against his chest.

“I was furious with him. I said things . . .”

He stroked her hair, twisting a curl around his finger. “I told him he would have to face your tears. Regardless of what you said, he knows you love him, but he also needs to know that you believe in him. Doubt is the enemy of good soldiering and effective officers. You and I must not be the source of his doubt.” She nodded again. “Shall we go and talk to him?” he said.

“Give me a few minutes. I don’t want him to see me in tears again.”

When Lise drew out of Henri’s embrace, she touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers before dabbing her eyes with a small blue handkerchief. She looked haggard and thin, like someone suffering a grave illness, and he wanted to hold her until the look of fear disappeared. Henri wondered if Guy’s enlistment would be her undoing or whether she would find strength for what was to come.

* * *

Helene was puzzled, for surely Maman had been crying, and Guy, normally so lively, had been silent throughout dinner. Now that she thought about it, Papa was also acting strange. Seeing her grandmother on the porch knitting, Helene emerged from the house and chose a wicker stool a few steps away. The slow beat of a croaking frog and brisk rustle of an animal darting through the bushes were the only sounds.

“Grandmere, what do you think Maman and Papa are talking to Guy about?”

“I’m not sure your parents would want me to tell you. They might think you aren’t old enough to know.”

Helene frowned at her grandmother’s serious tone.
Old enough to know what?
she wondered. “I’m sixteen, Grandmere. I don’t need to be treated like a child.”

Her grandmother rolled her knitting into a small bundle. “I’m sure it has something to do with war,” she said. “I suspect Guy has enlisted.”

“Enlisted?” Helene covered her mouth with one hand. “But he promised Maman he would return to school in the fall.”

“Yes, he did. My brother, Robert, made a similar promise. But he enlisted anyway. He was twenty-one. A tall man with a burly chest and the heartiest laugh in the world. He could charm just about anyone. I remember how gallant he looked in his dark blue uniform and red sash when we watched him march proudly out of Paris. I can still hear the boots stomping in unison as thousands swept by our apartment.” Her grandmother touched the bundle on her lap, winding and unwinding a long strand of wool. “He survived Sedan, Villeneuve and Chevilly, where Prussian forces defeated us. But he did not survive the bombing of Paris. My mother cried for weeks when they brought his body home.”

Suddenly the presence of war was very real. Guy might suffer the same fate as her great-uncle. A shiver ran down Helene’s back.

“How terrible, Grandmere. I’m sorry, I didn’t know about your brother.”

Her grandmother took a deep breath. “You and I will need to be strong for your Maman. Our tears will not help her. Can you do that?”

Helene pressed her hands to her face then sat up straight. “Yes, Grandmere.”

* * *

“Time we went to bed,” said Henri yawning. “Are you co
ming?”

Lise put her book aside and followed Henri up the stairs. Her husband opened the bedroom door and stepped aside for her to enter. Lise wondered whether he would say anything about the décor, which she had altered from plumply ornate to simple white cottons and lace and serene country scenes. On a pedestal table beside the bed was Henri’s picture, taken while on holiday several years ago, and a small stack of books.