Lies Told In Silence (9 page)

Chapter 12

July 1914

Frowning, Helene walked into the salon
. She was dressed in a floral-patterned skirt and soft white blouse tied at the neck with a flopping bow and held two sheets of paper in her hand.

“Maman, guess what? Marie is moving to England.”

“Why are they doing that?” Her mother laid a wide green ribbon along the binding and closed her book. “Cousin Yvette did not mention moving to England in her last letter.”

“She says her father is taking a post there. That’s strange, don’t you think? Why would they go to England now with so much trouble in Europe? There’s been no hint in her earlier letters. Here, you read it,” she said, thrusting the pages at her mother.

Maman quickly scanned Marie’s looping scrawl and smudges of ink. “Marie’s father is a diplomat, you know. With so much trouble going on, perhaps our government wants some very experienced men in Britain.”

“Oh, Maman. Marie’s my best friend. I’ll never see her.”

“It might only be for a short while. You can still write to her, just like you do now.”

“But it won’t be the same.” Helene’s voice rose in complaint. “She tells me all the gossip.”

“Let’s see what Papa has to say. I’ll ask him in my next letter. Or maybe Cousin Yvette will write.”

Helene slumped onto the sofa and stared out the window.
Life isn’t fair
.
I hate being confined to Beaufort with nothing to do.

“We’ve been here almost two months, Maman. War hasn’t occurred. In fact, the papers say neither Germany nor England want war. Why is Papa so protective?”

“He wants the best for us. Our safety.” Her mother’s calm tone did nothing to soothe Helene.

“How can this be the best? You aren’t happy either. You pretend
to be, but I know you’re not.”

Her mother did not react to Helene’s blunt statements. “No
nsense,” she said. “I’m just a bit lonely and worried about Guy.” She put her book aside. “You and I spend more time together. That’s a blessing.”

* * *

From the kitchen, Mariele heard Lise and Helene talking in low murmurs mixed with occasional laughter. She mused on the gradual contentment enfolding the house as time soothed the sting of separation.
Three generations are learning to appreciate one another
.
We’re pulling together to manage the household, living without the direction of men.
Her candid conversation with Lise had been a turning point and the beginning of friendship.

Mariele was surprised how much she enjoyed the freedom of Beaufort, making decisions on what foods to buy and wines to drink, what vegetables to plant, who to befriend, what clothes to wear, how often to attend church. She chose books to read that Parisian friends might find scandalous and expressed opinions over dinner that she would otherwise have kept to herself.

Her main responsibility now was the kitchen, a domain where Lise had little interest, and Mariele’s experience from her early years of marriage was all they had to draw on. She discovered a love for the simple pleasures of food—tasting to ensure the right blend of flavours, enjoying the bubble and puff of rising dough and fragrant smells of fresh cookies or herbed casseroles.

She thought of food as communion—not the communion of
priests but the communion of thoughts and emotions while savouring the fresh tastes of country living. Freed from the twilight of widowhood and restrictions of Parisian society, her little family in Beaufort gave Mariele purpose.

* * *

“With the world waiting for something to happen, time seems to have slowed to a turtle’s pace,” said Lise, folding the newspaper back to its original order. They were in the kitchen, where Mariele was cooking a batch of jam.

“You’re right, dear,” Mariele said. “And just like a turtle, many are drawing in their heads to avoid reality. When I went into town to get the paper today, Café Pitou was filled with people talking about war, exchanging opinions, regardless of factual foundation. Somebody always knows somebody else with information.”

“Perhaps exchanging opinions, even without the facts, eases anxieties, Maman Noisette. No one I’ve spoken to appears to understand the intricacies of European treaties, let alone remembers the names of all the Balkan states and other parties involved.”

Mariele nodded, a little smile playing on her lips. “Yet various individuals espouse their views to all and sundry as though they are inviolate truths. Today, for example, Monsieur Dalian said Germany would definitely ally with England. Apparently, his brother is an aide to the butcher who serves the German ambass
ador, and he has heard it directly. What nonsense. And from another corner of the room, Madame de la Roche, who sews for Poincaré’s second cousin, said that President Poincaré will prevent war at all cost.”

“It feels like our world is poised on the edge of a precipice, and at any moment, a small incident could tip us over,” Lise said.

As rumours became increasingly wild and ominous, Lise and Mariele had held many whispered conversations while digging in the garden or preparing food or folding sweet-smelling sheets dried to a crisp snap.

“If the Germans head straight for Paris as Henri has predicted, then Beaufort will be safe from har
m. But what if Henri is wrong?”

“Surely the War Ministry has the best intelligence,” Mariele
said as she used tongs to extract a glass jar from the sterilizing pot.

“I’m sure you’re right. But what if the Germans head north from Paris and come through Beaufort? Our coastline would be very attractive. They could attack England across the Channel.”

“The French army will stop them. Didn’t the newspaper say we have four million enlisted troops ready? Of course, they aren’t all in Paris.” Mariele extracted another jar. “Is the jam thick enough now?”

Lise nodded. She stirred the berry mixture with a large ladle and began to spoon jam into each jar. “If I commanded the German troops, I would want to do something unexpected.”

Her mother-in-law chuckled. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. Let’s wait awhile longer before we decide what to do. Nothing has happened yet.”

Lise was reluctant to wait, but her mother-in-law’s calm ce
rtainty eased her fears a fraction. “Nothing except the archduke’s assassination. After we finish with this jam, I’m going to walk into town for the newspaper.”

* * *

Lise was gasping when she burst through the door, the news so dreadful she had run most of the way home. Her hair had tumbled from its usual tidy chignon and matted curls littered her neck and face.

“Austria has declared war on Serbia,” she said to Mariele. “The mayor said that Serbia refused to accept all of Austria’s demands, and so Austria attacked. Poincaré is expecting Russia to mobilize any day and Germany and France to follow almost immediately. I can’t believe it, Maman Noisette. What will happen to Henri and Guy? The Germans will head for Paris.” Lise’s voice edged higher. “Our beautiful Paris. Henri. Henri. Why aren’t we with you? Guy, my darling son. I can’t bear the thought of losing another son. I can’t bear it.”

“Shhh. Shhh. My dear Lise. Steady yourself. Take a deep breath.”

Mariele wrapped her arms around Lise and murmured more soothing phrases, words that meant nothing really but offered momentary comfort. Lise felt protected, pillowed by warmth and certainty, just as she had always imagined a mother’s embrace to be. She wondered how her mother-in-law could find the strength to be so calm.

“I hear the children coming,” Mariele said, loosening her embrace. “Will you be all right?”

Lise nodded. “Thank you, Maman Noisette. I don’t know what came over me.”

“We’ll need each other even more now. I will always be here to help. We will face whatever is coming together.”

Lise squeezed Mariele’s hand.

“What has happened, Maman?” said Jean. “Were you crying?”

Lise took a deep breath and repeated the news as calmly as possible.

“But what about Papa and Guy?” Helene said, her voice quivering.

Lise embraced Helene with one arm and Jean with the other. “I’ll write to your father tonight asking for advice, but a reply will likely take some time. Grandmere and I have been discussing our situation. We feel the best course of action is to wait here in Beaufort until we know more. We’ll be fine. I’m sure we will. And so will Papa and Guy.”

Mariele interlaced her fingers, a calm expression on her face. “Your Maman is right,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll all be fine.”

* * *

By the second of August, Lise’s worst fears came to pass. “France has mobilized,” she said on her return from Beaufort.

Ever since the Austrian declaration of war, Lise had insisted that she be the one to walk into town for the news, as if being the first to know might somehow protect her little family, and now she laid the paper out on the kitchen table for everyone to see. Helene and Mariele had been waiting for her, and Jean had come into the
house as soon as he had seen his mother walk through the gate.

“And what about Germany?” Mariele said.

Afraid that her legs might fail her, Lise sank into a kitchen chair. “They’ve invaded Belgium.”

“Belgium?” Mariele said. “But Belgium’s neutral. Germany is violating international convention.”

“I don’t think Germany cares about international convention,” Lise said.

“Can you explain it to me, Maman? How does an assassination in Serbia cause all-out war? I’ve listened but I can’t piece it together,” Helene said, peering at headlines more than two inches high.

Grateful that her daughter had not realized the potential consequences of Germany’s invasion of Belgium—the border of that country less than fifty kilometres from Beaufort—Lise kept her eyes and voice steady. “I know it’s confusing,” she said. “It seems that Austria-Hungary has been trying to dominate Serbia and extend its influence in the Balkans. After the assassination, Austria made all sorts of demands on Serbia. Of course, Serbia wants to protect its sovereignty and therefore used its alliance with Russia to stand up to Austria on a few of their demands. So we have Serbia and Russia united against Austria. Then Austria calls on Germany’s help. They have an alliance too.”

“But what about France?”

“I’m getting to that. Because Russia and France, who are on the eastern and western borders of Germany, have a treaty to support one another, Germany feels threatened. I don’t think Austria expected Russia to come to Serbia’s defence. But when Serbia refused some of Austria’s demands and Austria declared war on Serbia, Russia mobilized against Austria. Then Germany mobilized against Russia. And France had to declare war too.”

As Lise’s explanation unfolded, Helene’s eyes widened and her face paled. “What does Papa think we should do?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon.”

Lise had no idea when Henri would write. She imagined that his work would be both frantic and chaotic given the rapidly unfolding
events and the enormous danger for their country. He would contact them as soon as he could. In the meantime, they would have to make their own decisions.

“Tomorrow, we’ll all go into Beaufort to discover as much as we can and seek the best advice,” Lise said.

At midnight, she and Mariele were still in the salon. Lise held a pen and note pad on which she had written a series of suggestions: check all provisions; ensure an adequate supply of pickling jars; purchase extra blankets and fabric; withdraw emergency money; hide silver and other valuable items; stock up on kerosene, candles, matches, first aid supplies; determine whether Jean’s winter clothes will still fit; ask M. Garnier to deliver extra wood and kindling; ask Gaston to check the roof. The list went on for more than three pages.

From time to time an owl hooted, but otherwise the house was quiet, the air thick with lingering heat. Lise had slipped off her shoes and curled her feet up on the chair. Although tired to the point of exhaustion, her nerves clamoured and she had recently begun to feel nauseous. An empty bottle of wine and two wine glasses were on the side table.

“What if the Germans head in our direction, Maman Noisette? What will we do then? Extra candles and kindling won’t protect us from German soldiers.”

Several moments passed before her mother-in-law replied. “I’m sure we’ll have a few days’ warning. But perhaps it would make sense for each of us to have a small bag packed and ready.”

Lise added another item to their list: pack clothing and emergency supplies (one small bag each).

“I think we should go to bed,” Mariele said. “I can see how tired you are, and we have much to do tomorrow.”

“I doubt I’ll sleep,” Lise replied, putting the cap on her pen. “Maman Noisette, do you think we’re doing the right thing? Perhaps we should each pack a small suitcase and find our way back to Paris.”

“I’m sure the roads will be impossible with French troops on the move,” Mariele replied. “Let’s wait for a letter from Henri. In
the meantime, we have a sensible list of precautions to work on.”

* * *

A few days later, Helene accompanied her mother into Beaufort, where they found the town harried with activity. The tricolour decked windows and doorways, and newly enlisted men could be seen on the streets, many carrying heavy rucksacks and heading east on Rue Principale towards the train station. A weeping boy stood on a doorstep shouting “Papa! Papa! Come back, Papa!” In every shop they visited, women were snatching food and clothing and other necessities to maintain their households during what was to come.