1946
I had no other option, so I told him the truth.
We stayed awake most of the night. I explained that I was the daughter of a linguistics professor, that I had grown up in Paris with my brothers, and that I had known Yvette all my life. I told him all about the beginning of the war and meeting Joshua, then fleeing Paris. I told him about losing my parents and my home. I described life in occupied Paris, the fear, the hunger, the desperation. I told him about working for la Résistance, about Pierre. I told him about becoming une femme tondue, about Yvette’s pregnancy and death.
He seemed to be sympathetic. He seemed to be softening. “And how does Doug fit into all this?”
So I told him how I had overheard him giving Doug’s confession by proxy.
This infuriated him all over again—more than any of my other deceptions, more even than learning that Elise was not my biological child. He let out a string of epithets I didn’t understand, but realized were viler than any he had probably ever uttered in his life. “Why?” Jack asked, his hands on his head. “Why did you set me up like that?”
“Because I was desperate, and you seemed like a gift from God.”
“You could have just asked me! I would have tried to help.”
“You would not have married me.”
“No. I would not. And I don’t know that I can ever forgive you for taking that choice from me.”
“You always had a choice.”
“You played on my sense of guilt, damn it! And now I’ve betrayed Kat and her family and myself—all for your personal gain.”
“No. I did it for Elise.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. It wasn’t for me. I decided to do this before I set eyes on you. You could have been an old ugly toad of a man, for all I knew.”
“You not only tricked me into marrying you—you tricked me into taking your virginity!”
“I didn’t trick you into that,” I protested. “And what does my virginity have to do with anything?”
“It shouldn’t have a damn thing.” He rose from the bed and stood in the narrow space between the bed and wall. Lifting the shade, he stared out the window at the passing night, then turned to me. “Tell me this: What were you planning to do in Montana? How long did you think you could pass off Elise as Doug’s child?”
Shame scoured me like a metal-bristled brush. All I could do was bow my head. “I . . . I do not know.”
“You were going to dupe Doug’s parents into taking in you and the child?”
“It was not my choice. It was yours.”
“Because I believed you, damn it! But you—you were going to let it happen?”
“I—I do not know. It has been heavy on my heart. I have not known what to do since we started this journey. I believe I would have told you on the next train.”
“You believe you would have? What kind of woman are you?”
“A desperate one,” I replied. “I do not believe I am a bad one.”
He made a scoffing sound from the back of his throat. “Even you don’t know for sure.”
I lifted my head. “I know this. I never meant any harm. I only want what is best for Elise.”
“If you think I’m going to reorder my life to accommodate some scheme of yours, you’re dead wrong.”
“What?”
“Last night doesn’t change the fact you’re a liar and a schemer.”
“Last night was because I grew to care for you, to want you. You know that I wanted you. You are a man. You are a doctor. You know the signs of desire, signs a woman cannot fake.”
He stared out the window.
“I have no designs, no schemes on you, aside from getting Elise to America. Last night—well, that, I admit, was selfish; I made love with you because I wanted you so badly. It is the only thing I have sought purely for myself, aside from survival, since I was sixteen years old.” I lifted my chin. “And I do not regret it.”
“Well, I do.”
“I am sorry. I felt it was so good, so right, so exactly as it ought to have felt.”
“How could it be good or right, when it was built on a stack of lies? I betrayed my fiancée for a woman who lied to me and used me for her own purposes.”
“You make me sound awful. I never meant harm. I only lied because I wanted the best for my child.”
“The child is not even yours. Good grief, you don’t even have a legal claim to her!”
“I have the claim of love. I have the claim of being with her all of her life, and of being the only mother she knows.”
“By all rights, I should report you to the authorities.”
My heart stopped, then pounded so hard he must have been able to hear it. “What . . . what would happen then?”
“Elise would probably be sent to social services and you would be deported.”
“Oh, no!” The terror of losing Elise was far, far worse than any fear I had felt in the war. My blood felt as though it had turned to ice. “That cannot be what is best for the child. Please. Let us get an annulment as planned.”
“And how will you live? How will you support her, without friends or family to watch her while you work? Where will you live?”
“I—I’ll figure it out. I have a much better chance here than in France. Here there is food. There are jobs. There is opportunity.”
“I honestly don’t know what to do with you. I don’t know what to think.”
We went round and round all night, talking and arguing. Sometime toward morning, we fell into an exhausted sleep. We skipped breakfast and readied ourselves to change trains.
I went to get Elise from Sue and ran into Rose.
“Did it work?” she asked eagerly.
“Yes, and no,” I answered, my heart heavy. “We made love, but then we had another argument, and it was worse than before. And it is all my fault.”
“No argument is ever the fault of just one party.”
“This one was,” I said sadly. “I was untruthful to him about some very important things from my past.”
She patted my back. “My dear, love can conquer anything. Keep him close, be patient, and remember the power of the physical side of your relationship.”
There was no point in telling her that her advice was useless. Advice about love only worked if both parties felt it. I mustered a small smile. “Thank you for all you have done.”
Rose handed me a card with her address. “If you ever are in Chicago, or if you ever need anything, you can reach me at this address or this phone number.”
I tucked it in my purse. During the war, I had learned the importance of having supportive people in my life and not being too proud to take their help when I needed it. It was almost as important as being there to support others in their time of need. “Thank you, Rose, for the dress and the advice and the encouragement.”
“God bless, my dear.” She kissed my cheek. “And welcome to America!”
If only, I thought, I could be sure I would get to stay.