Author's Notes: I should be working on the massive amount of homework I have, and yet here I am, writing fan fiction instead. Ah well. Sorry for the delay in this chapter - as mentioned, school work tends to be rather demanding. Four level 3000 and 4000 history classes all at once drain my time. One of my classes is an extensive study on the Holocaust, which I admit has come in a bit handy in this particular chapter, if only in the back of my mind as I wrote.
I wasn't certain where to go with this chapter. It's mostly a filler, and I'm not sure if I'm happy with it or not. I don't anticipate this story being much longer. Another two chapters maybe. Thank you to everyone for your reviews, favorites, etc. They mean a lot to me and are appreciated!
~BDocks
The Invisible Savior
Even if he hadn't been sitting beside her at the dinner table, Percy could have easily deducted that Marguerite was uncomfortable and tense. While the children laughed and told Percy about their adventures, she remained silent and pale, her eyes fixed on Hagen or on her plate.
He felt a twinge of guilt for bringing her here. He knew it would cause her some pain, but damn it, she had to know that not all the members of those four families had died. Hagen was still very much alive. He was the only one, but one was better than none, and as far as the law of statistics went, it was quite high. Besides, Hagen held no grudges against the unknown woman who had tried to help his family. Marguerite had to understand that.
When dinner concluded, the other children went about cleaning the kitchen, and Madam Muhr invited Percy and Marguerite into a small, cozy sitting room with a warm fire and some Cognac.
As soon as the door closed behind them, and he had poured each of them a glass, Percy said, "I'm glad to see the children are well."
"They are doing remarkably well, all things considered," Madam Muhr replied. "The younger ones were too small to remember the war. They have quickly forgotten what it is to live in fear, and the Kinder-transports. Hagen and Seraphina, though..." She trailed off, her eyes drifting to the cheery fire. "I do not think they will ever forget. But they are starting to live again."
Percy sighed. "They were older. And comparatively lucky –"
Marguerite interrupted him, her voice low and strained. "Lucky?"
"Well, yes. In a sadistic sense, I suppose. Both were tall for their ages, so the German guards assumed they were older than they really were. Both were sent with a parent to a factory. It was slavery, but it was not death. Their families were split, however. And in the end, no one else survived."
"Are they related?" Marguerite's voice waivered slightly.
"No. Seraphina was living in Paris in 1942 and she was captured during the raids, along with her aunt. They were sent to the labor camp and I rescued them both in 1943. Her aunt died in 1946, too old and feeble to carry on. I assume the rest of her family was captured on a different night and sent elsewhere. I have never found trace of them."
He took a deep breath for the next part of the story. "Hagen's entire family was captured when Chauvelin revealed their hiding place to the Nazis. He and his father were sent to a factory, a harsher one than where Seraphina went. The women were sent to Auschwitz and murdered upon arrival. Hagen had two uncles and four cousins who were also sent to camps, but I never found trace of them. I managed to extract both Hagen and his father in 1944. His father died shortly after the liberation."
She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God. I knew it. I knew I had murdered them."
Madam Muhr spoke before Percy could. "Murdered them?" she demanded. "You did no such thing. Half of France was secretly in league with the Germans – how could you know that Chauvelin was not working for the Allies? You were trying to help."
"But their blood remains on my hands, for it was I who revealed them." Marguerite looked miserable and distraught, her hands now running up and down her arms, as though to warm herself.
"I also have blood on my hands," the older German woman said bitterly. "And my sin is far worse than yours. My son and I were working together to help Jews escape from Berlin in 1940. The Gestapo found out about us. They captured my son to lure me out, to make me reveal the Jews I had hidden in my house. I lied. I told them I was hiding no one. They refused to believe me. They shot my son in front of me."
Marguerite stared at her, horrified, and sputtered. "My God! What did you do?"
"My heart broke into pieces. I was too shocked to react. The family of five Jews hiding in a hidden room off the cellar had heard the shot. They remained silent, thank God. Moments later, Herr Blakeney entered the house, pretending to be a Gestapo Captain with orders to arrest someone else. He convinced the Gestapo to leave me be. I thought at first he was really a member of the Gestapo, but he and his men – all dressed as Germans, helped get the Jews out. And my son's body." Her eyes clouded over, the lines on her mouth softened. "Afterwards, I agreed to continue helping, for my son's sake. He wanted to help me do good in the world, and I did not want his sacrifice to be in vain. So I came here, to raise Jewish children displaced by the war. They have no mother, and I have no children. And so we are a good match."
Marguerite said nothing to this, but her gaze returned to the fire.
After a long moment, Madam Muhr added, "You must learn to keep living. You may never forgive yourself, but life goes on, and we must live it. Even Hagen is learning to live again."
"That is easier said than done. Nothing I do can erase the sin. Not ever. But I must do something to help them just the same. Just as you have done."
"And what would you do?" Madam Muhr smiled, slightly sarcastic. "Act as a surrogate mother?"
"No." Marguerite did not sound angry, but sad. "I would be a terrible mother."
Madam Murh sighed and said more gently, "I'm sure you would do just fine."
"No. I would do better to support their financial education. I don't have children and I know nothing of being a mother, but I have money from my career and could help send them to school. Does Hagen or Seraphina show aptitude for college?"
"Hagen, yes." Madam Muhr sat up a little straighter, her brow furrowed in contemplation. "He is quite intelligent with mathematics. Seraphina isn't interested in school. She excels at cooking and baking, cleaning…household chores, that sort of thing. She loves carrying for the younger ones. I suspect she will marry and have children one day – that will be her profession."
"Then I shall fund Hagen's education and Seraphina's wedding, if and when she has one." Marguerite sounded exhausted, but resolute.
"You don't think you should ask their opinion?" Madam Muhr inquired.
At this, Marguerite laughed bitterly. "Did Blakeney inquire of your opinion, or anyone else's, in any of his actions? Did he ever ask anyone what he or she wanted, and comply with if his or her wishes differed from his? He has been pulling strings behind the scenes for years, without asking opinions!"
Percy jerked slightly. Had he done that? Yes, he supposed he had. But he supposed he hadn't thought of it that way. No one had wanted to die in the camps, after all. Had they?
He met her gaze; it was unfaltering and determined, almost daring him to speak.
"I suppose I didn't," he said slowly. "But I didn't think anyone truly wanted to die a horrible death at the hands of the Nazis."
"And me?" Her eyebrow quirked upwards.
"Well, you hated me –" he started, but she cut him off.
"I hated you, because I didn't actually meet you until after the war. And because you insisted on acting around me. Before the war, you never once attempted to seriously contact me after I was hired into film. A man who can sneak Jews out from beneath the noses of Nazis could have easily located me! But you didn't." She sounded greatly annoyed.
He thought they had already discussed this within the hidden room in the cabin on the side of the mountain. Why was she mad about it all over again? He looked at Madam Muhr, but she was smiling slightly, and that did nothing to help his nerves.
"Oh, never mind!" Marguerite burst out angrily, and she rose abruptly and left the room.
Percy turned, staring at the door she had slammed behind her, and Madam Muhr chuckled.
"You never learn, Herr Blakeney. For all of your intelligence, there are some things you simply don't learn."
"I suppose I didn't contact her – I suppose I wallowed in the thought that I had lost her back then, when I was young." He ran a hand behind his neck, distractedly. "But I didn't realize she would be angry about it now. We discussed it a bit last night, and I thought –"
"Women remember things longer than men," she replied. "And they will often bring those things up when men least expect it. I suspect she wants to love you, Herr Blakeney, but you will have to work to gain her trust now."
He sighed heavily. "I suppose you are right, dash it all. And in the meantime, I need to return to France and check on the others. Can she stay here for the night?"
"Ha! If that isn't just like you! Sneaking out in the middle of the night… That isn't the way to win her heart. And you certainly won't win it overnight. You need to take her with you back to France, to check on your men. She has a vested interest in them, now."
"But that's –"
"Not dangerous at all, for Chauvelin is dead. She won't stay here, and I wouldn't allow it even if she did agree to stay here." Madam Muhr smiled knowingly, and followed Marguerite out of the room, leaving Percy completely alone with his thoughts.
He didn't like being alone with his thoughts, so he finished his Cognac and walked back into the main room.
Marguerite was not there, and the children were finishing their afternoon chores, while Madam Muhr inspected the clean dishes and table. So Percy turned and went back outside, where he found Marguerite standing on the stoop with her arms crossed, glaring out across the slushy lawn.
She must have known he came out, but she didn't acknowledge him. After a moment of fidgeting, he finally lost his patience and blurted, "I only brought you here to show you that not everyone in those families were killed."
"Yes," she snapped archly, "I gathered that much."
"I thought you would like to know that information!"
"I'm sure I would have! But you never bothered to ask me; you just brought me here and surprised me! How do you think I feel, seeing all of those children refugees? I'm not a Nazi to be punished for her sins! I never thought Jews were subhuman!"
Horrified, he sputtered, "I never said anything of the sort!"
"You implied it!" Her eyes lit up furiously. "I feel as though you brought me here as an object lesson! And just when I thought perhaps I could like you –!"
Percy threw his hands up and turned away, suddenly seething with anger. Damn it, he really didn't know what to do with her sometimes; she was the only person in the entire world who could frustrate him and manipulate him, and she didn't particularly realize she was even doing it. Why on earth was she angry? He meant nothing of the sort in bringing her here – his intentions had only been to show her that Hagen survived Chauvelin's treachery!
She snarled, "Don't you dare turn your back on me, Blakeney! You brought me here, damn it. Put yourself in my place –!"
"I'm trying," he bit out, whirling back around to face her. With him standing on the ground, and she on the stoop, they were eye-level. "And I am terribly sorry if I upset you! But I wanted you to know Hagen survived! I wanted you to understand that there is an heir to those families, Margot! That he survived Chauvelin's treachery! And that he doesn't hate you!"
"He doesn't know exactly who I am," she replied coldly.
The door opened at that point, and to Percy's horror, Hagen stepped out. He looked between the two before he said with hesitation, "Madam Muhr wished to make a basket for you, Monsieur Blakeney. Is there anything in particular you would like to take with you? She said you were leaving shortly. I was hoping you would stay a day or so…"
"Leaving?" Marguerite turned and scowled at him.
"We must return to France, Hagen. My men were cleaning up behind me." Even as he said it, the words sounded terrible. "I must check on them and see to their safety. Marguerite will be coming with me. Whatever Madam Muhr sees to pack is fine, I have no preferences."
Hagen smiled at Marguerite. "Very well, as you wish, Monsieur."
He started to return inside, but Marguerite reached out and grabbed his sleeve. "Hagen, wait," she said quickly. "Madam Muhr tells me you are quite gifted in school. I wish to speak to you more about that, though perhaps not at this moment, since Blakeney insists on leaving immediately. But the next time I visit, you and I will sit down and have a long conversation. I should very much like to help you get into a university."
Hagen's face brightened. "That's very kind of you, Madam. But I don't want to impose… A university is quite expensive, and –"
"You would not be imposing. Helping you is the least I can do."
Hagen looked surprised. "You need do nothing for me, Madame. We only just met, and –"
"Yes, I do. I need you to understand this. Percy didn't tell you, but –"
Percy cut in before she could reveal the truth. "It's nothing, Hagen. Go on inside and help Madam Muhr. Marguerite only wants to be kind, that's the sort of person she is –"
Marguerite glared at him furiously. "If you interrupt me one more time, I'll likely hit you! This is between myself and Hagen!"
Hagen looked shocked, but Marguerite said with forced calm, "Hagen. Please listen to me. You may hate me if you wish, and I will understand if you do. But you need to know who I am. It was I who told of your family's location. I was trying to help, and I ruined everything instead. I didn't know that the man I told was working for Germany. I thought he was a French agent. It was I who murdered your family, and there is nothing I can do for forgiveness or redemption."
Percy had buried his face in his hand before she really got going, unable to look at either of them, for this was not how he ever planned to tell the boy. He should have guessed that Marguerite would take matters into her own hands; she was a strong-willed woman. But to his surprise, he heard Marguerite gasp, and when he glanced through his fingers, he discovered Hagen was hugging her tightly.
"Mon Dieu, you murdered no one, Madam. You tried to help us! I heard from Monsieur Blakeney that you were tricked. I'm sorry it worked out the way it did, but I do not blame you."
"Do not be so kind." Marguerite was tense, and grasped Hagen's arms to pull him away from her.
"I think you have blamed yourself for a long time. Like Monsieur Blakeney did when he lost a member of his League. I remember hearing about that, and I remember how sad his eyes looked when I next saw him."
Blakeney stiffened. He didn't want to think about Armand, nor had he realized that Hagen had noticed his feelings at the time. He worked so hard to conceal his feelings, and Hagen had been even younger then. How had he seen through him so clearly?
"The member who died was my brother," Marguerite replied softly. "Unbeknownst to me, when it happened, for Armand left me to fight in the Resistance. And since Blakeney was in love with me, he thought perhaps I would hate him because he lost Armand."
"Do you hate him?" Hagen looked curious and sad.
Marguerite hesitated. "No. Not for that."
"Then why should you hate yourself, when I do not hate you?"
"I will always hate myself for what I did to you and your family." Her voice was sober.
"I think that's silly, but I see I cannot change your mind right now. Perhaps one day, you will allow me to do so."
"And perhaps one day," Percy interrupted, "You can come to Paris to study, Hagen. As Margot desires you to do –"
Marguerite turned and smacked him, hard, on his upper arm. He jerked back, shocked, and she snapped icily, "I thought I told you I would hit you if you interrupted me again."
Hagen laughed, and Percy scowled.
"You two act like an old married couple." The boy grinned. "Forgive me, but you do!"
Marguerite flushed bright pink and looked away. "Go on with you, then. Madam Muhr will be wondering where you are. And I will visit you again, if you are not opposed, to discuss your entrance into a university and where your marks stand."
"I would never be opposed to your visiting me, Madame. I look forward to speaking with you longer. Perhaps next time, yes?" Hagen smiled pleasantly, nodded to both, and stepped back inside.
After a few moments, Percy asked with some hesitation, "Why do you hate me?"
"I won't even answer such an asinine question."
"But..." he sputtered. "This morning you even kissed me, damn it, and –"
Marguerite flushed and diverted her eyes. Percy scowled, his mind racing. So she still liked him, but she was fighting it – as usual. Damn it, why did she have to be so difficult? He had hoped they had gotten past that barrier, but clearly not.
Annoyed, he reached up to cup her face. She immediately looked back at him, her gaze flashing, but he ignored it and kissed her. He half-expected her to strike him, but instead she kissed him back, one of her hands snaking behind his neck and into his hair, her mouth angling to kiss him deeper.
He felt his knees buckle slightly and pulled back, breathless and a little dizzy.
Marguerite frowned. "We should return. You said you had to check on your men, and Fleurette." Without another word, she went back inside. He could hear her telling Madam Muhr that they were about to leave, and a few moments later, Madam Muhr appeared in the doorway with Marguerite and a basket of food. The children were all crowding around them, begging them to stay, but Marguerite smiled disarmingly and assured them she would visit again.
Before he quite knew it, they were in a cab again and on their way back to the station. Marguerite said nothing to him, and in truth, he wasn't certain what to say to her. He was afraid if he opened his mouth, he would mess it all up again.
They arrived at the station and he had purchased their tickets. The train was only five minutes late, and as darkness settled over the town and they settled in their car, Marguerite finally met his eyes again.
"We are going to take this slowly," she said, her voice clear and quiet. "We are not going to rush into it, Blakeney. Do you understand?"
His heart leapt into his throat.
"I understand."
"Good." She turned to look out of the dark window, and said nothing more.