A/N - I seem to lose section break formatting when uploading from my PC to . So instead of a normal section break, I've put little headers in its place. Hope that clears the confusion when there's a scene change. Thanks to "guest" for pointing this out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Buchenwald - April 1945
"We owe our children – the most vulnerable citizens in any society – a life free from violence and fear."
- Nelson Mandela
Célestine could not stand still. She hopped about on one leg, then the other, then tugged at her hair, bent down to check if her shoes were still clean. She smoothed down the grey camp dress that was a little too big for her. She placed her hand over her heart to feel it thumping like an orchestra's tympani. When she touched her cheeks, they felt warm.
Daisy let her look in a tiny mirror one of the women passed around when anyone wanted to look at themselves. Her cheeks were red and her eyes looked watery. But she was not sick. Except for her heart that was beating so fast.
"How long have I been here, Maman Daisy?" she had asked early this morning when she woke up on a clean bunk with clean blankets.
"Two years, eight months and twenty two days," Daisy responded without blinking.
Célestine gasped. "How did you know?"
"We worked it out, little one. Every woman who arrived here recorded the date they arrived. Besides, Herr von Wangenheim has a calendar in his house - "
"The one the Colonel - my new Papa - lives in?"
"Yes, my dear. Now, do you have your things?"
Célestine climbed on her bunk and took a small parcel. It contained the teddy bear that had once belonged to Zannah Ginsberg, Daisy's own little girl. When she stood ready in front of Daisy, she spoke very softly as she held out the teddy bear to the older woman.
"I am sorry that Zannah died that day." Her eyes filled with the tears of remembering the traumatic event in which her father and another little girl were shot dead before their eyes.
Daisy took the little bear from her and held it to her bosom. Célestine was suddenly sad when she saw how Daisy's eyes closed. When she spoke, her eyes were soft as she looked at Célestine.
"Do not be, Zannah. I have made my peace. She is buried in the same grave where your own papa lies in the Paris cemetery."
Daisy held the violin case under her arm. "Come, we must go now. Colonel Miller said we must be there at 12pm."
"Can I not go and say goodbye to Herr von Wangenheim? Please? Please?"
Célestine looked at her with such pleading yes that her own resolve crumbled. She gave a little nod and indicated that Célestine should follow her to the prison bunkers. When they arrived, a very tall soldier stood in front of the gates to the building.
"We would like permission to see Herr von Wangenheim. This little - "
Rheddam Compton, standing more than six feet tall in his socks had to bend down to face Célestine.
"Hey, are you not the kid wonder who played the violin like a pro?"
"What is a pro?" Célestine asked shyly.
"A professional. Someone who is very good at something, like playing the violin. Say, I'm Rheddam Compton, at your service. I'm a pro too. I can shoot a coyote dead at one thousand paces. Say, you look like someone I met in St. Clair, France."
"My name is Célestine du Pléssis."
"Holy mackerel!" exclaimed Beanpole Compton. "That lady fighter in St. Clair, her name is Katrine du Pléssis. Are you her long lost little girl?"
For the first time, Célestine smiled and nodded, her eyes shining.
"Colonel Miller wears a wedding band, right? He married the lady fighter Katrine. That makes him your papa, right?"
Célestine nodded, happy to speak to a soldier who was friendly.
"Please, Colonel Miller is waiting for us. If we could just see Herr von Wangenheim."
"Hey, I'm just happy, okay? The Colonel loves your mama very much. Right, follow me. Wait." Compton called another soldier. "Hey, Dillinger! Cover for me here, will ya?"
Compton led them to a section of the jail where they held the officers. In the second cell they found Helmut von Wangenheim. They had to pass Günther Götze. Daisy just glanced at him then looked away quickly. For a moment she felt like sticking out her tongue at him, but she remembered why they were there in the first place. She hoped Günther would rot in hell.
He indicated to the soldier who guarded the corridor to unlock the door of von Wangenheim's cell. The moment the door opened, Célestine rushed inside and threw herself against Helmut.
"Herr von Wangenheim! I could not go before saying goodbye to you. I shall miss you!" she murmured against him.
He simply stood holding Célestine against him, but looking at Daisy, his eyes full of longing and sadness.
"My child, I wished I could do more. I shall miss you too."
Célestine released the distraught man and handed him a piece of paper.
"So you can know where I am, Herr von Wangenheim. Remember me!"
"I shall never forget you, Célestine. God be with you." Helmut then looked at Daisy. "She has parents now. I am happy for her."
Then he pulled Daisy gently against him, holding her for a few moments, burying his face in her hair. When he held her away from him, he smiled at last. "We will be together some day."
Daisy noticed how he said it as a fact, his words filled with absolute certainty. Slowly she backed away, taking Célestine's hand. When they walked down the corridor, both Daisy and Célestine cried. The moment they stepped outside, she thanked Corporal Compton who had been kind enough to let them see one of the prisoners.
They made their way to Colonel Miller's quarters, walking at a leisurely pace because it was still half an hour before they had to report to him.
"Now we can go to my new Papa..."
"Yes, little one."
In General Erikson's office
"It should shed light on what has happened in the camp, General. I have no reason not to believe what von Wangenheim and Daisy Ginsberg have testified. I'd like to keep two copies, one to give Célestine's mother. Katrine - "
"The woman to whom you are married?"
"Yes, my wife. I'd like her to read the testimony, especially of Daisy Ginsberg, so she can have a good idea just how this adorable child survived in this hell hole."
"I must thank you for this work, Colonel. There is much to do still, and that includes transferring our prisoners of war to Dachau. Our men are on the brink of liberating that camp too. Our prisoners will be tried there. We would like Madame Ginsberg to remain to testify. I understand she is leaving us shortly, but if I can prevail on her to stay for a short period."
"Then I suggest you allow her and another former inmate to stay in my quarters. I think she deserves it. I don't think she has remaining family. She might find her home in France occupied by strangers now."
Erikson nodded severely, then glanced at Charles again.
"I know you are in a hurry to depart today. Weimar has a military airfield. We have a garrison stationed there. There are two flights daily taking cargo as well as personnel to Paris. First one left at 0800. The second flight is at 15h00. You should have ample time to make it to Paris and reintegrate your daughter into her family."
Charles smiled, grateful that they were making concessions for him. He didn't want Célestine to remain another day in the camp. She was his daughter now. He felt an overwhelming urge to protect her like he wanted to protect her mother. They were part of his life now.
"Thank you, General."
"You're certain you don't want a driver to the airfield?"
He had thought about it. Johannes Elsevier was his regular driver. He could use a driver.
"My driver, Sgt Elsevier."
"Good. You both have a week."
Charles nodded, saluted and left General Erikson's office, feeling a whole lot better for having dropped off the report the young stenographer had typed in triplicate. He walked into his own office where he sent the guard on duty to hail Sergeant Elsevier. When Elsevier eventually arrived, out of breath and smelling of smoke, Charles wanted to laugh. They were definitely in a lull at the camp and a number of the troops were simply hanging about.
"Clean up, Elsevier. Report at my quarters at 12pm sharp."
"In the jeep, Colonel?"
"Do you expect me to walk to Paris?"
"We're going to Paris? Colonel, it's over five hundred miles south!"
"No need to shout. We're driving to Weimar, board a Douglas C-54, load the jeep on the plane and fly south."
"But - but then you could go without - "
"You want to go or not?"
"Hell, yeah! Gee, thanks, Colonel! I know Paris like the back of my hand, you know?"
"I know. Now scat and be at my quarters."
Elsevier clicked his heels so hard and saluted so lopsidedly that Charles had to smile. "And don't forget to brush your teeth. We have a child traveling with us."
"Yes, sir! Colonel, sir!"
At his quarters
He hurried in long strides to his quarters to await the arrival of Daisy and Célestine.
Célestine.
He loved her already. She had the same feisty regard in her eyes as her mother, was probably also as stubborn as Katrine. He had to find that out, and he was sure that day was just around the corner. He kept thinking of her tenacity to survive against all the odds. Over the years thousands of inmates died, and yet some children survived. To his mind they survived because of women like Daisy Ginsberg and officers like Helmut von Wangenheim.
He dressed in his military uniform this time, the olive bomber jacket with cargo pants, his garrison cap sporting his new insignia with a little red diamond on the left side.
Once he'd stepped into his quarters, he'd breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't been here long, but he had been comfortable sleeping once again on a bed after months bivouacking in open fields, snowy ditches and tents. He thought ruefully that he should have let Célestine sleep in his bed last night while he could have bunked down on the couch, even slept on the floor. He'd been so focused on administration he hadn't given it a thought. Then again, it was good that she spent her last night in the camp with the woman who mothered her. That thought gave him some expiation from the flash of guilt he experienced, a belated comfort.
Against the wall above the piano was a painting. How good that Katrine had introduced him to this art form. A very good representation of a chateau or schloss in a forest, since the painting obviously belonged to von Wangenheim. He wondered a moment who painted it. A lovely stately home of their family. The piano belonged there, was his thought.
His duffel was packed. He was certain Katrine would want to see him in his officer's dress uniform showing off his new badges and ribbons, so that was packed as well. He smiled to himself. It was a rare honour to be awarded America's highest award for bravery on the field of battle. He would most likely be lining up with other recipients from the air force, the marines, other divisions of the armed forces.
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Come inside," he called. When the door opened, Daisy and Célestine stood like two silhouettes against the light that streamed through the door. He noticed the drab dress Célestine was wearing, something in him breaking at the sight of Katrine's child. He rallied quickly and waved with his hand that they enter, as they stood there in the open door waiting for an invitation.
"Célestine, I see you are ready."
She smiled. He bent down and hugged her, her frail arms hardly able to reach round his chest. She felt so small, so fragile. For a moment he felt his eyes prick. He released her gently, held her face in his big hands and kissed her forehead.
"Sit down, will you? I need to speak with Daisy."
Daisy had meanwhile put down Célestine's small bag as well as the Tononi next to her.
"Daisy, I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for our daughter. Yours was a very, very difficult road to walk here in Buchenwald. You have given her a family, you gave her your name, your very body in order to protect a child not your own. That, I think, is miraculous. I am giving a copy of your testimony to her mother Katrine, to read and experience how the most courageous woman of Buchenwald saved Célestine's life. Do not think I don't know what names you have been called. But my dear, you are an amazing woman, and I think the world needs to know of your bravery."
Daisy's mouth curved in a soft smile. "Thank you, Colonel Miller."
"You do understand that you have to stay for a short while to give testimony."
"Yes. I am pleased to be staying here in this house until the trials. I have been informed by General Erikson."
"Your testimony and that of other men and women will be crucial in the fate of the German soldiers and officers."
"Herr von Wangenheim is fully aware of the consequences, Colonel. I - I shall wait for him."
"After the trials, where will you go?"
Daisy looked uncertain for the first time. It struck Charles she might not have a place to stay.
"I have friends in Paris. I will try to find a teaching position again. Yes, do not worry about me, Colonel."
Charles took a piece of paper and a pen, wrote Katrine's address and telephone number on it and handed it to Daisy.
"Anytime you need assistance, just call, will you?"
It gratified him to see Daisy's face light up.
"My husband died in the labour camps. I am without family now, but Colonel, I have survived almost three years - "
"Two years, eight months and twenty two days!" Célestine piped up.
"In the camp, yes, and I will survive outside it."
Charles stared at the painting on the wall. "Tell me about this painting."
"It is the chateau of Baron Freiherr von Wangenheim."
"He is a landowner."
"He inherited the title only recently, after his elder brother died - "
"The Olympic rider?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you once again, Daisy." Charles turned to Célestine. "You can say goodbye to your other mommy."
Charles waited outside for the two to part. He saw Daisy sitting down next to Célestine, hugging her for what seemed like forever. Both were in tears, but Célestine, he knew, was in a hurry to leave."Goodbye, Maman Daisy. Goodbye..."
Daisy kissed her cheeks, the top of her head, held her close again for several heady seconds before she stepped away.
"Goodbye, Célestine. I love you. I will always love you, for you were my little Zannah whom I lost. Goodbye..."
Then Daisy turned and hurried down the steps.
Arrival at the Weimar Airfield
Charles sat next to Célestine in the back of the jeep, with their luggage tucked safely behind the seats. Johannes Elsevier smiled broadly all the way to the airfield just outside Weimar. He had been over the moon to drive his Colonel around again.
Charles glanced at Célestine, who sensed he was looking at her. She smiled before putting her tiny hand in his, a gesture of such confidence, such trust that he had trouble breathing again. She'd called him "Papa" just after Daisy left the house. He gently reminded her that she didn't have to call him anything but Charles. To which she responded with such assertiveness that since he had married her mother and since she could see that he wasn't ever going to hurt her and that he loved her already, she preferred to call him "Papa".
"It is not necessary," he replied in French. Once again she responded with "I can speak English."
He'd felt the old drum beating against his chest at her unblemished trust in him. She sounded uncommonly like Katrine, even adopting her familiar posture of standing with her hands at her sides, as if she was saying, "Papa it is and don't you dare say otherwise."
He'd smiled broadly before he pulled her into his embrace and kissed the top of her head. He'd thought that he would never ever have the opportunity to see Katrine's child, had believed, like her, that Célestine had died. Now, all those nights he had comforted Katrine when she missed her little girl too much, he'd wished so very badly that Célestine was alive so that Katrine could be happy again.
To see Célestine looking so happy to be going home warmed his heart. But he knew She had suffered major traumas during her stay in the camp. She had yet to speak about them, if she ever would. It would probably be a good idea to have her receive counselling. Like most former inhabitants of the concentration camps, her experiences would haunt her for the rest of her life. Charles vowed silently that he would be by her side forever, just like he'd promised her mother.
When they reached the airfield, there was a general hubbub as vehicles drove around; other cargo planes and bombers were readying for take-off. They were half an hour early. First Elsevier stopped the jeep in front of the US administration offices. Here and there Charles could see German panzer vehicles, all out of action.
"Wait here," he said as he got out and entered the office where he spoke to the air traffic controller.
"Your Douglas C-54 is about ready for take off," he was told. "You are three passengers and one jeep. My men will load the jeep on the plane."
Charles nodded, then took the boarding passes from the controller. He was on army business, reuniting a child with her mother. The blessed new perks of senior military officials like colonels and generals. He didn't have to use his own funds.
"The jeep will be loaded on the plane," he told Elsevier. Just then a sergeant arrived to take the jeep. Elsevier looked aggrieved.
"Don't hurt my jeep, will ya?"
"Don't worry, we do this every day!" the sergeant said good-naturedly as he drove the jeep to the rear of the Douglas.
"Well, sir," Elsevier said as he turned to Miller, "I'm looking forward to seeing some pals from my home town. They're stationed in Paris."
"Good. Now, what do you say, Célestine, shall we go and board the plane?"
Célestine nodded vigorously, then exclaimed, "I have never been on a plane, Papa!"
"Enjoy the ride, my goldenbird. You can hold on to me if you feel too scared when the plane takes off, okay?"
"Yes, Papa."
"Célestine...I told you - "
She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes changing colour from blue-grey to dark grey. She was distressed, but refused to weep.
"Did you marry my Maman?"
"Yes."
"And you love her?"
"I love her with all my heart."
"And did you promise to protect her and be by her side forever?"
"Yes."
"Then can I not call you 'Papa'?"
"Célestine , you just met me - "
"Is that not enough? Don't you want to be my papa?"
It was hard to avoid a pair of blue-grey eyes that glared at him. He couldn't not accept such a gracious order.
"Okay. Actually, I don't mind. Thank you, Célestine."
They boarded the plane, Célestine occupying a window seat, clamping Charles's hand very tightly when it took off. Charles smiled. There was so much that Célestine had to learn and relearn. She'd missed almost three years of her life and there was a lot of catching up to do.
"Open your eyes, sweetie. Look!"
Célestine opened her eyes slowly and looked out the window. Then she pointed to a building compound.
"What are those buildings, Papa?"
"Why, that's Buchenwald, honey."
Célestine gazed at the buildings as they became smaller and murmured in a sad tone, "I never want to see it again..."
Half an hour into their two hour flight, she began to nod off. Charles gestured to one of the flight attendants and asked for a blanket. Soon he covered her with the blanket and pulled her gently towards him so that her head rested against his shoulder. She was overtired and he guessed that she had slept littlefor all the excitement. Pretty much the same as when he had prepared for an important championship race and he couldn't sleep. Smiling tenderly he gave her a gentle squeeze. She was so tiny, like her mother. He felt an overwhelming affection for her. How, he thought, was it possible that he could love a child he had only just met? When she'd looked and smiled at him yesterday she'd captured his heart. Was it only yesterday that he felt his life was going to change forever? That Katrine's life would change forever? Sighing, he caressed Célestine's hair, smoothing it away from her face. She really looked like she could do with a nap. Then he too relaxed and closed his eyes.
Paris - April 16 1945
"Oh, there's the Arc de Triomphe," Célestine exclaimed excitedly as Johannes Elsevier drove them through the city.
Her excitement was infectious, causing both Charles and Elsevier to smile. Naturally it was as if she were seeing the landmarks for the first time. They both understood how she missed the things that had been familiar to her.
As they drove down the Champs Élysées, Célestine couldn't contain her joy, pointing out buildings she remembered, loving the drive down the famous avenue. Charles just kept smiling as he looked at Célestine's animated face, alive with delight. As she pointed to a particular building, her eyes caught the tattooed ID number on her arm. Her hand paused in mid-air, the smile leaving her face so quickly in sudden remembrance of an unpleasant memory of her life, that Charles thought she'd cry. But just as suddenly the smile appeared again. Gone was that moment of sadness. Charles thought how Katrine could also shut away a bad memory. They were very alike, mother and daughter.
"Are we there yet, Papa?" she asked a minute or so later.
"Almost. Sergeant Elsevier thought you might enjoy seeing the city on our way home."
"Thank you, Sergeant!"
"You are most welcome, little girl!"
His heart began to hammer painfully. For a moment Charles thought he might be suffering another bout of palpitations. Ever since he had seen Célestine playing the violin, he had been beset by doubts as to how he would inform Katrine her daughter was alive and well. He even thought of a plan to introduce Katrine to her lost child. But he knew whatever way he chose, it would still come as a shock to Katrine.
Just before they'd left Buchenwald, he'd given her a call to apprise her of their estimated time of arrival. It was now almost 5 o'clock. They really had made good time. Elsevier would drop them, return to the barracks at the US base outside the city and remain there until Charles called for him again. He didn't want to think about returning yet, wanting to enjoy precious R & R time with his family.
Soon they entered the Rue Lion from the opposite end of the road than the day he'd arrived in the jeep at Katrine's home. They would park the vehicle on the same side of the road as the house, just about fifteen yards away. He'd told Célestine that they would do it that way so that he could first call Katrine and not have her faint when she saw Célestine suddenly in her open doorway.
"We are here," said Célestine in a breathless whisper, her words caught on a sob. She was home and within minutes she'd see her mother.
Elsevier stopped the vehicle. Charles got out, then held his hand to Célestine to help her off the jeep.
"Wait here, sweetheart."
So Célestine stood on the sidewalk and waited like Charles asked her. Sergeant Elsevier stood just behind Célestine and watched Colonel Miller walk to the front door of his home. He knew he was going to witness a miracle, something he could write about in his journal to capture for all time the reunion between a mother and her daughter whom she thought had died years ago. A man of faith, he always considered what he witnessed to be one of God's divine wonders in the lives of ordinary people. Ordinary people? Colonel Charles Anson Miller was no ordinary man and his wife Katrine Miller was no ordinary woman, a real fighter according to Francis and Beanpole.
He watched as Miller approached the door, seeing how the colonel never knocked because the door was already opened by his wife.
This is it, Elsevier thought. The beginning of the miracle.
Charles walked the short distance to the door. When he reached it, it opened and a breathless Katrine, beautiful as ever with her face animated with joy, stood there. She threw herself against him in a long hug. When she stood away from him, there was only one question she asked.
"Where is she, Charles? Where is our daughter?"
Then Charles took her hand and led her outside. He pointed to the jeep and the child standing on the sidewalk next to the vehicle. Katrine's eyes widened as she looked at Célestine.
"Be strong, Katrine," Charles whispered next to her. "Be strong..."
At Katrine's home
The whole day Katrine had been on tenterhooks. Charles had called earlier in the day to tell her what time they'd be arriving. She'd cleaned the whole house, then remained in Célestine's room, pondering on whether she'd discard some of Célestine's old clothes, her toys, and pictures, so that "Zannah" could feel she wasn't a replacement daughter for her and Charles. Célestine's violin had been placed in its case and put away in their storage cupboard. She didn't know if their new daughter had any musical ability like Célestine. There were so many things they had to think about. She'd promised herself to take "Zannah" shopping on Monday to buy her new soft toys, dresses, undergarments.
On impulse, she'd taken out the little teddy bear Célestine had carried when they'd been taken away from her that fateful day. It had been cleaned. In fact, Lamine had spent some time in making the worn toy look a lot more presentable. She'd put it on Célestine's bed along with the other toys. She would explain to "Zannah" that it belonged to her daughter who had died. If she wanted to keep it, that was fine. If she didn't, it was also fine.
She prayed "Zannah" would call her "Maman" soon, and call Charles "Papa". Charles had not said anything about whether their new daughter was French or Polish or a German Jew. She would have to learn French and English then.
She'd prepared a light meal for them, thinking that a child who'd lived a long time in a concentration camp would not be used to more balanced meals. "Zannah" would have to get used to so many things - food, school, new friends, new parents!
Katrine had taken out one of the dresses that Célestine had never worn, thinking that she'd let "Zannah" wear it when they sat down to dinner. She was probably still wearing camp clothes and a new dress would would help her to adapt and put the horrors of Buchenwald behind her.
Yes, that was what she'd do when Charles came home. She had been restless all day. Tomorrow she'd have to inform her faculty dean about some leave. Her students were always willing to work extra hours; they could make up for lost time after Charles left again. If she knew her husband, he would stand in the lounge at attention and tell her he'd have to leave again. Her Charles...not one for goodbyes.
It was nearly time. Charles had said 5pm. She stood in the lounge, surveying the room to check one last time if everything was in order. Then her ears pricked. She heard the familiar sound of a jeep. She looked through the window, not seeing anything until Charles approached the front door.
Her heart raced as she rushed to open the door, throwing herself in his arms for several heady seconds. Then she pulled back and asked, "Where is she, Charles? Where is our daughter?"
Without speaking, Charles turned her to face the jeep standing not far from them.
Katrine saw a child standing on the sidewalk in a formless shift that did little to conceal the extreme gauntness of her frame. This was no stranger. This was not someone else's orphan child who looked at her with the same blue-grey eyes, the same hair, the same mouth as her own. Katrine's eyes grew wide, soft, instantly swimming with tears. She felt faint, light-headed, her body threatening to lift off the earth and float away. But she was still standing, barely able to hold on to a fragile anchor, the ground beneath her feet. A voice broke through the unbearable lightness of her senses - Charles? - calling to her. A hand on her shoulder offered comfort, reassurance, a touch that told her she should not be afraid.
"Be strong, Katrine. Be strong..."
How could she be strong when every nerve in her body, every sinew and every drop of blood, every tear she had ever shed, turned her into a quivering mass that looked upon the apparition, threatening to undo her? Through a shimmering of rain which she realised were her tears, she saw Célestine hovering like a mirage in the distance. Was it real? Could she reach out her hand and touch the phantom? An uncontrollable shudder took hold of her.
It was a trick. Charles was playing a despicable trick on her. This could not be real. Her Célestine had died. How could she be standing there, not far away from her with a face full of uncertainty, a little smile so like her own hovering on those red lips?
From a great distance Katrine heard the voice of another, a contemptible man who destroyed her life.
"They are Jews! They are Jews!"
Then the letter that she received.
"Two of the bodies are of your husband Joseph Eleazar Blumenthal and the other your daughter Célestine Héloise Blumenthal. They have died before they could be taken to work camps in Germany."
She remembered the letter, every word of it, for did those damning words not stab her insides so deeply that she could not sleep properly for weeks?
Célestine is dead. Celestine is dead.
She had been inconsolable in the weeks that followed that news.
How could this be? Was it a figment of her imagination? An unholy reality come to haunt her anew? Did she wish so hard for her daughter to be alive that Célestine manifested herself in her dreams as a physical reality? In her waking moments, she saw her daughter in every child in St. Clair, in Paris.
How could it be? Her daughter had died. Died! The Germans told her that. She had found her remains in a forest clearing.
"C-Charles?"
His name tore from her very soul as the child began to move towards her.
"Maman! Maman!" Célestine's voice rang out in the clear late afternoon air. Katrine stood rooted to the spot, unable to move for the sheer impossibility of the figment grown into real flesh and blood, unbelievable, until Célestine cried out "Maman..."
Her knees buckled unceremoniously and she would have gone down were it not that Charles held on to her.
"Célestine...?"
"Maman!" Célestine cried again as she reached her mother and lunged against Katrine. This time Katrine did go down on her knees as she held the trembling child against her. It was her! the thought raced through her shattered defences. It was Célestine. It could not be anyone else, she was real as the child's delicate frame trembled against her.
Then she began touching her daughter. Trembling fingers traversed the planes of Célestine's face, fingers that would not believe but through touch sought confirmation of life. At first, Célestine's hair, then her eyes, her forehead, the smooth skin of her cheeks, her mouth, her lips that always, when Célestine's was excited, were red as rubies. Then she repeated the journey of Célestine's face while the child reached for her mother's face in a wordless testimony of touch and smell.
Katrine remembered Charles' words to her. "One day, Katrine, you will get back those things you were searching for..."
She felt a pair of hands lift them, ushering them indoors. Still Katrine would not let go of her daughter. In the lounge he made them sit down, and she kept hugging the child to her. Charles went outside again.
Célestine sat tightly cuddled against her mother. They did not speak, content just to gaze at one another, reaffirming familiar features through touch. Katrine kissed the top of Célestine's head. Her eyes filled with tears again as she held her daughter a little away, simply gazing at her. Her daughter had been alive all this time and she didn't know, a child of Buchenwald, an orphan child with no family, no connections. Célestine burst into tears again. Katrine pulled her close.
"They told me you had died, my beloved child," she whispered into Célestine's hair.
When the tears subsided, Célestine smiled. Katrine noticed for the first time how strong her face had become, strong and gentle with a world's wisdom in her eyes. Much of the little girl she had known was gone, replaced by a child who had seen the worst of the human condition. It was not fair, it was not right; it was an indictment against a regime that committed a thousand sins against humanity. They had given her daughter memories that would live side by side with all the new beautiful ones until the day she died. It was not right.
"Maman," Célestine spoke in whispered tones. "I stayed alive, Maman. I dreamed of you every night."
Charles and his driver had meanwhile brought in their luggage which Charles stored in Lamine's room. She did not notice that the driver - a sergeant - had left the house and only realised that he wasn't staying when she heard the jeep speed off.
Charles sat on a stool and faced the two women in his life. He saw a thousand questions in his wife's eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her gently. Célestine gasped.
"Now you are my papa..."
"Yes, goldenbird."
"Charles?" Katrine murmured his name.
"I'll just give you the short version of the mix-up. We can talk a little later, after we've had something to eat."
"A mix-up?"
"Yes, and the intervention of one of the finest women you'll ever know. That day the trucks stopped in the forest, a woman, Daisy Ginsberg, held the hands of her own daughter and this little squirt next to you. Joseph had already been badly beaten and was sick, so they hauled him from the truck. Everyone had to get out. When Joseph, dazed from the beatings called for his daughter - Célestine - he reached for Daisy's child, thinking it was Célestine. Because he was moving with difficulty, the soldiers grabbed the child."
"And she had my teddy bear, Maman."
Katrine's throat moved, unable to speak. She looked like she would burst into tears again.
"Daisy Ginsberg's daughter Zannah died that day, Katrine."
Célestine crawled into her mother's embrace, her voice soft when she spoke.
"Maman Daisy told me to say I'm her daughter, that we must try to stay alive..."
"That act," Charles told her, "saved Célestine 's life, for any child without parents or support was the first target of camp staff." Charles shuddered as he remembered reports he'd read about some of the doctors, although not Schiller, who had performed experiments on children.
They waited for unending minutes while Célestine cried forlornly. When she stopped, she looked at both of them with teary eyes, but smiling again.
"Can we eat now?"
That night
Charles opened the door to Célestine's room and tiptoed inside. His heart burned fiercely at the sight that greeted him. Mother and daughter were lying spooned together, fast asleep and it was only just after ten. Katrine's arm was thrown around Célestine's waist clutching her comfortably to her bosom in a gesture so protective, even in her sleep.
A bedside lamp threw a dim light over the sleeping pair. They looked perfect together, his wife and daughter. All the strain of the past few hours was gone, their faces peaceful, their breathing unhurried. Their cheeks bore the signs of tears that had marked their reunion all evening, even throughout the light supper they'd had together. There was not much conversation, but the atmosphere was serene. Often he'd looked at Célestine who smiled gently whenever she caught his eyes on her.
She was not a voracious eater, even after such a long time eating meagre camp food. But he could see Katrine was happy she was eating at least, never pushing the child to stuff herself. Célestine had to adapt to freedom and family life at her pace. In that, Katrine mothered her child perfectly, infinitely patient when it came to bath time, to fitting on pyjamas that were too small for Célestine. Much to her delight Célestine had declared, "Tomorrow, Papa will take us to the boutiques in the city to buy me a new dress and new nightie."
Her demands were small. She'd lived through extreme privation where a pair of shoes was a luxury. Their daughter was achingly sensitive, never speaking about mounds of clothing and shoes and sheet music and toys like he'd expect of any child of nine. That would come with time. While they burned to spoil Célestine, to shower her with everything she didn't have because she was a prisoner, they held back.
While Célestine was in the bathroom, Katrine had found him in the lounge.
"Oh, Charles!"
He'd held her like a drowning man. He'd missed her desperately. They had been apart since September of the previous year.
"Katrine...Katrine...Katrine..." he murmured her name, burying his face in her hair, feeling like floating as he closed his eyes. He gave a sob, and for a few moments his body shook against her. The reaction of recognising Célestine playing the violin, of realising that it was Katrine's daughter and therefore also his, of all the hurried arrangements, interviews and reports that had to be completed before he could stand like he was standing with her in his arms, was finally setting in. Katrine, dear loving Katrine had just held him as on a night so many months ago when she had lain spooned to him. He had seen no censure in her eyes from springing such an earth-shattering surprise on her; she lauded his action.
"I would have been demented, being so far away, knowing my daughter was there, a prisoner, a freed inmate. I would never have rested. I was ready to see a child called Zannah..."
He kissed her deeply then, for she understood. He had agonised how he'd introduce Célestine to her. Now all seemed right.
"Célestine has been through so much. We must give her time. Meanwhile I have a report here I'd like you to read. It will explain a lot about how Célestine survived in the camp."
Katrine smiled her bright smile while her eyes filled with tears.
"Thank you, Charles, for bringing our daughter home."
She'd looked at him and he acknowledged the same need in her, that of having been separated for so long. Only when they heard Célestine's voice from the bathroom calling her, did they break apart and she hurried to the bathroom.
That had been earlier in the evening. Célestine was tired and Katrine was just as exhausted. Now as he looked at them, he thought he'd leave them like that. He left the room only to return with a light comforter. Gently he covered them, pulling the comforter almost to their chins. Katrine gave a big sigh, and almost in unison Célestine sighed too as they slept.
He went to the bathroom to shower. It smelled of lotions and sweet flowers. On a little line above the tub hung a few of their things.
"Clearly I'm outnumbered here," he muttered to himself.
Half an hour later, he was in sleepwear and dressing gown, using his fingers to run through his hair. Because he'd napped on the plane he was still wide awake. Walking into the lounge again, he cranked up the phonograph and played a recording, a Mozart violin concerto, the same one Célestine had played the previous morning. He gave a deep, satisfied sigh and sat back against the couch, closing his eyes as the soft strains of the concerto filled the room.
Someone touched his shoulder. Where was he? In the cold ditches of the Ardennes forest? Cradling a dying Linklater and feeling Compton's hand on him? But this touch was gentle, a caress that sought to bring him to the surface naturally.
When he opened his eyes, Katrine stood before him, her eyes kind and soft. He blinked several times, rubbing his eyes as he tried to get up. Katrine pushed him back then seated herself next to him.
"You were snoring," she stated.
"I do not - "
"Oh, you forget the number of times I dug my elbow in your ribs?"
"That was you?"
Katrine nodded, smiling kindly at him. How had he fallen asleep so quickly? Last he remembered he was listening to music. He frowned.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"It has gone just after one o'clock."
"That late?" He realised the music must have stopped long ago.
"Yes, mon amour. Come, you are tired," she coaxed as she pulled him to his feet and led him to their bedroom.
Although his heart raced at the prospect of being in bed with her, Charles wondered when Katrine would start asking the questions he knew lay so close to the surface in her eyes. "I missed you, Charles," she whispered desperately against him when they lay in bed, her arm thrown over him.
He gave a sob as he turned to face her. "Thoughts of you, mon amour, kept me alive, kept me going. I knew that if I fell in battle, that the knowledge of your love for me would have made it worthwhile. I prayed so hard those nights in winter that we would get through one more battle.
"That is very beautiful. I could not imagine parting in bad spirits before you went away..."
He pulled her on top of him. "Let me love you, Katrine..."
She smiled at his words and without speaking kissed him passionately, the heat springing between them at the touch.
"Charles...Charles..." she cried softly, tears spilling from her as he made love to her, revelling in reacquainting themselves through touch, gentle caresses, little cries of joy. It was sweet and desperate, over too quickly for they had both been starved, feeding their hunger with ravenous indulgence. Later, after a short slumber, they woke again and this time Charles showed his wife just how he could never live without her, worshipping her body and she, his queen, letting him trail hot, burning lips all over her.
When they lay sated, she asked him only one question in a sleepy voice, "How did you know it was Célestine?"
"She played a violin solo with the camp orchestra. It was a parade to honour the courageous in battle, to award new promotions - "
"You are a colonel now."
"Yes. Then when the orchestra played, I saw this child play the violin. That was the first time I saw her. I knew it was her, although she was given another name. She looked at the audience, then she caught my eye and smiled at me just like you smile, Katrine. Right at that moment I fell ill."
Katrine gasped, then sat bolt upright in the dark room hardly able to see him. "What?"
"Palpitations that caused me to lose consciousness."
"Charles! What time did that happen?"
"Around eleven o'clock - "
"C'est un miracle! I suffered palpitations at the same time and when I came to, found myself in hospital! It is a miracle!"
"Did you suspect anything at that moment?"
"Nothing!"
"I do believe these strange things can happen," Charles said, pulling her down against him.
"So tell me, did you receive an award for being courageous in battle?"
Charles did not respond for a full ten seconds.
"Did you, Charles?"
"Yes. The Congressional Medal of Honour - "
"Is that like the Ordre national de la Légion d'honneur?"
He sighed. He understood and could converse in French. "Yes, Katrine."
"Charles! That means it is America's highest award for bravery!"
"Yes, Katrine."
"And - and when will you receive the award officially?"
"May, next year."
"I love you, my brave, gentle, sometimes angry warrior!" Katrine said softly, planting a kiss on his lips, then lay back, sighing because she was so happy.
They lay in silence, contemplating the wonder of minds and hearts that could experience the same things, like the discovery that a daughter thought dead was alive.
They fell asleep, this time the deep sleep of exhaustion.
Charles stirred first, the soft strains of a violin sonata teasing him into wakefulness. He opened his eyes to search in the semi dark for the origin of the music until he found it. He smiled and wondered how he could be so supremely happy this early in the morning.
Célestine smiled back in the same way she had two mornings ago when he heard her for the first time. Next to him, Katrine stirred, moaning in delight as she felt his body, so reassuring, so loving. Then she too opened her eyes, seeing the young girl playing for them, her smile never fading.
"Bonjour, Maman...Papa..."
"Good morning, Célestine. You are up early," Charles said as he raised himself on his elbow.
"I wanted to play for you."
"But, my dear," said Katrine, "I put your violin away - "
"This is my Tononi," Célestine said proudly as she finished the piece and sat on the bed, plonking herself between her parents.
"Célestine! Do you have any idea how valuable that violin is? Any idea at all?"
"Herr von Wangenheim gave it to me. He said I could make better use of it since he doesn't play it so well."
"Who is Herr von Wangenheim?"
Charles intervened before Célestine could respond. She had meanwhile clambered on her mother's side under the blankets.
"He is one of the good guys," Charles said softly, hoping that Katrine would understand. "You can read the report later today."
"Oh, so now I have to wait for my daughter and husband until they decide when to tell me anything!"
"Do not worry, Maman. Herr von Wangenheim did not hurt me at all."
Charles felt Katrine stiffen next to him. He knew what was going on in her mind. He had almost beaten von Wangenheim to a pulp even before the man could defend himself. It was a natural response which neither he nor Katrine could help. It was going to be a long time before Célestine would tell them much of her experiences in the camp. It seemed as if she was pushing all the memories away from her. Right now, she was simply overjoyed. She kissed her mother, then lunged at him so hard that she knocked the wind from him before kissing him.
"Did you know, Papa, that I dreamed of you?"
"No, honey. I didn't know."
"I dreamed a soldier with a - a losange rouge was waiting for me, to take me away from the camp."
"You did?" he asked, surprised. "Red diamond, huh."
"Yes, then I saw you sitting there in the second row behind that other giant soldier, and I smiled because I knew you had come for me..."
He couldn't stop staring at Célestine with her shining eyes, her red lips, her animated face, her joy at being with her mother and him, her new father. It was a moment filled with peace, with serenity and he wanted the feeling to last forever. He wanted to lie in, with Katrine so insistent next to him and Célestine watching the two of them, assessing them, it seemed. Her own father had died the same day they were taken away by the Germans. She had made her peace with the fact he was never going to be in her life again except as a gentle memory. Charles sat up and hugged Célestine spontaneously, feeling how Katrine also raised herself to join in the hug. When he could breathe at last, he gazed at them with some intent.
"Okay ladies, why don't you two get up and leave me to sleep a few minutes longer? Fix breakfast or something."
"Yes, Maman! I want cornflakes!" Célestine responded, at the same time almost jumping off the bed, then grabbing the Tononi before rushing to her own room.
"Cornflakes. Our daughter wants cornflakes... How American is that?"
And Katrine looked at her husband who looked very innocent in that moment. It was going to be a very good day, Charles decided, when they would take their daughter later to the city to shop for clothing and other necessities.
"I love you, Charles Anson Miller."
END CHAPTER NINETEEN