Read Online Two Crosses by Elizabeth Musser - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Musser
Tags: France, Elizabeth Musser, Secrets of the Cross, Two Crosses, Swan House, Testaments, Destinies, Huguenot cross
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course. I know the neighborhood well.” She sighed. “What is the point of so many innocent deaths?”
“The point is fear, Anne-Marie. Fear. So they will all pack up and leave just as we did. Ironic that we are back where we started from. Only worse off.”
“We’ll never be free of them, will we, Moustafa?”
He looked away. “No. They’re convinced you have more information. Or that we both know about the little operation in the south of France.” He met her eyes.
“Yes, we know. But only the names of the harki children leaving. Thank goodness I cannot tell anything else. Ophélie is surely gone from M. Gady’s shop, and I have no idea where the bag is now.”
“We must escape. They’ll kill us soon, or worse …” His eyes were tender again.
Anne-Marie knew what worse meant. She looked down. “They will not torture me, Moustafa. Not like before. They will not have me.” She shuddered, remembering the night five years ago when they had come to take her. Seven Arab men. In the end, Jean-Claude had saved her from being killed. How was she to know that he worked for them too? How was she to know what he could do to a beautiful pied-noir girl who helped the French army?
“We were so foolish, you and I,” she said. “We thought Algeria would stay French. We thought it would never change.”
“You tried to help, Anne-Marie. You did what you thought was right. The pied-noir and harki children must flee to France. Ali’s war is not only Algeria’s war. He murders for pleasure and revenge. And we are in the way.”
After a moment, Anne-Marie pulled out the little bottle inside her sleeve. “I have two. Cyanide. If we die now—”
Moustafa turned away. “Suicide! Your religion does not permit it, nor does mine! It’s wrong, Anne-Marie.”
“You know that I have no religion, Moustafa. My father was Protestant, my mother Catholic, but I follow neither. The church will not have a stained woman. A woman with a child and no husband. A woman who has slept with the enemy to save her skin. A woman who is pied-noir and has betrayed her heritage. My sins are too many for the church and its God. I’m not ashamed of suicide. Ophélie will have a different life. I’ll save her by dying before they force me to talk.”
“No!” Moustafa grasped her shoulders. “Not yet, Anne-Marie. Our fathers died at the hands of a murderer. Their blood runs in the trenches. Perhaps mine will too. But we cannot be cowards. I will die fighting, not by my own hand. Give me another day. Another day to live. For both of us to live.” He held her in his arms, and she wept.
8
Jean-Claude Gachon stepped off the train in the small town of Aigues-Mortes, his muscular frame rippling underneath the deep-green shirt he had chosen that morning. The color brought out the intensity of his hazel eyes. His thick brown hair touched the shirt’s collar.
The scent of seaweed and fish greeted him as he walked along the platform and out into the late-September morning sun. He stared across a canal to the stone tower rising imposingly before him, then walked toward the entrance to the fortified city. The surrounding stone wall, with its towers and drawbridge, made the city look like it belonged in a fairy tale. But Jean-Claude was no stranger to the history of his country, and he knew this city had existed long before the Grimm brothers penned their first story.
He walked briskly across a bridge and made his way through the city gates. In his pocket was a scrap of paper on which a picture of a cross was crudely scribbled—a strange cross, with a dove dangling from the tip. Underneath, written in a hurried manner, were the words Found on body. What does it have to do with the operation? Something is going on in Aigues-Mortes on the 30th, according to our friend Moustafa. Find out what it is.
As a porteur de valise , Jean-Claude had been working clandestinely for the FLN since the war began. There were many other French who, like him,
“The point is fear, Anne-Marie. Fear. So they will all pack up and leave just as we did. Ironic that we are back where we started from. Only worse off.”
“We’ll never be free of them, will we, Moustafa?”
He looked away. “No. They’re convinced you have more information. Or that we both know about the little operation in the south of France.” He met her eyes.
“Yes, we know. But only the names of the harki children leaving. Thank goodness I cannot tell anything else. Ophélie is surely gone from M. Gady’s shop, and I have no idea where the bag is now.”
“We must escape. They’ll kill us soon, or worse …” His eyes were tender again.
Anne-Marie knew what worse meant. She looked down. “They will not torture me, Moustafa. Not like before. They will not have me.” She shuddered, remembering the night five years ago when they had come to take her. Seven Arab men. In the end, Jean-Claude had saved her from being killed. How was she to know that he worked for them too? How was she to know what he could do to a beautiful pied-noir girl who helped the French army?
“We were so foolish, you and I,” she said. “We thought Algeria would stay French. We thought it would never change.”
“You tried to help, Anne-Marie. You did what you thought was right. The pied-noir and harki children must flee to France. Ali’s war is not only Algeria’s war. He murders for pleasure and revenge. And we are in the way.”
After a moment, Anne-Marie pulled out the little bottle inside her sleeve. “I have two. Cyanide. If we die now—”
Moustafa turned away. “Suicide! Your religion does not permit it, nor does mine! It’s wrong, Anne-Marie.”
“You know that I have no religion, Moustafa. My father was Protestant, my mother Catholic, but I follow neither. The church will not have a stained woman. A woman with a child and no husband. A woman who has slept with the enemy to save her skin. A woman who is pied-noir and has betrayed her heritage. My sins are too many for the church and its God. I’m not ashamed of suicide. Ophélie will have a different life. I’ll save her by dying before they force me to talk.”
“No!” Moustafa grasped her shoulders. “Not yet, Anne-Marie. Our fathers died at the hands of a murderer. Their blood runs in the trenches. Perhaps mine will too. But we cannot be cowards. I will die fighting, not by my own hand. Give me another day. Another day to live. For both of us to live.” He held her in his arms, and she wept.
8
Jean-Claude Gachon stepped off the train in the small town of Aigues-Mortes, his muscular frame rippling underneath the deep-green shirt he had chosen that morning. The color brought out the intensity of his hazel eyes. His thick brown hair touched the shirt’s collar.
The scent of seaweed and fish greeted him as he walked along the platform and out into the late-September morning sun. He stared across a canal to the stone tower rising imposingly before him, then walked toward the entrance to the fortified city. The surrounding stone wall, with its towers and drawbridge, made the city look like it belonged in a fairy tale. But Jean-Claude was no stranger to the history of his country, and he knew this city had existed long before the Grimm brothers penned their first story.
He walked briskly across a bridge and made his way through the city gates. In his pocket was a scrap of paper on which a picture of a cross was crudely scribbled—a strange cross, with a dove dangling from the tip. Underneath, written in a hurried manner, were the words Found on body. What does it have to do with the operation? Something is going on in Aigues-Mortes on the 30th, according to our friend Moustafa. Find out what it is.
As a porteur de valise , Jean-Claude had been working clandestinely for the FLN since the war began. There were many other French who, like him,
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