The Nightingale

She wanted him to do it, wanted it more than anything, but this was a mother’s job.

With shaking hands, she stuffed Daniel’s—Ari’s—belongings into a ragged canvas rucksack, and then walked out of the room, realizing a second too late that she’d left Antoine behind. It took everything she had to keep breathing, keep moving. She opened the door to her bedroom and burrowed through her armoire until she found a small framed photograph of herself and Rachel. It was the only picture she had of Rachel. It had been taken ten or twelve years ago. She wrote their names on the back and then shoved it into the pocket of the rucksack and left the room. Ignoring the men downstairs, she went out to the backyard, where the children—still in capes and crowns—were playing on the makeshift stage.

The three men followed her.

Sophie looked at all of them. “Maman?”

Daniel laughed. How long would she remember exactly that sound? Not long enough. She knew that now. Memories—even the best of them—faded.

“Daniel?” She had to clear her throat and try again. “Daniel? Could you come here?”

“What’s wrong, Maman?” Sophie said. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

She moved forward, clutching the rucksack to her side. “Daniel?”

He grinned up at her. “You want us to sing it again, Maman?” he asked, righting the crown as it slipped to one side of his head.

“Can you come here, Daniel?” she asked it twice, just to be sure. She was afraid too much of this was happening in her head.

He padded toward her, yanking his cape sideways so he didn’t trip over it.

She knelt in the grass and took his hands in hers. “There’s no way to make you understand this.” Her voice caught. “In time, I would have told you everything. When you were older. We would have gone to your old house, even. But time’s up, Captain Dan.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You know how much we love you,” she said.

“Oui, Maman,” Daniel said.

“We love you, Daniel, and we have from the moment you came into our lives, but you belonged to another family first. You had another maman and another papa, and they loved you, too.”

Daniel frowned. “I had another maman?”

Behind her, Sophie said, “Oh, no…”

“Her name was Rachel de Champlain, and she loved you with all her heart. And your papa was a brave man named Marc. I wish I could be the one to tell you their stories, but I can’t”—she dashed tears from her eyes—“because your maman’s cousin loves you, too, and she wants you to come live with them in America, where people have plenty to eat and lots of toys to play with.”

Tears filled his eyes. “But you’re my maman. I don’t want to go.”

She wanted to say “I don’t want you to go,” but that would only frighten him more, and her last job as his mother was to make him feel safe. “I know,” she said quietly, “but you are going to love it, Captain Dan, and your new family will love and adore you. Maybe they will even have a puppy, like you’ve always wanted.”

He started to cry, and she pulled him into her arms. It took perhaps the greatest courage of her life to let go of him. She stood. The two men immediately appeared at her side.

“Hello, young man,” Phillipe said to Daniel, giving him an earnest smile.

Daniel wailed.

Vianne took Daniel’s hand and led him through the house and into the front yard, past the dead apple tree littered with remembrance ribbons and through the broken gate to the blue Peugeot parked on the side of the road.

Lerner got into the driver’s seat while Phillipe waited near the back fender. The engine fired up; smoke puffed out from the rear exhaust.

Phillipe opened the back door. Giving Vianne one last sad look, he slid into the seat, leaving the car door open.

Sophie and Antoine came up beside her, and bent down together to hug Daniel.

“We will always love you, Daniel,” Sophie said. “I hope you remember us.”

Vianne knew that only she could get Daniel into the automobile. He would trust only her.

Of all the heartbreaking, terrible things she’d done in this war, none hurt as badly as this: She took Daniel by the hand and led him into the automobile that would take him away from her. He climbed into the backseat.

He stared at her through teary, confused eyes. “Maman?”

Sophie said, “Just a minute!” and ran back to the house. She returned a moment later with Bébé and thrust the stuffed rabbit at Daniel.

Vianne bent down to look him in the eye. “You need to go now, Daniel. Trust Maman.”

His lower lip trembled. He clutched the toy to his chest. “Oui, Maman.”

“Be a good boy.”

Phillipe leaned over and shut the door.

Daniel launched himself at the window, pressing his palms to the glass. He was crying now, yelling, “Maman! Maman!” They could hear his screams for minutes after the automobile was gone.

Vianne said quietly, “Have a good life, Ari de Champlain.”





THIRTY-EIGHT