“How did you get everything out of the country?” he asked.
“By the will of God,” she said. “And pure luck. The small items were placed inside the wine barrels and covered in dirt. The biggest items were shipped to a company in San Francisco that Uncle Anton knew of, and he planned to take possession of them when we arrived. Those larger crates were marked as furniture. And, of course, much of it was indeed furniture.”
“That must’ve taken some time to arrange.” I was completely enthralled by her tale.
“The clock was ticking,” she said. “My mother was so nervous in those days. I didn’t know why until a few years later when I was finally able to understand what we’d been through.”
“So everything was packed up, and that was when you left.”
“We had to sneak out of the village and travel at night. Along the way we were assisted by many kind people. I was miserable and frightened, but I didn’t dare complain.”
“Because you might’ve been discovered.”
“Yes,” she said flatly. “We finally made it to the coast and traveled across the channel to Southampton, England. Then by boat to New York and then by train to California. The wine barrels traveled with us. It was a harrowing journey every step of the way, because we never knew when we might be stopped and searched. My father and uncles had to carry an enormous amount of cash because they didn’t know when or where they might have to pay off an official.”
“How awful for them,” Mom murmured. “And all of you.”
“Isn’t it?” Trudy said, shaking her head. “Even when we arrived at the little train station in Petaluma, safe at last, my mother refused to let a porter take her suitcase. She was afraid she wouldn’t get it back.”
“Your poor mother,” Mom said. “She had to worry about her children, too.”
“Yes,” Trudy murmured. “I had a younger brother, Olivier. He returned to France after the war and died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. He was a dear old thing, and his wife was lovely. They’re both gone now. I remember how Ollie and I used to practice our English together every day on the boat.” She seemed lost in thought for a moment but then perked up. “When we arrived in San Francisco, we collected our shipments of furniture and everything else we’d sent ahead. My father and uncles bought three cars and a truck, and we all drove out here to Sonoma.”
Derek smiled calmly, even though I could tell he was anxious to get back on track. “Once they knew you were all safe, did your parents arrange to take everything back to the villagers?”
Trudy’s expression was not happy. “I don’t believe so, not right away. The war was still raging back home. But to be honest, I have no idea when or how they sent the items back. My parents never spoke of it.”
“They never said anything about the villagers’ belongings?” I asked, not quite believing what she’d said.
“When we first arrived, they talked about it. And they told us stories. We were growing older, and I think they wanted us to know some of our history. But one day, they just stopped talking about it. All of it. The artwork. The harrowing details of the trip we’d taken. The war. Even our old village in France. My parents never spoke a word about any of it again.”
“Not a word?” Mom echoed in puzzlement.
“Not as far as I knew.”
“Do you have any idea why?” I asked.
“No. I was still a child and didn’t think to ask. I assumed my father and uncles had taken care of everything, but they never said. I decided that they simply didn’t like to dwell on the past. But I wish I knew what happened. There were so many beautiful things, I would like to know that they all made it back to their rightful owners and that our French village was peaceful again. I have so many questions.”
Derek and I exchanged another glance, and he reached for Trudy’s hand. “We might be able to give you some of the answers you’re looking for.”
She trembled visibly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we know where the treasures are. We can take you to see them, Trudy.”
She waved him away with a tired smile. “Oh, I’m too old to travel.”
“You don’t understand,” I said, laughing. “They’re only a mile away. In the wine cave.”
*
“It’s simply too much to comprehend,” Trudy said. “It all looks so familiar, and yet, it’s—it’s . . . Oh, there’s the Greniers’ family portrait. Good heavens, they’re all so young.” She gazed at the framed oil painting for a long moment, then turned to stare at herself in the pretty gold-leaf mirror attached to a rococo vanity table. “This belonged to my girlfriend from so many years ago, Nanette Allard.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“Isn’t it? I always envied her for having so many nice . . . Oh!” She inhaled so suddenly, I thought she might faint.
“Are you all right?”