leather shoes and wide heels, scuffed ankles that grew into legs—I wondered if she’d ever tried to look pretty, or desired it. These were the type of women I’d be living with, ones with a devotion to Christ I couldn’t fathom, although admired, but also a strict aversion to fashion—and bad language. I had to watch my language. God, if it wasn’t for Mama’s mouth! Be sensitive.
I will help her, I thought, and the tension that had followed us from the train would disappear. I cleared my throat.
‘I’m sorry, Marguerite. Your journey didn’t go as planned. Neither did mine, but we’re here now. That’s what matters.’ I picked up one end of the crate, trying not to grimace from the overwhelming weight of the load inside, but it was too heavy to manage by myself. ‘Ugh! What’s in here?’ I dropped the crate, only that’s when she decided to pick her end up, its contents clinking and clanging against each other from the abrupt shift.
‘Marguerite?’
She made no mention of my apology, but rather ploughed down the path toward the convent with the crate dragging behind her, spooking a covey of quail that left pulls of breast feathers wafting in the air. I hurried after her, picking the crate up by its dragging end, and walked the rest of the way with her.
A Sister of the Order flew out of the castle’s wooden front door as we approached, her arms in a welcoming stretch. I dropped the crate, working to straighten my beret and smooth my hair.
‘Bienvenue!’ Her habit ruffled around her ankles as she made her way through the courtyard. ‘Welcome to our convent. I’m Sister Mary-Francis.’ She threw her arms around Marguerite, whose walnut-shaped eyes peeped over the sister’s shoulders.
‘Thank you for the welcome, Sister,’ Marguerite said with a small curtsy.
The sister turned to me, her eyes rolling from my gravel-scuffed pumps all the way to the top of my head. ‘And who’s this? You brought someone with you?’ She noticed my pocketbook and seemed more curious about it than Marguerite’s wooden crate.
‘I don’t know who she is,’ Marguerite piped up.
My jaw dropped, momentarily lost for words as the sister studied me. I realized Marguerite and I had just met a few hours ago, but she made it sound like we’d never spoken, which I didn’t appreciate. I’d apologized, and as it were, just helped her carry that monstrosity of a crate up the gravel path.
‘Actually, we met on the train,’ I said. ‘I’m Adèle Ambeh.’
The sister offered me her hand to shake. ‘Very nice.’
‘I come from Vichy, seeking refuge.’ I pulled the francs Mama had given me from my pocketbook and piled the bundles into her hands. ‘Is this enough alms to let me stay?’
The sister struggled with the growing stack, dropping some to the ground. ‘Seeking refuge, you say?’
‘My father wrote a letter.’ I unfolded the note Mama had written and held it in front of her eyes since her hands were full of francs.
She read it aloud at first, but then mumbled her way through the last half. ‘Oh, I see.’ She smiled and nodded—Mama had written there would be more money the longer I stayed. ‘Well, Adèle,’ she said. ‘We do need help with the girls.’
‘Girls?’ I said.
Marguerite took a step back and watched us with folded arms.
‘Yes… rehabilitation. Girls displaced by the war…’ Marguerite huffed from her nose, and the sister suddenly seemed torn between the two of us. ‘Oh… umm…’ She motioned for me to make my way to the front doors while trying to manage the francs in her hands. ‘I’ll get you acquainted inside, Adèle, if you wouldn’t mind.’ I made a move toward the front door, but then she yelped. ‘Wait—what skills do you have?’
I winced instantly, standing with my back to her. I suppose I should’ve thought about these things on the train, but how could I with all that commotion? Truth was, I went through trades quickly, and I hadn’t done much at all since I quit setting hair, but the sister didn’t know that. I could clean a floor if I had to—the thought of Gérard waiting for me back at the altar was enough for me say anything if it meant she’d allow me to stay.
I cleared my throat before turning around. ‘I can—’
Another bundle of francs slipped from the sister’s hands. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, picking it up. ‘Go ahead inside.’ She pointed at the convent with her eyes. ‘Wait in the foyer.’ She