The Winemaker's Wife(75)

“I—I don’t think it’s appropriate,” she stammered, her hands protectively on her belly. “My husband should be back soon, and I—”

“No, he won’t.” Richter smiled coldly. “I know he’s with Monsieur Chauveau at a meeting of winemakers. I feel certain they will be quite delayed.”

“But surely Madame Chauveau—”

“—will be completely unaware of my presence.” He finished her sentence for her, and then grabbed her arm. “Come, Madame Laurent. You do wish to protect your child, don’t you? But my friendship isn’t free. I thought I made that clear.”

“Please, I can’t—”

But Richter was no longer listening. He tugged her from her house, ignoring her protests. As he pulled her across the garden and toward the stone steps that led beneath the earth, she understood both what he wanted and that she would have no power to say no. She whimpered in the darkness, which only made him chuckle. “Is something wrong, madame?” he asked.

“Please don’t make me do this.”

“I am not making you do anything.” He picked up his pace, finally releasing her as he thrust her toward the entrance to the cellars and paused to illuminate his crank flashlight. “I am offering you a chance to save your child. Surely any mother would want that.” He didn’t wait for a response before shoving her toward the stairs. She stumbled on the first step, nearly falling, and he caught her roughly by the arm, laughing as she gasped. “Hoppla! You’re no good to me if you’re dead at the bottom of these steps, du Schlampe!”

She pulled away and gripped the rail, descending as slowly as possible, her mind spinning as she tried to buy a bit of time. “My husband will report you,” she said as they reached the bottom of the stairs and he pushed her toward the first cave on the right, which was lined with resting bottles.

“Oh, I do not believe you will tell your husband. Because if you do, I would have no choice to denounce you as a lying Jew. And lying Jews are sent east.” He chuckled. “In the camps, there is not much use for pregnant Jews. And certainly not for their babies.”

They were in the cave now, and he set the flashlight down beside him and let her go. For a second, she considered running, but then he pulled a small knife from his pocket and flipped it open. It glinted in the slanted glare of the flashlight as he brandished it casually. “I hope I won’t need to use this to convince you.”

“N-no.” She couldn’t tear her eyes from the knife, and this time, when he grabbed her around the waist, she forced herself not to flinch.

He pushed her against the wall, face-first, and once she was pinned, he reached under her skirt with his free hand, his sweaty fingers cold against her flesh. “There, there,” he murmured as she whimpered in fear, and then his fist closed around her underwear and he pulled hard, ripping the fabric as he tore it loose.

She gasped and gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. “No, please,” she begged, forgetting the knife momentarily, but as soon as she tried to pull away again, she found the blade pressed up against her right cheek.

“Stupid, worthless cow,” he grunted in German as he unfastened his trousers, the sound of the belt buckle like a bell tolling in the darkness. “I told you to stay still.”

“Please, please don’t. What if you hurt the baby?” That’s when she felt him shift slightly. For an instant, she thought that her words had given him pause, but then he pulled her back and slammed her head against the wall, hard enough that she lost consciousness for a few seconds.

“You think I give a shit about your Jew-child?” he barked as her world swam back into focus.

She was slumped on the cold ground, her head throbbing. “Please, I—”

“Get up!” he screamed at her.

She strained to rise to her feet, but her limbs were useless, uncooperative. “I—”

“Steh jetzt auf!”

She moaned and tried to speak, to tell him she was trying, but her tongue wouldn’t cooperate.

He cursed at her in German, then pulled her roughly to her feet and slammed her against the cold, wet wall again. “This is what happens when you refuse to follow orders,” he growled, and then a wave of excruciating pain washed over her as he dragged the knife down her right cheek, splitting her skin into a jagged river of blood. She screamed in agony, and instantly, the knife clattered to the ground and his thick hand was around her mouth and nose, suffocating her. “Shut the hell up, du Hure!” he hissed in her ear. “You asked for this.”

When he finally took his hand away, she gulped the air greedily as pain coursed through her. She could smell her own blood, could feel it trickling down her shoulder. Then he was against her again, naked below the waist, nearly inside her. He grunted, the sound inhuman, animal-like. “You’re a filthy Jewish whore. You’re lucky a man like me wants you.”

She closed her eyes and braced herself, reciting a silent prayer to God in her head that her baby would be protected and that it would all be over soon. But instead of the horrific violation she knew was coming, there was only a muffled cracking sound that reverberated through the cave, and then Richter’s body went slack against hers. She heard him hit the ground with a thud. Clutching her shredded, oozing face, she whirled around.

Inès was standing there in the light of the tilted flashlight, clutching a champagne bottle with both hands. Its base was stained crimson, and between them lay the still form of the German officer, blood pooling under the back of his head, his pants twisted around his knees. His eyes were closed, a sneer still pasted across his ugly features. “Is—is he dead?” Céline asked.