The Winemaker's Wife(80)

By the time Inès made her way back into the cave where Richter lay, Theo was squatting with his arm around Céline, who had finally crumpled to the ground, and Michel was gaping at them, Richter’s gun in his hand and an expression of anguish on his face. “What in God’s name happened?” he asked, turning to Inès.

“I—I saw them from the window,” Inès said, and Michel’s eyes flashed to Céline, who was sobbing now, her head down, as Theo tried to stop the blood flowing from her face with his scarf. “He was dragging Céline.”

“Was she . . . ?” Michel asked.

“I came down the stairs behind them. He was—he was hurting her. You can see her face.” Inès couldn’t imagine how much pain Céline was in. “But I stopped him before he did what he had come here to do. And the baby is okay, too.”

Michel’s tormented gaze flickered around the room and landed on the bloodstained champagne bottle. “You hit him with that?”

“Yes,” Inès said.

“And he was alone?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” Michel said. “My God, Inès, thank you for being so brave.”

“Of course.” But something about his gratitude struck her as odd. She shook off her misgivings. “What do we do now? If he wakes up . . .”

“Yes, I know,” Michel said.

Theo looked up, finally paying attention. “But what do you suggest? We can’t just murder the man.”

“Don’t fool yourself,” Michel said. “He would have killed Céline without a shred of remorse. And the baby—” He stopped and shook his head. “He has left us no choice.”

“Michel,” Céline said, and then stopped, pressing her lips together.

“Don’t worry,” Michel said gently. Then he turned to Inès. “Céline likely needs a doctor, but I think we cannot afford to call one, for there will be too many questions. Can you do your best to care for her?”

“I will do what I can,” Inès said.

“Michel—” Theo said.

Michel turned to him. “And you, Theo? Are you with us or against us? I will not hold it against you if you choose not to help, but I do require your silence. It is your wife whose life has been saved.”

Theo glanced at Céline and then back at Michel. He looked angry, frightened. “I will help,” Theo said, “but we will never speak of this again.”

“Fine,” Michel said. “Inès, take Céline upstairs. Don’t make a sound.”

Inès hesitated. The decisions they were making here would affect them forever.

“Inès,” Michel said urgently, handing her Richter’s gun. “Go. Now. I don’t know how much time we’ll have before the Germans come looking.”

His words snapped her out of it, and she pulled Céline into her arms and led her gently out of the cave, a trail of blood falling behind them as they went.

? ? ?

Inès cleaned Céline’s wound and helped slow the bleeding, and though she knew Céline needed medical attention, she agreed with Michel: it was too risky. If Richter had told anyone he was going to the Maison Chauveau that evening, their property would be crawling with Germans as soon as it became clear he was missing. Their best hope of appearing innocent was to involve as few people as possible.

Céline’s bleeding eventually stopped, and she fell asleep atop the covers in Inès and Michel’s bed, her hands curled under her belly, as they waited for the men to return. Inès stroked her hair, thinking about the future. They were all in peril, and not just because of the events that had passed that night. Would any of them survive?

Eventually, Inès dozed off beside Céline and was jarred awake sometime before dawn by the slam of the front door below. She sat up with a gasp and fumbled for Richter’s gun on the bedside table. She was clutching it when Michel entered the bedroom, his clothing stained with blood and dirt.

“How is she?” he asked as Inès set the gun down, got out of bed, and put a hand on Céline’s forehead.

“Okay for now, I think.” Inès crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him, but his body was stiff, unresponsive, and when she withdrew, she realized he was still watching Céline.

“We should bring her to her own house,” he said.

“Yes.”

Michel changed his shirt quickly, leaving the bloodied one crumpled on the floor, and then he scooped the sleeping Céline gently into his arms. “I’ll return in a moment,” he said without looking at Inès.

“Wait,” Inès said. “Theo. Is he—?”

“He is bound by his complicity in this,” Michel said stiffly.

“And Richter?”

“He’s dead, Inès. It is best you know no more than that.”

“You got rid of his bicycle, too?”

He nodded. “We left it two towns over, by the side of the road. That should throw the Germans off for a little while.”

He left carrying Céline, and Inès sat rigid on the bed for a long time before forcing herself to get up and grab his shirt. It all felt surreal, terrifying. Was there any possibility they could get away with this, or had they all signed their own death warrants tonight? She boiled water, and she was just about to begin washing the garment, when Michel reentered through the back door, took one look at her, and snatched the shirt away.