The Winemaker's Wife(88)

And then the Germans were there in the entrance to the cave, four of them, their guns drawn and pointed at Céline, Michel, and the baby between them. “Runter, runter!” one of the men barked in German. “Bas, bas! Down on the ground!”

“Please, don’t hurt the baby!” Céline cried, but the men ignored her as they rushed in and pulled a screaming David from her arms. One of them disappeared with him, and another shoved Céline to the ground, his knee driving into her back as she screamed and sobbed.

“Halt die Klappe!” the soldier yelled in German. “Shut up!”

But Céline couldn’t stop, because she couldn’t see David, and his screams were fading, and all that mattered was protecting him, and if she couldn’t do that, she had failed, and her life was worthless. Michel was on the ground beside her, his head being smashed repeatedly into the ground until he stopped yelling.

“Michel!” Céline cried, and he turned, his eyes blurry and unfocused, but he was alive.

“We are here to arrest Michel Chauveau for the murder of Hauptmann Karl Richter,” barked one of the men, hauling Céline to her feet and shoving her into the hall. She looked around wildly for her son. One of the soldiers held him, tucked under his arm like a loaf of bread, but David was alive, his tiny legs windmilling loose from his blankets as he screeched.

Céline choked on her sobs. “Please, please, whatever you do, don’t hurt the baby.”

“Shut up, Jew. Were you involved, too?”

And then, in the chaos, somehow Inès was there, her face red, her eyes wild. She grabbed the baby from the German, who looked like he was about to protest, but Inès began to scream again, an almost inhuman, animal-like sound, low and keening, and the German backed away from her, holding his hands up.

“No, no, there’s been a mistake!” Michel’s voice, thick and muffled, came from beside Céline. “Céline had nothing to do with Richter. It was only me, me alone.”

“No,” Céline moaned. “No, no, no!”

“Genug!” one of the Germans, the one with the mustache, barked. “Enough of your lies! How could you think you would get away with it?”

“No, it wasn’t them at all!” Inès wailed. “It was me! It was my fault! I killed him! I killed Richter!”

Céline looked at her in shock, this unfamiliar cyclone of wild hair and tears. In Inès’s arms, David continued to cry, and Céline instinctively reached for him, which earned her a blow across the face with the butt of a German pistol. The world swam around her, and David’s shrieking faded, swallowed by the high pitch of Inès’s screams.

“Enough!” the mustached German roared. “You are Inès Chauveau? We know you weren’t even here when Hauptmann Richter was murdered. Why would you tell such a lie?”

“But, I—”

“Get out!” the German bellowed. “Antoine Picard has vouched for you. You were with him. Now go, before we arrest you, too!”

Céline choked on a hysterical sob as her mind reeled. Who was this Picard who was protecting Inès? And why was Inès trying to take the fall? It was only then that she understood, with a sort of confused finality, that this arrest was happening because of something Inès had set in motion when she fled to Reims the night before, something that could never be undone.

“I’m so, so, so sorry!” Inès sobbed, backing away. Her eyes were on Céline. “I never meant—”

The mustached German officer interrupted. “Enough! Hand the baby back and go! Now, before I change my mind and arrest you, too!”

“No!” Céline whimpered, reaching out again for David, earning her another blow to the face. The caves spun as she blinked and tried to stay conscious.

“What could you possibly want with an innocent baby?” Inès demanded, her expression vicious as she stared down the officer.

He sneered at Inès. “What could you want with him? He’s a Jew, isn’t he?”

“Not by your Nazi definitions, and you Nazis love to play by your rules, don’t you?” Inès shot back, her eyes blazing. “He has only one Jewish grandparent, and anyhow, he was born right here in France. Besides, do you want the murder of an innocent baby on your conscience? What kind of a monster are you?”

The German stared at her before grunting and waving his hand dismissively. “What do I care, anyhow? You want a mischling bastard, you take it. Now go! You’re nothing but a worthless whore anyhow.”

Inès flinched and turned to Céline. “I’m so, so sorry, Céline. I never meant—”

“Just protect David,” Céline said. The soldier holding her jabbed his gun hard into her spine, sending pain shooting through her. She winced and managed to add, “Protect him, Inès. I’m begging you.”

“But—”

“Go, Inès, before they change their minds! Please!”

Inès hesitated for only a second more before turning and running, the baby clutched in her arms. Céline watched them disappear, David’s cries fading into the chalk walls like they had never been there at all, like he had been merely a dream. And in the silence that he left behind, Céline knew she would never see him again. She also knew, with equal certainty, that her own sins had brought them to this moment, a moment somehow inevitable from the first time she had kissed Michel, the first time she had pushed away her doubts and let herself fall in love with someone who was never meant to be hers.