Page 90 of Across Time

He walks her toward me and then squats low, so they are nearly the same height. “Charlotte, this is my fiancé, Amelie.”

I’ve never heard him call me that. I can’t help but smile as I squat down beside them. “Hello, Charlotte.”

She stares at me with her wide, serious eyes for a moment. Long enough for my stomach to begin the inevitable slide to my feet. And then she reaches into the small bag she carries and pulls out a book, pushing it into my arms.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” I ask.

She nods. I cast a last nervous smile at Henri and then take her by the hand out to the porch. I take one seat, expecting her to take the one beside mine. Instead, she scrambles into my lap, puts her thumb in her mouth, and waits eagerly for me to begin.

I look back into the house, where Henri is watching us. He smiles again and I know he’s seeing his future, when this is our child out on the porch in her mother’s lap. And I smile back, because I finally see how magnificent that future will be.

* * *

All afternoon and into the evening, Marie tends to Lucien while Charlotte has us at her beck and call. Her initial shyness evaporated quickly, and we’ve now heard all about her doll and her tea set, her best friend and her papa, who is very brave and will be home soon. I read to her, and Henri is in charge of games, including a ridiculous one that involves holding each other’s chins and slapping the first to laugh, which Charlotte finds unbelievably funny. Dinner is lively, the three adults passing the baby while we take turns eating, all of us marveling aloud at Jeannette, who somehow is handling this all on her own.

At bedtime I take Charlotte to the room upstairs, the one that belonged to me when I first arrived, but minutes after I’ve tucked her in and said goodnight, she’s downstairs again, saying she’s scared. I tell her I’ll lie down with her for a moment and do so, surprised to discover how much I like having a three-year-old curled up beside me.

It’s Henri who wakes me, his hand on my shoulder. “Come to bed,” he whispers. I blink and look at Charlotte, her tiny face on the same pillow as mine, her thumb tucked in her mouth.

He smiles softly. “You’re spoiling her.”

I open my mouth to argue and he stops me. “I like that you spoil her. You’re going to be a very good mother.” He gently pulls me to my feet. “But right now I’m more interested in seeing how you’ll be a very good wife.”

“When will I be a wife, by the way?” I ask as we walk downstairs. Henri mailed my photo to the forger just a few days ago, but now that it’s really underway I’m impatient for it.

“Your papers will be ready next week,” he says. “As soon as possible after that.”

“Now we just need to plan a honeymoon,” I say. “Unless people don’t do that in your time?”

He laughs, pulling me close as he shuts the door behind us. “Yes,” he says, against my ear, “we definitely honeymoon in my time. Where do you want to go?”

My lips skate over his collarbone and then his neck. “A beach. Somewhere private where we can have sex on every available surface and swim naked.”

He groans. “I’m not sure where this magical place you’re describing is, but let’s definitely find it. We have the money as long as we don’t tell anyone where we went.”

“The Riviera, maybe?” I suggest as I unbutton his shirt.

His fingers press into my hips. “It’s October now and it will be November by the time we’re married. We can go but I don’t think we’ll be doing any swimming.”

“Further south then. Italy?” I reach for his belt.

“You’ll have to go further,” he says with a groan.

I drop to my knees. “Greece?” I ask, wrapping my hand around his girth, already hard and beyond ready.

“Yes,” he says with a hiss as I take him in my mouth. “That’s perfect.”

* * *

The next day when it’s time to go, Charlotte clings to me, her arms tight around my neck. I feel the pinch of tears. “Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow at mass,” I reply, trying to reassure myself as much as her.

She looks from me to Marie, not understanding. “Charlotte is Jewish,” Marie says softly. “So she doesn’t go to mass.”

My stomach drops. All this time I was worried about Henri and Marie.

It never occurred to me that there are thousands of little girls like Charlotte in France. And many of them won’t survive the war.

They leave and I bury my head in my hands. How am I going to approach the coming years? Because it’s clear this is a situation I’ll find myself in, again and again. I can make things better for Charlotte and her brother by getting involved, but if they died during the war, nothing I can do will change that. Which means I also might be risking their lives by getting involved.