Across The Gulf Of Time

     This little foray into "what if" is for fans of the comic 9 Chickweed Lane.  It references the two long WWII story arcs that ran in 2009 and 2014, and proceeds from the end point of the last one, the ending of which left me dissatisfied enough that I was moved to write this tale.  It does not change anything that happened in the long tale, but rather takes it in a direction unanticipated at the end of it.  My continuation of the story was written in early 2015 and therefore does not take into account what has happened in the strip since then.  Those who well remember Brooke McEldowney's poignant tale should, I hope, enjoy my unofficial ending of it.



Paris, France.

Tuesday. June 2, 2015.

9:30 A.M.

     Eva and Kiesl stepped out of the hotel door just as her taxi was pulling up.
     "Eva my dear, do you have your pills and your phone with you?"
     "Yes I do worrywart. I have everything I need, except possibly enough gumption. Will you be alright?"
     "Certainly.  A Paris cafe is almost as good for whiling away time as one in Vienna, and there are restaurants and bookstores nearby.  I shall not want for diversion."
     "Well, I better go then. I have no idea how long I will be, but I will keep in touch."  She hugged him gently and whispered "I love you." in his ear.  He whispered back the same.
     " Are you still sure you want to do this?"
     "Yes I am, but I should go quickly before my courage fails."
     "Bon chance, my love."
      A few minutes later the taxi let her out at 136 Rue de Championette.  The driver, thinking she was a resident, leaped out to open the door for her.  It was a nice gesture so she did not disabuse him of his error in thinking she needed the help.  She walked into the courtyard of a somewhat forbidding modern building, almost bunker-like, but it did have some nice plantings around the entrance and a few flowers along the balconies.  She pushed into the entry and walked over to the information desk. A somewhat plain young woman sat behind it.
     "Pardon.  Do you speak English?  My French is quite rusty."
     "Oui madame, er, yes ma'am.  What may I do for you?"
     "The lady in room 206.  Does she take visitors?
     "Oh yes.  She gets very few, but she is quite welcoming when they do come.
     "Is she in poor health?"
     "For her age, not really.  She is quite frail, but in better health than most of our residents.  She is ninety-four you know, but her mind is still very sharp."
     "I see.  Is there an elevator?"
     "Yes ma'am.  Just down this hall and then to your right on the second floor.  The door should be open."
     "Merci, mademoiselle."
     "You are very welcome, madame."
     The door of 206 was cracked open, as were most of the doors.  Out of custom or necessity she could not guess.  Eva stopped and contemplated.  A tangle of emotions simmered.  Nothing for it.  She stood a little straighter and pulled the door open a bit more.  A pale slender white-haired, obviously very elderly woman, slept peacefully on a twin bed.  She seemed to breathe easily.  Sighing, Eva pulled the door all the way open, stepped in quietly and closed the door.  She surveyed.
     The room was airy, spotless, and largely unadorned, with only the bed, a large dresser, a side table, and two chairs for furniture, with a Seurat print on the wall as the only decoration.  There was a small silver frame on the dresser.  She moved closer to better make out the small tattered print in it. Bill's face, and the face of an attractive woman holding roses looked out at her.  Her hand flew to her throat.  "Mein Gott!" she gasped.  It is her."  She had said it aloud.
     From the bed came a soft steady voice, "Yes, that is me, madame.  The question is, who are you?  Have we met?"
     Eva tried to swallow down a dry throat. She moved away from the dresser and answered, "No madame, we have not.  I am sorry to intrude like this, but I have some things to tell you.  Momentous things."
     "A visitor then.  I'm am very pleased to have you here.  Will you have coffee or perhaps tea?"
     "Coffee would be very nice, thank you."
      The woman called in an order for two coffees from the canteen.  She pushed back the bed covers, stood, donned a thin robe laid across the chair next to the bed, and then sat down.  She patted the chair opposite. "Come and sit with me."
     Eva seemed rooted to the spot, her hands clamped together.  "I am very very nervous, madame.  Please forgive me."
     "Nervous is it?  Well, we must sit and talk this nervousness out."  Eva moved slowly over to the offered chair and sat.  She could see it.  The years had not entirely erased the girl.  She was thin but not cadaverous, her skin was almost transparent, the lines in her face many but not deeply etched, her hands but lightly splotched with age.  A beauty then, scarcely less of one now.
     Eva shakily forged ahead.
     "You are Martine Clocqueur, yes?"
     "I am, although Clocqueur is my maiden name.  And you are?"
     Eva took a deep breath. "My married name is Eva Kiesl.  I live in Vienna with my husband Peter, but as I'm sure you can guess I am from America.  Sixty years ago my married name was... Edie O'Malley."
     It took a few seconds for the information to register.  Martine's eyes grew huge, her hand flew to her mouth and she gasped out. "Mon Dieu!  You are his Edie, Bill's Edie!"  She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.  "Mon Dieu Mon Dieu."  Tears flooded.  Eva's heart instantly melted and her own tears sprang.  She sank to her creaking knees in front of Martine and held out her arms.  Martine flew into them and they both cried unashamedly on each others shoulders for long minutes.  Between sobs Martine said. "It is you. It must be you.  Oh my Edie, I have so long wondered."
     Finally she pushed away and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Oh Edie.  Please forgive an old woman letting her emotions run away with her."
     Eva fished tissues from her purse, dabbed her own eyes, then said, "Nonsense.  Your shoulder is just as wet as this old woman's."
     The coffee arrived. With trembling hands they sipped.
     Martine, "Oh my oh my.  The memories, suddenly so hot and fresh.  I've often wondered down through the years what became of Bill and you.  Some of those memories are terribly painful, but still I treasure them.  Is Bill?..."
     Eva shook her head and sighed.  "No, Martine.  Sadly Bill did not enjoy a long or happy life.  He passed away almost fifteen years ago.  The reason I am here will become clear in a moment, but I sought you out because of how much you have influenced my family's lives, and to apprise you of some of the details of Bill's life after the war."
     Martine nodded.  "That sounds a bit ominous, but please tell me everything, and I will tell you all that I remember."
     "Good, but before I begin my story, how in the name of God is it that you are actually alive?  Bill was positive you had been killed."
     "Oh my, that poor man.  He was almost right.  I was the merest whisper away from death.  As I faded out I saw someone strike Bill on the head with a rifle butt.  An American medical unit was passing and had heard a shot.  Obviously they were able to keep me alive.  I assume they had me on oxygen and plasma very quickly until they could get me to a medical facility, where I was dragged from the brink.  I was unconscious, so I didn't remember anything until some days later when I awakened in a huge field hospital that had been set up for civilians."
     "There was no sign of Bill, and I never saw him again.  The medics wouldn't have known I was related to either man in the field, and in that enormous crush of humanity I doubt they would have cared.  None of us were wearing wedding rings.  Bert was wearing an American uniform and had been driving an American Jeep, so identifying him should have been easy, but I have no knowledge of that. I don't think Bill had any identification on him, and if he was unconscious it must have taken some time to sort out who he was.  I on the other hand was actively trying to avoid identification."
     "It was a dangerous time, even after the Americans had arrived, so a French civilian asking after an Allied intelligence operative seemed certain to draw unwanted attention.  At the time, with the memory of our marriage fresh in my mind, I fully intended to reconnect with Bill after the war was over, but I was most grievously wounded.  I sometimes still feel that trauma.  It took months of painful recovery and I was shuffled about incessantly. It seemed as though I spent time in every field hospital in western France.  I underwent a number of operations, and came close to the brink again more than once."
     "Couldn't you have used your marriage certificate to inquire after Bill later on?"
     "Well, you may not know this, but I was considered a collaborator by many in France, and using my real name, even with a different last name, seemed like a very bad idea.   I had false identity papers and my marriage certificate secreted in my skirt, which was miraculously returned to me. The identity papers had been created by the best forger in Marseille.  They looked more convincing than the real thing, and I depended on them for a very long time.  So what I possessed was a marriage certificate and identity papers which bore no relation to each other at all.  Hardly anything would have attracted more attention than that."
    "Neither Bill nor the OSS was aware of this identity, and I don't know if they ever looked for me.  It would have been a daunting task to say the least.  I was terribly hurt that Bill had either not been able to track me down, or failed to try.  But even if he had tried he would have been forced to go through multiple hospitals searching only for my face. Your Colonel Yancey would have scarcely known where to start looking, even if he had the inclination to do so."
     "It all sounds very paranoid, but in counterintelligence work that particular emotion could be, and in my case was, a lifesaver because the French authorities were circulating through the refugee camps and hospitals attempting to ferret out collaborators.  The sport of collaborator hunting was quite popular here for years.  For what some thought I had done, I could have faced the ultimate penalty."
     "That awful hunt was hugely complicated, fortunately for me, by the thousands of civilians killed in France during the invasion.  People were scattered to the four winds, and hundreds of thousands of refugees were flooding back into France by the first of the year.  Strict and accurate documentation of the details of that maelstrom was a plain impossibility.  I am sure the OSS had far too much on their plate to waste time trying to find me. They would have assumed I had not survived. I was just one more regrettable casualty.  One face in a million strong crowd.  Another factor was the political chaos in the country after liberation.  I was able to take advantage of that chaos to unobtrusively melt back into the population."
     "Years afterwards the horrible memories of the war had begun to fade, and the hunt for collaborators had largely ceased.  I was eventually able to resume my actual identity in 1954, rather a tricky bit of business that.  Ten years later I formally changed my last name to O'Malley in Bill's memory.  I still had my marriage certificate so it did not prove too difficult."
     "I told the authorities I had married during the Paris uprising and that my husband had been killed.  This was hardly an uncommon story.  They had little reason to doubt me and could find no hint of malicious intent, so the change was approved.  By then of course I was La Mademoiselle Docteur, and fairly respectable.  I was lucky there was no internet then.  I never remarried and it is still my name today."
     "I know, it's how I found you.  You never inquired after Bill?"
     "I intended to do just that, but then I became very busy indeed."
     "How so?"
     "In May of 1945 I gave birth to twins. It is a true miracle of God that my injuries and subsequent traumas did not cause me to miscarry."
     Eva's hand flew to her throat.  "Holy Mother, you had Bill's children!  I can't believe you did not try to contact him with that news."
     "Edie, you must remember that I did not even know if Bill was still alive, and after some lengthy reflection reasoned that if he was still alive, he almost certainly was back in the states with you at his side.  I eventually realized that he could well have thought I had not survived, and that he and you were already married.  It was really an impossible dilemma.  I had already assumed a different identity and had two children with the same name.  You can see the problem."
     "Can you imagine the legal difficulties for all of us if I had tried to press a claim of marriage against Bill?  Taken all together it seemed best to commit my marriage to the status of a dream.  Did you know about me?"
     "Well, I knew there had been someone in France Bill was fond of.  I knew his OSS contact was a woman named Martine, but the first clue I had that there was much more to it than that was when he absolutely demanded to name our first child, born in 1955, Juliette Martine."
     "Mon Dieu!  My goodness.  I seem be saying that a lot don't I?"
     "Yes, and I hope you have a good supply because I think you are going to use it a great deal as we relate our tales to each other.  And I fully intend for that to happen if you feel you are up to it."
     "I believe I am, but I do tire rather easily so we may have to have a number of breaks."
     "Kiesl and I plan to be here at least a week.  That should give us plenty of time."
     Martine leaned back and sighed.  "You must hate me."
     "Well I did hate you, or more accurately I hated the effects that Bill's memory of you had on our marriage.  But that is ancient history, and so many wonderful things have happened to me in the last few years that I am happier than I have ever been in my life.  So no, I can't hate you, or anyone really, with one exception, that swine Gaultier, who by the way was the one who very nearly killed you and most likely killed Bert Kronjuwel."
     Martine nodded, seemed lost in thought for a few seconds and then said, "Poor Hauptmann Bertie. I say that not because he was a particularly nice person...."
     "Don't I know it. My personal name for him was 'octopus'."
     "I see you knew him, and the characterization fits, but the reason I said poor Hauptmann is that I feel terribly guilty about how I manipulated him.  I continually had suspicions he might betray me, he seemed to play the role of Nazi with a bit too much relish, and he certainly had the arrogance of one, so I led him on and invited him into my bed several times to keep him beholden to me.  You must think me a horrible person."
     "Well it was war after all, and believe me Martine I was very far indeed from a 'good' girl myself.  My own libertine heedlessness was severely damaging to Bill and our marriage.  Hey, wait a minute.   Did Bert see Bill?"
     "Yes, he was there when Bill showed up shortly after the D-Day landings.  Bertie fancied himself in love with me, probably just because I let him bed me, so he was not thrilled when Bill showed up and I became very protective of him.  Just before we began our journey to Paris I walloped Bert and knocked him out.  He came back to bedevil us, even shooting at us until I disabused him of the notion and shot off his trigger finger.  I thought that would slow him down, but it did not."
     "Martine, he appeared back in England and was under suspicion by Colonel Yancey, who was not really sure who he was working for.  Bert shook off a guard and took flight, obviously for Normandy.  You say he was killed there?"
     "Edie, I am almost positive he was killed.  I don't know with certainty if the man who shot was aiming at me, but Bert stepped in front of me just as the shot was fired.  He must have absorbed just enough of the bullet's energy to prevent it from instantly killing me.  My memory of those few seconds is rather fuzzy, but he took a direct hit from a Mauser bullet, and it went through him and into me.  If he was not killed, it would have been a bigger miracle than my own survival."
     "I see.  That pig Gaultier certainly painted a different picture of what happened, no surprise there.  Well anyway, Hauptmann Kronjuwel flat lied to me.  I showed him a picture of Bill and he denied seeing him, the jerk.  Oh!  I remember now.  Colonel Yancey told me about you shooting off Bert's finger.  No he was not a nice man, at all.  I suppose who he was really working for will remain a mystery."
     "You are probably right, but I'm fairly sure that after he returned to Normandy he was actually working for himself." 
     ''Martine, are you aware there is a small stele in that field in Normandy with your name on it?  Bill went back to Normandy, in 1958 if I remember correctly, and had it installed in that field.  It was intended as a gravestone."
     "You jest."
     "Not at all. I can give you the exact location."
     "No thank you. I have actively avoided that horrible place for seventy years and I do not intend to go there now.  I think I am very lucky that someone who was familiar with me did not see it.  Doubtless only tourists see it now.  I was modestly well known in academic circles by the late fifties, but that only describes a minute fraction of the population of a city the size of Paris.  I don't recall ever hearing one of my colleagues mention that he had been traipsing around the Bocage country.  I can scarcely imagine my own reaction if I had happened across it. How did you come to know of the monument?"
     "A friend of my granddaughter's was vacationing in Normandy with her grandfather, who fought in the Bocage I think, and they saw the little monument.  She thought she recognized Bill's name.  When she got back to New York she mentioned it to my granddaughter Edda, who naturally told my daughter.    Only a few years ago I finally told her all I knew about my wartime experiences, and let slip the, for her, startling fact that Bill was not her real father."
     "He wasn't?"
     "No.  Anyway, there is a small monument there, but there also has been, since Bill placed it there I am almost sure, an American helmet on top of it. And in that helmet there is a copy of that picture over there stuffed into the webbing of it.  Who has been maintaining it is not certain, but my daughter and I have our suspicions.  Strangely, the picture looks relatively fresh.  Bill must have left the picture there and someone had it copied."
     "Curiouser and curiouser."
     "I'm just getting started on curious.  By the way, Juliette and her daughter Edda are simply wonderful brilliant women, and I'm sure they would love to meet you if you will allow me to tell them of your existence."
     "I would be quite pleased to meet them."
     "Pardon me for a moment then.  Juliette simply must know now."  She pulled her cell from her purse, tapped Juliette's number and put the phone on speaker.  Juliette answered on the second ring.
     "Hi mom.  I just walked in the door.  Everything okay?"
     "Fine, dear."
     "Good.  So what's up?"
     "Juliette, please sit down."
     "What on earth for?"
     "Just indulge me, daughter."
     "Okay, I'm sat."
     "Dear, I am sitting in a room at a very nice rest home in Paris, and there is someone who would like to speak to you."
     "Alright."
     Eva turned the phone toward Martine.  "Hello Juliette.  Can you hear me well?"
     "Quite well thank you.  To whom am I speaking please?"
     "Well dear, my full name is Martine Juliette Clocqueur O'Malley."
     A long silence then in a tiny shaky voice Juliette said, "Mother?"
     "It's true dear.  It is really her.  We've been having a nice talk and a good cry."
     Juliette screamed. Juliette never screamed. Juliette screamed, loud enough to overload the phone.
     "Holy jumpin' catfish Jesus Mary Joseph and all the saints!  Oh my GOD!  Martine you're ALIVE! God is in his heaven and you're ALIVE!  Oh Martine Martine my sweet and wonderful Martine. I tromped around Normandy trying to piece together what happened, and now I hope you will tell me everything.  Mother, how on earth did you find her, and why did you even look?"
     "I found her by looking in the phone book."
     "You're joking.  That's just insane.  Why didn't I...of course!  I wouldn't have even thought to try!  Oh Martine forgive me.  I stared at that blasted little monument for countless hours, and like an idiot I just assumed you were buried in that field since Dad put that marker there himself.  Oh my sweet Martine, I love you.  I admire you and I love you, and I've never even met you.  Does that sound completely deranged?"
     "Not at all, dear.  There are an infinite number of reasons to love someone, Juliette.  I am curious though.  What led you to such a flattering assessment of my personality?"
     "It was because that lying creep Gaultier had impugned your motives and denigrated your nature so often I came to realize that any statement of fact from him had to be the opposite of the truth. He accused you of countless horrible things, so to me that meant you should probably be canonized as St. Martine.
     "I could not know for sure who buried you in that field, but I never questioned whether or not you had actually died there.  Dad obviously believed it.  I have never been more glad to be wrong about something.  Oh my lord Martine, this is all delicious beyond words.  You'll have to pardon me. I'm normally not giddy as a schoolgirl."
     They heard clomping in the background then Elliot asking, "Juliette, what is all this caterwauling in aid of?"
     "You're about to find out.  Elliot say hello to mother."
     "Hello, Edna.  Faring well?
     "Quite well, Elliot."
     Juliette barged in. "Elliot, I would like to introduce you to a ghost.  Please say hello to Martine Juliette Clocqueur O'Malley, alive and living in Paris."
     "My word.  Martine from the monument?  Good heavens that's, that's..."
     "Crazy?  Insane?  Stupendous?  Tectonic?"
     "Yes, all of those things and then some.  Mrs. O'Malley, I am Elliot Greene, Juliette's husband.  It is a signal honor to meet you.  From what Juliette has told me you seem to be quite a remarkable woman."
     "Thank you Elliot.  You're very kind."
     Juliette, "Martine, when may we come visit you?"
     "Why anytime you like, dear."
     "Would you mind if I bring my daughter Edda.  She will be almost as frantic to see you as I am."
     "Certainly".
     "Good, we're on the first plane I can find out of here."
     Eva broke in.  "Juliette, there is something I need you to know.  In September 1944 Bill and Martine were married, and in May of 1945 Martine gave birth to twins.  Bill's children."
     "Ohhhh myyyy.  For pity's sake stop.  I'm not sure I can take anymore.  I'm hanging up now to go bawl my head off for an hour and then pack.  Goodbye, and may God keep and bless both of you.  See you soon."  She hung up.
     "Edie, who is this Gaultier you and Juliette mentioned?  I do not remember that name."
     "Well, he certainly claimed to know a lot about you.  He also claimed that he had followed you at some point."
     "Mon Dieu, it was the boy!  An idiot boy had been following us, me actually, and fancied himself simply irresistible. I hog-tied him and left him in the road.  Twice!  The humiliation must have driven him mad, so it is likely that he had me in his sights and Bert was just horribly unlucky."
     Eva's hand went to her chest and she hung her head.  She sobbed softly, a few tears tracked down.  She reached for Martine's hand, took it, squeezed it, felt the squeeze returned.  After a bit she sniffled and looked up.  "Oh Martine I...I...Oh Lord, Martine.  With all the immense death and destruction of that war, how is it that this tawdry little soap opera can overwhelm me so many years later?"
     "Because, darling Edie, it was our little soap opera.  Bill's, mine, yours.  Intertwined and inextricable, the pain and loss of three souls trapped in amber.  Such cannot be shaken off easily, and should not be unless it paralyzes us in the here and now.  Tears are the universal solvent for that amber.  Let them flow, welcome them.  Never apologize for them.  You and I have earned our tears.  We should not begrudge spending them in our dotage."
     Eva sighed heavily. "You are right of course.  Better a weepy sentimental old biddy than a bitter and angry one, as I was for so very long.  May God, Juliette, and Edda forgive me for inflicting that bitterness on them.  So now then, tell me a little about your children."
     "It's a bit hard to think of them as children anymore. They are seventy-two years of age now. The baby girl I named Edith Darcy, popular enough names here and, although my memory is hazy it might have possibly been an oblique reference to you.  The boy could only have had one name, William Earl."
     In a strangled voice Eva said, "Mein Gott.  Wasn't that a bit rash?"
     "Perhaps, but he was extremely unlikely to come to the attention of the authorities, American or French, and recall that his last name at the time was my false one.  My expertly forged documents indicated my name was Arianne Therese Poirier.  It sounded a bit regionally confused, all to the good, and was as far from my real name as I could manage.  Changing back to my real name was a fraught affair, but I had been well trained in the arts of documentary deception, so it did not ultimately prove beyond my skills.  Of course I had help.  If you can believe it, the very same Marseille forger was still in business."
     "Where was I?  Oh yes, Edith and William.  They were both good kids, neither saints nor particular sinners, and utterly devoted to each other.  I was and am as proud of them as I can be.  In honor of my decision to change my last name back to O'Malley they both did the same themselves."
     "They are both retired now. They have five children between them and a boisterous herd of grandchildren.  They both proved to have a talent for things financial, and after working for Crédit Lyonnais for a number of years, they opened a small investment house here.  It was reasonably successful and eventually allowed them to not only have a comfortable retirement, but also to see to all my financial needs as well.  I thank God that no part of their lives has been as remotely turbulent as mine in those dark days."
     "I'm glad you are sitting down because I must also tell you that they retired to rather grand apartments, adjoining of course, on the Upper West Side in New York City.  They are as inseparable as ever.  I never told them very much about their father, or what happened in the war, but now I expect they will be fascinated by all of the complex flesh on the rattling old bones of our lives.  Much of my part in this will be a revelation to them."
     "Oh my word.  Juliette and Edda will barge into their lives like Patton's Third Army.  So, do you see them often enough?"
     "What mother sees her children too often?  They come two or three times a year and that has proved sufficient to our needs for a long time. We do speak often."
     "But no pictures of them seem to be about."
     "Not visibly displayed, but there are several bulging photo albums in my closet.  We'll have to go through them like the doting grannies we are."
     "I look forward to it.  Your kids haven't asked you to move in with them?"
     "Yes they have, quite a few times.  However, I fought like a wolverine for La Belle France and nearly died in the effort.  I could never leave her soil permanently, especially at this late date, even as shaky and turbulent as she might seem these days.  I suppose many can say this, especially those who survived that war, but unquestionably we both seem to be sitting atop an Everest of coincidences, improbabilities, and near impossibilities."
     Eva, "That is indeed the truth, an understatement even."
     They both were quiet for a little while.
     "Edie, I notice you didn't get to the reason you decided to try and find me."
     "Well, Juliette said it really.  She interrogated that swine Gaultier for a considerable time, and I sat in on some of it.  The inconsistencies and obvious lies of his tales were without number.  By the way, I told off that murderous braggart in the most savage way I possibly could before we left, and that is something at which I've always been good.  Ask anyone.  There is doubtless no surviving evidence of his perfidy, so getting a verbal comeuppance from me will just have to do in lieu of real vengeance."
     "When Kiesl and I got back to Vienna I began to think about all those lies and inconsistencies, then one day, a mere week ago, but several months after we left Normandy, it suddenly struck me like a thunderbolt that as much as he lied he might very well have lied about your death.  He claimed to be the one who buried you in that field.  Bald lie.  He said he did not really remember the exact site and he certainly knew that we weren't going to go around digging in that field to find the grave. More lies.  It was lies and grotesquely vain braggadocio as far as the eye could see.  It was like a perverse version of, what is that phrase, when you've thought of something you should have said but didn't?"
     "L'esprit de l'escalier."
    "That's it, except this was something I should have realized before, but didn't until much later. A simple web search revealed your existence and location, so off we went and here I am.  I have never seen someone hide so effectively in obvious plain sight.  More coincidences. The air is starting to get a little thin up here.  It's possible that Gaultier merely assumed you had died, and thus interred there when he finally saw that monument.  He would have had no more reason to question its accuracy than did the rest of us.  After he shot Bertie and you, he wouldn't have stuck around or gone back to witness any supposed burial."
     "My word Edie.  You must been a detective at some point.  Were you detective enough to realize Bertie was more than a little in love with you?"
     "Me?  I thought he was just Mr. Freehands Skirtchaser.  Are you sure?"
     "Yes, I'm almost certain of it.  I had been wounded by a sniper in Paris, and Bert contrived to 'rescue' us to get us back to England.  He was completely incensed when Bill told him that we were now married.   He ranted on about how Bill had betrayed you.  In fact I had to prevent him from shooting Bill in a rage after I had him stop near that field."
     "Good grief.  Why did you want him to stop at that particular place?"
     "I knew we were headed for England and I wanted to savor a last glimpse of an untouched bucolic part of newly freed France. It wasn't far from where Bill and I started our journey to Paris, so Gaultier must have seen us pass by and followed us to the clearing. I don't know where he got a weapon, but it wouldn't have been hard to find one.  They were lying about in abundance at the time."
     Eva nodded soberly and said, "Everest."
     "Yes, Everest indeed."
     Eva, "That field.  That damnable field. Bill could not have known where you were actually buried, because obviously you had never been buried in the first place.  He may have searched the local cemeteries, without success, and then decided that the memorial in the field was most appropriate response.  There would have been no remaining signs of disturbed earth, especially after being farmed for thirteen years.  Actually I am surprised that the stele is still there after all this time.  Perhaps the fact that it was an obvious grave marker rendered its removal taboo."
     "The wording on it certainly implied that your remains were under it, or at least somewhere nearby, which is unsurprising because Bill doubtless either thought they were nearby, or wasn't sure, so he put the marker where he thought you had died.  To me it is a near miracle that I thought to question the seemingly obvious truth of the inscription.  It reads 'Martine Juliette Clocqueur O'Malley 1921-1944 Beloved Wife of Earl William O'Malley'.  It seemed rather conclusive.  I am quite sure Bill meant it as a gravestone, or a memorial at least."
     "It must have been quite a shock to see it."
     "Well, Juliette had somewhat prepared me for it when I saw it, but it would have likely appalled me if I had seen the 'Beloved Wife' part sixty years ago because we had only been married a few years when he had it inscribed.  Small wonder he refused to tell me why he had gone back to France."
     "Beloved Wife.  Oh my, I was once a beloved wife.  That feels so utterly warm and comforting."  A rueful little smile appeared.  "Ahhh well."
     "Edie, I noticed that Elliot called you Edna. You have many names it seems."
     "Well, my original given names are Edna Louisa.  Bill knew me by my nickname which was Edie so I was always Edie to him.  Peter Kiesl, my husband, knew me as Eva originally so that's what he has always called me. After over half a century I am finally with my precious Kiesl, so I consider my name to really be Eva now.  I haven't changed it legally, but I've been thinking about it.  However, if you would like to think of me only as Edie it would make me very happy."
     "Kiesl. That name rings a bell."
     "I'm not surprised. He was an operatic baritone of some considerable renown in the fifties and sixties. His voice was one of the things that attracted me to him.  He even managed to greatly improve my singing while I visited his prison camp in England.  I fell for him hard. Ten tons of bricks hard.  He was handsome, cultured, courtly, and had an incredible voice.  I found myself loving two men, or so I thought.  But enough about Kiesl for the moment."
     "Martine, if it has not already become obvious, you were in every way the singular holder of Bill O'Malley's heart.  I was ultimately reunited with my heart's desire, and I find it terribly sad that Bill never was.  I think he would have been a far happier man with you than me.  That picture you have?  I never saw him look that happy and delighted when we were married.  Not once.  He may have been healthier with you as well. Not long after we were married he took to drink, which, along with complications from his old injuries, caused problems that eventually took his life.  You were right about him being back in the states after the war, but he was not with me."
      "Martine, do you fancy some lunch?  It's a little early for it in France I know, but I haven't eaten yet. My nervousness just wouldn't allow me, but now I'm feeling a bit on the hollow side."
     "Well then, you must have something.  The restaurant next to this elder care home is quite good. A small salad and a bit of wine for me sound very nice"
     In only ten minutes they were munching on Mesclun, nibbling Chèvre, and sipping a mild fragrant Sémillon.
     "Martine, Bill never released the hold you had on his heart.  I am sure that his dying thought was of you."
     "That poor man.  I knew he loved me, and I loved him very much, but from what you say I gather that his love was of a much greater intensity than mine, although I realize how difficult such a thing is to quantify.  If I had thought he was the utter light of my life, the other half of my soul, I am certain that I would have sought him out regardless of the difficulties.  I would have welcomed him back regardless.  I was very fond of him, and to be a bit mercenary about it I certainly could have used a husband. They come in quite handy on occasion I hear."
     "Speaking of difficulties, I perceive that your relationship with Bill was far from what you had hoped it would be.  For my contribution to those difficulties, however unwitting, I am terribly sorry."
     "Thank you, but that certainly doesn't let me off the hook.  You never remarried?"
     "I did not.  I was, I'm sorry to say, very hard on the men who were interested in me.  I did not tolerate fools or foolishness, and most men come naturally equipped with vast heaps of that lamentable quality."
     "Well, if you experienced romantic failure, it couldn't have been because of your looks.  From just that one old photograph I could tell you were a stunning creature.  I see that beautiful woman in you yet today.  I wish I were so lucky.  I was rather a stunning creature myself, seeing Edda is almost like looking in a seventy year old mirror, but I lost my looks along the way, to put it mildly."
     "It is remarkable that since I have been with Kiesl I have felt the years drop away from me.  I think I look younger, and I know I feel better, than I did four years ago when we were reunited.  Juliette and Edda, bless them both, were largely responsible for that reunion.  I note that you look younger than I, yet you are five years my senior.  I was eighteen in 1944 and you were, twenty-three I think?"
     "Yes, that's correct.  It's kind of you to flatter me so.  I never did find a man I really could tolerate for very long.  Seems a pity, but we mortals are never the dealers of fate's cards.  Of course I can be philosophical about it now that I am a crone.  I hasten to point out that I never had the least trouble obtaining physical satisfaction.  Attractive single women usually have to turn down more propositions than they can ever properly address."
     "Unfortunately, few of my lovers or suitors could match Bill's talent, which was that he could make me laugh.  Bizarre as it sounds I actually fell in love with him over the wireless having never seen him, or even heard his voice, because of the jokes he sent me.  It was quite the challenge to fall for someone in encrypted Morse code, but I managed the trick.  The reality of him turned out to be almost exactly what I had been expecting.  He was sweet, funny, and very cute as well.  Edie, I swear I don't mean to hurt you when I say this, but he was a wonderful lover, if a very reluctant one at first.  It makes me so sad that his love for me caused him, and you, so much pain."
     "Martine, as much as it pains me to admit it, I did more than my share of creating unhappiness in our marriage.  I mentioned that Juliette is not Bill's daughter.  She is the daughter of the wonderful man I am with now.  Bill and I did have a son together, Roger, who is one of those rarest of creatures, a gay man with eleven children."
     "My goodness!"
     "I feel strongly that I did not do right by Bill.  It embittered him toward me and our daughter to the detriment of both of us.  You see, not only had Kiesl impregnated me during an extremely torrid reunion ten years after the war, he also had been a Wehrmacht officer.  He was conscripted from Austria and had been very much against the war as were many in that country.  He was part of an entertainment unit that had been captured during the mass surrender in North Africa.  But the fact that Kiesl was a reluctant Austrian conscript who had never faced battle was a nuance lost on Bill, who hated the Nazis with a passion.  So to him it was as if I were pregnant by an enemy alien."
     "Here's another part of the part of our story you couldn't have possibly known.  The reason Bill did not come looking for you was that he was as grievously injured as you, but his were head injuries. He was in a coma for a long time after the war and spent ten full years recovering in a military psychiatric hospital.  I was completely unaware of all that until 1954 if you can believe it."
     "In 1954 I literally bumped into Kiesl in front of the Metropolitan Opera in New York.  I dropped my purse, he picked it up, we recognized each other and within short order I was in his arms.  Oh my lord Martine.  I just can't tell you impossibly romantic it was.  I was a goner.  It made An Affair To Remember seem pale in comparison."
     "Kiesl and I crashed together like rampaging sexual locomotives.  There wasn't the slightest chance that virginal Edie was long for the world.  I must have lost my virginity to him at least a dozen times. There are just no words for how transcendently happy we were.  And then... Ach I really despise that phrase sometimes."
     "Don Yancey had kept an eye on me for Bill's sake, unbeknownst to me, and I told him about my reunion with Kiesl.  Without telling me he braced Kiesl about his intentions, and Peter was of course appalled by the situation.  His behavior changed toward me instantly, so I dragged the truth out of him, then went to confront Yancey.  I couldn't be too angry with him though.  He was looking out for what he thought were the best interests of us both.  He contrived to let me read Bill's medical file, and it was at that moment I decided that however I felt about Kiesl I had to give Bill his chance."
     "Oh my, you poor things."
     "I had made Bill a promise, and I felt I could only keep it, an act of honor that proved our undoing. I decided that if Bill still wanted me then he would have me, but I was so hopelessly besotted with Peter that I made love with him virtually all of the very night before I went to the hospital to see Bill for the first time in ten years.  Kiesl was leaving the next day and begged me to go with him.  I thought that I could not because of my promise to Bill and his tragic circumstances.  It was a horrible mistake."
     "I was a very passionate young lady, but a terribly immature one as well, and a fool to not go back to Vienna with the man about whom I had been so incredibly passionate.  The best thing I could have done was to leave Bill behind in peace to rebuild his life without someone so faithless as to sport with the enemy on the day of his deliverance back into the world.  Bill became convinced that I had intentionally become pregnant by Kiesl so I would have his child to keep the memories alive.  I hotly resisted the accusation at the time, but now, well now I realize he was entirely right.  Honor---Bah!"
     "I can't entirely regret my actions, because they resulted in your namesake, who along the way became a magnificently poised and intelligent woman.  To me she is a treasure beyond price.  Elliot is extraordinarily lucky to have her as his wife.  I am terribly ashamed that I became so bitter in my marriage that I was constantly and acidly critical, and rarely showed her the love I felt for her.  I am trying to make up for that while there is still time, although the old acid Edna still peeks out occasionally.  Still, I feel myself an entirely changed woman."
     "Incidentally, Juliette was shocked that Bill was not her father, but seemed thrilled to the toes that she was a love child.  I swear that girl....well, anyway."
     "Juliette's first marriage was even worse than mine, but in likewise fashion it resulted in the glorious creature that is her daughter, Edda.  She is difficult to describe without severe overuse of superlatives, as I'm sure you will see when you meet her."
     "I don't know why I am telling you all this except to fully inform you about Bill's life after the war, and perhaps to assuage my guilt.  Our marriage became a very rocky business indeed.  Bill took to drink and petty sniping, and I became a bitter acid-tongued harridan.  I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for providing the happiness he experienced in Normandy and Paris, brief as it may have been.  Happiness was very elusive for him after that."
     "Martine, I sincerely hope you will not think too ill of me for intruding into what appears to be a quite serene existence.  You seem far from a stranger to me because you have been a presence in the majority of my life, and our recent revelations about your role in Bill's life have only heightened that feeling."
     Martine turned her gaze from Eva to the balcony view.  She seemed far away for a minute. She gave her head a little shake.  "No my dear, it's quite alright.  I don't mind hearing about all this, sad as it is in many respects, but I hope you won't mind tears randomly appearing.  You certainly must know how revived ancient memories can have startling and shocking immediacy."
     "1944 seems almost like another geological epoch now, distant as the Middle Ages, our selves unrecognizable people at this remove.  The pain and regret of that far time seem to belong to strangers now, with only a few vagrant tears left."
     Eva nodded. "Very well said.  We have some good friends in New York, Francis and Diane Durly, who are two of the sweetest people on God's earth.  If you can believe it they are a former priest and nun who met at Edda's Catholic school, fell desperately in love, later left their vocations, got married, and have a beautiful family of four now.  Edda was terribly fond of the nun, Diane, and could see she was hurting and unsure that Francis loved her as well, so one day she told Diane that that she loved her, the whole school loved her, so how could he not?"
     "I'm quite sure that Bill had no choice in the matter.  He had made me a promise, but he simply couldn't not love you.  Just as I am incapable of not loving Kiesl.  That is why I say that you were the love of his life.  The old bitter Edna would have sneered at the idea of a match made in heaven, but I have not sneered at it for a good while now."
     "Edie, it is possible that I do not remember how intensely I really did love Bill.  I lost a lot of blood in that field, in Paris as well.  There is certainly evidence that my love for him was very deep.  I changed my last name back to his, I never remarried, even though I was asked a number of times, I keep his picture in view at all times, and my Lord I even named a child after him.  A jury might easily feel moved to convict based on all that.  You no doubt are right about Bill, but it also could be true that he was my heavenly match as well and I was too cynical and hardened to see it."
     "Perhaps it was my subconscious rejecting those proposals when it judged the men who made them against Bill, and found them all wanting.  It's very comforting to think I too once loved someone who was my moon and stars, but I don't really know, and I certainly am not going to have some head-shrinker poking around in there to try and winkle out the truth of it at this so very late date. What I can say for certain is that in that awful summer of 1944, and during our brief marriage, he most certainly was my beloved."
     "Martine, I must say your command of the idiom, grammar, and unaccented pronunciation of English is extraordinary.  How did you achieve this?"
     "I was fortunate after the war, even though I had two children to raise without a husband. An aunt with whom I was only distantly familiar, and who had the room and resources, took pity on us and let us move in with her. I was able to raise my children in relative peace and freedom from want until they were out of their toddler years, and I could let others, primarily aunt Jacqueline, baby sit when I decided to go back to university."
     "I had just entered university when the damned Germans invaded, but in the late forties I was able to continue my education, culminating in a Doctorate in English literature from the Sorbonne in 1956. I went on to serve on the founding staff of the American University here in 1962, and retired from there in 1989.  So yes, I have had quite an extensive exposure to the language and its pronunciation.  In addition, I have watched countless American and English films.  For a while I felt more proficient in English than in French!  I even dream in English on occasion.  A peculiar irony is that I have never actually been to an English speaking country!"
     Eva smiled. "You would certainly stand out.  Your English is far too good."
     "It was very good even before my formal schooling.  My father was French, but had spent much of his life in England.  He was adamant that I acquire a good command of English, and it served me well in my OSS activities."
     "Martine, you have not mentioned what happened to your parents.  It must be a painful memory. You need not say anything if it is still too painful."
     "No it's alright.  It has been three quarters of a century now and that pain is but one more distant dull throb now.  They were killed on the road near Roubaix while fleeing the German hordes advancing out of Belgium.  A Stuka strafed a fleeing column of people and there were many fatalities, including them."
     "I can certainly see where your visceral hatred of the Germans came from."
     "Edie, you mentioned Bill's injuries.  He first came to me in very bad shape having taken a terrible blow to the head.  He was hallucinatory, and strangely was convinced that he was Peter Warne in It Happened One Night, and that I was Ellen Andrews.  It was charming, but very frustrating.  I did not even realize it might be Bill until he let slip my code name, which was Souris. His code name was one that would have been a complete mystery to Germans, Beenexklox."
     "I remember those names. After Bill disappeared in Normandy, Colonel Yancey mentioned them to me.   I must have forgotten it, but for the life of me I can't remember how I finally remembered it. One time when Bill was deep in his cups I made some remark or other and he replied, 'You're no Martine that's for goddamn sure.'  You mentioned Don Yancey before I did.  How did you come to know his name?"
     "Bill talked about him, he was very fond of the colonel I believe.  After the invasion began there was little need for operational secrecy, aside from that needed to protect ourselves."
     Eva, "What an insane time that was.  Perhaps it's best that you never saw that monument.  Juliette said that she had been told by a local who said you were buried there, but didn't remember who told him.  My guess is that the source of that information was Gaultier.  Without witnesses there would have been no one to gainsay the self-aggrandizing bastard."
     "The village he lives in is some distance from the monument site, but as you said the population was scattered widely across the landscape and therefore unlikely to know those details.  Gaultier may well have seen the monument later and, presuming the truth of it, has maintained it all this time out of guilt for causing what appeared to be your death.  I thank him for that, if nothing else.  He might have witnessed the truth if he had stayed around after the shooting, but was doubtless terrified of what an American army unit might do, even a medical one."
     "Bill obviously thought you had died as well.  His last memory was very likely of you lying on the ground appearing to be mortally wounded .  He told me that he was injured by an artillery shell shortly after landing in Normandy, and that someone walloped him in the head later on.  It was likely Gaultier and likely in that field. When the army found him he was in a deep coma, and stayed in one for a very long time.  He may have been as near to death as were you.  I wish there was some way I could thank those medics who brought you both back from the brink."
     "I'm not completely sure when Bill recovered his memories of that time.  Don Yancey seemed certain that his memory was completely restored after ten years, but that was clearly not the case.  The doctors could only have taken Bill's word for what he remembered.  The psychiatric practices of the day were not really up to the task of unmasking such deeply buried memories.  My experience with Bill strongly suggests that the memories resurfaced only after we got to Omaha in 1955.  The abrupt changes in his personality, the drinking and so on don't seem to describe a man who had years to process the intense grief of losing you."
     "Something must have triggered memories buried completely out of the reach of an army  psychiatrist.  Something I said or did, something he saw or heard.  A song, a farmer's field, wildflowers.  It could have been anything.  There were no grief counselors in those days, not that I think they are all that much help in general.  We certainly couldn't afford a private psychiatrist.  Like almost all men in those days the very idea of going to one was considered horribly un-manly."
     "This makes the most sense to me because he was very solicitous of me at first, my obvious perfidy notwithstanding, but became insulting and rude to me before long and began drinking heavily. The combination of finding out I had been so faithless, and the sudden horrible memories of what he thought had been your death, simply overwhelmed him.  He couldn't handle all that without the bottle.  In fairness few men could.  Fate certainly dealt his cards from the bottom of the deck.  Imagine, to go nearly insane with grief for someone who had not actually died!  That fate fellow can be one cruel son-of-a-bitch."
     "I've told Juliette he demanded, without explanation, that we give her a particular French name, but what I have not told her was he demanded it in a threatening drunken rage.  I was scared of him and feeling terribly guilty about carrying Kiesl's child, so I did not object. If he had not been drinking he was mostly his old normal self, but over the years the bouts of heavy drinking started to come closer and closer together.  It's amazing his entire memories of France were not eventually blurted out to me.  I don't mean to imply that he shouldn't be held responsible for his sometimes beastly actions, but considering the provocations he endured I certainly would not be the one to vote him out of heaven."
     "At any rate, regardless of the precise nature of our Everest of convolutions, what I am most concerned with today is that you did not die, for which I will be daily thanking the Lord for some considerable time."
     "You know, it's a good thing you did not know it was Gaultier who shot you.  Juliette and I strongly suspect it was him, but we cannot be absolutely certain.  He is really the only logical candidate for the crime, but he would never admit it.  If you had seen him later his existence might well have ended right then."
     "That would certainly have been a terrible provocation, but after the war I swore off hatred, vengeance, and deadly violence.  I had far more than my fill of it, and I was sure that my ready use of deadly force had very possibly gotten Bill killed, and nearly myself as well.  I was responsible for the death of quite a number of German soldiers directly, and countless more through my intelligence activities, although I don't regret that as much as perhaps I should.  I was terribly rash, utterly heedless of danger, and not above using my body to dupe and stupefy my targets.  Looking back my emotional state was so highly charged as to be all but suicidal."
     "Salient proof of my recklessness is that when I finally became sure that Bill was who he said he was, I quite literally threw myself at him and seduced him as fast as his hesitancies about you would allow.  I heard you once you know."
     "You heard me?"
     "Yes.  It was when you were singing on the radio.  When I heard how wonderfully you sang I despaired that I would have any real chance with him, but after less than a minute of guilt I was back in his arms.  If that is salt in the wound I apologize.  At any rate, he was more or less eager to participate in the seduction, but from time to time a faraway look would appear on his face and I knew that he was thinking of his sweet Edie back in England."
     "Eva's palm went to her chest and she hung her head, tears threatening. She looked back up. "Martine, may God forgive me.   Bill was expecting sweet virginal Edie and what he got was round-heeled libertine Eva unashamedly carrying another man's baby.  Few men would have responded well to such a shock.  Oh Martine.  Unlike The Little Sparrow I do have regrets.  Many of them."
     "Oh Edie, please don't despair so.  The time for that is long past.  How much do you love Kiesl both now and then?"
     "How can one measure such joy?"
     "Did you love Bill at all back then?"
     "I thought I did.  Oh Mother Mary, I didn't did I?" I  pined for him, grieved for him, kept his dog tags in my purse for ten years, but I did not love him!  I could safely do all that because I never actually expected to see him again.  I loved a memory, an idea, a damned pair of dog tags, but not him.  I must have have hewed unto him in the face of consummate love with another man because my subconscious could not bear the thought that I had wasted ten years of my life grieving and pining for him."
     "May God help me I admired him, respected him, but I Did Not Love Him.  I never loved him, and pathetic blind fool that I was I didn't realize it.  It wasn't rose colored glasses I was wearing.  It was a blindfold.  I think I'm going to be sick."
     Martine abruptly asked, "Edie, what time is it?"
     "What?  Oh, uh, about one o'clock or so I think."
     "What is the day month and year?"
     "June second, twenty-fifteen. What does..."
     "Oh Edie Edie.  Who do you treasure most in your life at one o'clock in the afternoon on June second twenty-fifteen?"
     "Why Kiesl, Juliette, and Edda of course, and now you I'm beginning to think."
     "Let me ask you this then.  What changes in the decisions you have made in your past would you trade for the current treasured presences in your life?"
     Eva stared at her. Abruptly she stood and went to the balcony door and gazed into the distance. She felt cold and hollow, but presently joy suffused warmly through her. Tears dripped again but they dripped upon a smile.  She returned to her chair and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
     "Martine, my daughter was, as usual, way ahead of me.  She fell in love with you without ever meeting you. It has taken thickheaded me three whole hours in your presence to do the same.  After all, how could we not?"
     "You asked me the most profound question anyone ever has, and the answer is nothing.  No thing, no word, no action, no decision would I change in the slightest way if it risked the precious existence of any of you, especially with the time in my life so short. Oh Martine Martine, in God's name from where does such wisdom spring?"
     "Edie, I have been, and still am a great lover of the manifold wisdoms of the corpus of English and French literature, which represent the mind and soul of our civilization. I have also lived a very long life, so I know a thing or two about the dangers of tortured remembrances of times past.  Historically revisionist yearnings concerning one's own life are bootless and inevitably damaging.  I pray they will not be so in your life."
     "For the first time I have hope they will not.  Thank you.  From the deepest darkest recesses of my flinty old heart I humbly thank you."
     "You are welcome dear Edie.  You have given me much food for thought as well.  There is something else.  I would be honored to be admitted to the pantheon of precious people in your life.  I know for certain that you are now firmly in mine."
     "I really should be going, Martine.  You still seem chipper enough, but honestly I am completely drained.  I had no idea that this visit would yield such profound and disturbing insights into my life.  I need to go home, cry like a child, and lose myself in Kiesl's arms."
     They both stood.  Eva leaned over and pecked Martine on the cheek.  Martine made a face. "Edie, that is not how one kisses a French friend."  She came close, took Eva's face in her hands and kissed her on the mouth, hard. Eva gasped and recoiled.
     "Martine I, I, I'm not..."
     "Not what, Edie?  Gay?  I do not think you are, and I am certainly not, but..." Her finger touched Eva's lips, "our Bill has kissed these lips, and might there not be some faint aura of his kisses yet lingering upon them, even across the gulf of time?"
     Eva stared at her in open-mouthed amazement, for three whole seconds, then she wrapped her arms around Martine and kissed her as passionately as she had ever kissed anyone, including Kiesl.  Martine kissed back just as hard.  Finally Eva broke away gasping, her breath ragged, her heart thudding, her eyes leaking, again. She backed away waving her hands and choked out, "Martine, the men of France are all damned fools!  Goodbye sweet woman.  I'll call you tomorrow."  She grabbed her purse and fled. Martine's voice trailed after her, "Au revoir dear Edie.  I shall dream of you."
     Tears freely flowed as Eva walked back through the lobby.  The same young lady who had been there before asked her in concern, "Is everything alright, madame?"
     "Oh yes my dear.  Indeed it is.  I have just learned that Doctor Pangloss was right after all.  This is the best of all possible worlds."





 Formentin, Normandy.

Wednesday.  May 6, 2019

 
     It had been Edda's idea, and it had, so far, cost William Earl O'Malley not quite five million dollars.  He wouldn't have cared if it was fifty million.  To protect his mother he had understated his business success to her, by an order of magnitude.  The expenditure was a pittance under the circumstances.
     When Edda heard in mid April that Martine was rapidly deteriorating, she leaped into action.  She rushed from her home in Brooklyn to William's apartment and laid out what she was thinking.  He instantly agreed with the perfection of it, and gave no more thought to his original ideas for a memorial service.  Calling his lawyer he explained what he wanted and told him to "Make this happen Max, and damn the cost. Yeah you heard me right. Triple your bill if you make it happen, yesterday preferably. Time may be very short."
     Great scurryings of legal representatives were noted in New York, Nebraska, and several locations in France.
     Edda called Sister Steven and explained her idea.  Florence Anne, fully conversant with the story, agreed immediately, hung up and rang her brother, Cardinal Feeny, at the Vatican.  Things happened, courthouses were besieged, parishes were alerted in Paris and the little village of Formentin, Normandy.
     Representatives descended on Formentin. The owner of the "that horrible place" was located and paid his exorbitant asking price without haggling.  Funeral establishments were engaged on both sides of the Atlantic.  A casket in Nebraska was exhumed with all proper ceremony under the watchful eyes of a bishop and a cadre of lawyers.  The best stone carvers in Normandy were retained and started work at once, after lavish compensation of course.
     Under the direction of the Vatican, the field that had once held the little stele was consecrated by the local parish priest.  It was clipped, trimmed, sodded, planted, landscaped, groomed and dedicated to the interment of only two individuals, in perpetuity.  Normally such haste would have been all but impossible in the region, but in this case the legend was the lash.  The locals, long familiar with the story, were abuzz.  La Carcajou de Normandie was finally returning to a place she would have shunned in life.  Could that not be more French?
     William chartered four Gulfstream G650s.  Enough room for family members and friends who desired to go.  The group consisting of the Greenes, the van Hoesens and their newest little one, the Spockets and their twins, the Kriegls and their toddler, the burgeoning Durly family, Sister Steven, and even Seth and Mark who were complete suckers for the heroically romantic, all just fit on one of the G650s.  The casket from New Hampshire was loaded onto a chartered Citation IV which awaited dispatch.
     At 10 A.M on the bright morning of Thursday, May second, 2019 the ninety-eight year long rhythm of Martine O'Malley's heart finally stilled.  With her were her children, her priest, and Eva Kiesl. All but the priest and Eva cried.  She sat in her autochair, eyes closed with a slight smile.  Her vision was dimmed these days, but her mind's eye could clearly see Martine and Bill running hand in hand across a sunlit field of wildflowers. She wheeled herself from the room.  She was not sad.  She was exultant.
     In New York and New Hampshire the call went out. People rushed to finish packing.  Fifteen limousines whisked mourners to Teterboro.  Five aircraft were rolling only four hours after the call. The winged armada landed at Orly.  The casket from Nebraska was rushed to the funeral establishment where Martine lay in state.  The casket's contents were somberly transferred to a casket duplicating Martine's. Forms were signed, a seeming endless number, this was France after all. Customs expedited, officials commanded. Not merely in Normandy was La Carcajou known. All France knew the story now, and she was well on her way to becoming a national heroine.
     A small fleet of Rolls-Royce limousines appeared and absorbed the sixty strong party. Over a dozen other limousines fanned out across les arrondissements de Paris to ferry Martine's friends and privileged admirers to Formentin.  A fifty strong team of security and counter-terrorism operatives from the Gendarmerie Nationale had left hours before.  News drones buzzed.  Along the airport entry road cell phones captured the scene.  People waved books, actual books, copies of La Carcajou de Normandie by Dr. Juliette Greene.  It was now in its third printing along with 1.5 million e-book sales.
     Three hours later one hundred ten mourners were installed in the best accommodations available within an hour's drive of Formentin.
     The morning of the sixth dawned clear but slightly chill, prompting a few coats and sweaters to appear.  The chapel service was brief.  It had to be held outdoors due to the number of mourners, unprecedented in Formentin history. William's remarks, delivered in English, were, in part:
     "This woman, this remarkable woman, this unassuming, fantastically erudite, loving woman now towers over La Belle France as a heroine of the Second World War.  And rightly so.  She survived as so many did not, and lived a long and fruitful life, but her patriotic sacrifices, until recently hidden in the folds of history, are an inspiration to us all".
     "She was no saint. She fought, killed, duped and deluded a remorseless enemy with consummate skill and reckless abandon. She lived on the teetering brink of disaster and won through at the near cost of her life and the disappearance of her soul mate.  She fought, she lived, she loved and has been loved unreservedly.  It is... enough.  She will be at peace in that little glade in the Bocage, for so long a sad tableau of treachery and grief.  As you will all soon see that field has been transformed into a place of gentle beauty, a simple but moving tribute to Bill and Martine, and the blessed resting place of The Wolverine of Normandy."
     "My friends, in closing I would like to express my deepest thanks to Gnädige Frau Eva Kiesl and Dr. Juliette Greene for bringing the story of Martine and Bill to the attention of all France, and to the world. They brought Martine out of obscurity and into the light of proper recognition.  My debt to them is incalculable.  They are my heroines.  I love them and count them as friends.  My eternal thanks to you both."
     The graveside service was just as brief.  The caskets gleamed in front of a white Carrera marble stele three meters high. The original sad little marker had been removed a year earlier, and had proved to be a popular exhibit at Les Invalides.
     Security was tight.  The narrow road was blocked at all access points.  The Gendarmerie kept sharp watch, weapons concealed but at the ready.  Eyes were peeled for news drones.  Drone jammers were at the ready.
     The mourners were all in somber muted attire, with one exception. Eva wore the brightest gayest frock she owned.
     The priest droned. Juliette hung on to Elliot for dear life and sobbed, unashamed. Tears leaked down Edda's face as she cradled fussy little Eva Martine, her husband's arm around her shoulder a grand comfort.  Seth comforted Mark who was an utter wreck by now.
     Edith and William held hands, their spouses respectfully behind them.  They did not seem sad, but rather pensive as if in satisfaction that if there must be an ending, this one was perfection.  Kiesl and Eva sat straight in their autochairs, their hands clasped together.  No tear tracked down her face.  It was serene and lightly smiling.
     The priest was finished.  The crowd drew close to strew the orchids they held.  They stopped abruptly.  Eva had risen from her chair.  Without her cane and on wobbly legs she walked the few steps to Bill's casket.  She stood straight and saluted.  She then placed her hands on the casket, bent down and kissed it. She straightened and began the slow journey around the bier.  She waved away quickly proffered help.
     Reaching the other side she drew her aged frame up as utterly straight as it would tolerate and placed her hands on Martine's casket.  She tossed her head, bent it back, and considered the sky through closed eyes.  The sky was quite beautiful.
     Slowly she lowered her head and opened her eyes. She bent to the casket and pressed her lips to the cool polished wood.  She pressed until the full weight of her body was upon the glistening surface. Turning her head she laid it down. She closed her eyes, and smiled.
     Juliette fainted.  Elliot held her until she regained her feet.  Previously un-shed tears among the mourners appeared in quantity.  Grim faced security agents on the periphery sniffled and dabbed at their eyes. Even the priest was so moved. They do allow Cardinals to cry.  Edda handed the baby to Amos and scrabbled after handkerchiefs.
     Eva returned to her chair under her own power.  Flowers were strewn, the caskets lowered.  People drifted slowly away.  Funeral workers hovered nearby in impatience.  Seth hauled Mark up from his knees and Sister Steven hugged him.
     At last only Kiesl and Eva were left.  Finally, Kiesl patted her arm and said, "We should go, dear one. These young people are waiting on us."
     "She squeezed his arm. "Right as always, my love."
      They whirred back towards the patiently waiting limo.
     The sun fell full upon the monument now, blinding, brilliant.  Highest was this inscription.

   Earl William O'Malley

          1918-1990

Beloved Husband Of Martine.

Then:

Martine Juliette O'Malley

        1921-2019

  Beloved Wife of Bill.

     Below that was an eight inch square engraved rendering of a happy grinning man and his bemused bride holding a bouquet of roses.

     Below that in deeply sculpted letters was this coda:

ACROSS THE GULF OF TIME


Fin.