Free Two Testaments by Elizabeth Musser Page A

talking she would never again have the courage to tell it all. And each time she looked into Eliane’s eyes she saw compassion and at times tears.
    “So you see, I’m a soiled woman. And yet Moustafa loves me still. We know it cannot work, but it is all I hope for. Moustafa and Ophélie.”
    “And this man David? You have no feelings anymore for the father of your child?”
    “Yes, I do. But they are feelings that torment me, feelings of the past. And he loves another woman. He’s not right for me, Eliane. I cannot explain it, but I know.”
    Eliane looked away, waving to Samuel and Rachel, who were grasping the railings, laughing as the seawater sprayed their faces. “Be careful, you two. Attention, eh? ”
    José slept peacefully, bundled in a coat on Eliane’s lap. It seemed to Anne-Marie that she was weighing her words, choosing them carefully in her mind before she pronounced them out loud.
    “Anne-Marie,” she said finally, “there are things that you brought on yourself. But there are many other things that happened to you, terrible things. You must not carry the guilt. Don’t stay a victim all of your life. It will do you no good.” Suddenly she took Anne-Marie’s hand, clasping it tightly in her own. “You have a chance to start over. It will be better now. I’m sure of it.”
    She spoke with such assurance that Anne-Marie felt she could almost believe it.
    “Aren’t you afraid, Eliane? Doesn’t the unknown make you afraid?”
    “Oh, yes, yes.” She laughed, and her bobbed hair swung around her head. “I look at all of us on this wretched boat, and the rest of the pied-noirs, and I think, No one wants us . The French don’t see us as one of them. And somehow I think they blame us for this awful war.”
    Eliane stared in front of her, but Anne-Marie was sure she was seeing something else besides the sea.
    “I am afraid at times,” she continued, “but then, I have my faith. You know. Like your father.” She seemed embarrassed to say it. “I know you didn’t agree with him, but it is that faith I trust in now.”
    “You liked my father, didn’t you?”
    “Your father was a wonderful man. There was such a tenderness beneath that rough military exterior.”
    “He gave me this,” Anne-Marie said softly, pulling out the Huguenot cross from under her blouse. “We decided to make it our password for saving the children. But it was so much more to him. It was a symbol of what he believed.”
    “You have your father’s courage, Anne-Marie. You’ve helped save lives. I hope one day you will share this faith.” She looked at Anne-Marie quietly, penetratingly. Then she changed the subject. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you ever since you found me. Your father left you a will. I was the executor, but you have never seen it because we didn’t know how to find you. Rémi will send other trunks as soon as I get settled, and in one of those trunks I have stored your father’s will. I’ll bring it to you then, just as soon as I find it.”
    “His will? I never even thought of it. I couldn’t even come to the funeral—everything happened so fast.” She blinked back tears. “Yes, that would be nice, to have his will. A memento. Although I’m sure there is nothing left now.”
    Eliane nodded sadly. “You’re right. Nothing at his farm, nothing in the banks in Algiers. I’m afraid we have lost it all. Not just you. All of us. We’ve lost our heritage.”
    A sadness had crept into her voice, but she brushed it aside.
    “But we can start over. In just a few hours, you’ll see. This is a chance to begin again. God will see us through.”
    Anne-Marie admired the young mother with the sunny disposition, but she knew that no God of Eliane or of her father would stoop down to help her. It was okay. She had grown used to being alone.

6
    The Washington papers ran big headlines on the first of April 1962. Women and men alike still idolized John Glenn for his three orbits around the