by Elizabeth
Musser
The first book in
the Secrets of the Cross Trilogy, available June, 2012, along with the
sequel Two Testaments. Two Destinies coming in September,
2012
~One intriguing era in France's
history, one unforgettable cast of characters, and one of the best writers in
the CBA today all add up to one incredible read! In Two Crosses,
Elizabeth Musser has achieved another literary triumph.
~Ann Tatlock, award-winning author
of Promises to Keep
~In late
1961, as Algeria's war for independence from France is coming to a close, two
crosses, symbolic of another time in history, draw together a host of characters
in an unforgettable story of love and war, revenge and
forgiveness.
1
September 1961
Castelnau,
France
The sun rose softly on the lazy town of
Castelnau in the south of France. Gabriella
quietly slipped out of bed, stretched, and ran her fingers through her thick
mane of red hair. The tile floor felt cool to her bare feet. Peering down from
her tiny room, she watched the empty streets begin to fill with people. Mme
Leclerc, her landlady, was the first to enter the boulangerie just in
view down the street to buy baguettes and gros pain, the bread
essential for breakfast for her three boarding students.
She watched a moment longer, until a lanky young man in
his midtwenties walked briskly up the street. There was no mistaking the next
client who entered the boulangerie. Gabriella had recognized him the first time
she saw him buying bread a few days earlier, from the description of the other
boarders. This was David Hoffmann, the university's handsome American
instructor. Gabriella strained to get a closer look.
Castelnau was a pleasant town, she thought as she moved
away from the window. She pulled the duvet up from the end of the bed and
lightly fluffed her pillow. She tied back her unruly hair with a large ribbon
and then washed her face in the small porcelain sink that sat neatly in the
corner of the room. Opening a large oak armoire, she removed a freshly pressed
blouse and a simple straight-lined navy skirt. As she dressed, she noted that
the skirt hung loosely around her waist—in spite of the boulangerie's bread and
pastries.
She had come to Castelnau only two weeks earlier, excited
and confident, ready to discover a new land and people. But as the days between
her and her family lengthened, pangs of homesickness caught her by surprise. In
the midst of a walk through town she would notice a woman with hair like her
mother's, or two lithe, tanned girls, carefree and laughing, like Jessica and
Henrietta.
By afternoon she knew it would be blistering hot outside,
but the morning was bright and crisp, with a hint of autumn in the air. At home
there would be no fall smells. And at home she would not yet be starting her
first day at university. But here, in this small French village separated by a
sea from the African world she loved, Gabriella knew she must push away thoughts
of the past. At twenty-one, she should know that no good would come from giving
in to homesickness.
She reached for the large leather-bound Bible sitting on
her wooden nightstand and leafed familiarly through the pages until she found
the place she was seeking. Ten minutes later, as she carefully laid the book
back on the nightstand, a letter fell from the Bible. She reached down and
retrieved it, and as she tucked it back into the book, a line caught her
eye: I give you this cross, which has always been for me a symbol of
forgiveness and love.
A shadow swept across her. Instinctively she reached to
touch the gold chain that hung around her neck. Paying no attention to the cold,
hard tile beneath her bare knees, she knelt on the floor and propped her folded
hands on the side of the bed. She moved her lips without a sound escaping. It
was only later, when she rose to her feet and smoothed her skirt, that she
noticed her hands were wet from her warm tears.
***
Gabriella finished her breakfast of bread, butter, and
jelly dipped into a huge bowl of rich hot chocolate. The first morning, she had
barely managed to choke down the strong coffee the French drank in their wide
bowls, diluting it with plenty of cream and four cubes of sugar. After that
disaster, Mme Leclerc had offered her hot chocolate instead. Gabriella smiled
now as she remembered her embarrassment, then swept the breadcrumbs from her
skirt, cleared the table, and let the dishes rattle in the small
sink.
"Gabriella, please. You are always the last one, helping
an old lady like me. But today you mustn't be late. Allez! Go along now
and catch up with the others." Mme Leclerc shooed her out of the
house.
Stephanie and Caroline, the two other boarders, had
hurried off minutes before, and Gabriella appreciated Mme Leclerc's friendly
dismissal. She grabbed her small satchel that lay by the entrance of the
apartment. Opening the door, she turned back and said "Au revoir," then
placed the expected quick kisses on her landlady's cheeks.
"And merci!"
She stepped out into the sunlight and blinked. Quickly
she trotted down the sidewalk, past the boulangerie with its smells of
fresh bread, past the café where paunchy men were already sipping an
early-morning apéritif and women chatted noisily as their dogs strained
on leashes. She liked the short walk through the village that led to the
imposing church of St. Joseph. The small church
was built in the Romanesque style and seemed to Gabriella like a benevolent
father surrounding a houseful of children, saying nothing but ever present and
knowing.
She stepped through the red-washed wooden side door and
down the steps into the hollow nave, where flickering candles testified to the
early-morning fidelity of a few parishioners. The church was slowly filling up
with young women. Gabriella took a seat on a wooden pew near the front, next to
Stephanie.
By now many young women were scattered throughout the
twenty rows of pews. A small woman wearing a black nun's habit walked up the
aisle and stood before them. Gabriella had heard that she was over seventy, but
the nun's green eyes were lively. She spoke in English, with a heavy French
accent.
"Good morning, mesdemoiselles, and welcome to the
church of St. Joseph. I am Mother Griolet, the
director of the Franco-American exchange program here in Castelnau. This is my
fourteenth year of working with the program, and by now I have, shall we say,
gotten used to the ways of American women." She lifted her eyebrows, and muffled
laughter echoed through the church. "We try not to have too many rules, for we
want you to soak up this region of France and learn the
language. However, we do expect you to act becoming of your age and remember
that you are representing your country.
"I would now like to introduce our professors." She
addressed the woman and three men seated in the front
row…
"And finally, M. David Hoffmann, who will be teaching a
course he first presented at St. Joseph last year:
`Visions of Man, Past and Present.' M. Hoffmann will teach in both French and
English, since his course deals with art, history, and literature from both
France and England."
When David Hoffmann rose to his feet, every eye in the
church followed him. His frame was lean and athletic, and his hair and eyes were
jet black. He appeared calm and sophisticated for such a young
professor.
Mother Griolet thanked the professors, then turned her
attention once again to the young women. "We are delighted to have you with us
for the school year. I believe you have all received your course schedules and
know where the classrooms are. I will end by saying that I am an old woman and
have seen many things. Young ladies can get into all kinds of trouble. I cannot
prevent it, but my office is open for a friendly chat if you should happen to
need it. You are dismissed."
She left the podium, her face a picture of joviality
dusted with friendly concern. The girls offered a smattering of polite applause
before they stood up and filed out of the church and into the adjoining
building.
Gabriella liked the firm yet humorous style of the
director. I can see why Mother grew so fond of her, she thought. Then she
hurried after Stephanie to find a place in the classroom of M.
Hoffmann.
***
Mother Griolet closed the door to her small office and
sat down behind the mahogany desk. She picked up the list in front of her,
cursorily reading the forty-two girls' names. Over the next few months they
would become as familiar to her as her own. But one she already
knew. Gabriella Madison. She closed her eyes and saw this now-grown young
woman with the fiery hair as a child of six, trembling and sobbing, her face
dirty as she clung to Mother Griolet's black skirts.
Mother Griolet did not cry often, but the memory of that
scene brought an unexpected sting to her green eyes and sent a sudden chill
through her small frame.
"Dear child. Why did you come back here?" She was sure it
was a mistake. She was equally sure that she would pray night and day that
Gabriella Madison would never discover the story that an old nun had kept to
herself for so long.
​~from Two Crosses, by Elizabeth Musser, c1996,
c2012, published by David C Cook. Used by permission. Unauthorized duplication
prohibited.
Available at fine
bookstores everywhere, as well as on-line bookstores. www.bn.com, www.amazon.com,
www.christianbook.com
For a chance to win
a copy of Two Crosses and the sequel, Two Testaments, please visit
Elizabeth's Facebook Author Page:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Elizabeth-Musser/149546181768451
To learn more about
Elizabeth and her books, and to find discussion questions
as well as photos of sites mentioned in the stories, please visit www.elizabethmusser.com.
