Chateau of Secrets: A Novel by Melanie Dobson Read Free Book Online Page B

feed her brother when she didn’t even know how to light an oven?
    She sighed. Just because she wanted to help didn’t mean she was able to do it.
    Opening up the refrigerator door, she removed a pint of milk and trickled it into a bowl for—
    She looked back down at the kitten as he lapped up the milk. “What should I call you?”
    There were too many silly pet names—Fluffy, Tiger, Smudge. But this kitten was smart, hiding from the Germans. Shadow—that’s what she would call him.
    Then she scanned the contents in the refrigerator. There was a tub of butter, along with salami and cheese. On the counter was a half loaf of pain noir , the hardy black bread their cook liked to bake. It wasn’t much food, but she hoped it would sustain her brother until the Germans left.
    She set the flashlight on the counter and reached for a glass goblet to fill with water when the door to the kitchen swung open. Shadow leapt up on the counter, and she dropped the goblet as she whirled around, glass shattering across the floor.
    Someone stood at the door, but she couldn’t see their face. Sweeping the flashlight off the counter, she shined it toward the door.
    “Émilie,” she said with a sigh, her heart calming. “What are you doing here?”
    The older woman tossed her valise onto the wooden table that stood before the fireplace. “I tried to walk to Cahagnes, but didn’t get far.”
    Gisèle sank back against the counter. “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s no matter,” Émilie said, eyeing the salami and cheese on the counter. “I don’t know what is to become of us, but in the meantime, I can help you and your father.”
    “I need you, but . . .”
    Her gaze fell to the kitten lapping milk on the floor. “You better take that cat outside before Vicomte Duchant sees it.”
    “Papa’s not here.”
    Émilie’s eyes welled up with worry. “Where is he?”
    Gisèle swallowed hard, trying to calm the fear that sparked fresh inside her. She didn’t tell Émilie about the soldiers she’d seen marching toward the château. “He was planning to head south, after Philippe and I left, but we didn’t get past Saint-Lô. I spent the night at the Batiers.”
    Émilie glanced back toward the door. “Is his automobile still here?”
    “I haven’t checked the carriage house yet.”
    “What about Philippe?”
    “I don’t know.” She couldn’t consider the possibility that he’d been injured, but the bombs had been falling and people stampeded in their frantic attempt to escape them.
    “It will not be safe for you here,” Émilie said.
    “I’m afraid no place is safe in France.”
    “Perhaps I could stay and help you find your father?”
    “I will go check the carriage house.” Gisèle rapped her knuckles on the stovetop, the loneliness beginning to fade away. “Can you bake some bread tonight?”
    “It doesn’t seem right to bake . . .”
    “I want to take it to those who are hungry.” She paused. “Like my mother used to do.”
    Émilie tilted her head slightly, studying Gisèle’s face. “Your mother used to take food every week to the children in the orphanage.”
    Gisèle nodded. When she was younger, she’d sometimes joined her mother to deliver the baskets of fresh vegetables and bread. “I’m not going to the orphanage.”
    Émilie opened the refrigerator. “But we can pretend you are.”
    Gisèle picked up Shadow. The world outside might be spiraling, but here inside the château, perhaps she and Émilie would find peace. Until Papa or Philippe returned, it would be their refuge in the storm.

— CHAPTER 8 —
    S aturday night’s dinner was supposed to be a casual affair, but Austin’s mother wore pearls with her ivory cocktail dress and coral cardigan. The table was set with antique silver and crystal goblets and folded napkins on the china plates. I wore the same yellow sundress I’d worn at today’s luncheon, but still I felt underdressed.
    Mr. and Mrs. Vale anchored each end of their