The Girl in the Blue Beret - Bobbie Ann Mason [75]
“I never knew any of that,” she said. “But these photos are from that time.”
Marshall studied Robert’s face—the small, sharp features, the dark, rough-cut hair. Robert stood on a road near a trimmed waist-high hedge. Beyond was a field, with no identifiable plants, a low cover crop of some kind. It seemed to be winter, judging by the young man’s coat—dark, heavy wool with a thick collar, perhaps of mouton. He was hatless, his abundant hair shining. A rucksack dangling from one hand appeared to be empty. The camera caught him in a slant profile, not facing the camera with an obligatory smile but deliberately posing as the serious revolutionary.
Marshall wondered if Robert had been in the Maquis, the Resistance fighters who camped out in the wilds. Pierre and Nicolas had told him that young men often took to the Maquis to escape the obligatory work-service in Germany. Marshall studied the photograph, observing the country setting, with a shed or barn in the background. He recognized the young man, of course. He even recognized the coat. He strained to recall if there had been any signs of flirtation between Robert and Annette. No, not under her parents’ eye, he decided.
“I owe him a great debt for helping me,” Marshall said now to Caroline, who sat down beside him, tucking her legs under her on the small divan.
“He was a terrible man,” she said.
“I find that so hard to believe.” Marshall told her what James Ford had said—what a fine person Robert Lebeau was, how he owed his life to this young man in the picture.
She shrugged and dug in the box. There were more photos of him, with a crowd of siblings and his parents—a stocky, mustachioed dad and a squat, dark mother.
“How do you happen to have these? You said he was terrible. Isn’t he still alive? Where can I find him?”
She didn’t answer, and he wondered if she was going to cry.
“Aren’t these the kind of pictures that would belong to his wife?” he asked quickly, to forestall the waterworks.
Caroline shook her head slightly and said, “Maman told me that his wife wanted to know nothing about his past. She drew a line through it. Everything before her entry into his life was pfft!” She zipped up the past with a quick hand gesture.
“So he gave them to your mother?”
Caroline nodded. “Maman didn’t really want them either. She found it too painful to think what he used to be and what he became.”
“What was that?” Marshall was confused. Was Lebeau a good man or not? What were his crimes? “Just a minute,” he said. “First, I have to know something. What was his wife’s name?”
“Hortense. Why?”
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Emma Romain. That is my name. Romain. We never had his name. This is her photo.”
Caroline’s mother had a high forehead, dark wings of thick hair, and a soft but careworn face. Marshall detected the resemblance to Caroline in the nose and the oval shape of the face.
He was glad that Caroline excused herself then and began to rattle dishes in the kitchen. She wasn’t Annette’s daughter. Annette didn’t marry Robert. He was relieved, but he remained transfixed with the box of pictures. Robert Jules Lebeau, in all the early photos, was young and handsome, heartthrob enough for a wife and a mistress.
The later photos of Robert—with Caroline’s mother and with their children—were few, mostly showing occasions at a dinner table. In some of the pictures he wore the traditional French workman’s blue smock. In one series of photos there were Christmas presents and a small tree on a table. The older Lebeau had a faded, sad aspect. His thick hair was swept back, revealing a high forehead. He sat at the table with the children, but he did not seem to be involved with them. He was not even looking at the camera.
CAROLINE SERVED DINNER on a small table in a nook between the kitchen and the divan. The wine was light and dry, and Marshall enjoyed the food, the first home-cooked meal he had had in some time. Since lunch with the Alberts in Chauny, he remembered. Before that, he had no idea.
“I recognize this potato from your store,” he kidded.