“Well, don’t. I happen to know you’re quite capable of feeding yourself.” Her heart continued to pound in response to his playfulness.
Doreen reached under the tablecloth and pulled out a pair of champagne glasses and a bottle of wine. A self-satisfied smile lit up her face. “We were also able to secure some wine. Unfortunately, the German occupiers have availed themselves of the best France has to offer, but we hope you find this acceptable. It is from a local vineyard, sent with their compliments.”
“And we are grateful.”
Gerard popped the cork and poured the straw-colored liquid. He cocked his head. “Surely, you plan to join us.”
“We only have two glasses.”
“Then we’ll share.” Emily started to sip from the glass.
“Wait.” With a saucy grin, Gerard linked his arm through hers. “Now, we toast.”
The fizzy drink slid down Emily’s throat. “Granted, my experience with wine is limited, but this is delicious. It tastes like apples, too.” She extricated herself and handed her glass to Doreen.
Father Victor rubbed his hands together. “A beautiful ceremony despite the circumstances, and I’m sorry to cut off the festivities, but we must get you on the road. You need to reach your destination before curfew.”
A chill swept over Emily, and she pressed a hand over her stomach where the drums had started beating again. In the blink of an eye, the harsh reality of her life was back.
Chapter Eighteen
The sanctuary door opened with a bang.
Gerard’s head whipped around. A pair of German SS officers tromped up the aisle toward the celebrants. Next to him, Emily’s body had stiffened, and she clutched his arm in a viselike grip. Celeste and Doreen stood at the food table, hands frozen in the act of slicing the tart. Pinning an obsequious smile and what he hoped was a look of innocence on his face, Gerard dipped his head toward the soldiers.
Behind the altar, Father Victor pressed his palms together. “Welcome back, Standartenführer Weber and Hauptsturmführer Schneider. It is an honor to see you again.”
Weber, the taller of the two officers clicked together the heels of his gleaming knee-high boots. The leather of his gun belt squeaked as he bowed. His white-blond hair contrasted with his heavily tanned face. Piercing blue eyes were set deep in his face. One eyebrow was separated by a deep comma-shaped scar. “I heard there was yet another wedding and wanted to congratulate the newlyweds.” He peered at Gerard and Emily. “Is this the happy couple?”
Gerard nodded and wrapped his arm around Emily’s shoulder.
Father Victor smiled. “Oui. You are just in time to see them off. This is Sophie and Jules Boucher. Jules works at the la manufacture.”
“Ah, doing your part for der führer. Excellent. I wondered why such a young man was not in uniform or”—he sneered—“hiding underground.” Weber stepped toward to Emily. “And do you work as well, Frau Boucher?”
“I am la professeure. I teach the small children.” Her voice trembled, and Gerard drew her closer, her frame rigid in his arms.
He bounced on his toes. “My wife, she is too modest. Oui, she is a teacher but so much more than that. The children love her as they would a mother.”
“I can understand why.” He leered at Emily and ran a gloved finger along her jaw. “And she is beautiful. You certainly got the full package with your young wife.”
Gerard’s hand fisted, and he shoved it in his pocket to prevent him from punching the wolfish expression on the man’s face. Was the officer trying to get a rise out of him, or was he simply a lecher? “Oui.” He would play along. “And I am grateful she would marry such a man as me. I don’t deserve her love.”
Seeming to overcome her trepidation, Emily fluttered her eyelashes. “Now it is my mari who is modest. He is strong as an ox and has already provided for me. And he is doing his part for the cause.” She raised her arm. “Heil, Hitler.”
Gerard squeezed her arm. Atta girl, Emily. What else could they say or do to get these goons out of the church? If he did anything to indicate he and Emily were in a hurry to leave, the soldiers might get suspicious.
The officers held up their hands. “Heil, Hitler.” Their voices bounced off the stone walls and wooden floor.
Father Victor gestured to Weber and Schneider. “Won’t you join us for some refreshments? They are humble offerings, but we hope you find them to your liking.”
“Nein. We must be on our way.” Weber looked down his nose. “Too bad you didn’t make a Baumkuchen. A German wedding cake would ensure a long, happy marriage. At least, that’s what my Großmutter used to say. I wouldn’t know.”
Schneider nudged his commanding officer and handed him a small package. “The gift, sir.”
“Ah, yes. We have brought a small token of respect for this blessed occasion.” He rocked back on his heels and puffed out his chest. “To celebrate the love of this lovely young couple who are supporters of the Reich and couldn’t possibly be tied to any nefarious schemes.” Sarcasm dripped from his words as he tapped his chin with his index finger. “Two uncomplicated people who have found affection in a time of war.”
Gerard’s chest tightened. Would the soldiers never leave? Was their graciousness a show, and the colonel came to arrest them both or was he just an arrogant puppet in Hitler’s ranks who enjoyed lording his power over the populace?
With a pompous smile, Weber held out the gift, a photograph of Hitler encased in a silver frame. “Now, you can start your marriage right. Every good and loyal home should have a picture of der führer watching over it.”
“Merci.” Emily reached for the portrait then curtsied. “You do us a great honor with your presence and with your gift. We thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes gleamed. “I don’t suppose you are wealthy enough to afford a honeymoon. Too bad you can’t visit some of Germany’s beautiful sites such as Neuschwanstein Castle or the Cologne Cathedral. You will have to settle for France.” He sneered.
Gerard shook his head. “No, we have little money for that, but even so, travel papers are difficult to obtain, sir. We will spend a quiet day at home, then I must return to work.”
“Bah! Stupid government minions. I will take care of this.” He rifled through his pockets then glanced at Schneider. “Do you have any paper with you?”
Schneider pulled a folded sheet from his inside breast pocket. “Only this, sir, but it is the order we…uh…received this morning.”
“Perfect.” Weber snatched the missive and tore it, separating the typewritten words and the masthead of the German High Command. He laid the paper on the altar and retrieved a fountain pen from his pocket. Unscrewing the lid, he scribbled below the emblem, the nib scratching across the ivory stationery.
Gerard widened his eyes. Was the colonel actually writing them travel orders? Would this give them free passage across France? Perhaps, God was moving in one of His mysterious ways and using a pawn of the Nazis to grant Emily and him freedom.