The Women of Chateau Lafayette - Softcover

Dray, Stephanie

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593335937 ISBN 13: 9780593335932

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

The USA Today Bestseller!

Recommended by Oprah Magazine ∙ Cosmopolitan ∙ PopSugar ∙ SheReads ∙ Parade ∙ and more!

An epic saga from New York Times bestselling author Stephanie Dray based on the true story of an extraordinary castle in the heart of France and the remarkable women bound by its legacy.
 
Most castles are protected by men. This one by women.

A founding mother...
1774. Gently-bred noblewoman Adrienne Lafayette becomes her husband, the Marquis de Lafayette’s political partner in the fight for American independence. But when their idealism sparks revolution in France and the guillotine threatens everything she holds dear, Adrienne must renounce the complicated man she loves, or risk her life for a legacy that will inspire generations to come.

A daring visionary...
1914. Glittering New York socialite Beatrice Chanler is a force of nature, daunted by nothing—not her humble beginnings, her crumbling marriage, or the outbreak of war. But after witnessing the devastation in France firsthand, Beatrice takes on the challenge of a lifetime: convincing America to fight for what's right.

A reluctant resistor...
1940. French school-teacher and aspiring artist Marthe Simone has an orphan's self-reliance and wants nothing to do with war. But as the realities of Nazi occupation transform her life in the isolated castle where she came of age, she makes a discovery that calls into question who she is, and more importantly, who she is willing to become.

Intricately woven and powerfully told, The Women of Chateau Lafayette is a sweeping novel about duty and hope, love and courage, and the strength we take from those who came before us.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Stephanie Dray is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, & USA Today bestselling author of historical women's fiction. Her award-winning work has been translated into eight languages and tops lists for the most anticipated reads of the year. She lives near the Maryland with her husband, cats, and history books.

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One

 

MARTHE

 

Chavaniac-Lafayette

 

The Free Zone

 

October 1940

 

I've almost made it, I think, pedaling my bicycle faster when I see the castle's crenelated tower at the summit. I've ridden past yellowing autumn farmland, past the preventorium's dormitories for boys, and past the terra-cotta-roof-topped houses of the village. And despite blistered feet and scuffed saddle shoes, I'm feeling cocky.

 

As I near the castle proper, I'm no longer worried anyone is going to take what I've carried all this way, which is probably why I'm so surprised to see Sergeant Travert's old black Citro‘n parked by the village fountain.

 

Malchance! What shit luck.

 

Sergeant Travert patrols our village every evening on his way home. For some reason the gendarme is early today, and having stalled out his jalopy, he's got the hood up to repair it.

 

I try to ride past, but he notices and waves me over.

 

My heart sinks as Travert approaches, doffing his policeman's cap, then resting his hand on his holstered pistol. "What have we here, mademoiselle?"

 

I pretend to be calm while he peers into my bicycle pannier baskets. "Just some supplies from Paulhaguet."

 

That's the nearest little town, where I bought dried sausage with ration coupons, but I traded on the black market to get sugar, paper for my classroom, and medicine for the doctors at the preventorium.

 

Black market barters for hard-to-find goods are illegal. I took the risk anyway for a good cause, but I had a selfish motive too. One the snooping constable uncovers with a disapproving arch of his bushy brow. "Cigarettes?"

 

According to our new leader, Marshal PŽtain, Frenchwomen who smoke-not to mention foreigners and unpatriotic schoolteachers-are to blame for France's defeat.

 

Personally, I think it had more to do with Hitler.

 

Maybe it even had to do with military leaders like PŽtain who believed in fairy tales like the stupid Maginot Line to keep us safe. I can't say something like that, though. I shouldn't even think something like that about the Marshal-the man who saved France in the last war, and, as everyone says, the only man who can save us now.

 

But merde, what smug idiots got us into this war?

 

Hitler's panzer divisions rolled past French defenses five months ago. The Allies fled at Dunkirk, leaving forty thousand French soldiers to cover their retreat and hold the Germans back. All for nothing. Eighteen days later, we surrendered, to the shock of the world. Like almost everyone else, I was relieved; I thought the fighting would stop and that Henri would come home. But now a swastika is flying over the Eiffel Tower, and France-or what's left of her below the line of demarcation-is neutral while Britain fights on, alone.

 

Almost two million French soldiers are prisoners of war-including Henri. My Henri. Given all that, smoking is the only thing keeping me sane, so the lie comes easily. "The cigarettes are for the baron."

 

The gendarme looks over his shoulder at the castle and says, "I took the Baron de LaGrange more for a man who prefers a pipe."

 

The baron is now the acting president of the preventorium. The baroness trained as a nurse in the last war and has a knack for organization, but unfortunately, women aren't supposed to run anything now, so her husband got the job. And as the founder of an elite pilots' training school and a senator with connections in the new Vichy government, the baron is too powerful to question about cigarettes.

 

Travert knows it and knits those bushy brows.

 

For a moment, I think he'll shrug and walk away. Instead, he sweeps autumn leaves off the low stone wall and leans against it. "It gets lonely around here these days, mademoiselle, does it not? Tell me, what does a schoolteacher with such pretty blue eyes do when class is not in session?"

 

"I lie about eating chocolates." What does he think? There are four hundred sick children to feed at the preventorium-which means growing vegetables, milking cows in the dairy, and helping to raise and butcher pigs.

 

Every day since the war started has been a struggle, but I don't think he cares about that. No, I think the gendarme is after something else when he reaches for my wrist and traces it with his thumb. "Your tone is sharp, mademoiselle. You ought to show more respect for an officer of the law."

 

I probably should, considering he could arrest me or seize my ill-gotten goods, but I'm too angry that he's touching me. I don't think he'd dare if I were wearing my engagement ring. It's tucked under my scarf, hanging from my neck on a chain because it kept slipping off a finger that has become, like the rest of me, thinner than before the war. Thinking about it makes me combative. "You really want to know what I do when I'm lonely? I kiss the picture of my fiancŽ, praying for his safe return from his prisoner of war camp."

 

That's enough to shame the gendarme, who shrugs like he was just testing me. "I wish all Frenchwomen were so devoted."

 

Sure, I was so devoted that I made Henri wait until the very last minute, once it was too late to arrange the wedding he wanted. Feeling miserably guilty, I look away, and the gendarme notices. "You're certain you have nothing to hide, mademoiselle? Your cheeks are pink!"

 

"The air is chilly," I say, tugging my old red beret down over my ears. "And I exhausted myself standing in line at the shops in Paulhaguet all morning, and on the ride back."

 

This is a stupid lie, because Travert knows I've been hiking, camping, and hunting in these rugged woods since I was in pigtails. A bicycle ride isn't enough to wind me. Then again, everything is harder when you're hungry.

 

Travert puffs out his barrel chest. "Exertion is good for you. The Marshal says to stay fit. Get lots of exercise and fresh air."

 

I could outrun Travert in a footrace any day, but I'd rather not have to, so I settle on sarcasm. "We must fight the rot of la dŽcadence and restore the honor of France, no?"

 

He laughs, and I laugh too, but neither of us is amused.

 

According to the Marshal, the honor of France is so fragile that it was lost to art, accents, women, and wine. Meanwhile, on the BBC, the rogue General de Gaulle says French honor can be restored only by suicidal resistance against the Nazis.

 

I don't believe either of them.

 

These days it's hard to believe in anything but self-interest. And it's self-interest that saves me. Tempted by the dried sausage peeking out of its paper, Travert breaks an end off for his lunch and leaves me the rest. "Au revoir, mademoiselle."

 

He knows I'm guilty of black market bargaining or he wouldn't have taken a piece of my sausage, so I don't argue. "Adieu!"

 

Once inside the castle gates, I dodge mud puddles in the drive, where the ambulance has been stranded for a week without fuel. The children are at recess wearing scout uniforms; it seems everyone wears a uniform of some kind these days to restore our morals.

 

A fair-haired eight-year-old who came to us from Lille afflicted with rickets now hops off the swing set, her corkscrew curls bouncing as she runs through fallen leaves to greet me, calling, "Ma”tresse! Ma”tresse!" She's followed by an asthmatic fifteen-year-old from Toulouse, who is almost cured and ready to go back to her family.

 

Both...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2021
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593335937
• ISBN 13: 9780593335932
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 576
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: preigu; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; 49078; Deutschland