The frenchman's Table; next chapter

Fulfilling a Promise
Yves, left alone with his thoughts after Paula had fallen asleep ventured to John's apartment. As he entered, he discovered the aftermath of an intrusive visitor-a desecrated space with papers strewn across the floor and drawers ransacked. Yves observed the chaos, a poignant reflection of the turmoil that had infiltrated their lives. They didn't know John, and they didn't know where he kept his valuable possessions. But, Yves did. Not two days later, Yves helped Paula select the grave marker, and they buried their friend in a beautiful cemetery on the hill overlooking a picturesque stream now frozen solid from the cold. John had no other family present. Eerily dark branches and limbs bowing out over the water contrasted starkly against the clean white snow giving the appearance a path of light through the void and the quiet equally still, providing the backdrop for their solemn task. Standing there for what seemed like forever, Paula tossed the last of her flowers onto John's casket. Her dreams, her future, crushed. The heavens wept as it started to rain again. Weeks whirled by. Paula made her first appointment with the local obstetrician and asked Yves if he would go with her, as she found it challenging to function alone. Her swell of her abdomen and constant tiredness posed challenges to her work prospects, fueling her worries. Amid the turmoil, a unique bond blossomed between Paula and Yves. Trauma had forged an unbreakable connection, and Yves became her protector and her confidant. One night, in the aftermath of shared grief, their friendship evolved into an intimate connection. She found herself cradled in his arms, both lying there impassioned in a post-coital embrace. Their long talks afterward allowed them both to grieve and move forward. He helped her move into his flat, agreeing she would need help as her pregnancy was advancing and she could no longer find work. Their trust deepened, love growing as they navigated the complexities of life shaped tragedy. It was just before her due date when the obstetrician updated her condition. They had stopped for lunch at a local cafon the way to the appointment when she started to bleed. She returned from the water closet with a worried look, and told Yves, "Something is wrong!" Quickly grabbing the napkins from the table, Yves held a cab, threatening the driver to break the road rules; driving through stop signs only to screech to a stop in front of the clinic. Yves swooped her up, carrying her inside the building. There he was met by the staff who presented a gurney. With his arm covered with blood, the nurse shooed him away as the hospital staff raced back to the operating room. Four hours later, the obstetrician allowed Yves to visit the new mother. Smiling, the obstetrician added, "it's not often I get fooled." Confused, Yves rounded the corner, entered her room, and saw the new mother cradling two disparate crying bundles. "Hi," Paula smiled weakly. Overwhelmed with joy, he joined her on the bed, caressing the babies' cheeks. "What?" Yves smiling back. He beamed. All would be okay. "What are we calling them?" "Well," she started slowly, "they're both girls. This one is Mary, and this one here, is Millie." "Millie?" touched by the choice, Yves caressed the babe's cheek. "Yes, after your mom." Paula laid her head against his chest. "So- we got everything covered? Your mom and my mom. Got it." "Honestly, if they had been boys, I would have named one John and then the other maybe after my dad or yours. So, this ended up being a bit easier." "Well, we need to make this all right- let me make an honest woman out of you. Marry me." Snapping back from memories long past, Paula stared at the guard, bracing herself for the impending onslaught of questions. "So, I see in your records, you had twins, yes?" the woman's tactics changing. "Yes, girls," Paula affirmed. "Identical?" "Yes."
"And the father was whom?" There it was-a slow dawning on how quickly the interrogator zeroed in on her family. "Their father is my husband," Paula answered tersely. Her nervous foot resumed its agitated dance, the room growing colder her face was flushed with unease. "I think, you're lying." The interrogator marked something on her clipboard and rose. "What are you trying to get at?" Paula's concern heightened. Ignoring Paula's question, the guard moved toward the door, which swung open, ushering two more guards. The room now felt oppressively crowded, intensifying Paula's apprehension. "Get up," the guard ordered, motioning Paula to stand. As Paula rose, the taller guard pulled the chair, its metallic screech echoing through the room. With a forceful throw, the chair was discarded. A shudder ran through her body as each guard seized her arms, forcing a dark hood over her head. "What is going on? I'm answering your questions? Paula pleaded through the cloth to the enigmatic figures in the room. Stumbling as she was propelled outside, she heard the rumbles of a truck's engine. Again, she was shoved toward to the back of the vehicle, where the steel bumper pressed against her stomach. "Climb" a command in German rang out. Reaching blindly, Paula grasped onto anything she could find, pulling herself up. She landed beside another warm body. She was pressed to squeeze in close to that person, as, from behind, another had climbed in too. Two sharp slaps to the side of the truck started the truck moving. The ceaseless clanking of heavy armor and raucous engine drowned out the other passengers' cries and pleas. They jostled along for about an hour; Paula still barefooted and shivering from the biting winds whipping through the slats of the truck, huddled among the bodies. The truck screeched to a halt sending everyone lurching forward. Amid the clamor, Paula discerned the sounds of other women. She was in a truck with women-for what purpose? Where were they headed? She heard the whir of a larger engine and could smell the pungent scent of diesel assaulting her senses as they were forcibly pulled from the truck, still blinded by hoods. Paula's mind raced, contemplating the ominous unknown. The uncontrollable tears flowed down her face as she thought about her girls and the possibility of never seeing them again enveloped her. The neck of her dress dampened with her tears; she clutched the shoulder of the person in front of her as they formed a line ascending a metallic ramp into the train's compartment. Once inside, Paula removed the hood, discovering a sea of women around her, mostly young, some pregnant, cradling their bellies protectively against the cold and mounting fears. She was being transported by train somewhere, and the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on her with the chilling realization that no one would know.