The Ghost of Étienne Passat

By Olivia Penwell McCoy

Set in both modern times and the WWII era, this captivating story begins with a French family caught up in the lethal madness of the Nazis occupation in Europe. When peaceful village life changes, tienne Passat manages to send his two sisters to safety before he embarks on a long, harrowing journey of escape and his eventual disappearance. Many years later, modern American tourists visit southern France and discover a ghostly presence that in due time ties the past and present together.
Inspired by an actual experience, this book was carefully researched to reflect wartime experiences and events.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499082067

Olivia Penwell McCoy

Olivia Penwell McCoy is a writer and painter living in Northern California near San Francisco with her husband Preston and dog Henry. Born in Erie, Pennsylvania, she has lived on the west coast for over forty-five years. She studied Fine Arts at Columbus College of Art and Design and at the Academy of Art University in San Francisco. When not writing, she enjoys painting, world travel, hiking,quilting and time with family. Olivia draws upon life experiences to inspire her work. Her first novel, "The Wright Place at the Right Time", was based on family genealogy. Her second novel, "The Ghost of Etienne Passat", came into being because of a ghostly encounter in the south of France. The cover art for both books is her original work.

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Copyright © 2014 by Olivia Penwell McCoy.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/23/2014

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Contents

Introduction

Evening, 4 August 1944

16 August 1918

17 June 1924

September 1940

December 1941

May 1944

Evening, 4 August 1944

Morning 5 August 1944

10 August 2003

Epilogue

This book is dedicated to my husband Preston and to

my children and grand-children for their continuing

encouragement and patience. I extend a special thank you

to Elizabeth for her help with editing and grammar.

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science.

- Albert Einstein

Introduction

Several years ago while visiting friends on the Cote d’Azur of Southern France, I had an encounter with what I felt to be a ghostly presence. My husband was sleeping soundly, but I could not drift off while aware of the entity. I mustered up my courage, walked into the kitchen of the apartment where we were staying, and acknowledged the unwelcome visitor. I demanded that it not bother me or my husband in any way and it obeyed for the three days we were there, however, I felt its energy as an undercurrent every time we were in the apartment. Our host explained that I was not the first person to feel the presence and she had tried to send it away several times. This spirit seemed to want to be acknowledged for it clearly made itself known. Previous guests had their bedclothes rudely pulled off, their toes tweaked and the lights turned off and on by this unseen force.

On the plane as we were leaving France, it became clear to me that I should write the spirit’s story as I imagined it. This book is the result.

The following novel is purely a work of fiction. Although events regarding World War II are based on actual history, this should not be misconstrued as an accurate historical account. All characters are fictional and any relationship to persons living or dead is truly coincidental. However, it is my fervent hope that the Étienne of my imagination is somehow the manifestation of the ghost I encountered, and that having written this account in his honor, he might finally rest in peace.

Evening, 4 August 1944

Étienne crawled onto the rocky shore like a primal creature emerging from the Mediterranean waters for the very first time. He felt sure his rapidly beating heart was echoing like gunfire across the beach, but the passing SS officer mistook his limp body for that of a dead man and marched on without so much as a grunt in his direction.

As the night air cooled his sodden clothing, Étienne began to shiver. He knew he needed to get to warmth and shelter right away but his numbed limbs would not respond. His fear of discovery would not allow this condition to continue for long so he drew upon every reserve of strength he had left and willed himself to move to drier land, an inch at a time. After collapsing twice he was finally able to stumble from the water’s edge to the cover of a large bush beside the sea wall. He crouched there a moment, trembling violently; his teeth chattering in a frightened staccato while he panted and gasped for breath. He was cold, hungry, and exhausted. He longed for a safe place to rest awhile.

Étienne could just barely make out a path ahead of him that wound around a corner, so he decided to follow it. His legs were wobbly and he had to rest every few steps, yet he felt compelled to keep moving. Suddenly he heard the murmur of voices ahead and a harsh "Achtung!" command, followed by two pistol shots. He scrunched his eyes shut, his arms hugging himself tightly while he attempted to erase the horrifying images those sounds evoked. He longed to run in the opposite direction, but he knew he would just be exposed in the open shoreline again, so he waited instead until the crunch of boot steps had receded. With great care he continued along the wall, keeping to the shadows. He had no idea what he would find ahead. In the dim light he felt his way with his hands until his foot bumped against the silent, stiffening body of a fallen woman. The acrid stench of her life’s blood still clung to her and filled his nostrils until he gagged. He would not look at her face, but he saw her cloak lying not far from where she fell, so he hastily grabbed it and wrapped his quaking body in its dark woolen folds before plodding on.

Thank you, he whispered in her direction as he hastily made the sign of the cross.

Somewhere in the distance a milk wagon rattled across a cobbled street as pale shafts of sunlight streaked the sky in a false dawn. Étienne felt a sense of panic when he realized the village would be awakening soon. Not much time was left before the morning sun would expose him to the world. A gate was slightly ajar in the wall ahead so he tentatively pushed on it, waiting for the tell tale creak of hinges. To his amazement, it opened without a sound. As Étienne slipped into the garden a tabby cat pounced from the roof of the shed startling him mid-step, but he managed to stifle his cry of surprise and instead took a moment to look around and get his bearings. In the muted light he spied a small orchard and flower garden. It was too late in the season for much in the way of produce, although a few pieces of fruit remained on a nearby tree. He realized he would have to jump very high to reach them, and didn’t trust himself to land without a crash, so passed them up despite the gnawing in his belly. Dawn was already breaking by the time the two-story house came into full view. He used what shadows still remained to duck behind some fragrant bushes by a cellar door to again survey his surroundings.

Perhaps I can find something to eat in here or at least rest a bit, but can I really be so lucky as to also find this door unlocked? he marveled as he carefully pushed against the crude portal. It easily gave way beneath his hand.

Deep darkness and the dank smells of a root cellar greeted him. He dreaded the dark and cold almost as much as he feared discovery, but the sound of approaching footsteps forced his decision and he plunged inside without another thought, hastily closing the door behind him. The only available light came from the crack beneath the ill-fitting entry door, so Étienne hesitated before taking another step to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Three uneven wooden steps led down to the floor and he nearly tripped as he descended. He was immediately enveloped by a mass of sticky spider webs that made him flail his hands and sputter to spit the threads from his mouth.

He took another tentative step, waving his arms in front of his face to ward off any further webs or spiders. It felt as if something was crawling on his face and he swiped frantically to remove it.

I’ve come all this way unharmed only to be attacked by evil spiders, he laughed to himself.

Then his heart thudded when he noticed a small round shape next to his foot. He prayed it was not a rat. After both he and the object remained motionless for several minutes, he bravely knelt down to peer more closely and realized it was instead, a potato, with several long sprouts growing from its wrinkled skin. Étienne removed the sprouts and brushed away some of the soil covering it before he set upon it with a hunger he’d not known he possessed. The potato was rubbery and the dirt from it formed a muddy slush in his mouth, yet no sooner had he finished that one, he found another potato and ate it too. His shriveled stomach immediately ached in protest but he knew he had to take in some nourishment no matter what the source. Étienne was uncertain of the time of his last real meal. He did not want to remember it exactly for he feared that would cause him to remember all the painful events of the previous weeks. The very idea of remembering was unbearable.

Étienne carefully worked his way to the farthest corner of the cellar, avoiding the splintered shelving and broken jars along the way. In the dim light he could not see a broken chair with its legs in the air and badly banged his ankle on a crossbar. It made him limp momentarily yet he continued his exploration of the area. When he was as far away from the door as possible he looked around for a place to rest. The earth was damp there so he piled up a few empty potato sacks that were lying about to create a makeshift bed. Wrapping the stolen cloak more closely around his freezing body, his chills finally subsided and he closed his eyes for the first time in nearly forty-eight hours. Just moments before he drifted into a thankfully dreamless sleep, he ripped the ragged yellow star from his damp sleeve and flung it as far away from his person as he possibly could.

16 August 1918

Rachele Le Blanc was one day past her twenty-second birthday when she went on holiday with her parents to the beach town of Antibes in the south of France. It was there she met Edouard Passat, who was to be the love of her life. Her family had just spread a blanket on the sand when Edouard dropped an apple on it from the overloaded fruit basket he was carrying for his own parents.

I believe this belongs to you, monsieur, Rachele said as she offered up the fruit like Eve and the forbidden apple, and looked unabashedly into Edouard’s big green eyes.

He was so flustered by her dark beauty that he could scarcely squeak out, "Merci." His fingers brushed hers lightly as he accepted the fallen fruit and he experienced something akin to an electrical charge. He quickly moved on, yet kept turning back to gaze at her as he stumbled behind his parents who were taking their time choosing a spot to enjoy the late morning sun. As if by a spoken agreement, Rachele and Edouard each decided to take a stroll along the shore while their parents napped after lunch that same day. Once around the bend of the sea wall and out of sight of their families, they spoke at the same time.

My name is Edouard Passat.

My name is Rachele Le Blanc.

They laughed in unison and looked into one another’s eyes. Years later they would say that in that moment they both knew they were fated to be together.

How long are you staying? Edouard asked shyly.

Only another two weeks, but perhaps that is long enough to become friends? Rachele answered, modestly lowering her brown eyes and brushing at a stray dark curl.

Edouard could only nod mutely, tongue-tied by the nearness of her.

Will you meet me here tomorrow at this same time? My parents will have fallen asleep from the sun soon enough so I can easily slip away unnoticed, she suggested. There is no one else my age to talk with and I am rather bored.

Yes, yes, I will be here, Edouard whispered, then hastily turned and ran back to his parents.

The next afternoon Rachele led the way to a lovely sandy spot where they could lean against a rock. A light Mediterranean breeze cooled the air to a perfect temperature.

Come, Edouard, and sit with me, she invited.

She smiled at him approvingly for she did appreciate the sight of him. Although he was not much taller than she, he was reassuringly muscular. She was attracted to his green eyes and masculine square jaw. Rachele modestly rearranged her skirt as she settled into the spot and patted the sand next to her.

Edouard followed like an obedient puppy and plopped down beside her.

And how are you today? she asked.

I am well. And you?

Very well also.

She smiled sweetly and he smiled back.

The two young people then turned simultaneously to gaze out towards the sea. Edouard drew his knees up and dug his bare toes deep into the sand. Except for a few birds overhead the two were blissfully alone. Several minutes passed without another word.

Edouard closed his eyes and tilted his face to the warmth of the sun. He nearly fell asleep but startled himself awake.

What is wrong with me? he thought. Here I am sitting next to this beautiful, intriguing woman and I cannot think of one thing to say.

Rachele shifted her position, looked over at him and smiled again. He smiled back. Several more minutes passed before she sighed deeply.

It really is a beautiful day, isn’t it? she commented.

Hmmmm, Edouard responded.

After several more minutes of silence Rachele said her good-byes and left him sitting disappointedly against the boulder.

Edouard felt like an idiot for being so tongue-tied and hoped she would still want to be friends, so he went to their meeting spot promptly the next afternoon; eager to act differently. Unfortunately, that day was much like the one before and the third no different from the other two, except that the time they sat together was much shorter.

After sitting quietly with him for those three days with no deeper conversation than How are you today?, Rachele had nearly given up hope of ever getting to know him and almost skipped their meeting on the fourth day, but when she saw Edouard waiting at the rock with an expectant smile on his face, she felt her heart flutter and decided it was worth one more try.

Hello, Edouard. Shall we try to get to know one another with words rather than mental telepathy? I really won’t bite, you know, Rachele assured him.

Edouard laughed before saying, I know. It is just that I am rather shy.

Yes, I must say I rather noticed. So let’s try to have a real conversation today. I’ll help as you as much as I can. Do you come here every year? she asked.

Do you?

No, this is only our second time. Papa always said it would be too crowded, but I find it just the opposite. If it weren’t for you I would have no one to talk to; although the past few days I still had no one to talk to. All my parents want to do is nap or read books.

Mine too, Edouard lamented.

"Where is your home? Rachele asked.

In Givors.

It will help things a great deal, Edouard, if you make an effort to answer my questions with more than two words, she teased.

Oh, of course. Well, let’s see. Givors is about twenty-five kilometers south of Lyon. My family has come here several times before this summer.

That’s more like it, she encouraged. Do go on.

Okay. Well, I have four younger brothers at home who are staying with my Aunt and Uncle this time, but usually we all come here together. I have never seen so few people here before. I guess you and I will just have to entertain each other.

Now that you have found your voice it looks as if that might be possible. I was getting worried that you didn’t want to spend time with me. I am an only child so that’s why I came alone with my parents, but why did your brothers not come too?

My parents have not had a very good year in their business so could only afford a small cabin this year. They thought it was more important that I make the trip than my brothers.

I am awfully glad you came. Especially now that I know you are able to speak.

I am sorry it took so long, but as I told you, I am rather shy around girls, Edouard explained again.

Are you this shy at home or do you already have a special girl to talk with? Rachele wanted to know.

No. I am shy there too. Do you have a special guy?

No, not really. I mean there are a few boys I see, but no one really special, she replied.

That’s good. I mean, ah I’m glad you are alone. No, I mean… Edouard looked away in embarrassment.

What is your favorite fruit? Rachele asked quickly changing the subject in order to ease his discomfort. I really prefer pears to apples.

Pear used to be my favorite too, but I think I like apples best now because if it were not for a fallen apple, I would never have met you, Edouard asserted.

Rachele blushed prettily in response.

"Do you like the song Quand Madelon?" Rachele asked.

The tune is nice, but it is difficult for me to listen to the words because it reminds me of fighting in the Great War. That is something I am trying hard to forget, he replied.

Oh, I am sorry! I didn’t realize you had been in the War. You don’t seem quite old enough to have served, but of course it must have been a very difficult time for you. It was thoughtless of me to mention it, she apologized.

I am twenty-five years of age. I most definitely did serve and lost several friends in the process. This time in Antibes is meant to help me rest and restore my health. But never mind about that. Besides, I do not believe you could be thoughtless even if you tried.

You are kind to say so. I’ve not talked to anyone who served in the War. Did you see a lot of combat? I guess it must have been pretty awful.

I’m sorry, but I really cannot speak much about the War because it was a very hard time for me that is best not recalled. At least I escaped without injury and I still have all my arms and legs. I am just grateful that it is over and I pray we never live through such a thing again.

Yes, Edouard, I have that very same prayer, she agreed, I am sorry I brought the subject up, but I am still glad we had a real conversation, even though I can see that now it is upsetting to you. So let’s go hunt for shells before we become too melancholy, she suggested, jumping up to do just that.

Edouard ran happily after her and soon thoughts of wartime and hardship were far from their minds as they chased one another across the sand. They ended up stopping to catch their breath by the shore. They quite forgot to look for shells as Edouard smiled into her eyes. He seemed to have completely overcome his shyness as he tentatively leaned in for their first kiss - to which she happily complied. When he released her, he chased her down the beach again laughing gaily.

Now that the ice had been broken, whenever they were together they spoke of many things; their friends, books they had read, their favorite foods and a shared love of Impressionist Art. Other times they simply held hands and walked quietly along the water’s edge, finally comfortable in the silence of one another’s presence. Although they saw each other every day, neither considered introducing the other to their parents. They seemed to have an instinctive understanding to keep their meetings a secret. On Friday morning when Edouard first realized that they were raised in different religions, he was relieved that he had not yet tried to introduce her to his folks.

Rachele, do you think you could come out again tonight after your parents have gone to bed? I have waited so long to meet someone like you. There is so much I want to say to you. I want to learn everything there is to know about you. Our holiday will be over soon and these few minutes in the afternoon just aren’t enough time, Edouard complained.

But it’s Shabbat! That may not work for me. It might be very late before I can come.

Shabbat? Does that mean you are a Jew? Edouard asked in awe.

Rachele laughed lightly, Why you silly boy! Of course I am! I thought it was obvious. I suppose you are a Catholic? she added with a note of sarcasm.

I am, Edouard admitted in a small voice. Is that a problem?

Well, that will only be a problem if, if… Rachele blushed deeply and did not finish the sentence but Edouard knew exactly what she was thinking.

It is probably best for now that we continue to keep our meetings private. I mean, I don’t think our parents would… Edouard began.

You need not say more, Edouard. I understand exactly. I will do everything I can to meet you tonight, but you may have to help me climb out my window to do so. It is a bit far to drop to the ground on my own.

I will be there at ten o’clock and I will make sure you arrive safely on the ground, he assured her.

Although they were quite caught up in their romance, they were wise enough to recognize that their differences in faith could be troubling to their parents. As agreed they continued to meet secretly; hiding in the trees around the bend of the coastline where they could not be seen while talking about their hopes and dreams; sneaking out the windows from their rental cottages each night after their parents were asleep in order to share innocent kisses in the moonlight. The days flew by until it was the end of August and time to return to their respective homes. On the evening before their departure they agreed on a final meeting at the train station.

I wish this month could have gone on forever, Edouard lamented. Will you meet me at the small room next to the lobby at the train station tomorrow morning? Our parents are not likely to notice us there. Nine o’clock would be good. I really hope you can because I need one last good-bye.

Rachele could not trust herself to refrain from crying so could only nod her head in agreement.

In his eagerness the next morning Edouard arrived an hour before the appointed time, having lied to his elderly parents about a problem with their fares that he assured them he would take care of. He paced the small room and nervously watched the station clock until he feared she had forgotten. Only ten minutes before his train was scheduled to leave, Rachele ran racing around the corner, looking flushed and anxious. He boldly took her in his arms, held her close and kissed her passionately on the mouth as they had never done before. As she returned his ardor he could feel her heart fluttering beneath her thin cotton dress. When he released her there were tears in her eyes.

I am so sorry to be late. I had trouble getting away, she sobbed, and now I have so little time left to be with you.

Don’t cry, he begged, This is not the end. I promise you! I…I love you. Yes, I do! I will love you for eternity! he declared fervently. Here is my address. You must write to me every day and I will do the same.

He kissed her again before she could protest then slipped a piece of paper into her hand with his address written on it.

I must go now or I will miss the train. When you write to me I will have your address so I can write back. Good-bye, Rachele! I love you, I really do! he declared as he hurried away.

Edouard! I love you too! she called out to his retreating figure at the risk of being overheard.

She was crying freely now but she continued to wave at him until he was out of sight in the boarding area.

Rachele wrote her first letter to him on the train and mailed it from the station at her home town destination before they had experienced even one day apart.

My dear Edouard,

I had a feeling this summer would be different and I was so right! But I did not know I would fall in love. If only it could be the beginning of August again so I could have more days with you. Please do not forget me once you are home. I have heard that absence makes the heart grow fonder but at the moment absence is only making my heart grow sadder.

It will be a very long year before it is August and I can see you again. Please do not forget about me. I have had the happiest days of my life being with you and I don’t want them to end.

Love,

Rachele

He immediately answered her letter, but she had started another before she ever received his first one. A daily exchange of letters soon proved this truly had been more than just a summer romance. Even so, Rachele continued to hide the relationship from her parents by making sure she was the first to pick up the mail from the post office each day.

Edouard on the other hand, eagerly told his parents everything he knew about Rachele except for the fact that she was Jewish. His brothers kidded him about being moon-eyed over some girl from the summer.

Edouard found it easier to write than converse in person, so soon proved himself to be a clever correspondent who amused Rachele with his accounts of the local townspeople and the events of his day as an apprentice bricklayer. Rachele’s writing showed her to be not only beautiful, but also intelligent, often making thoughtful comments on the world situation as well as writing the particulars of her daily life. She was a clerk in a chocolate shop so had many amusing stories to share about her customers. Other than religion, they discovered that they agreed on most subjects; especially the ones they considered most important; such as how many children one should have, whether to live in the city or on a farm, what professions were the most suitable for young men, and so forth. Before long their letters contained poetry and declarations of love,