“It’s the correspondence between Legrand and my great-aunt Doris, who lived in Australia,” continued Emma. “Doris was a realFrancophile; from what I hear, she went to Paris on her honeymoon, and then traveled back to France after the war. But she never let on that she had a secret life. The little scamp.”
“Maybe it was a secret romance.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think so. I haven’t made my way through many of these—there are hundreds of them. I suppose it’s possible their relationship was romantic, though Doris was a lot older than Émile. Still, while the French don’t mind the older woman–younger man dynamic—bless their Gallic hearts—I think it was more of a simple pen pal situation.”
“How did they become pen pals?”
“Have you ever heard of themarraines de guerre?”
Rosalyn shook her head. Before Emma could explain, the flight attendant stopped at their row and offered them flutes of champagne.
“Ah!Fantastique! Merci.” Emma accepted a flute with a grateful flourish. “I swear I was about to perish of thirst.”
Rosalyn took a proffered flute and set it on the tray in front of her, watching the minuscule bubbles rising through the liquid gold. She wished she liked champagne. She wished she could enjoy the attentive first-class service. Mostly, she wished she were somewhere else. Someoneelse.
“So, have you heard of them?” Emma asked.
“I’m sorry—who?”
“Themarraines de guerre? From World War One.”
Rosalyn shook her head. “I don’t know much about the First World War, except that it was supposed to be the war that ended all wars.”
“Yes, we all saw how wellthatworked out. But you’re in good company: The Great War has been overshadowed by the very war it was supposed to prevent. All the movies are about World WarTwo, not One....” Emma trailed off as though pondering the significanceof her own words, then took a hearty gulp of champagne. “Makes sense, if you think about it.Nazis. The perfect cinematic foil.”
“So...marrainemeans ‘godmother’?”
“Right. They were the ‘war godmothers.’ Sounds better in French. You speak French?”
“Some. I studied it in college, and I’ve been cramming while prepping for this trip, but I’m rusty.”
“I find the key to speaking well is to drink plenty of champagne.” Emma glanced at Rosalyn’s untouched glass and held her flute up: “To champagne!”
With reluctance, Rosalyn raised her glass and theytinked.
Dash’s last New Year’s Eve: the indoor rainstorm over the pool at the Tonga Room in the Fairmont Hotel, everyone laughing. Dash was the life of the party, as always, making instant friends with those dining at the neighboring tables. He had rented a luxury suite for the night. No expense spared for his love, his bride, his girl.
Rosalyn imagined that the people sitting in economy were drinking their bubbly from plastic cups—assuming they were served champagne at all. She suddenly resented the formal, slick coolness of the first-class glassware.Don’t be ridiculous, Rosie,she chided herself.It’s just a glass.She took a sip. The wine tasted sour, the bubbles shocking her tongue, tickling her nose, annoying her.
Nope. Definitely not a champagne fan.
“So,” Emma continued, seemingly oblivious to Rosalyn’s lack of enthusiasm, “themarraines de guerrewrote to soldiers at the front to keep their spirits up. The soldiers were young men from all over France. Sometimes they didn’t have family members to write to them, and sometimes the postal service from their hometowns was cut off. So themarrainesfilled in, writing to the boys and sending them occasional care packages of socks and baked goods. The ideawas that the personal connection with folks back home would bolster morale, remind the men of what they were fighting for.”
“Oh, that’s”—Rosalyn searched for the words—“that’s really sweet, but also sort of tragic.”
“You want to hear something funny? At the time, the program was criticized—a lot of people thought it was immoral.”
“Is that so? It sounds positively Victorian, if you ask me. I mean, they were pen pals; what could happen?”
“Never underestimate the ability of some people to fear something new,” Emma said. “Many of themarraineswere single, and critics suggested that the unmarried young ladies writing to young men would encourage disgraceful thoughts and behavior. How that would work wasn’t exactly spelled out, but the war did bring about a lot of changes and a loosening of social traditions. Still, considering how many of the soldiers didn’t make it out of the war alive, or at least whole, I suppose the point was largely moot.”
The flight attendant stopped by to take their dinner orders. Rosalyn handed her nearly full champagne flute back and asked for a glass of red wine, prompting a subtle lifting of the eyebrows from the attendant.
Rosalyn felt Emma’s eyes on her. She considered ending their conversation by claiming she needed to listen to her French-language podcast, but their dinner would soon be served, and she didn’t want to be rude.
Besides, the topic they had been discussing intrigued her, despite herself.
“So, your aunt was amarraine de guerre?” Rosalyn asked.
