Zelmer Wilson

THE GOLDEN LOCKET A nun’s life isn’t for everyone. The Mother Superior of Saint Michael Orphanage spent most of her years in the order, taking her final vows two years after the liberation of France. Nearly fifty years had passed, and she had watched many young ladies enter, some full of hope, others from duty. Yet, few persevered and reached their final vows. Each morning began the same way for the Mother Superior, just as it had since she became a nun at twenty-two. Rising from her bed, she moved into her morning prayers—an act as natural to her as breathing. Though her petitions seldom varied, on special days she added new intentions. Today was one of those rare mornings. “Thank you, God, the Father, for this day,” the Mother Superior said, her eyes closed, and her hands grasped together. “Bless this day, the day of our glorious revolution, and please protect our republic.” Her love of her country only surpassed her devotion to God. She saw no conflict between the two, believing God had made her French for a reason. And she would sooner stop being a nun than deny or turn her back on her homeland. She glanced at the calendar. "Her birthday is in two weeks." She sighed. "She wasn’t a good Catholic, but doesn’t deserve eternal punishment." Pressing her rosary to her heart, she remembered the fear of the Occupation. The golden locket on her nightstand gleamed in the morning light. She brushed its engraving, worn smooth. Picking it up, she whispered, "Someone will come for answers. I pray I’m here when they do." The locket, she knew, was more than a keepsake—it was a silent witness to choices made in shadow. She wrapped the chain around her wrist, securing the golden locket in her right hand, then exited her room. The day awaited her. One of her duties, the one she loved the most, was teaching the orphans French history. She stood by the podium, watching her students enter the classroom. “Good morning, class. Who knows what today is?” No one raised their hand. The Mother Superior sighed. “No one? Today is Bastille Day, our republic’s birthday.” The Mother Superior left the podium and noticed Micheline Valluy writing. She approached her. “What are you writing, Micheline?” Micheline put her pencil down. “Sister Agnes asked us to write about someone we admire.” The Mother Superior nodded. "Couldn’t it wait until after my class?" "Sorry, I wanted to start before I forgot. I’ll pay attention now." “Thank you, Micheline. Do you know why we celebrate Bastille Day?” Micheline nodded. “It was the start of our revolution.” She touched the Mother Superior’s left hand. “What are you holding? It’s not your rosary.” The Mother Superior smiled. “You’re right. This locket belonged to someone who meant everything to me. I hope to give it to her family one day.” Micheline grinned. “It belonged to the songbird of Orleans, didn’t it?” Many students had asked her about the locket before, but Micheline was the first to know who the locket belonged to, without the Mother Superior telling her. "Yes, it did." She gently picked up Micheline’s notebook and read the essay’s title. THE ORPHAN WHO BECAME A LEGEND “I’m writing about Renee Lambert,” Micheline said with pride. She pointed at the picture of Renee hanging on the wall by the blackboard. “I’ve stared at her picture since the first day of school. Sister Agnes says she’s like us, an orphan.” The Mother Superior nodded. "Her mother died soon after birth, her father in the First World War. Being an orphan isn’t easy. I pray each of you finds a family." She held up the locket. "You’ve all seen me carry this." The students nodded, curious. She turned to Micheline. "Tell the class whose locket this is." She motioned for her to stand. Micheline stood and faced the class. “It belonged to the songbird of Orleans.” “She’s right,” the Mother Superior said, motioning for Micheline to sit. The class listened as she told them about Renee. “Do any of you besides Micheline know who the songbird of Orleans was?” Several hands went up. She looked around and pointed. “Carmen, tell us who the songbird was.” “Sister Agnes says the songbird was a famous singer in the Twenties and the Thirties,” Carmen said. She lowered her head with a sad smile. “My Mama used to sing her songs to me at bedtime.” The Mother Superior approached Carmen. “My mother sang those songs to me, too.” Carmen nodded, meeting the Mother Superior’s gaze before sitting back down. Back at the podium, she hesitated. “Would you rather hear about Renee?” The Mother Superior spent the next forty minutes—the rest of the class—telling her students all about Renee, the songbird of Orleans. Stories of Renee’s courage and hope filled the classroom. She promised she would play some of Renee’s records the next day, so they could hear her sing. When the class ended, the students left buzzing with excitement. Renee’s life had not only inspired them, but it also filled them with hope—a fellow orphan who had lived a life of meaning. To make a difference in the world: this was something all the children wished to do one day after leaving the orphanage. Later that day, as the Mother Superior walked around the orphanage, a taxi arrived at the gate. Four people got out—three women and one man. As the man paid the driver, the others waited. When the taxi left, they headed toward her. When the man spoke to the Mother Superior, she turned and walked away. “Excuse me, sister, can you help my friends and me?” The Mother Superior turned to the man. "I will try to help you and your friends if I can, my son." He spoke with a Parisian accent and wore a crisp suit, looking affluent or at least wanting to appear so. The man pointed over his shoulder at one woman. “Do you see the dark-haired woman in the middle, over there, in between the redhead and the negro?” The woman looked nervous, arms crossed, pacing. The Mother Superior nodded. “What about her?” The man smiled. “She’s American. Her grandmother grew up here.” “Many have grown up here,” the Mother Superior said. “What does your friend want?” “Her grandmother died before she was born. Bobbie wants to know more about her.” So her name’s Bobbie. The Mother Superior nodded, then spoke directly to the man. "I might help her. Tell her to come here." She gestured for Bobbie to approach. The man waved. “Come here, Bobbie. The nun wants to talk to you.” The Mother Superior frowned. Unfamiliar with the man, she knew enough English to recognize it, but hadn’t heard it spoken for nearly fifty years. Bobbie walked away from the two other women. She joined Andre and the Mother Superior. She stood by the man. He reached out and took her hand. He smiled at her, giving her an encouraging smile. The Mother Superior inspected Bobbie, a young woman with long brown hair and soulful brown eyes. "So, your grandmother grew up here, my dear." Her face felt familiar, though she could not explain why. “Yes, she did,” Bobbie said. She took out a small black-and-white picture and showed it to the Mother Superior. “This is my grandmother, Renee Lambert. She lived here until she was eighteen.” The Mother Superior smiled. So, Bobbie speaks French. And she has an Orleans accent. “I know what Renee Lambert looked like, my dear. Renee is one of the most famous people here, and I have lived here all my life. I’ve seen that picture before, when I was a young girl, before I became a nun, and before the war. "I know she’s famous," Bobbie said. "I’m not here for money or anything like that." The Mother Superior chuckled. “Anybody who came here looking for money by claiming to be Renee’s granddaughter would be a fool.” She reached out and took one of Bobbie’s hands. “I want to believe you, Bobbie, but you understand my need for some proof you are who you say you are.” Bobbie could be Renee’s granddaughter, and they do look alike. Bobbie shrugged. "I’m not sure how. But here’s my father with Renee, in New Orleans, June 1946." The Mother Superior studied the picture. Only a few knew she had lived in New Orleans for nearly five years with Rachel Bell and Bella Cuevas. "Why do you want to know more about her, Bobbie?" Bobbie hesitated, struggling to explain. She seemed to be searching for a sense of belonging and gave the photo back. She cleared her throat. “I never got to know her, and I was hoping someone here might remember her.” The Mother Superior had only spoken to Renee for five minutes, over fifty years before, but she couldn’t forget Renee’s voice. “Your voice reminds me of her voice.” She studied the picture of Renee again and looked over at Bobbie one more time, noting all the similarities. “You take after her.” She then hugged Bobbie, unable to stop herself from expressing her overwhelming joy at having her prayers answered. Bobbie smiled. “So, I take it you believe me?” The Mother Superior nodded. “Yes, I believe you, Bobbie.” Whatever essence that turned Renee into the gifted singer she was had been passed down to Bobbie. She then smiled. “I’ve been waiting for the day for someone to come here, looking for answers about Renee.” She offered Bobbie her hand. “Let’s go to my office, and I will tell you all about your grandmother.” I hope I can give Bobbie the answers she needs. Bobbie took the Mother Superior’s hand. “Thank you.” She pointed at the two other women and the man. “The two ladies there are my friends Billie Carver and Jordan McCullers.” She then chuckled. “And of course, you’ve met Andre Cazenave.” “I’m the Mother Superior,” she said, smiling. She looked over at Andre, and then at Billie and Jordan. “The rest of you can wait outside my office.” I sense an aura of arrogance coming from Andre. And while I’m sure Bobbie’s friends are important to her, they do not need to be part of our conversation. The Mother Superior and Bobbie entered her office a few minutes later. Bobbie sat in a chair facing the Mother Superior’s desk while she sat down behind it. “I hope you don’t mind, I asked your friends to wait outside,” the Mother Superior said, folding her hands. “I would rather talk to you one-on-one.” She had been shy all her life, and being a nun hadn’t made her more outgoing; instead, it had made her even more introverted. Bobbie held her hands together. “I don’t mind.” The Mother Superior smiled. “Good,” she said. She opened a drawer and pulled out a photo album. She then handed it to Bobbie. “They started this photo album when your grandmother left here.” She leaned back in her chair. “I’m sure you will like what you find in it.” And if she has questions, I hope I can answer them. Bobbie opened it and started flipping through the pages. “Who started doing this, saving pictures and headlines about my grandmother?” She looked up at the Mother Superior. “Was it you?” The Mother Superior shook her head and smiled. “My father hired Renee to sing at his nightclub when she turned eighteen,” she said. “You might say he was her first fan.” And I’m her oldest fan now. “I only found out my grandmother was Renee a few months ago,” Bobbie said. She chuckled and shook her head. “My grandfather had an affair with Renee and only adopted my father after his son Raymond was killed in the Korean War.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know if he ever loved Renee, because he won’t leave his wife for her.” She looked up at the Mother Superior. “I know my father loved her. I think he still misses her.” Everyone who knew Renee still misses her. The Mother Superior stood up and walked around her desk to Bobbie. “Your grandmother left this the last time she was here.” She unwrapped the golden locket from her hand and gave it to Bobbie. Bobbie held up the locket. “When was the last time she was here?” “I’ve been told before she left France in August of l939, she came here to say goodbye to the Mother Superior and the other nuns,” the Mother Superior said. She slipped her hand into her desk and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “My only weakness, one I haven’t been able to overcome, despite my prayers.” Renee had wanted to say goodbye to my father. He later told me she told him she was afraid she wouldn’t ever return. Bobbie smiled. “I have the same weakness.” She put the picture back in her purse. “Did you know her?” The Mother Superior shook her head. “I can’t say I knew her, though I met her when I was fourteen.” She reached into her desk and pulled out a small black-and-white picture. “Renee did a show here a few months before she left France, and because of my father, I got to meet her.” She handed the picture to Bobbie. “My father took the picture.” Bobbie smiled. Renee was standing next to a smiling young girl. She then handed the picture back. “You look happy in the picture.” The Mother Superior smiled, nodded. "I was born here and grew up hearing stories from my father about Renee." She stood up and walked around her desk to Bobbie. "I never thought I would get to meet her, so when I did, I knew my dream of being someone, of leaving this town, wasn’t impossible." She sighed and shook her head. "God had other plans for me." The war had made many orphans, and I knew I had to atone for the men I had killed, for taking them from their families, for depriving their children of their fathers. Sometimes, late at night, the memory returned—gunfire rattling through the dark, the cold press of a pistol grip in my palm, the copper tang of blood in the air. Even now, the scent of damp stone in the orphanage corridors brings back the cellar where I first learned the cost of choosing sides. I pray for their souls, and mine, as if penance alone might ease the ache of what cannot be undone. It is not simply duty that compels me to care for these children; it is a longing to mend what I once broke, to find forgiveness for the secrets I carry in silence. “Well, thank you for your time.” Bobbie stood up and held out the locket. The Mother Superior shook her head. “No, my dear, the locket belongs with you, not here,” she said, folding her arms behind her back. I know Renee would want her granddaughter to have it. She would have given it to her son, Bobbie’s father, if she hadn't left here. “Thank you, Mother Superior,” Bobbie said, slipping the locket into her purse. “You’re welcome, Bobbie,” the Mother Superior said, smiling. “Would you and your friends like a tour?” I hope I’ve given her the answers Bobbie needed. Bobbie nodded. “I know I would love a tour.” She glanced at the photo album, still sitting on the desk. “Could you make me a copy of that? I know my father would love to have it.” The Mother Superior smiled. “I made a copy thirty years ago when I became the Mother Superior.” She picked up the photo album from her desk and handed it to Bobbie. “I believed and prayed one day someone would come here asking about Renee.” My father told me Renee had to leave. Renee wanted her unborn child to be born in America. “Thank you again,” Bobbie said. She glanced at her watch. “I’m sure my friends are getting restless.” “I’m sure they are, Bobbie.” The Mother Superior walked away from her desk and went to the door. “Shall we start the tour?” I met none of Renee’s friends, but from what I remember and what my father told me, Bobbie’s friends remind me of her friends. Bobbie nodded. She walked to the Mother Superior and joined her at the door. “I’m grateful for the locket and the photo album.” “You’re welcome,” the Mother Superior said, smiling. The door opened, and Bobbie walked out with the Mother Superior. Billie pointed at the photo album Bobbie was holding. “What’s the story with that?” Bobbie smiled. “I’ll explain later.” She opened her purse and pulled out a golden locket. “This locket belonged to my grandmother.” The Mother Superior took the four of them on a two-hour tour of the orphanage. Bobbie was the only one paying attention while Billie and Andre talked. Jordan tried to be interested, but was distracted by Billie and Andre. The Mother Superior brought them back to the front entrance. She turned around to face them, her hands behind her back. “Well, that’s the tour,” she said. She pointed at a taxi waiting nearby. “One sister called a taxi for you.” She went to Bobbie and took her hands. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Bobbie.” Bobbie smiled. “Thank you again for the locket, the photo album, and talking to me.” Bobbie joined her friends. They got into the taxi, and it drove away. “I heard we had some visitors.” The Mother Superior glanced over her shoulder. Sister Agnes stood beside her, smiling at her. “Yes, we did, Sister Agnes,” she said. As the sun slipped behind the rooftops, the quiet halls of the orphanage settled into the evening. The Mother Superior paused in the doorway, turning the cool weight of memory in her hand. She watched the taxi disappear down the street, carrying away questions, hope, and a small golden locket. For years, she had wondered if the past would ever find its way home. Now, with the gentle ache of parting in her chest, she offered up a silent prayer—for Renee, for Bobbie, and for all those searching for where they belong. The locket's absence left her palm oddly light, yet her heart felt unexpectedly full.