Page 70 of Love in the Shadows

She put her arms around Fabienne’s waist and leant her forehead against Fabienne’s. “I chose you, Fabienne, and us, no matter what…” Johanna stopped, because Fabienne tensed against her and eased away.

“Let’s get that coffee,” Fabienne said.

Johanna watched her walk up the stairs, and the void that had opened inside her filled with her thoughts of Ralf. Would she cope?

***

Fabienne heard the music start up and glanced at her watch. Johanna was bang on time, and Mozart’s “Rondo Alla Turca” was one of Fabienne’s favourite pieces. She had been worried about her earlier, but now she could relax and hope that Johanna could lose herself in the mission over the next few days.

She closed her eyes and listened, saw her playing. The way her fingers moved to create such a beautiful sound was magical. Fabienne would make the piano scream for her to stop, she was such a bad pianist. Her thoughts drifted, unhelpfully, to a time when they would be able to lay together and explore each other’s bodies, with all the time in the world and without the grief. She didn’t bother to change the image in her mind, though she should do to keep focused on the task.

Rustling sounds in the tunnel jolted her from her reverie and she glanced at her watch. Nine fifty-two. A white habit appeared in the darkness, and Fabienne ushered the nun into the cellar, urging her to be quiet. Behind her, child after child filed into the room. Their faces were muddied, and their eyes were wide with confusion and fear. There was a baby being carried by a tall boy, and a girl on crutches who looked no older than Nancy. She thought she had counted eighteen children before a second nun appeared. Fabienne glanced down the tunnel.

“I’m the last one,” the nun said.

The children had each found a space and were sitting down. Some were coughing and others fidgeted, increasing the noise considerably more than Fabienne had anticipated. She could barely hear the music, and that wasn’t a good sign. Schmidt would investigate like a shot if he heard something. She hoped he was in his room in the annex already, at the far end of the house.

She put her finger to her lips. “Shh. You must be as quiet as a mouse and try not to move too much.” She indicated to the nuns and explained about the piano music, the locked door into the house, and the plan to extricate the children daily. “I was expecting sixteen children,” Fabienne said.

“There are nineteen. We took in three new children a week ago. It was impossible to get a message through. Sister Marie will return to the convent. I will stay with the children until they are safe, then return. My name is Sister Jeanne.”

They would have to find additional families to host the extra children. Fabienne scratched her head. “Does everyone have appropriate papers?”

Sister Jeanne held the crucifix that hung from a chain around her neck. “Some do, the ones who came to us earlier. Most do not. Their parents have either been taken to work camps or they were shot in the street. Some arrived without any identification at all. It has become impossible to get any new Ausweis in the last few months. And now it is too dangerous to keep the children at the convent.”

Getting papers would take time, and the children would have to stay out of sight, even after they had their new identities. If they all showed up in the town at the same time, as relations, distant or otherwise, the Germans would get suspicious. “Are there any siblings who need to stay together?” Fabienne asked.

The sister indicated to the boy with the baby, and a group of three who were sitting close together, two girls and a boy. The boy looked like he was in his teens; the girls were closer to five or six years old.

Fabienne glanced around the rest of the group. All the children were staring at her, expectantly. A child coughed. Fabienne ran her fingers through her hair. She hadn’t factored in that they might be sick, which added to the difficulty of moving them, but she could hardly turn them back either. “Okay. We will find a way. There is food on the shelves. It will need to last for five days, for the children who are here the longest. There are buckets in the corner. I will replace them with clean ones in the morning and afternoon, as I collect the children. When the jugs of water are empty, place them at the top of the stairs. Someone will refill them three times a day. When the door is opened, everyone must remain silent.”

Sister Jeanne nodded. Another boy coughed.

“I suggest we move the noisiest and the sickest children first.”

Sister Jeanne tugged Fabienne into her arms and squeezed her. “May God be with you,” she said.

“You will sleep here tonight, and tomorrow morning at four-thirty a.m. I will come for the first two children. Everyone must be silent after the music stops at ten-thirty tonight. When the music plays, you eat. If they hear noise upstairs, there will be problems for us all.”

Sister Jeanne addressed the group. “Did everyone hear that. We must all be silent. We will eat and then sleep, and when the morning comes some of you will leave. In a few days, you will all be out of here, and safe.”

Fabienne hoped the sister had God on her side. “I suggest the boy with the baby should be the first to go. And then the children who are coughing. You can decide the priority.”

Sister Jeanne took Fabienne’s hand and said something that Fabienne didn’t understand. She hoped it was a blessing, because they were going to need all the help they could get.

Fabienne closed the secret door and headed down the tunnel towards home, wondering how she was going to keep a baby and coughing children quiet in the small compartment under the van.

29.

THE FIRST TWO CHILDREN had made it through the tunnels to the cottage kitchen.

Fabienne handed the boy a bottle of warm milk laced with a shot of brandy. “Can you get your brother to drink some? It will help. He will sleep.” It was a bottle Fabienne had used for calves in the past. The teat was way too big for the baby’s tiny mouth, and it wouldn’t be easy to get the milk down him, but all he needed was a few sips.

The boy sat at the table and tried to encourage his brother to drink. The baby wriggled in his arms as he tipped the bottle and squeezed the teat and squirted milk over them both.

“Shall I try?”

The baby was small and fragile, though he looked at her with such intensity that she imagined him to be curious and intelligent. He radiated hope through his innocence and calmness. She smiled and cooed as she rocked him. Then she sat down and slowly tipped the bottle to his mouth, pressing on the teat so that a little milk dripped onto his lips. Each time, he took a little more milk.

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