Page 71 of Love in the Shadows

His older brother watched closely. “He likes it.”

“It’s a special recipe my mamie gave us when we were sick. Would you like some?”

He puffed out his chest and lifted his chin. “But I’m not sick.”

Fabienne rocked the baby until his eyes closed and his breathing softened with drowsiness. “It will help with nerves, when you are in the van.” She held out the bottle. “I have to go to the dairy to pick up the milk. There will be a lot of noise while they’re loading the van, but don’t be afraid. From there, we will go to the German barracks so I can drop off the milk. Again, there will be more noise. After that, we will go to the church where I will leave you with Father Michel. It will be an hour and a half, maybe two hours inside the van. If you were to sleep, you would be more comfortable.”

The boy took the bottle, removed the teat and gulped down the milk, smacked his lips. “It tastes good.”

She carried the baby outside, checked that there wasn’t any movement at the house, and opened the trap door inside the back of the van. The boy stared at the small space with wide eyes.

She put her hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “You will both be fine. Get in. If you feel scared, just close your eyes and imagine you are playing a game of hide and seek with your friends.” She handed his brother to him once he’d settled himself. “Hold him close so he feels safe. Then he will sleep all the way. Whatever happens, you must not make a sound.”

The boy held his brother in the crook of his arm and closed his eyes.

She closed the trap door, repositioned the pallets, and drove to the dairy.

Two hours and a quarter later, she pulled up outside the church. There had been a surprising absence of German troops on the streets, and the trip had gone more smoothly than she could have wished for. When she opened the trap door, the boy blinked, rubbed his eyes and yawned. Fabienne lifted the sleeping baby from his arms, and he climbed out of the van and stretched.

They entered the church and Father Michel greeted them. She handed the baby back to his brother. If every trip went as easily as this one, it would be too good to be true.

The boy held out his hand to her, and she shook it. “Thank you for saving us. I will always remember your special drink.”

Fabienne would have taken care of all of them if she could have – all the children. They deserved more than she could provide for them. The best she could hope for was that they would both live a happy and full life. “Your brother is lucky to have you.”

Father Michel handed Fabienne a small bottle of pills. “Father Paul said you were in need of these.”

Fabienne pocketed the antibiotics. “Linette is getting stronger. These will help greatly, thank you.”

“I’ll see if I can get some more in a couple of weeks.” He put his hand on the older boy’s head. “Someone will collect you and your brother in an hour. In the meantime, come with me. I have bread and cheese and milk, if you’re hungry.”

The boy’s cheeks were still flushed from having been in a deep sleep. He smiled. It was then that Fabienne realised he must have only been about Nancy’s age, or younger. He had been so brave, aged beyond his years by what he’d been through and the need to care for his brother. Still, it wouldn’t be long now before he had someone to take care of him.

On the journey back to the cottage, she pulled the van over to allow a long convoy of tanks to pass, heading west through town, the direction to the northern front line in France, leaving a trail of dust in their wake and a feeling of ice that snaked down her spine. The thunderous roar continued, and what looked like a large flock of buzzards approached in the distance. More than a hundred Messerschmitt aircraft passed overhead. Any hope she had of the allies advancing quickly shattered. The Germans didn’t look like they were planning to retreat.

***

Johanna was feeling a bit lighter for playing Beethoven’s “Piano Concerto No. 5” when Fabienne arrived back at the house.

She jumped to her feet and ran into the kitchen, desperate to know that the children had been delivered safely, and eager to see Fabienne. She had been itching to go into the cellar, to check they were all okay, but Fabienne had said not to. She had refilled the jugs of water as Fabienne had instructed and otherwise tried to get on with her day, which hadn’t amounted to much really. The stress of doing nothing was worse than the anxiety of waiting for her husband to arrive home. She had played the piano more in the last few hours than she had in the past four years. It had been a welcome distraction, with only a few moments of reflection while playing and looking at Ralf’s photo that had brought her closer to her son. She hoped the children found the music comforting.

Having to refrain from hugging Fabienne was testing. She kept her arms tight to the side of her body and clung to her dress with both hands. “Did everything go well?”

Fabienne removed her coat and hung it on the back of the door. “Did you see the planes?”

Johanna had seen and heard them. She’d worried that the children would be frightened by the noise, and played the piano as loudly as she could to compensate. “Do you think it has to do with Operation Dijon?”

Fabienne rolled up her sleeves, took a bag of flour out of the cupboard, and started to make biscuits as though it was a day like all the others. “It is possible. There were at least thirty tanks moving through town.”

Johanna touched Fabienne’s arm and released her when she didn’t look up. Her coolness and detachment when Johanna craved affection was hard to take. “But you didn’t get stopped?”

Fabienne added water to the flour and kneaded it. “No, everything went well. The morning run is the easiest time. Later in the day will be trickier.”

Johanna wanted to do more: feel more included in the execution of the plan rather than just filling water bottles. “Can I not help you?”

Fabienne patted the dough. “No.”

The rejection hurt.

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