Page 3 of Love in the Shadows

The front door of the main house opened.

A soldier stepped outside, looked towards the cottage and lit a cigarette.

As he marched towards them, her heart thundered.

Maybe it would all end here.

2.

Erstein, October 1943

“WILL THAT BE ALL for upstairs, Hauptmann Kohl?” Fabienne asked. She folded the towel in the kommandant’s bathroom and hung it over the edge of the bath. “Everything is tidy here and I need to help Mamie prepare dinner.”

“Yes, of course.” He hovered in the doorway, which was most unlike him because he normally left them to get on with their work in relative peace. He looked as if he had something else to say but didn’t know if he should, or how to start.

“May I go and do my duties, Hauptmann?”

He cleared his throat. “I will not see you again after tomorrow, Fraulein Brun. I have been re-assigned to the north.”

If he was looking for sympathy, he wasn’t going to get it from her. Although since he’d marched across the yard and knocked on their door two months earlier to give them their orders, he hadn’t been overly demanding. Perhaps it was because he was an older man, with a family back in Germany that included two young grandchildren he longed to see for the first time. Perhaps because he didn’t entirely agree with the war. For whatever reason, he had been kinder than Fabienne had expected of a German officer. He even had a sense of humour. He had also assumed direct contact with the kommandant, for which she was thankful, since the urge to assassinate the Boche bastard was still very strong.

She stared at Kohl, waiting for him to move so she could leave. “So, you will no longer be the baby-sitter.”

“The kommandant’s wife will arrive early this afternoon. Naturally, she will assume the running of the house on my departure. I must go and serve my country as a proper soldier.” He smiled.

Ruefully, she thought. “I wish you luck, Hauptmann Kohl,” she said, because she couldn’t very well say, I hope you get blown to pieces before you reach Strasbourg.

In fairness, she had him to thank for being able to continue with her work at the dairy. Reluctantly at the time, he had sought agreement from the kommandant and for that she, and the Resistance, should be indebted to him.

“You are a brave woman, Fraulein Brun. I hope things go well for you here.” He sounded sincere.

“Will I be able to continue working at the dairy in your absence?” she asked.

He avoided eye contact. “That I cannot answer. The kommandant’s wife will decide what happens next.”

Fabienne expected as much. “I hope you will put in a good word, Hauptmann.” She smiled.

“I don’t think my word counts for much, Fraulein Brun.” He stared into space, as if he was reflecting on something that saddened him.

“The kommandant listened to you when you asked him.”

His smile reached his eyes, and he looked younger for a moment.

“May I go now?” Fabienne asked.

He stepped back from the doorway. “Yes. I don’t want to keep you.”

She went down to the kitchen and started scrubbing mud from the potatoes in the sink, staring out the window across the lawn at the back of the house. “The captain is leaving tomorrow,” she said.

Mamie lit the wood to fire up the stove to provide hot water for the kommandant’s wife, should she wish to take a bath after the journey from Berlin. “He isn’t a bad man, that one.”

Fabienne couldn’t see how that mattered anymore. She stared at the swing hanging from the sturdy branch of the old oak that evoked memories of happier times. She used to push Nancy on it while their parents sat under the shade of the house sipping fine wine, eating fresh food, and talking fervently. She recalled her mother and aunt being thrilled about the new screening of La Grande Illusion, and her father and uncle debating heatedly the consequences of the Socialist and Republican Union joining the Popular Front. To think that a Jew had at that time held the office of the Prime Minister of France seemed inconceivable now.

“Where did you put the whisk?” Mamie asked. “I’ll start on the dessert.”

Fabienne pointed to a drawer. “Peaches with custard cream. It pains me to know how well they eat.”

In the past few days, the captain had made sure that the cupboards were well stocked with tinned goods: vegetables and lentils mostly, but also peaches. The fridge had been stocked with a selection of German wines, butter and cheese, and a joint of meat to make stew. They had a sack of flour for bread, and a small supply of fresh Italian coffee, and cocoa powder, all of which must have been acquired through the black market. Even the wood stack at the side of the house had been replenished.

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