Page 35 of Tides of Resistance
Lizzie prayed to God to keep her family safe. She prayed for Jack and their courageous agents throughout France. She prayed that her mission would be blessed, and that she would return safely to Jack with the intelligence that the Allies needed to break through Nazi defences and free France.
Then they neared the end of the service, and she watched the priest take the consecrated bread and wine at the altar.
All the while, one question dominated her mind, despite her efforts to pray and meditate on the Mass. Was this Father Guérin who stood before her, or would she be disappointed in her efforts to follow Jacques Moreau’s coded message?
There were more prayers as the priest prepared Communion, and then it was time for congregants to receive the consecrated bread. This was Lizzie’s chance to get close to the priest. When her turn came, she kneeled at the rail and received the host on her tongue.
The priest looked to be a kindly man, and she waited as he said, ‘Corpus Domini nostril Iesu Christi.’
Lizzie itched to ask if he was Father Guérin but remained silent, as she had been taught since she was a little girl at her First Communion.
Slowly they filtered back to their seats, and the priest said the last prayers and blessed them.
Mass was over, and Lizzie turned to Sophie. ‘Do you know the name of the priest, by any chance?’
Sophie said she believed he had started at the cathedral during the past year, and she wasn’t sure of his name. ‘My mother is more involved with the community. Ask her. Why do you wish to know?’
Lizzie said she was merely curious but knew that Sophie was keen to know why she had come. Aunt Giselle was in deep conversation with another congregant as they walked back down the aisle, and Lizzie watched anxiously as the priest was called to speak with small groups eager for his personal attention. There was a long queue to approach him, and the family were now leaving the cathedral. Lizzie was torn. Should she leave with them and not arouse their suspicion that there was a motive for her attending Mass, or should she take her chance and wait to speak with the priest? Even if he wasn’t Father Guérin, he might know where he was.
Her thoughts churned, and she made up her mind. Lizzie excused herself from the family outside, saying she wished to seek the priest’s counsel on a personal matter, and she didn’t want to hold them up. After a half-hearted attempt to wait for her, Sophie’s stomach rumbled, and they all laughingly agreed it would be for the best they return home for a late breakfast. Lizzie promised she would follow soon and meet them back at the house.
The queue thinned, and Lizzie reached the priest, whose eyes still twinkled after the long service, and she thought he must truly be suited to his vocation. She imagined it was a line of work that required endless patience.
‘Bonjour. How may I help you, mademoiselle? I don’t believe we have met,’ he said, bowing his head slightly.
The priest had removed his ceremonial garments, and a crisp white collar showed at the neck of his black cassock.
Lizzie explained she was a friend of the Beaumont family and introduced herself as Mademoiselle Rose Rousseau, recently arrived from Paris.
The priest welcomed her to St. Malo and introduced himself as Father Guérin. ‘You must be on your way soon. It doesn’t do to linger in these times. Is there something I can do for you?’
All the congregants had left, and the cathedral was quiet apart from the distant sounds of shuffling choirboys readying themselves to go home. This was her chance, and she must take it.
‘Father, I am so pleased to speak with you. We have a mutual acquaintance.’ Lizzie lowered her voice even further and glanced around again.
‘Go on, my child.’
‘Jacques Moreau,’ she said in hushed tones, moving slightly closer to him.
Father Guerin’s eyes widened as he studied her but remained silent.
‘I understand Jacques would bring you a baguette when he could. How kind of him,’ she said.
The priest said in hushed tones, ‘Ah, yes, he has been a good friend indeed, and a devout member of the congregation. Have you had news of him?’
Lizzie shook her head, her eyes reflecting the solemnity of the situation. ‘I’m afraid not, but I believe he may have left something for me, with you.’
The priest checked his watch. ‘They monitor us for irregularities. Go home now, my child, and return another day. I will take your Confession on Tuesday.’ He signalled with his head to a wooden box at the side of the nave.
Lizzie wanted to ask if he had the radio, but it was too dangerous.
‘Come and see me at 7 a.m. on Tuesday.’ He gave her his blessing and walked away, but then turned back to face her. ‘Take care, my child.’
Lizzie watched him hurry back down the aisle until his black gown disappeared from view.
She exited the now silent cathedral through the heavy door, her heart drumming at the possibility of being within reach of the contraband radio.
A man on the opposite side of the street watched her as she emerged into the sunlight, resting against a window ledge as he smoked. Lizzie met his gaze for a second before walking back in the direction she had come. The urge to walk faster overcame her, in case he had followed her, but she knew that was the worst thing she could do. Instead, she took measured steps—not too slow and not too fast—to suit the typical speed of a Sunday afternoon parishioner walking home from Mass on a fine day.
