Page 129 of One More Betrayal

Which means I have plenty of time on the journey to dwell on my situation. So many questions buzz around in my thoughts. I’m going to be a mother. But what does that mean for my work with the local resistance circuit and the SOE? Of course, I will need to inform Allaire that I am pregnant. It is better he hears it from me than from someone else.

My duties will need to be reassigned so I can continue my work with the resistance circuit. My ability to perform my physical duties as an agent will be greatly compromised once I become heavily pregnant. It won’t be possible to squeeze down narrow shafts then.

And where will I live? For now, I am staying with Jacques and Johann. But according to Major Müller on the night of the dance in Paris, Johann’s battalion is supposed to be moving to the Eastern Front soon. Johann hasn’t received the direct orders yet, but he knows it is coming shortly.

Once Johann is gone, what will happen to me?

Some of the villagers already believe I’m a collaborator because I live in the same house as a German officer. A baby in my belly will only be seen as evidence to support the notion.

Others might believe the baby is the product of rape by a German soldier. Plenty of French babies coming into the world now are due to that very reason.

And…will my being pregnant change things between Johann and me? How will he feel about being a father?

All these unanswered questions tie me up with ribbons of uncertainty and concern and regret.

I park my bicycle at the side of the small building, out of view from the street. One of the windows near the front door is cracked, as is the beige stucco wall. The building three doors down wasn’t so lucky. The casualty of a recent air raid.

I knock on the door. It opens a minute later, and I find myself looking at a woman about my age, holding a young baby to her breast. “Bonjour, I’m Carmen. My uncle Bernard has begun violin lessons.”

“Nice to meet you,” she replies without a hint of a smile. “I’m Bridgette. My husband is in the kitchen, cooking dumpling stew.”

She opens the door, lets me in, and nods in the direction I need to go. I walk along the short hallway. She follows me.

Male voices spill from an open door, and I enter into what was once a child’s bedroom. Or maybe it still is between local resistance group meetings.

The blackout curtain is pulled shut, hiding from the outside world the group of men and the map on the table in the centre of the room. Hiding all hints they’re plotting to blow up a train tunnel.

The four men gathered around the map look up and peer at me with a mix of open distrust and relief.

“This is Carmen,” Bridgette tells them. It’s not her real name. None of us are using our real names. She leaves the room.

“Jean Paul said you are skilled at setting off explosives in tunnels,” one of the men says.

“That’s correct.” I don’t elaborate further. They don’t need to know all the details.

They introduce themselves.

“Is it true you gained information about plans for an ambush during a weapons exchange?” Philip, a man of about twenty-four years old, inquires. “And because of that, the maquis ambushed the Gestapo instead of the other way around?”

I nod. “That is true.”

“From what I’ve heard, you saved a lot of lives.”

Allaire took the necessary steps to ensure those members of the resistance got to live another day. I sent him a subsequent message explaining that while I was the one who overheard the German conversation not meant for my ears, Johann also told me about it the next morning, following the party.

The reply echoed the first one he sent me about Johann: London still advises that we don’t involve The Wolf in our work at present time since it is unclear where his loyalties lie.

Bridgette enters the room, carrying a glass of water. The baby is no longer feeding. She’s asleep in her mother’s arms. Bridgette hands me the glass.

“Thank you,” I say, grateful for something to quench my thirst after the long bike ride.

The baby stirs, and the man who introduced himself as Laurent glances at the child, his expression full of adoration. And for a second I let the sweet image slip into my thoughts, but instead of Laurent, it is Johann gazing adoringly at our child. In my mind, I kiss him on the cheek and tell father and daughter how much I love them. Johann smiles at me, his love for us burning bright in his eyes.

Someone coughs, and I’m brought back to the here and now. I slowly sip the lukewarm water, my stomach settled for now. The nausea has resurfaced several times during the day over the past few weeks, and I don’t want to risk it striking tonight.

“What’s the security like for the tunnel?” I ask. “Can we expect trouble from the local authorities?”

“With the increase in attacks lately on the factories, bridges, and train tracks,” Laurent explains, “the local authorities aren’t taking any chances. They’ve increased the reward money for anyone who reports suspicious activity, and they have brought in more soldiers to guard anything perceived as a potential target.”

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