Page 79 of One More Betrayal

Condemning stares burrow holes in my back. He was my friend too, yet I seem to be, in everyone’s eyes, responsible for what happened.

What did the SS find that gave them cause to interrogate and execute him? He was a member of the parachute reception committee, but he wouldn’t have known where the weapons were stashed. Unfortunately, the SS didn’t know that when they arrested him, and I don’t know if the arrest had anything to do with the weapons or if they found something else with which to incriminate him.

The village is a close-knit community, the villagers slow to accept strangers into their fold. But that doesn’t mean for the right price one of them could not easily be tempted into becoming an informant. An informant who might be more than happy to hand me over to the Gestapo or the SS because they know I’m not Jacques’s daughter. An informant who would willingly risk Jacques’s life for money or status.

If my true loyalties are uncovered, I will face the same risk of execution that ended Pierre’s life.

A woman approaches where I am standing in the queue, her toddler daughter balanced on her hip. The woman wears a scowl directed at me. “Why are you in the queue? You don’t need to get rations. Not when you’re bedding one of them.”

Her accusation is a slash across my belly because it is true. I am now bedding Johann, but not for the horrendous reason she assumes. Nor can I defend Johann and tell her he is nothing like the other German soldiers and the Nazis.

I gather all the indignation I can muster. “I’m not bedding one of them. He is billeted in the same house that Monsieur Gauthier and I reside in. And that is only because he hasn’t kicked us out as the papers he possesses permit him to do.”

An older woman whose loyalties are in question stands farther ahead of us in the queue. Only five other women separate her from the woman who has accused me of sleeping with the enemy. Rumour has it the older woman’s son is part of the Milice. She could have been the one who turned on Pierre and handed him over to the SS.

“That’s because you’re sleeping with ’im,” the mother with the toddler bites out.

“You have no proof of that simply because it’s not true.” I fasten on a mask of incredulity, hiding the fact she is correct, and keep my voice low so not to draw attention of the older woman.

“You’re getting special treatment, though, am I right? He supplies you food that is not available to the rest of us.”

That part I won’t lie about. “It is not as much food as you’re thinking. And it’s because I cook it for him. I am employed as his housekeeper. But instead of money, he pays me with a roof over Monsieur Gauthier’s and my head. Are you saying if he had been assigned to stay at your house, you wouldn’t have done the same for the sake of your daughter?”

I subtly nod towards the older woman ahead of us, warning the mother she needs to be more careful when it comes to her words.

Her eyes dart to the other woman, and her next words are spoken more softly. “Of course I wouldn’t.” She might have said that, but her eyes reveal the opposite. She would do anything to protect her child. She’s just rightfully angry that I’m the one benefitting and not her.

The young woman in front of me turns, dark shadows smudged under wide eyes. “Has he forced himself on you?” Her voice is not much more than a whisper. Fortunately, she does not require to be reminded of the risk this discussion poses.

“No, I’ve been lucky. Captain Schmidt has been a gentleman. They aren’t all like that.” The memory of how Major Müller’s gaze leaves me raw and vulnerable tastes sour on my tongue. I cross my arms, the basket in my hand almost knocking the arm of the woman holding the toddler. She moves back a step.

“He’s not the only monster who visits the house, is he?” the young woman asks, her eyes wide with horror and sympathy.

“There have been a few occasions when his commanding officer has come over.” I quickly scan the village square, ever alert to the arrival of German soldiers who might overhear me or wonder what we’re talking about. “I fear what could happen if Captain Schmidt is not at the farmhouse if the Major should show up unannounced.”

The young woman sneaks a furtive glance around like I did a moment ago. “I wish there was more I could do about our situation. I feel so helpless. My husband is in prison, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.” Her tone is fired up with a quiet intensity, a fierceness that only the enemy can stir to life.

“We can resist,” I tell her. “All over the country people are doing things to make the Germans’ lives more difficult. Everyone can do it. The trick is not to get caught. Do whatever we can, no matter how big or small.” One of the reasons the SOE was created was to fan the flame of resistance that had started in France at the beginning of the war. They didn’t want the fire to burn out before D-Day. Agents were sent to France to keep it going, to add wood to the fire, to help it burn hotter, brighter.

“But how?” the young woman inquires.

“Listen to the BBC French news. Vandalise posters. Slash German tyres.”

The young woman nods again, but this time there’s a new spark in her eyes.

“I can’t,” the woman with the toddler says. She looks down at her child.

“Not everyone is able to resist,” I gently tell her. “You have to weigh the risks, and you have more at risk than most of us.” I stroke her daughter’s hair, the light-brown strands soft against my fingers.

“You’re resisting them?” A silent awe sits in her tone.

“Yes, I’m doing what I can. But I can’t tell you what that is.”

“Can you at least tell us if it is what Pierre was doing?”

A pair of Milice officers round the corner. Smiling at the two women, I laugh as though they’ve just told me something amusing. The woman with the toddler catches sight of them too and does the same. The toddler giggles because her mother is laughing.

“God, what are they doing here?” she asks under her breath. “I liked it better when no one realised our village existed. The SS, the Wehrmacht, the Gestapo—none of them could be bothered with us. Now they’re like vermin who have discovered where the cheese is hidden.”

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