CHAPTER TWOHouse-to-House Search
AS THE light fell across the wound on her father’s face Marie cried out sharply.
From the bedroom Mme. Gagnon called, “Marie, what’s wrong?”
André ran back to her side. “Papa’s hurt,” he said, and then added hastily, “but not badly.”
“But there were no bombs,” Mme. Gagnon exclaimed.
Pierre himself had lunged up the stairs and now burst into the bedroom sputtering, “Don’t excite yourself, Maman. All is well. No harm is done. Thatcochon!”
“Ah,” his wife cried. “So, itwasRaoul Cotein!”
“Who else but that son of Satan?” Gagnon’s eyes snapped fiercely. He was red and breathing furiously, and flung himself into a chair beside the bed.
“I contain myself,” he said firmly, clamping both great hands on his knees like thunderclaps.
“No, Papa,” André grasped his arm, “do not contain yourself yet. Tell us what has happened.”
“Marie,” said Mme. Gagnon, “run get some hot water and clean Papa’s cut.”
Marie clattered quickly down the stairs and Mme. Gagnon went on, “Now, Pierre, you get yourself slashed and perhaps poisoned over a cow. I thought you had more sense.”
The farmer stiffened. “It wasnotabout a cow! Raoul sent for me only as an excuse. Ask Victor. He also was there. At once Raoul began to scream so loud, if it were not for the guns booming they could have heard him in Ste. Mère.”
“Then what—?” began Mme. Gagnon impatiently.
“Then,” cried Pierre, “he began to shout charges against me.” He swept out both arms. “Against all of us.”
Pierre swallowed angrily. “He accused me,” he said, “of being a collaborator of the Nazis! He accuses us all—you, Marie, André—of working hand in glove with them. It seems that only this evening he saw André, here, entering the German camp.”
There it was—the black word,collaborator, he who helps the enemy! It meant someone hated by all Frenchmen, more, perhaps, than the enemy.
“But Papa,” André cried angrily, “poor old Schmidt! He is not an enemy.”
Pierre shook his head. “He is. We have only been giving him a few eggs and a little cheese because he is a tired old man. But Raoul can make it sound wrong if he wants to.”
Mme. Gagnon nodded encouragement. She thought of the many Allied flyers this brave, shaggy man had secretly helped to escape from the Nazis at the risk of his life. And of the boy in the attic. She glanced at her son, who, so far, knew nothing about his father’s and sister’s work in the Underground.
“I grew very angry when he called me a collaborator,” Pierre went on. “How could I let anyone say such a thing to me? I punched Raoul and he came back at me like a bull. We fell down, and myface struck the stone wall. The result is not pretty, perhaps?”
“Why did that German captain come home with you?” André burst out. “Did he get in the fight with Raoul?”
Gagnon snorted. “Not in the fight. Unfortunately he came along just as Raoul picked up a stick and started for me. Victor was yelling at both of us, and suddenly we saw the German coming. Naturally we all shut our mouths like clams. Frenchmen do not fight Frenchmen in front of the Nazis—not even Raoul.”
“Perhaps there will be no more to it,” said Mme. Gagnon soothingly.
“If they do not send soldiers to snoop around the house,” Pierre grunted, “we need not worry.”
Marie returned, breathless, with a basin of water and clean cloths. Her father sat on the edge of the bed, repeating the story, while the cut was cleaned and gently covered with ointment.
“Your face feels better, Pierre?” Mme. Gagnon asked. “Good. Now we must all sleep.”
A few minutes later the house was dark. Everywhere, from the kitchen where André snuggled into his goosedown-soft, curtained bed, to the attic, there was the sound of quiet breathing. And in the attic the English boy turned restlessly on his narrow cot.
Before dawn the household roused to the day’sduties. It was not long before they heard news. The weary, older German soldiers were being removed. War-toughened young Nazis were going to take over the district.
Before the new troops had been in camp two days, proclamations that put stricter limits on freedom were posted everywhere.
A curfew was ordered. People must not leave their houses between ten in the evening and five in the morning. This did not bother André since he usually went to bed well before ten.
A sad little good-by note from Papa Schmidt reached him. It thanked the family warmly for their kindness and ended: “Be a goot boy. Someday I bring my Otto to see you.Auf Wiederzehen.”
André noticed that the German camp was a changed place. The new regiment had chained vicious police dogs inside the wire fence. And André was horrified when he heard that stray dogs belonging to the village people had been shot.
He tied Patchou safely in the farmyard at the rear of the house, and kept an eye on him.
Then came another dreaded order:
ALL ARTICLES OF BRASS OR COPPER MUST BESURRENDERED BY THE CIVILIAN POPULATION. AHOUSE-TO-HOUSE SEARCH WILL BE MADE.
ALL ARTICLES OF BRASS OR COPPER MUST BESURRENDERED BY THE CIVILIAN POPULATION. AHOUSE-TO-HOUSE SEARCH WILL BE MADE.
ALL ARTICLES OF BRASS OR COPPER MUST BESURRENDERED BY THE CIVILIAN POPULATION. AHOUSE-TO-HOUSE SEARCH WILL BE MADE.
André’s most prized possession was a gleaming brass trumpet which he had learned to play with some skill. It was not only dear to him, but the only really precious thing he owned. “I must hide it in some very, very safe place,” he thought.
Also, the coming search would be very dangerous to the rest of the family. If the Germans came they would surely find the flyer in their attic. And if an enemy pilot were found in their house they would all be shot.
Marie and her father had been watching for the Maquis operator to come for the flyer, according to plan. But for some reason he had not yet appeared.
“Those Maquis! They are wasting their time in some café, enjoying themselves, probably,” Mme. Gagnon said irritably.
But Pierre replied, “No. Not the Maquis. There is some good reason why the operator has not yet been able to get here.”
It was not until June 4th, just before curfew time, that a Maquis messenger slipped into the Gagnon house.
He said he could not come before because the new Nazi garrison had sent patrols everywhere.
The plans of the Underground had all been changed. Pierre and Marie, he said, must keep the flyer where he was until new arrangements to spirit him away could be made.
That evening Marie and her father huddled in the dark little parlor to talk over their situation.
Marie whispered wildly, “Whatshallwe do if the Nazis come here? They will go to the attic too.”
Pierre shrugged, scowling. “We must find some way. We always have before.”
But, more than an hour later, they still had no idea what to do.
“There’s no other way,” whispered M. Gagnon at last, “but to go ask Father Duprey to offer some idea. He must be taken into the secret.”
Marie nodded.
The night was dark and rain began to fall.
Her father yawned. “I’ll go see Father Duprey tomorrow, first thing,” he said. “Now off to bed with you.”
They rose, and stood tensely, startled by a creak on the stairs and soft, padding footsteps outside the door.
The door opened and André stood there, clutching his boots and his trumpet.
“Heavens, André, you frightened us,” Marie snapped. “We thought you were in bed long ago.”
His father asked gruffly, “Where are you going at this hour?”
The boy moved nervously. “Papa,” he blurted, “why didn’t you tell me that man was hiding in the attic?”
Pierre and his daughter exchanged quick glances. Pierre put a hand protectingly on his son’s shoulder. “We thought it might save trouble if you didn’t know,” he said. “But now it’s done.”
“But why shouldn’t I know?” André demanded stubbornly. “He’s the man with the bandage who came in the car a few days ago, isn’t he? I talked to him. And I like him.”
“You must be sure not to give us away,” André’s father ordered sternly. “Say nothing about this man to anyone. Do you understand?”
André promised, and he laid his trumpet beside the lamp. “I found him up there when I went to the attic to get this. I must bury it outside somewhere before the Nazis come snooping around.” Then he gasped. “But won’t they find Ronald?”
His father said, “Your sister and I are looking out for him. Now, about this trumpet...?”
The hornhadto be hidden before another morning.
“I’ll bury it near the fence beside the lane,” André whispered as he edged out into the stormy darkness.
An eerie stillness hung heavy on Marie and her father when André had gone.
After a few moments Marie whispered nervously, “I don’t think I can sleep until this is settled, Papa. Don’t you think you could slip out and see Father Duprey tonight?”
Pierre frowned. “What about this cursed curfew? I do not want to be caught. However, it will not be my first night job for the Underground.”
He slipped on his coat, pulled his cap low, and eased himself noiselessly out of the house.
Marie sat alone, her eyes on the clock.
Her heart jumped a beat when an approaching patrol car whizzed down the road. It passed the house. Again the dark silence.
The back door opened and André returned, his boots caked high with mud. When he asked, “Where’s Papa?” she said, “He has gone out. Ask no more questions and go to bed.”
“I will wait for Papa,” he replied firmly, and perched on the edge of a chair, studying his sister’s face.
He had felt excitement growing among the others in the house. Now it belonged to him, too.
They listened for outside noises through the sounds of the storm. André said, “Ronald Pitt’s a fighter pilot, Marie. Did you know that?
“I never talked to one before,” he continued. “He told me his Spitfire plane got hit, late one evening, and he parachuted down into a wood. The Germans didn’t find him. He’s been hiding in the fields and towns for two weeks.”
Marie nodded. “He’s one of the lucky ones—so far.”
André chattered softly on. “Those bandageswere a fake, weren’t they? He wasn’t really hurt. Somebody painted his jaw with iodine and put on those bandages so he wouldn’t have to talk to any Germans.”
Her eyes on the clock, Marie said, “Shush now.”
André broke the next few minutes of silence with, “Ronald comes from Nottingham, like Robin Hood—”
But Marie hissed, “Shh-h!” still more sharply, and rose to listen at the door.
At a rap outside, she unfastened the lock.
Pierre slipped inside. His tired face had lighted up, and Marie smiled. “Father Duprey will help us!” she cried eagerly.
Pierre motioned to the stairs and said, “We go talk to Maman quickly. Come, Marie. You, André, clothes off and into bed. Lamps out, Marie.”
At Mme. Gagnon’s bedside a candle flickered. Pierre and Marie drew close beside the pillow.
“The Nazis have already begun to search houses on the other road,” Pierre whispered rapidly. “They are still a long way from us, but we can’t lose any time. Father Duprey has a plan. It is this. He will arrange with the hospital at St. Sauveur le Vicomte tomorrow for you to go there in an ambulance to have treatments. And we will hide the English flyer inside the ambulance.”
At a frightened look from Mme. Gagnon, hewent on hurriedly, “Marie will ride with you, and Father Duprey will sit up with the driver. He thinks if we make a big parade of it the Germans will not be so suspicious.”
“But St. Sauveur is beyond Ste. Mère Église ... so far away,” whispered Mme. Gagnon.
“But that is good, Maman,” Marie protested.
“It is the nut of the whole idea!” Pierre’s voice rose excitedly. “St. Sauveur is out of this district, and you will be safely away from these new Nazi troops. Some Maquis will meet us near the hospital. They will spirit our flyer out of the ambulance and hide him until he can be moved on. It is a good plan, Maman?”
“I do not like it,” she protested.