“Very well. But they are at my home. I cannot get the paintings for you immediately.” I would sooner burn them than see Degas’s work in his hands.
He met my gaze. “Perhaps next time I am in Germany I will visit your wife and retrieve them then. I have heard she has had some visitors while you have been away. One more cannot hurt, ja?”
My smile felt thin on my face, and I forced my jaw to relax. “She is a fine hostess.” I would strangle him, I decided. I would wrap my hands tight around his throat, watch his face turn purple and blood fill his eyes, and feel his life seep away beneath my palms.
“It is settled, then. Wait here while I retrieve them. And please—” he offered the cosh to me “—be my guest.”
I accepted it and imagined cracking his head open with the spiked ball. “Bitte, Hauptsturmführer.”
When he left, I tossed the cosh aside and approached the girl. She whimpered as I drew near. “Shh, mademoiselle.”
“S'il vous plaît, ne me blessez pas.” Her voice cracked.
“I will not.” My voice was low and soothing, and I stroked her hair and spoke to her in tones as gentle as I would a dog. She wept, head hanging in the awkward, upside down position Klaus and his fools had tied her. Her hair brushed the ground, the tresses dragging in her own pooling blood. Her spine was shattered. The white slivers of bone were visible beneath the broken skin. I would not even allow a dog who bit me to suffer so much. “Shh, now. He will not hurt you any longer.”
She let out a shuddering breath, her sobs quavering in her chest. “Merci, monsieur.”
“You are welcome, my dear,” I said, and then I broke her neck.
The gunshots startled me, and I stood, cursing my foolishness. I threw open the door, shouldered past the guards, and raced down the tunnel toward the sound of shouting. Of course he would kill the pair before handing them over to me.
16 November 1942
Dear Nhad,
I found a way to fight that I believe in.
I do not do it to make you proud, but I hope you are.
-Owain
xviii
“Get the children ready. We need to leave.” I strove to keep my voice even lest I frighten the children, but I was winded from running.
Charlotte’s eyes widened when she turned to me. “What has happened?”
I glanced around the young faces sitting about her. The tone of my voice had the tension and fear creeping back into their visages. “Come outside a moment.”
She set her sewing aside and followed me. “What’s wrong, Rhys?” She brushed at the dirt clinging to my shirt. “Are you hurt?”
“There are Germans only a few kilometers from here.”
Her head snapped up, and she searched my face. “In the northern valley?”
“Aye. As many as thirty perhaps, camped at the far end of the gorge.”
“Did they see you?”
“No. None whom I saw. But there may be more posted as lookouts at higher vantage points.”
“So they may know we are here.”
“Aye. I wager they are in retreat, simply trying to hide and escape the advance. But we are greatly outnumbered. And with the children—”
“We cannot risk it.” She gazed toward the north valley, her brow furrowed. “I will ready the children while you pack the rucksacks.”
The children were uneasy, huddling close together around Otto as Charlotte helped them don their cloaks and tie scarves about their necks. They would grow warm as they climbed, but the morning air held a crisp chill that the sun had not yet burned away. Charlotte traded her Oxfords for woolen socks and the pair of boots she had brought with her from Paris.
We had six bedrolls and eight blankets, the supplies I had taken from the shed, the weapons and ammunition taken from the soldiers at the abbey, the first aid kit from the ambulance, and food to last a week. I used the smallest rucksack for the blankets and first aid kit, keeping it light enough for the oldest child to carry. The food, supplies, weapons, and bedrolls I dispersed evenly through the other two packs.
Charlotte bundled Simone in a blanket and helped her into the rucksack. When I had the child secured against my back, Charlotte hoisted one of the packs up, and I slipped into the shoulder straps, adjusting it over the rucksack holding Simone.
“Is she well?” I cinched the outer pack around my hips to keep it secure. It sat lower on my back, but the combined weight was not enough to upset my balance. I had carried sheep heavier than my current load.
When Charlotte spoke to the child, I heard a muffled “Oui,” at my back.
We used a blanket to secure Anne-Marie to Charlotte in a sling about her torso. I tied the ends around her waist under the babe’s bottom and at Charlotte’s back between her shoulder blades. Only the top of the six-month-old’s downy head resting against Charlotte’s chest was visible.
I lifted the last rucksack and held it while Charlotte adjusted the straps over her shoulders and tightened them. She shifted, shrugging her shoulders to settle the weight.
“You will be able to carry both? I can—”
She touched my arm. “I will be fine.”
I searched her face. In the low light, her eyes were dark and gray, and she met my gaze evenly. “Let’s be away, then.”
We boarded the windows and door once more. The ambulance was concealed within the trees, hidden at first glance, disabled if found. Both of us had added an additional holster about our hips to carry an extra pistol and ammunition.
I pointed toward the far end of the horseshoe rock formation. “Lead the way south, toward that ridge. I will follow shortly.”
Charlotte nodded and whistled for Otto. He trotted ahead of her while the children fell into step behind her. Hugo paused and started toward me, but Charlotte caught his hand and spoke softly to him as she led him away.
I watched until they disappeared into the shelter of the forest. Then I found a hiding place in the trees behind the lodge and crouched to wait and watch.
_______
I caught up with Charlotte and the children deep in the canyon.
“Is anyone following us?”
“No, but we’ll not light any fires, just to be safe.”
I traded places with Charlotte, and she took up the tail as I led the way deeper and higher into the hills.
Leading a group of children was much like herding sheep: once they were in motion, they tended to cluster together and follow one after the other. The key was to keep them in motion and keep them going the right direction. With a well-trained dog, it was merely an issue of communication and patience. Otto did not have the training my Bess and Bracken did, but he performed admirably.
We reached the overhang at midday and took a break for the children to rest before the climb. Simone had ridden in the pack soundlessly and motionlessly, and when Charlotte helped me ease the rucksack from my shoulders, we discovered her sleeping inside.
I filled the four canteens we had while Charlotte doled out food for the children. She took only a peach for herself and ducked under the overhang to peer up the steep gorge that ascended into the mountains like a staircase.
“How far of a climb is it?”
“A few kilometers. The way is precarious, but if we are slow and cautious, we can manage it.”
She smiled up at me suddenly, that smile that was so like the sudden light of dawn piercing the gray morning mist. “I believe you could manage anything, Rhys.”
I chuckled. “It helps to have someone capable alongside me.”
Her smile softened, even as color came to her cheeks. “I am thankful our paths crossed in Paris.”
“Only days ago, it was.”
“It seems like a lifetime.”
“Aye.”
After eating, the children shed their cloaks, and we bundled them into a tight roll and tied the ends crossways over their thin chests. Simone climbed back into her rucksack, and once all the packs were do
nned and secured, we set off.
The climb was challenging for the children, and we paused often to rest. Scraped palms and bruised shins occurred regularly. But none complained, and though our progress was slow, we gradually gained higher and higher elevation.
Otto proved to offer better encouragement than Charlotte or I could provide. Whenever one child began to lag or chins trembled over torn knees, he was right there to comfort with licks and nudges. The poodle seemed more suited to being a nanny than a war dog, and he and the children both basked in the attention they gave one another.
The gorge flattened onto a deep ledge like a landing on a staircase before the climb became nearly vertical. The brief plateau was about four meters deep and two meters wide. The rock was stable here, smooth and level.
I eyed the climb ahead of us and then looked to the sky. The light was dying as the sun sank toward the western horizon, and I recalled the barren landscape that awaited us at the top of the gorge.
We would not make it over the peak before nightfall. The temperature was dropping, and the wind was picking up. If we made the rest of the climb today, we would be sleeping exposed to the elements on the side of the mountain.
I leaned down and lifted the children one after the other onto the ledge and then offered my hand to Charlotte. We clasped wrists, and I noted my fingers met and overlapped around her slim joint.
“We’ll set up camp here for the night.”
Her eyes widened. She gripped my sleeve as she glanced over the edge down at the steep rockfall we had climbed. “I hope no one tends to wander in their sleep.”
“We will alternate keeping watch. For anyone following us and to make certain no one gets too close to the edge.”
She nodded. Her face was as pink as the children’s, and my back was damp under the rucksacks. Charlotte shrugged out of her pack and handed the baby to the oldest girl before helping me unload the weight of the two rucksacks I carried. Simone smiled at me readily when I lifted her free of the pack.
Once we stopped moving, the cold set in quickly, and we unrolled coats and helped the children don them before they caught a chill. I spread the bedrolls along the ledge, keeping well away from the precipice, while Charlotte portioned out food. The children ate hungrily, and both Otto and the children wanted additional portions.
I rationed the water, hoping that we would have enough to withhold from necessitating a fire to boil snow or lake water. Everyone received a cupful, and Otto drank from my palm before hurrying back to ensure each child had left no crumb uneaten.
The light dimmed quickly here at this elevation tucked deep into the undulations of the mountain range. We were protected from the wind, but the shadows held a crispness that felt like a chill touch.
The children’s eyes were heavy, and Charlotte suppressed a yawn with her fingers against her lips.
“I will take the first watch.” I knew she was tired when she did not argue.
The ledge was deep and wide enough for everyone to sleep laid out closely side by side from the innermost recesses to where Charlotte lay as the outer barrier. Otto took up his place lying across the children’s feet, and Charlotte spread the blankets over him as well. Hugo once more repositioned himself to use the poodle as a pillow. This time he kept his head buried under the shelter of the blankets.
“You’ll wake me so you can get some sleep as well?” Charlotte curled on her side facing where I sat leaning against the side of the gorge and folded her hands under her cheek.
“Aye. Rest now. I will wake you.”
She closed her eyes, and a sigh slipped from her. “And you will not let me roll over the edge.”
I smiled. She was almost two meters from the precipice. “Of course not.”
Her lips quirked, and I watched as her body slowly settled into the weighted bonelessness of sleep and her face went slack.
Darkness gathered and deepened, and the temperature dropped further. I drew on my own coat, the thick sheepskin I wore in the winter when snow dusted my hills and the wind cut straight to the bone. I pulled the lapel across my face and could imagine there was still a clinging scent of home caught in the shearling.
I tucked my hands into the warm hollows under my arms and tilted my head back against the rock to watch the stars prick through the black blanket of the night sky. As the hours progressed, the display grew to be as impressive as the one I could see from the hills at home. I sought the brightness of Capella, and then found the rest of Auriga.
“Show me the shepherd in the sky again, Dadi.”
I crouched beside Owain, resting one hand on his shoulder while I used the other to point out the constellation. “Just there. Do you see?” I traced the outline of the main stars with my finger.
“I want him to hold sheep instead of goats.”
I chuckled. “Then we shall say he is holding lambs in his arms instead of kids.”
He was silent for a moment. “When Mam has the babies, will you be able to hold all of us, Dadi?”
I lifted him into my arms. “Aye, machgen i. There will be room in my arms to hold all of you, always.”
I smiled at the memory and glanced at my charges. The children and Charlotte slept deeply. When a tendril of wind drifted into our rock corridor, I drew the heavy wool blankets up over their heads. Not even Otto stirred.
I knew Charlotte would not appreciate me allowing her to sleep through the night, so I woke her a few hours before dawn. When I rested my hand on her shoulder, she burrowed deeper beneath the blankets before rolling to her back with a sigh and stretching.
“Your watch.” I kept my voice at a whisper so as not to disturb the children.
She scrubbed both hands over her face and pulled her scarf from the pocket of her coat as she sat upright. “Is all well?”
“Aye. It is a beautiful, quiet night, it is.”
I traded places with her, settling into the residual pool of heat her body had left behind. She took much the same position I had. Once she wrapped her scarf about her neck, she tucked her hands under her arms and tilted her head back to the night sky.
I did not expect to sleep, but I did. I woke at first light, when the sky was the color of a bruise and the world was cast in shades of gray.
The children were difficult to rouse, and the baby began to cry. The sound was cacophonous in the morning quiet, and Charlotte rushed to soothe her. Her wails grew louder as Charlotte changed her napkin. I kept an eye on the gorge’s depths.
Her shrieks devolved to whimpers once she was dry, and Charlotte lifted Anne-Marie into her arms and patted her back. When she looked to me, her face was tense. “Anyone?”
“Not that I saw. But that does not mean she was not heard.”
Charlotte fed the children and Otto while I packed the bedrolls and blankets. Once the youngest two children were secured in sling and rucksack, we began the grueling climb.
“Go on, bach,” I said to Otto. “I will follow you.”
He picked his way up the steep ascent, and I followed cautiously after him. The dawn was spreading over the sky like a blush, but the shadows here were cool and deep. The light was low, but not so low I needed to make use of the torch.
“Tell the children to step exactly as I do.”
The half kilometer climb was rigorous. The oldest three children managed it with my assistance. The wind buffeted us when we reached the alpine bowl, and I directed them well away from the edge.
I shrugged out of the rucksacks I carried and placed them on the ground. Simone had fallen asleep in the pack on my back. She stirred when I checked on her and peaked her head out of the sack, but she ducked back into her warm cocoon when the wind slapped her dark hair across her face.
“Stay here. I am going back for the others.” I held up my hand. “Stay.”
The oldest girl nodded and wrapped on arm around Otto’s neck. The children sat on the leeward side of the rucksacks, but they provided little barrier.
&
nbsp; I left them and climbed down to Charlotte and the other children. They were struggling with the climb, and Charlotte had to lift each one to the next crag.
“Is it much further?”
I reached down and lifted the child she was assisting. “I will carry them the rest of the way.”
I repeated the ascent with the four younger children, carrying one on my back to the temporary summit, leaving her with Otto and the other children, and then climbing down for the next.
Hugo was the last, and he smiled and held out his arms to me. I chuckled. “We have done this already, have we not, cariad?”
Charlotte climbed close at my heels. I glanced back when I heard rocks tumble and saw that she had one arm braced tight across the baby strapped to her chest.
I paused. “Are you hurt?”
“No, merely lost my footing for a moment.”
We reached the top of the gorge without further mishap and rested only for a moment before we continued our trek. We followed the ridge that led north before curving back to the east.
The wind was a torment, howling over the mountains and tearing at hair and clothing. I walked with my head down, the wind whipping tears from my eyes.
The sun soon climbed over the peaks, and when we reached the top of the ridge, the landscape changed dramatically. Gone was the green. The terrain was jagged with rock, and the plant life that clung to the ground was coarse, brown and gray in color. Patches of snow formed dirty white pools of slush. We had crossed into the tundra.
There was a haunting beauty to the tundra. The growth that clung to the crevices was as hardy as it was fragile. Life advanced tenaciously even in the starkness.
I stopped and glanced behind me. The children huddled together, their heads down against the wind, red hands buried in Otto’s curls. Charlotte’s hair was whipped from its moorings, and the strands blew like ribbons around her head.
I pointed to the peak looming above us. “The White Horse.” I had to raise my voice to a shout to be heard.
Once More Unto the Breach Page 18
