What the hell did Bebe know about love? Sick, obsessive love, yes. She was an authority on that. And Jane…she’d confessed that she’d never been in love until he’d come along. What did either woman know of that wild, wonderful, heart-wrenching emotion that overpowers a young person’s life? That exquisite feeling of sharing, heart-pounding exhilaration? For that matter, what did he know about it?
Philippe loved Nellie. He’d seen it in the boy’s eyes. And Nellie had looked at Philippe with…with…the empty look Rajean had used when she’d stared at him. No, that was wrong! Nellie smiled and giggled and blushed furiously when Philippe showed open affection. She was just shy and unused to handling open displays of affection. Surely once they’d been made man and wife…That business of the marriage not being consummated was pure rot on Bebe’s part. Philippe was a virile young man at his sexual peak. Nellie was a beautiful, innocent young girl with a body young men craved.
Daniel’s heart started to pound. Just married and he enlists. Nellie said it was what he’d wanted. New bride-grooms…he’d have thought Philippe would have wanted to spend more time with his new wife before going off to enlist.
The power of attorney was giving him the most trouble. Everything Philippe owned was now Nellie’s which meant she was a very wealthy young woman. Why would Philippe change his mind unless Bebe coerced him? Or…unless what Bebe and Jane said was true?
Where did his loyalties lie? With Nellie? Bebe? The studio? How in the hell was he ever going to explain all this to Reuben? Reuben trusted Jane, and Jane would never do anything to hurt him. Yet she was prepared to resign and claim all money due her—enough to bankrupt a studio already beleaguered by the exorbitant demands of a legal tug-of-war. In his heart Daniel knew she would never do something so drastic unless she believed totally in what she was doing. The pages Reuben had sent, they represented his life, and he’d entrusted them to Jane. The knowledge hurt him—the same way he’d hurt Reuben when he’d called on Rocky and Jerry to help him get to France.
If he forced the issue, Bebe was prepared to litigate as was Jane. The studio could be tied up for years. Somehow he had to learn the truth. Jesus Christ, Fort Dix wasn’t on the other side of the world; it was in New Jersey—he could make the trip in two days and talk to Philippe personally. Bebe would know that, would assume that’s exactly what he would do, and still she’d come here to make her intentions known. Therefore she must be telling the truth. Which meant Nellie had lied to him.
My God, what am I to do? he agonized. Whom should I believe? How could he allow the studio to go into litigation? Yet how could he simply turn his back on his daughter? And Reuben…if he lost Reuben’s friendship over this, he might as well lie down and die.
Daniel glanced at his watch in the moonlight. It was twenty minutes past twelve. Too late to have a picnic supper. Nellie hadn’t wakened, obviously; her bedroom window was dark. He should get up and go inside to bed, but suddenly, irrationally, he didn’t want to be in the same house with his daughter. The realization was profoundly disturbing.
Tomorrow…tomorrow he would call Fort Dix. He would go to Jane and Bebe and talk to them. He would visit the studio and examine the option agreement for Ambrosia. If he had to, he would pry open Jane’s desk to see if she’d actually drawn up a letter of resignation in which she’d waived her severance pay.
Nellie listened to her father’s footsteps on the stairs and held her breath, waiting to see if he stopped at her door. She smiled to herself in the darkness. Under her pillow was Jane’s resignation letter and the old option agreement for Ambrosia. Just hours ago she’d typed a new one, one that had no erasures and no mistakes. It had been so easy to slip unseen into the studio, so easy to remove the key to the executive offices from her father’s key ring. So easy to pry open Jane’s desk with a hairpin. And she’d done it all in less than two hours while her father sat in the garden.
Philippe would be incommunicado for several weeks; everyone knew that new recruits were cut off from their families until their training was over, unless, of course, there was a death in the immediate family. Bebe Rosen would hold on to her power of attorney and do nothing for a day or so, hoping her father would switch his allegiance; this was something Nellie had overheard Bebe and Jane talking about with Daniel earlier. By Friday Evans would have transferred all of Philippe’s funds to her name, and by Monday morning she would be in total control of her husband’s inheritance.
Nellie Bishop Tarz-Bouchet slept like a baby.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Her heart pounding, Mickey struggled to see through the falling snow. She could feel Yvette’s hatred of the German Kort and knew she was probably thinking that he should have been killed along with the others in the village church. For the first time the children were huddled together like snow pillars, their fear as deadly as her own. Dear God, what would these terrible Germans do to the little ones? Would they be dragged off and made to march like puppets in the freezing snow, and if they faltered, would they be left behind to die? Or would they be gunned down in the name of the Third Reich?
Mickey inched closer to the children and put her arm around Bruno. She was about to open the boy’s jacket to cover the dog’s mouth, but Marc’s hand was already there. Her eyes searched out Marie to see if the child was crying; she wasn’t, but her eyes were filled with terror. Anna’s hand was poised, ready to clamp down on the girl’s mouth if she uttered so much as a sound, which was rather silly at this point since the Germans already knew they were below the embankment, thanks to Kort.
Her fear had been so overwhelming, she hadn’t even realized Kort was speaking to the soldiers. “A grandmother and an aunt with their relatives’ children,” she heard him say. “I came across them this morning. I was searching for the nearest command post to turn them over to you, but twice I managed to get lost.” He went on to tell the soldiers about the church and his surveillance for the R.A.F. pilots. “My orders were to head for the nearest command post.” There was a crackling sound as Kort pulled his map from his pocket. Mickey saw the blink of a flashlight and heard muttered curses when the biting wind whipped the paper from Kort’s hands, carrying it away in a swirl of snow. She drew a deep breath when she heard the soldier’s boots crunch down through the snow.
Yvette’s hands went immediately to the knife in her pocket when she heard Kort tell the Germans that the women weren’t armed. Laughing, he repeated his initial words—a grandmother and a pockmarked aunt as ugly as the English prime minister. “They have no knowledge of weapons, see for yourself.”
Three sets of boots, plus Kort’s…They waited, their eyes filled with fear and loathing. The flashlight circled around the group, coming to rest on each of them in turn. One of the Germans trained his beam on the ground to search for tracks. Seeing only their footprints in the snow, he seemed satisfied and clapped Kort on the back. “Tell them to get on their feet,” he ordered Kort.
“They don’t understand German, but I speak a little French and some limited English,” Kort said, adding proudly, “That is why I was picked for the R.A.F. reconnaissance. They understand both languages.”
“Be quick about it, it’s freezing out here. Tell them to go to the top of the embankment. We’ll shoot them there.”
Kort spoke rapidly in English. Yvette’s eyes widened at his words. “There are three of them; there are three of us. Get up, you, Mickey, go for the legs; Yvette, you dive into the stomach, and I will cripple this one next to me. Be quick, for there will be no second chance.” Then he stepped back, his gun held loosely in his hand. It wasn’t hard for Mickey to pretend that her bones were stiff and aching as she struggled to her knees, her arms braced in the snow for leverage. Yvette did the same, and on the silent count of three they lunged. The moment the Germans fell backward, the children swarmed over them as one.
The attack was silent and deadly, the children huffing and panting, the little dog growling deep in his throat as his teeth ripped at flesh. The soldier Mickey charged
was overpowered in no time: with her knee on his neck, she pinned his forearm and brought her knife down into his gullet in one swift motion. Blood spewed upward and then downward, staining the snow a bright crimson.
“Kill little children, will you! Never again! You’ll never kill anyone again!” Yvette spat out as her knife found its mark again and again. She turned to Mickey. “They were going to shoot all of us, in the back.” Her voice was so full of outrage, she had difficulty breathing. “They’re vermin, lice, slime, a scourge on France. They don’t deserve to live among decent people. Look at that one!” She pointed to the German Kort held by the throat with his suspenders.
Mickey was on her feet now, her eyes searching Kort’s frenzied gaze. She understood he couldn’t kill his own countrymen, but he wouldn’t stop them from doing it for him.
“What are you waiting for, kill him!” Yvette ordered Kort.
“I can’t,” he cried. “I helped you, you and the children are alive. Don’t ask this of me. If you want to kill him, you’ll have to do it yourself!”
Yvette’s eyes blazed. “I’ll do it gladly, and if you so much as move, I’ll kill you, too.” The soldier was struggling, kicking out with his hard leather boots, his arms flailing.
The children huddled together, their eyes round with fear. All of them knew how close to death they’d come. The little dog, tight in Bruno’s grasp, growled deep in his throat. The scene registered with Mickey in one blinding instant, and at the same time she knew there was something different about the children—and it wasn’t their fear. But she had no time to dwell on them, she had to keep her eyes on the struggling German.
Later, neither she, Yvette, nor Kort knew how it happened. One moment Kort had eased his hold on the German while Yvette reached for him, and Mickey had braced herself for the lunge she knew the frantic soldier would make. All three were thrown off balance with the force of the thrust and toppled backward into the blood-red snow. The soldier had his hands around Yvette’s neck as Mickey struggled to her knees. Suddenly Marie leapt from the tight little group, coming up behind the German, a knife in her hand. Stunned and taken off guard, they watched as the little girl attacked him from behind, stabbing him not once, not twice, but three times. In his pain he flopped over, blood spurting in every direction. The knife moved downward again, plunging deep into the hollow of the man’s throat. Marie made no move to withdraw the knife but bent over him, her breathing harsh and ragged, sobs tearing at her own throat as she jabbed her fingers into his eye sockets. She was screeching about unbearable atrocities as she smashed at his nose and pummeled him with her hard little fists.
The other children were encouraging her now, shouting directions, their eyes wild as the little girl prepared to avenge them all. The knife slashed and tore, ripped and cracked, at the soldier’s rib cage. A loud swoosh of air and heat emanated from the man’s open chest. Satisfied at last, eight-year-old Marie tossed the blood-filled knife into the snow. Bernard picked it up, but only after he’d cleaned it with the snow.
“Now, do it now!” Anna gasped…as the others shouted deadly encouragement.
At once Mickey understood. Marie, now deadly calm, reached down and pulled hard. Triumphantly, her eyes victorious, she held up the man’s heart for all to see and then threw it as far as she could. The children rushed to her, their voices soft yet excited at what she had managed to do. They were busy then, cleaning the blood from her hands and her face. Anna stripped off Marie’s gloves and handed her her own. Sophie hugged her around the knees, tears streaming down her cheeks. Bruno wiggled closer into the knot of children. The others separated, allowing the little boy to move to the front. He opened his coat and gently withdrew the little dog, his most precious possession, his only possession.
“He is getting heavy; would you hold him for a while?” he said.
Marie reached for the dog, her glazed eyes normal once again. She nodded as the little dog nuzzled her cheek. Her pinched little face began to relax as the children led her to a small copse of trees out of the driving snow.
“Mon Dieu, now I have seen everything,” Yvette said, blessing herself reverently. “If my life depended on it, I don’t know if I could do what she did. Where did she get the strength, how did she know to do that? God in heaven, she’s just a child!”
“From God,” said Anna. “He gave her the strength. He took the terrible look out of her eyes. See, she doesn’t cry anymore. She did it for all of us! They butchered her father and hung him on a meat hook and left him to die. They raped her mother and stuck her head into a blazing stove. They killed her two sisters and brothers and did unspeakable things. Marie ran away when the soldiers got drunk on her father’s wine. Only God could help her do what she just did.” Anna stared at the two women for a moment, then turned and walked back to the children.
Mickey’s tongue felt thick and swollen in her mouth. “I don’t ever want to talk about this again. It will be enough that I remember every second of this till the day I die. Not a word, Yvette; swear to me that we will never speak of this.”
“Yes, Michelene,” Yvette said in a subdued voice. She turned then, her eyes narrowed as she searched for Kort. Gut-wrenching sounds came from behind her.
“You should puke your guts out, you slimy bastard,” she snarled. “Be a man and come out here before I set these children on you. I am a pussycat and they are the tigers, as you have seen. You shall have the pleasure of disposing of your countrymen. I don’t care if you saved our lives or not, and they don’t care, either.” She jerked her head in the children’s direction. “You’re still one of them. You will be in my sight every step of the way. Now, be quick!”
Mickey sat down on a log covered with snow and crooked her finger at Yvette. “I hate to say this, but I think we should go on. The children are warmed with their…their exertion. We can cover several miles. The more distance we put between us and the command post, the better. At best we have an hour, possibly less. It’s not so windy now, and the snow is thicker; it will cover our tracks. We’re up so high now that the air is much thinner. We’ll have to rest more often, and our progress will be very slow. Do you agree?”
“Yes,” Yvette said, and approached the children. As she explained the situation, they banded together as one. Marie opened her coat to hand the little dog back to Bruno, who said he was very tired and asked her to carry him for just a bit longer. The little girl smiled and buttoned her coat.
“That was a very kind, wonderful thing you just did, Bruno,” Mickey said gently. “Kinder perhaps than you will ever know.”
“Will he love her more than he loves me?” the little boy asked fretfully.
“You are his master and he will always love you and be loyal to you. But he can love Marie, too. He’s our protector. He’s going to watch over all of us. I think he deserves a bit more food when we stop to eat next.”
“He was getting heavy,” Bruno confessed.
Mickey chuckled as she reached for the little boy’s hand. “Step lively now, we have a long way to go.”
“Will there be more Germans? Will they catch us again?”
“I hope not, Bruno, but none of us knows what is in store for us. Together we’ll worry about it when the time comes.”
“Together means all of us,” Bruno said happily as he trudged through the snow with Mickey at his side.
Mickey had never in the whole of her life questioned the Almighty. What had happened was meant to happen, and Anna was right. God had directed Marie and given her the strength to do what she’d done, and He’d looked out for the rest of them. It had happened and she couldn’t change it, nor could she wish it away.
At the bottom of the steep incline Mickey stopped for a moment and looked around at her charges. “Forward, march!” she cried.
At the crest of the incline and half a kilometer to the east was a German command post that had not been on Kort’s map. It had been erected just twelve hours earlier.
Chapter Thirty
Reub
en’s eyes blazed with hatred as he stared through the blinding whiteness of the snow at the tight line of German soldiers above him. His head started to pound. Where was that son of a bitch Marcel? He waited, smelling his own fear, for the Germans to either gun him down or force him up and out of the ravine. When the rifles jerked upward, he felt himself go rigid and looked around frantically for his own rifle and the handgun that had been at his side. They were gone, along with Marcel. All he had was a razor-sharp knife stuck in the back of his trousers under his bulky coat.
Reuben crawled to the top of the ravine, then allowed himself to be dragged forward without resisting. When asked for his papers he affected a Gallic shrug, pretending not to understand the motions or the words. The Germans formed a circle around him, making escape impossible. They poked and prodded him with the butts of their rifles, making crude remarks and laughing as he stumbled around the circle.
There were six of them, young boys mostly, with one older man, a sergeant. Reuben was taller than all of them, more muscular, but he was also older, weary, cold, and tired. Only a fool would try something, and he was no fool, but he’d certainly fight to prevent his own death.
The soldiers drove him to his knees as the circle around him spread out. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a motion that came from somewhere beyond the water-spotted German boots. He wanted to stare, to turn his head, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he voiced his thoughts in sound, swearing viciously. The Germans laughed. He sensed now that the motion was coming from the ravine he’d climbed out of, but farther down the flat, snow-covered plain. It had to be Marcel. Perhaps he’d heard something, or else sensed it the way all the Frenchmen did, and gone for help. Even if the boy was a crack marksman, as he had boasted, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to take on the entire patrol himself. Which could mean only one thing: he had help. But how much?
Sins of the Flesh Page 38
