The Sisters of St. Croix

by Diney Costeloe

  “Don’t be,” soothed her aunt. “I am of no consequence. I’m over seventy and bedridden with arthritis. There is little more I can do in the Lord’s service, I am more than ready when my time comes. Much more important is what we are going to do about these children. I assume we have to consider the three Leon children as well as Marthe and Margot.”

  “Certainly we do,” Sarah agreed, “and I have asked all the sisters to try and think of something that we can do to ensure their safety.”

  “Was it wise to make it a topic for discussion?” wondered the old lady. “Who knows who may be listening?”

  “I haven’t ever revealed to the community at large that the Leon children are Jews,” Sarah said. “Only those who are concerned with their day-to-day care know the truth, but in a community such as ours I am sure there are whispers about them. However, my instruction referred to Marthe and Margot.” She closed her eyes, massaging her forehead as if to ease away her cares. “I have got an idea,” she said, “but it will need careful planning and should be kept as secret as possible.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, if Marthe was right and they are rounding up all the Jews, the children won’t be safe anywhere where it is known that they are Jews.”

  Aunt Anne nodded her agreement. “So?”

  “So, we need to move them to somewhere where no one knows who or what they are. It’s no good fostering them out to local families as Sister Marie-Paul is suggesting, we have to get them right away from here.”

  “So where will you send them?”

  “I shan’t send them, I shall take them myself. I shall take them to Mother Magdalene. No one in the Paris house need know why they’ve come. We can say we needed extra room to expand the hospital. No one need know how they came to be with us in the first place, they can simply be cared for there as orphans of the war. Let’s face it there are going to be enough of those.”

  “But how will you get them to Paris?” asked her aunt.

  “I shall take them on the train,” replied Sarah. “If we are stopped I shall say that we are devoting ourselves to hospital work now and that the orphans are being moved to the mother house where there is more room for them.”

  “It might work,” conceded the old nun, “but what about Marthe? She is clearly too old to be an orphan in need of care.”

  “I’ve thought about her,” Sarah said, “and I think that if we put her in a novice’s habit she could travel with us to help look after the children. I doubt if anyone will question a young nun who is travelling with her reverend mother.”

  Sister St Bruno considered for a moment. “What about papers? You will have none for the children… or for Marthe for that matter. She can’t use her own.”

  “Well,” Sarah said, “it’s only Margot that we haven’t got papers for. Our own children have them of course and I managed to get new ones for the Leon children as they were orphaned in the air strike and any papers they had were never found. Of course they aren’t registered as Jews now, even if they were before.”

  “And Margot?”

  Sarah shrugged. “I hope if I’m stopped that I should be able to talk my way out of any trouble by saying she has been so recently orphaned that we haven’t had a chance to replace her papers. Mother Magdalene will have to sort those out when we get to Paris. I certainly can’t risk applying for those here!”

  “Marthe?”

  “Marthe will have to take her chances. She will have to travel without any, but I think it is most unlikely that they will bother to ask for them from a nun travelling with her superior. I will have my own, of course.” She paused. “What do you think?”

  Her aunt shook her head. “It’s very risky,” she answered. “It could work if you are bold enough to carry it out, but if you are caught…” Her voice trailed away.

  “I know, then we shall all be lost. But I can think of no other way of protecting those children. We have to get them away from here, and the quicker the better.”

  “Then I suggest that the fewer people who know of this plan the better,” said Aunt Anne. “If you are going through with this, you have to minimise the risks. Do you need a permit from the Germans to travel to Paris on the train?”

  “I don’t think so,” replied Sarah. “People seem to be travelling freely enough, but I believe there are spot checks on the trains, at the stations, even in the streets. We shan’t be able to avoid these controls, not moving with a group of children. We shall have to put our trust in the Lord.”

  As Sister St Bruno started to speak again there was a knock on the door and Sister Marie-Marc put her head into the room.

  “Oh, Mother, you’re here,” she said with relief in her voice.

  “Sister, what is it?” asked Mother Marie-Pierre. Sister Marie-Marc was clearly agitated. “What’s the matter?”

  “I think you should come, Mother,” replied the nun. “There’s somebody… I’ve found somebody… I mean… when I went to the henhouse…”

  “Start again, Sister,” Mother Marie-Pierre said calmly, “and tell me from the beginning.”

  “I went to the henhouse to shut the birds in for the night, and I found a woman in there. In the henhouse. Hiding.”

  Mother Marie-Pierre looked at her sharply. “Where is she now, Sister? What have you done with her?”

  “I didn’t know what to do, Mother. She was bleeding, you see.”

  “So, where is she?” Mother Marie-Pierre fought to keep the impatience out of her voice.

  “I’ve brought her into the kitchen, Mother, and I’ve locked her in the pantry.”

  The reverend mother was at once on her feet and heading to the door. “I’ll come back later, Sister,” she said over her shoulder to her aunt, and hustled Sister Marie-Marc out of the door and down to the kitchen.

  “Have you told anyone else?” she asked as they hurried down the stairs.

  “No, Mother. All I did was to ask Sister Celestine if she knew where you were, and she said you were with Sister St Bruno.”

  “Good.” Better to discover what this is all about before alarming the other sisters.

  They came into the kitchen and Sister Marie-Marc drew back the bolt on the pantry door. She eased the door open and they both looked in. The woman, whoever she was, was lying on the floor, her face ashen, blood seeping from a wound in her shoulder, her clothes dark with the oozing blood. Her eyes opened and she scrabbled against the stone-flagged floor in an effort to get up, but the effort was too great and she sank back down and closed her eyes again.

  “It’s all right,” Mother Marie-Pierre said gently, “we’ve come to help you.”

  The woman gave a faint moan and Mother Marie-Pierre knelt down beside her to look at the wound.

  “Sister, please would you fetch Sister Eloise? I know she’s busy in the hospital, but if you would just say I need her here straight away.” She glanced up at the waiting nun. “There’s no need to say why, just ask her to hurry.”

  Within minutes Sister Eloise was at her side, looking down at the wounded woman.

  “What have we here, Mother?” she asked softly.

  “I think this is one of those who escaped from the German lorries in the square this morning,” replied Mother Marie-Pierre. “I think she’s been shot.”

  Sister Eloise knelt down and very gently probed the wound. The woman let out a cry of pain.

  “Towels, please,” said Sister Eloise, and Sister Marie-Marc passed over a towel from the kitchen rack. Sister Eloise drew her scissors from her pocket and with the utmost care cut away the woman’s clothes, exposing the wound, which began pulsing blood again. Quickly she ripped the towel in half and placed one piece underneath the shoulder before gently pressing the second half against the gaping wound.

  “We need to get her somewhere where I can work on her,” Sister Eloise said briskly. “Can we move her to the hospital now?”

  “No, Sister, I don’t think so,” Mother Marie-Pierre replied. “Too public. The fewer people who know
about her the better.” She thought for a moment and then spoke to Sister Marie-Marc. “Sister, please fetch Sister Henriette… but as quietly as you can.”

  As Sister Marie-Marc disappeared Mother Marie-Pierre turned back to Sister Eloise. “We’ll take her up to my cell. Sister Henriette and I should be able to carry her between us.”

  “She would be better in the hospital, Mother,” ventured Sister Eloise, “where I have everything I need to tend her.”

  “I know that, Sister,” replied the reverend mother, “but the Germans are probably still looking for her. She must be hidden away in case they come here.” She knelt down by the injured woman again. “We are going to take you somewhere safe to see to your wound. If two of us support you, will you be able to walk at all?”

  “Yes.” The single word was forced out through gritted teeth, and Mother Marie-Pierre saw that the eyes that looked up at her were full of determination.

  Sister Eloise sighed. “If that is really best,” she said, and ripping up another towel, she tied the makeshift pads into place.

  Sister Henriette and Sister Marie-Marc came into the kitchen then, and between them all they managed to get the fugitive onto her feet and support her slowly across the room.

  “Clean the pantry floor, Sister,” Mother Marie-Pierre instructed Sister Marie-Marc as they manoeuvred the injured woman out of the door. “Make sure there is nothing to show what went on here.”

  Before they emerged from the corridor into the hall, Sister Eloise went ahead and found Sister Celestine at her usual post beside the front door. She sent her to the ward kitchen with instructions to fetch some bandages and to bring them to the reverend mother’s cell.

  “Don’t alarm anyone,” she said, “it’s nothing much.”

  With the portress safely out of sight they moved as quickly as they could up the stairs to the main landing where the nuns had their individual sleeping cells. Within moments they had negotiated their way along the corridor to that of the reverend mother, and the woman was lowered gently onto the bed. Sister Eloise set about cleaning the wound, sending Sister Henriette for hot water while Mother Marie-Pierre found more towels from the linen cupboard at the end of the passage.

  As she carried these back along the landing she glanced out of the window and saw, to her horror, Major Thielen’s car crawling up the lane towards the convent gate, followed by a truck full of soldiers.

  “The Germans are coming,” she hissed as she placed the towels on the chair by the bed. “Major Thielen’s car is coming up the lane.”

  Sister Eloise looked up. “You’ve blood on the front of your habit, Mother,” she said quietly. “Put on a nursing apron before you greet the major. Go now,” she added as Mother Marie-Pierre hesitated, “I can manage here. Tell Sister Henriette to hurry with the water.” She spoke with the ease of one used to command, and Mother Marie-Pierre nodded and hurried away, pausing momentarily at the linen cupboard to seize one of the huge white aprons the nursing sisters wore in the hospital. It was voluminous enough to cover most of her habit including the bloodstains on the front, where the woman had leaned against her. As she descended the stairs she met both Sister Henriette returning with a jug of hot water from the kitchen and Sister Celestine coming back with the bandages from the hospital.

  “Give the bandages to Sister Henriette,” she said to Sister Celestine. The little nun had handed them over and the reverend mother issued swift orders to Sister Henriette. “Take all that up to Sister Eloise as quickly as you can, and then go at once to the children’s wing and warn Sister Danielle that the Germans are here. Tell her to take all the children up to the chapel and to lead them in prayers, aloud. If they search the convent they must find all the children kneeling at prayer in the chapel. Marthe too. Do you understand?”

  Sister Henriette did. “Yes, Mother.” She hurried up the stairs with the water. Even as she disappeared Mother Marie-Pierre heard the slam of a car door.

  “When they ring the bell,” she said to Sister Celestine, “answer the door as usual and bring the major to me in my office.”

  The portress looked frightened, but she nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

  Drawing a deep breath and firing a prayer heavenwards, the reverend mother turned away from the front door and walked towards her office ready to deal with Major Thielen when he was brought in. She came to an abrupt halt, however, when she heard Sister Celestine give a shrill cry, a cry that was abruptly cut off. Spinning on her heel, Mother Marie-Pierre hurried back to the hall where she found Sister Celestine standing, terrified, at the wrong end of a German rifle, as Major Thielen and a group of soldiers crowded in through the door.

  “Major Thielen!” ejaculated Mother Marie-Pierre. “What is the meaning of this intrusion? What are these men doing in the convent?” Without pausing for him to answer she turned to the petrified nun. “It’s all right, Sister, please go and ask Sister Marie-Paul to join us here.”

  “Stand exactly where you are!” barked the major, at which the soldier raised his rifle more threateningly and the portress, who had started to move, froze once more.

  “Major,” began Mother Marie-Pierre, “I really don’t understand what is going on here. Why have you come and why are you threatening my sisters with your guns? If you wish to come into the convent you have only to ask, as you have done before.”

  Ignoring her completely, the major issued an order to his men. “Search the place,” he snapped. “Look in every room, including the hospital… especially the hospital. Taube, Hesse, stay with me.”

  “Major, please,” Mother Marie-Pierre tried again. “If you could just tell me what you are looking for, perhaps I can help.”

  The men streamed out of the hall, spreading out along the corridors towards the refectory, the kitchen and the recreation room as they began their search. Two men only remained, the one covering Sister Celestine with his rifle and another who had turned his on the mother superior. Now at last the major gave her his attention.

  “Prisoners have escaped from the village,” he said shortly. “They may be hiding here… even without your knowledge, Mother.”

  “Please ask your men to lower their rifles,” Mother Marie-Pierre said. Her voice sounded calm enough, but her heart was pounding. “They are terrifying Sister Celestine, and there is really no need to do so. Neither of us is going to run away.”

  The major waved a dismissive hand at the soldiers and they lowered their rifles. “You,” he said, jerking his head to one of them, “you come with me. We will search upstairs.” He looked back at the two nuns. “You will wait for us here.”

  “I shall accompany you,” said Mother Marie-Pierre. She fought to sound calm, but all the time her mind was racing. Had Sister Marie-Marc had time to get the pantry floor scrubbed before the Germans reached the kitchen? Any bloodstains on the floor would alert the soldiers, and they might bully information out of the elderly nun. Convent normality must be the order of the day.

  Reverend Mother glanced across at Sister Celestine who was now leaning, pale-faced, against the wall. “Go and help Sister Marie-Marc in the kitchen. Tell her to prepare some coffee and bring it to my office for the major’s refreshment when he has finished his search.” The little nun looked anxiously at the rifle, but before she could move, Major Thielen barked out an order. “No! She stays here.” The rifle immediately swung up again, and she cowered back against the wall. “You,” he turned his attention back to the reverend mother, “may come with us if you insist.”

  “I do insist,” Mother Marie-Pierre replied quietly. “It is my convent you are searching; I have responsibility for it and the community that lives within it. If there is anything or anyone to be found, who should not be here, then I wish to know of it too.”

  She had hoped to delay him long enough for the children to reach the comparative safety of the chapel, but with the soldiers fanning out through the convent she was now anxious that it should be the major himself who found them on their knees in prayer. She had seen the re
verence with which he had entered the chapel on his first visit and could only pray that he would feel as constrained this time and not interrupt the children at their prayers. His men might have no such restraint. She hoped that Sister Henriette had taken the message as swiftly as possible to Sister Danielle and that she had acted immediately.

  “And is there anyone here who should not be?” demanded the major, his eyes fixed on her face.

  Mother Marie-Pierre held his gaze. “No.”

  Without another word he turned on his heel and started up the stairs followed by the soldier and the reverend mother. At the top he spoke to the man. “Every door, Taube.”

  Taube went to the first door and raising his boot, kicked it open, bursting in, rifle at the ready. It was one of the sister’s sleeping cells, the very one Major Thielen had looked into before. There was nowhere to conceal anything in the room and after a quick glance round the soldier gave his report. “Nothing in here, sir.”

  “The doors do have handles,” pointed out Mother Marie-Pierre mildly, “and none of them is locked.”

  The major spoke to the man again and he opened the next door in a more restrained manner, but again found nothing. As they made their way along the corridor towards her own sleeping cell, Mother Marie-Pierre wondered how she was going to keep them from searching that. As they reached the door before hers, her own door opened and Sister Eloise came out carrying an armful of bedding.

  She spoke immediately to her superior apparently unaware of what was going on. “Oh, Mother” she said, “I’m afraid poor Sister St Bruno has had another accident in her bed. I’ve changed the sheets and put her in a clean nightdress, so she’s comfortable again now.” She sighed. “I’m afraid she’s rather distressed, but I’m hoping she’ll have a little sleep now.”

  “Don’t worry, Sister, I’ll look in on her,” Mother Marie-Pierre replied, wondering just who she was going to find in the little room when they opened the door. “Just take the sheets down to Sister St Jacques in the laundry.”

  “Please go into this room quietly,” Mother Marie-Pierre murmured to the major as she stood between him and the door. “A bedridden sister is in here. She is old and frail and will be very scared if you burst in.” She then whispered confidentially, in case the major had not already picked up on her conversation with Sister Eloise. “I’m afraid she’s… well, as you see we’ve had to change her sheets. She can’t always control herself, poor dear.”