The Sisters of St. Croix

by Diney Costeloe

  During the previous afternoon, she had returned to the convent kitchen to tell Sister Elizabeth that her aunt was ill and that she would not be able to come to work for the next few days. The nun had been sympathetic and had accepted her story. Sister Marie-Marc had looked at her speculatively, but Adelaide greeted the query in her eyes with a bland smile. “I hope to be back in a few days.”

  As she left the courtyard through the back gate, she had paused by the grating, and with the pretence of removing a pebble from her shoe she had stuffed a note down between the bars of the grille. It had told the prisoners below little more than that she would return soon, and her plans were underway, but at least they knew they were not forgotten.

  Her thoughts were jolted back to the present by the sound of an engine coming up behind them. Gerard pulled Sunshine into a gateway, to allow a black Citroën, flying the swastika on its front wings, to sweep past them, and disappear in a cloud of dust. It had been impossible to see who was travelling in the car, but Adelaide recognised it as one she’d seen outside the German headquarters in St Croix. “Colonel Hoch?” she suggested.

  “Maybe,” Gerard said, as he shook up the reins and Sunshine lumbered out into the lane once more.

  At least whoever was in the speeding car wasn’t interested in a country cart on its way to market, Adelaide thought. She could only hope that no one would be interested in a woman on a bicycle with a child in the seat behind her.

  When they reached the edge of town Adelaide slipped down from the cart and made her way to the station, while the Launays trundled on into the centre, with the few items of produce they had brought to sell, or exchange, at the market.

  Adelaide went to the station and found that there was a train for Amiens due within the hour, so she got herself a ticket, bought a newspaper from a stand and sat down to wait. Surprisingly the train was almost on time, and along with a crowd of others she scrambled gratefully into a carriage. As the train pulled out of the station some minutes later, she found herself crammed into a compartment with seven other people. Opening her paper she hid behind it, only emerging to show her ticket to the ticket inspector. There were no spot checks of identity cards, and when they reached Amiens Adelaide was able to get off and leave the station unchallenged. Following Sarah’s directions, she had little trouble in finding the Church of the Holy Cross.

  The notice board outside proclaimed the parish priest to be Father Bernard Dupré. Mass was at eight o’clock every morning, and confession daily between two and four o’clock.

  Adelaide had been going to knock on the door of the priest’s house and ask to see Father Bernard, but now a better idea came to her. She looked at her watch. It was half-past two. He would already be in the church ready to hear confessions. How much better it would be if she approached him in the confessional. She could speak to him privately without giving rise to comment or suspicion.

  She pushed the church door open and slipped inside. She could see the confessional box in one of the transepts. There was an old lady kneeling in a pew outside, but the door of the box was open to show that the priest was ready to receive his next penitent. Adelaide knelt for a moment or two, her head bowed, then she rose and went inside, pulling the door closed behind her. It was so long since she had been to confession that she had almost forgotten the words.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  She heard the murmur of a voice from the other side of the curtain and spoke softly. “Father Bernard, is that you? Mother Marie-Pierre sent me.”

  For a moment there was silence and then the curtain twitched aside and the priest looked through at her.

  “I’m sorry, my child,” he said, “but I think you must be mistaken. I don’t think I know a Mother Marie-Pierre.”

  “I understand, Father… but even so she sends you this message. Sergeant Terry Ham reached home in safety. That’s what she asked me to say.”

  The priest looked at her from under hooded brows. “I am always glad to hear that people are safe,” he said cautiously.

  Adelaide held his gaze, and then took the plunge. “There is a family who need your help, Father. May I bring them to you?”

  “What could I do for them?” he asked.

  “They need to get away to somewhere they aren’t known,” replied Adelaide. “You have contacts.” When the priest didn’t answer she went on. “There are two little boys, twins, only four years old. Jacques and Julien. If I don’t get them away soon, they will surely be found.”

  “Where are their parents?” asked Father Bernard. He seemed to have come to some decision.

  “With them at present, but they will be safer not moving as a family. They will travel separately.”

  “How would you bring the children?”

  “One at a time, on the train. They’re identical. They would be too conspicuous if we moved them together.”

  “It doubles the risk for you,” pointed out the priest.

  “Yes,” agreed Adelaide, “but it’s the only way.”

  “And the parents?” Father Bernard asked again.

  “They will travel in disguise. Mother Marie-Pierre will provide a nun’s habit for the mother, I was hoping you could give me a cassock to take back for the father. With luck, dressed like that they won’t be challenged.”

  “And if you are stopped while bringing the boys to me, what will you say?”

  “I’ll have a letter from a doctor saying that the child needs to see an eye specialist at the hospital here in Amiens. I hope that will be explanation enough.”

  “We’ve talked long enough here,” said the priest. “When you leave the confessional, stay kneeling in the church for a while as if doing penance, then go over to the house and tell Madame Papritz that I said you were to wait for me there. I’ll come across as soon as I’ve finished here.”

  It was some time later that Father Bernard was able to join Adelaide in the priest’s house. In the meantime she had been left in the parlour by Madame Papritz, who, on hearing she had had nothing to eat, brought her some bread and a teaspoonful of jam.

  “I am sorry there is not more to offer you,” she apologised, “but you know how things are.”

  Adelaide certainly did; food was scarce everywhere, but in the cities it was far worse than in the rural areas, where people could supplement their diet with home-grown produce. She thanked the housekeeper, and having eaten the bread and jam she settled back to wait for Father Bernard.

  When the priest came in he took Adelaide into his study and closed the door.

  “Now then, Mademoiselle.”

  “Antoinette.”

  “Antoinette. You’d better tell me the whole story, and then we’ll see what I can do to help.”

  20

  Adelaide returned to Albert carrying a small cardboard suitcase. Again her train journey was trouble-free, and it was with relief that she met the Launays as arranged in a café close to the market. They did not ask her where she had been, or whom she had met. They all knew that it was safer for them to know nothing. Gerard simply put Sunshine between the shafts and they set off home together through the early twilight.

  By the time she kept the appointment with Marcel at Madame Juliette’s, Adelaide had her whole plan mapped out. Marcel greeted her with a kiss on either cheek, and, having poured them each a glass of wine the three of them sat round the table in Madame Juliette’s kitchen. Adelaide told them how she had got on.

  “The priest is prepared to take the children and has provided a cassock for Joseph Auclon’s disguise. As soon as I can get the twins to him, he will move them on. As far as the parents are concerned, if they can reach him safely, he will do his best for them. He’ll tell them where the children are, but they won’t be reunited with them in the foreseeable future. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Supposing the parents won’t let the children go?” suggested Marcel.

  “I’m sure they will when they realise that it may be the only way to save their lives,” Juliette
said. “They’ll put their children first.”

  “I’m going to tell them this evening, after I leave here,” Adelaide said. “And then I hope to take the first child tomorrow. How did you get on with the ration cards, Marcel? Any luck?”

  “More than I’d expected,” Marcel said. “If you can call it luck. A little lad called Olivier Costeau died of diphtheria a couple of weeks ago. He was only four. When I explained what we needed, his parents gave me his identity card and his ration card. The picture probably isn’t very like the Auclon boys. What colour is their hair?”

  “Dark,” replied Adelaide.

  “Good. So was Olivier’s, so it may be better than nothing.” Marcel held out the documents and Adelaide took them, looking carefully at the photograph. She forced from her mind that she was looking at the picture of a dead four-year-old, and concentrated on the use to which his papers could be put.

  “It’s a grainy picture of a little boy,” she said, passing it across to Juliette. “If we part the Auclon boys’ hair on the same side and make the front stand up in that little quiff, they might pass muster provided the papers are only given a cursory glance. It’s worth a try anyway.”

  Juliette nodded. “Best we can do,” she said, “and certainly better than being without any.”

  Marcel then produced a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “I’ve got these, too,” he said. “Some of Olivier’s clothes.” He passed them over to Adelaide. “His parents said that they hoped they would be of use to some other boy now.”

  Adelaide unwrapped the parcel. There were two sets of good sturdy clothing and two pairs of shoes. She remembered how ragged the twins had looked as they sat in the Launays’ kitchen, and her heart went out to the parents of little dead Olivier.

  “Thank them for us,” she said to Marcel. “And for Madame Auclon. She’ll be so grateful. Those boys are dressed in rags.”

  “Now I have something for you,” Madame Juliette said. She crossed to a little desk at the side of the room, and, opening it, produced a piece of paper. “I went to see Dr Monceau this morning,” she said, “and while his receptionist was in with him I managed to get hold of a piece of his headed paper. Only one, though, so we need to do a practice run before we write on it.”

  Adelaide beamed at the old lady. “Madame Juliette,” she said in admiration, “you are amazing!” She looked at the paper with Dr Monceau’s name, address and qualifications across the top. “This is perfect.”

  Together they worked out the wording they would need in the doctor’s letter, and then, having practised the doctor’s spidery hand from a prescription Juliette had, Marcel carefully wrote the letter on the stolen paper.

  Dear Doctor Aristide,

  I am sending this boy, Olivier Costeau, to you because I am gravely worried about his deteriorating sight. Though his eyes seem clear enough much of the time, on occasion they cloud over and the child loses his peripheral vision. This is happening with increasing frequency and as it is not something I have come across before, I would appreciate you taking a look and recommending some treatment before this loss of sight becomes permanent.

  I remain, yours faithfully,

  Denis Monceau

  “That should cover us if we’re stopped,” Adelaide said with more assurance than she felt. Would a German soldier, or a French gendarme for that matter, accept the letter at face value? She could only pray that they would.

  “With the identity card, a ration card and the child in reasonable clothing, and the doctor’s letter, you should get through safely enough,” Marcel agreed. “Now all we have to do is to convince the Auclons to let the boys go.”

  “And convince the boys to leave their parents,” added Madame Juliette.

  This problem had been vexing Adelaide too. How would the little boys react to being taken away from their mother and father? They were only four years old after all, and for much of their short lives had been living in fear. How would they behave when she took them, one at a time, from the security of their parents? It was vital to the whole plan that they went with her without fuss, that they did nothing that would draw attention to themselves.

  “We shall have to rely on the parents for that,” Adelaide said now. “It’s all we can do. And I’d better go and get on with it.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Marcel announced, adding as Adelaide was about to veto the idea, “we’ll be far less suspicious if we are seen as a courting couple.” He gave her a grin. “It worked before!”

  Adelaide gave a reluctant smile. “All right then, but I don’t want to put you at risk when this really has nothing to do with you.”

  “Anything thwarting the Germans has to do with me,” Marcel retorted. “Come on, it’s time to go.” He hid the parcel of clothes under his jacket, and Adelaide took charge of Olivier’s papers, hiding them in her underwear.

  “I have some food here for them,” Madame Juliette said, passing over a packet for Adelaide to stow in her shoulder bag. “Just some bread and cheese and hard-boiled eggs. Not much I’m afraid, but it may keep them going for another few days.”

  She gave each of them a hug. “Be very careful, both of you,” she said. “There are spies everywhere.” She opened the back door and checked that the alley was empty, before Adelaide and Marcel slipped out into the night and made their way to the copse below the convent. It was full darkness, but a sliver of moon hung in a cloudless sky, allowing them to see—and be seen. It was not yet curfew and so they walked together, arm in arm, a courting couple; they met no one, but you never knew who might be watching. Once in the shelter of the copse, they moved silently between the trees up the hill towards the convent wall. Here they waited for several minutes, listening. The night around them seemed empty and still and so they ventured along the track to where the little bush marked the grating.

  Adelaide pushed the two twigs through the grille and then after a moment she and Marcel levered it up, allowing Monsieur Auclon to poke his head up from below.

  “We must talk to you,” whispered Adelaide. “We can’t risk you coming out here, we’ll have to come down.”

  Joseph Auclon nodded and disappeared. Adelaide lowered herself through the hole, followed by Marcel, who drew the grille down over their heads once more. The atmosphere in the cellar was fetid, the smell of unwashed bodies, urine and faeces combining with the stale air to make an almost tangible miasma.

  We have to get these people away, Adelaide thought even as she greeted the family. They can’t stay in these conditions much longer.

  Joseph lit a candle end and sheltered it in a box so that its glow was concealed from above. In the flickering light Adelaide could see the anxious faces of the parents and the wide eyes of the children, all afraid of what she was going to say.

  “We’ve brought some more food,” she said, handing the packet to Janine Auclon. The woman’s hands shook as she opened it and passed out a piece of bread to each of her children, folding the rest back into the bag and setting it aside.

  “This is Marcel,” Adelaide told them. “He’s going to help me get you away from here. He has some things for you, too.” Marcel handed the bundle of clothes to Madame Auclon who stared in a mixture of disbelief and gratitude when she saw what they were.

  “We have a plan to get you away,” Adelaide continued, “but it has to be done in stages. We have only one set of documents for the boys, so they will have to travel separately.”

  “Oh no!” Madame Auclon gave an involuntary cry, but her husband hushed her with a hand on her arm. “Let Antoinette finish.”

  “I will take one of them with me this evening,” Adelaide said. “He’ll stay at the farm overnight and then first thing in the morning I will ride into Albert on my bike with him in the child seat on the back. Once in Albert, we shall take the train. There is a priest who will take him in and look after him until I bring his brother, transported in the same way.” She went on to explain about the letter from the doctor.

  “I shall only use that if I a
bsolutely have to. They might check. Then, once both the boys are safely with the priest, he will move them on to a place of greater safety.”

  “Where?” asked Madame Auclon, unable to remain silent any longer. “Where will he take them?”

  “I will tell you in time, Madame,” Adelaide promised. “But for the moment the fewer people who know the better. It is safer for us all.”

  “We understand,” Joseph said. “But if these people are risking their lives for us…”

  “You will know in time,” repeated Adelaide. “But their risk is greater if you know who or where they are. If you were captured—” She let the sentence hang in the air.

  “And us?” asked Janine Auclon quietly. “What are you going to do with us?”

  “When the boys are safe, I will come back for you, and try and get you to the same priest. After that it is out of my hands. I don’t know his contacts any more than he knows mine.” She took Janine’s hand in hers. “I’ll come back and I’ll bring disguises for you both. We’ll have an arranged signal for you to open the inner door. Then we’ll get you out through the convent.”

  “What disguises?” asked Joseph suspiciously. “How will we be able to travel without papers?”

  “You will be disguised as a Catholic priest,” replied Adelaide calmly, “and Janine as a nun. Travelling together, as priest and nun, you may not be troubled for your papers. I might even have some for you by then, I don’t know.”

  “Must we really split up?” asked Janine. “The boys are too young to go without us. What will happen to them? How will I bear it?”

  “The Germans are still searching for you,” Adelaide told her, “and they’re looking for a family. If we move you all together, we shall fail. You’ll all be caught. This way you all have a chance to escape and survive. Once you reach the priest you will be out of the immediate area and so, probably, out of immediate danger.”