He grabbed a blanket and draped it over Hélène's and Catherine's shoulders.
'Pull this over your heads and hold it there. It should shield us from some of the heat.' He glanced questioningly first at Catherine, then at Hélène. Nothing needed to be said. They understood.
Edmond held the lamp high. Hélène watched as he gracefully tossed it toward the window. The glass globe shattered against the wall and fell to the pile of mattresses, soaking them with oil. Instantly a pillar of furiously crackling flames shot up to the ceiling.
From that moment on, instinct took over. They began stomping on the floor and banging on the door with their fists.
'Fire!' Hélène screamed abruptly. 'Fire!' There was genuine terror in her voice.
Catherine's eyes were wild with fear. 'Help!' she shouted. 'Fire!' From the pitch of her voice, Hélène knew that Catherine's terror was no less real than her own.
She glanced backward. The mattresses were all ablaze now. As she watched, the quilts caught, too. Within seconds the whole far side of the room was a roaring sheet of flame. The stench of burning hair and feathers was nauseating. Then suddenly she couldn't breathe. It was as if the fire were sucking all the air out of the room. Her eyes burned and teared. She began to hammer even more furiously on the door, and screamed again.
'Fire!'
'Help! Help!'
Now the smoke was like a thick black screen. It burned raw in their lungs and they couldn't see a thing. Then they heard quick footsteps outside in the hallway. The farmer was cursing.
The woman let out a shriek. 'Smoke!' she screamed. 'Pouring out from under the door! Claude, do something! The house will burn down!'
Once again they could hear the key turning in the lock. Then the cylinder clicked. There was a rush of sudden fresh air as the door opened.
Choking and coughing, the children stumbled blindly out into the hall. Claude Sorel pushed past them and ran into the inferno. He tore off his jacket and began beating the flames with it. It was futile. On all sides, the wallpaper was a solid wall of flame, and already tongues of fire licked up from the dry wooden floor. The noise was awesome: the fire roared.
The woman was in hysterics. She held her arm up in front of her face to shield it from the heat. 'Claude!' she kept screaming. 'Put it out!'
And then the children rushed down the rickety stairs, almost falling over themselves in the process. There was a dull crash from upstairs as something gave way and fell. The woman shrieked and drew back. Hélène looked up and saw that a massive blazing beam had burned itself loose from the ceiling. One end of it was poking crazily out into the hall; the other still slanted up to the ceiling inside the room. Now it was only a matter of moments before the hall would be engulfed in fire too. And the stairs.
Less than a minute later, they were outside in the clear, icy night. Never had fresh air felt so good. Hélène took deep lungfuls of it and wiped the perspiration off her forehead; her whole body was soaked with sweat.
For a moment they stood there in the snow, staring up at the house. The tiny window at the end of the gable flashed brightly, and the snow on the roof had begun to melt from the heat. Water was pouring down off the eaves. Then suddenly a huge tongue of fire leaped up through the snowy roof into the black sky, licking at the white moon and sending showers of sparks high into the night. Everything around was now yellow, flickering as though it were alive. The house. The barn. The snow. Hélène felt a tug at her sleeve.
'Come on!' Edmond hissed. He was starting off across the snow.
'Wait,' Hélène cried, pointing. 'The sleigh! Can't we take that?'
He nodded. 'You two hop in,' he said. 'I'll drive.'
They hurried toward it, but just then part of the roof caved in with a crash. Terrified, the horses reared and neighed. They broke into a gallop and shot off into the night, pulling the empty sleigh. Edmond ran after them, but in vain. They were halfway across the fields already. He made a gesture of defeat and sprinted back, panting and out of breath.
Once again the children headed across the fields on foot. Only this time they left clear tracks in the snow. Like Hansel and Gretel and their trail of bread crumbs, Hélène thought. Only with us, the birds won't come to peck at them and erase our path.
Edmond seemed to read her thoughts. 'I wish it would start snowing again,' he murmured. 'At least then our footprints would be covered.' He glanced hopefully up at the sky, but it was obvious that there would be no snow coming.
After they had gone about a hundred meters, Hélène turned around and glanced back at the house. The fire completely engulfed the downstairs now, and two little figures—one shorter than the other—were silhouetted against the blaze, rushing around frantically. For a moment Hélène thought about the woman's immaculately scrubbed floors, brushed almost white by her and generations of women before her. Now blazing like kindling. But this was no time for pity. Already she could see the bobbing headlights of vehicles in the distance. We have less time than we thought, Hélène said to herself.
The Boches were fast approaching.
This time, they had dogs.
They could hear them baying in the distance. Hélène's lungs were burning and raw from all the running, but she didn't dare to stop and rest for an instant. Whenever she looked back, she could see tiny flashlight beams cutting through the night.
In their hurry, they had no time to waste choosing the best, safest, or easiest routes. They crashed through scratchy winter foliage, stumbled over frozen fields, and plunged past barren orchards. The dark and the snow were enemies, too, hiding obstacles in their path—rocks, stumps, tree trunks, and fallen branches. Often they fell, but the snow, the culprit that hid the dangerous traps, ironically lent them a helping hand in the process, providing a soft cushion each time they fell.
Every minute, it seemed, the baying of the dogs drew closer. Whenever they glanced back, the waving flashlights had definitely gained on them.
When they reached a narrow, frozen creek with two long boards stretching across it as a kind of bridge, Edmond had them stop for a brief moment so that they could catch their breath. Gratefully they took deep lungfuls of air. Marie was crying, but there no longer was any brandy to silence her with. It was in the burning house, along with the basket of food the doctor's housekeeper had given them. From where they stood, they could still see the fire. The whole sky to the north was tinted with a rosy glow. All of a sudden the glow flared.
'It must be the barn,' Edmond said. 'It must have gone up too. The sparks probably carried over from the house.'
Catherine spit in the snow. 'Serves them right,' she said.
Edmond stared at the plank bridge in the moonlight. 'Listen,' he said excitedly. 'I've got an idea.'
Hélène turned to him. 'What is it?'
'We'll split up.'
Catherine stared at him. 'Split up? But—'
'No buts,' he said roughly. 'We must, especially since they have dogs. Besides, two of us won't be as easily recognized as four. Four children are what they're looking for.'
Hélène was trembling. 'I don't think I like this,' she whined. 'We should all stick together.'
'We can't,' Edmond said with finality. He took a deep breath. 'Catherine, you take Marie. You cross the creek. Once you're over, Hélène and I will remove the planks. That way, the dogs won't follow you. We'll head south along the creek, throwing them off your track.'
Hélène had a sudden sinking feeling. 'No!' she cried. 'I want us to stay together.'
'Shut up!' Edmond hissed. He looked at Catherine.
Her face was pale in the moonlight. She nodded solemnly. 'I'll take good care of Marie,' she promised quietly.
'Take care of yourself, too,' Edmond said. 'We'll meet at Tante Janine's.'
A veil dropped over Catherine's eyes; even in the moonlight Hélène could see it. 'Yes, we'll meet at Tante Janine's,' Catherine said softly.
Quickly they kissed each other good-bye. For a moment Catherine clung to Edmond, her
eyes staring into his. 'I'm sorry,' she said.
'What for?' he asked.
'For being such a fool. About the stealing. I had no right.'
He dug his foot in a pile of snow and looked down. 'Forget it,' he said. 'Once we meet in Saint-Nazaire, we'll be able to exchange notes on who stole what.'
She smiled. 'Yes. We'll do that. Good-bye, Edmond. Good-bye, Hélène.'
Suddenly Edmond reached into his pocket and pressed something into Catherine's hand. 'Maman's ring,' he whispered. 'You may need it more than us.'
She nodded. Then, tears in her eyes, and gently holding Marie against her breast, she carefully crossed over the plank bridge. Once she got to the other side, she stood on a mound of snow watching as Edmond and Hélène knocked the planks loose. Edmond lifted them up and tossed them to the other side. With a fallen branch he brushed snow over where the bridge had been.
It was no longer possible to tell that it had ever been there. Edmond's tracks, and Hélène's, would head along the creek, throwing off the pursuers. For the time being, Catherine and Marie would be safe. It was a small comfort, but at least they had a good head start.
Edmond straightened up and tossed away the branch. For a moment he and Hélène stared over at Catherine. She looked like a forlorn Madonna holding her child. Hélène lifted her arm in a wave. Gravely, Catherine waved back. Then Hélène and Edmond headed south, quickly running along the creek.
Hélène sniffed and wiped her nose with her hand. Her vision was blurred by tears. She wondered if she would ever see Catherine and Marie again.
9
It was half an hour later when they realized they'd lost their pursuers. Hélène could no longer hear the baying of the dogs. When she looked back, the night was black and peculiarly silent. The flashlight beams had vanished. It was clear the Boche weren't following. She tapped Edmond's arm excitedly. 'They're gone!' she exclaimed. 'Look behind us!'
He stopped and turned around. 'So they are,' he said in surprise.
She took what she thought was a well-deserved rest and flung herself down on a felled log. She looked up at Edmond. 'Perhaps they gave up?' she said hopefully.
He turned to her and shook his head. 'Fat chance,' he said soberly. 'They don't give up that easily. Especially not after all the trouble they went through to try to capture us in the first place.'
A terrible thought suddenly took shape in Hélène's mind. Unconsciously she got to her feet. She stared at him. 'You don't think they. . .' Her words trailed off. She couldn't get herself to finish the sentence; it was too horrible to put into words.
Edmond's face clouded over. 'You're wondering whether they've managed to follow Catherine instead of us,' he said heavily.
She nodded.
'I can't answer that. All I know is that she should be safe. I thought we covered her tracks rather well.'
'Maybe they got suspicious,' Hélène said. 'They followed three sets of tracks from the farmhouse, and one set petered out at the stream. Don't you think they might have decided to have a look around?'
'I suppose it's possible,' Edmond said softly. He kicked the log with the tip of his shoe. 'Maybe they went back to get horses. If they decided to do that, they may have knocked off for the night. After all, they can continue the search in the morning and still catch up with us. Our tracks won't disappear overnight.' He smiled grimly. 'They'll be here for days to come.'
She nodded. 'So what do we do?'
'We trick them. We won't leave any tracks for them, nor any scent for their dogs.'
She looked at him suspiciously. 'How?'
'We keep following this creek and hope that it joins up with an even bigger stream. One that's faster moving, and not covered with ice. Then we'll wade through the water. They should be completely thrown off.'
'Brrr .. .' The mere thought of it made her shiver. 'But won't the water be too cold?'
'It will be freezing,' he replied. 'But it's our best bet.' He punched her playfully. 'We better get moving.'
They trudged on. They came across several creeks, but it was only after about three hours that they found an angrily moving stream that was free of ice except at the very edges. Fearfully Hélène stared at this dark caldron boiling angrily over a bed of rocks and boulders.
Ever resourceful, Edmond grabbed a stick and tested the depth of the water. It proved to be pretty shallow. Then he threw the stick in. Quickly it was swept downstream.
He nodded to himself and took Hélène by the hand. 'The current's strong,' he cautioned. 'I want you to hold on to me. If you don't, it might sweep you downstream.'
She nodded. 'I'll be careful,' she said.
Slowly he stepped into the water, and she followed gingerly. She winced, and it took everything for her not to cry out. The water came up to her knees. It was so cold that she thought a knife had suddenly cut off her legs. A second later, she could no longer feel them. She supposed that in a way it was a kind of blessing.
Edmond sensed her distress. 'Bear with it,' he said. 'We're not going to stay in here any longer than we have to.'
But it seemed to her that they waded through that tricky current forever. Several times she lost her footing or a loose rock in the riverbed gave way under her feet. Then only her hold on Edmond saved her from being swept away.
When they reached a low wooden bridge, Edmond drew to a halt underneath it. 'Hold on to something,' he warned. 'I'm going to let go of you. I want to have a look.'
Hélène wrapped her arms securely around an ice-encrusted piling. She watched as he knocked some icicles loose from the edge of the bridge, grabbed hold of it, and pulled himself up. After he had a quick look, he lowered himself back down into the water. She looked at him questioningly.
He smiled. 'It's a little road,' he said. 'It's been traveled on quite a bit lately. Which is good, because our tracks won't be the only ones. Come on.'
They got out of the water, and Edmond climbed up the steep, snow-covered embankment. She followed him, her numb fingers clutching at dead clumps of weeds. When she nearly reached the top, he grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her up the rest of the way.
She was glad to be out of the stream, but strangely enough, she felt even colder now. She guessed it was because some of the feeling was returning to her legs. She looked down. Her stockings and shoes were dripping water. She could hear her teeth chattering.
Edmond's eyes roved over the dark countryside. Thank God for the moonlight, H6l£ne thought. Once again it had turned into an ally. Without it, they wouldn't be able to see a thing.
'We mustn't lose any time,' Edmond said. 'We've got to find a place where we can get warm. Someplace where our clothes can dry. Otherwise we're sure to come down with pneumonia.'
10
It happened seven days after they had fled the blazing farmhouse. The sky was pale with the first light of dawn. The crystalline air was freezing. It was the kind of cold that turned the mucus inside Hélène's nose to frost and made her ears feel like chunks of ice ready to break off. They never even heard the Boches. Suddenly they were just there. The fir branches rustled as the rifle-wielding figures swept soundlessly out from behind the trees and formed a circle around them. Mechanically, one of them stepped forward and checked them for weapons. Then he grunted and drew back.
Hélène was confused and frightened. She glanced at Edmond. He nodded his head, warning her to keep quiet and do as she was told.
Swiftly they were marched uphill to the nearest road. Here four tarpaulin-covered trucks were parked on the shoulder. The Boches pushed them toward the back of the third one. They climbed inside. A couple of armed guards followed behind them.
The truck had two rows of wooden benches facing each other. They sat down on one side, the guards on the opposite. It was much colder now that they weren't moving. Hélène wrapped her arms around herself, briskly rubbing herself with her hands, trying to keep warm.
The truck engine wheezed, coughed, and backfired. There was a sudden lurch as the truck began mo
ving. The road was full of potholes, and they bounced around on the bench.
Hélène looked at Edmond. 'Do you think—' she began.
He cut her off by nudging her roughly. 'They may understand French!' he hissed. 'Watch what you say!'
'Silence!' one of the guards said harshly.
Edmond smiled bleakly. But Hélène could tell he was satisfied that he'd at least managed to say this much. He looked sort of funny with his short, ragged hair. She supposed she looked pretty strange, too. They'd had to cut each other's hair because of lice.
After they'd ridden for a few kilometers, Edmond leaned over and put his head between his knees. Hélène could hear him singing softly to himself. The roar of the engine and the rattling of the truck were so noisy she could barely hear him. At first she didn't pay any attention. Then suddenly she concentrated carefully. Because he wasn't singing to himself. He was singing to her!
It was a tune she knew well, but he was substituting words of his own:
We're just simple peasant children from the town of Saumur.
We have never been to Paris, and no farther than Tours.
Just stick to that story, and even if they know better,
You must stick to what I'm telling you, right to the letter.
Our Papa grew champignons in a cave before he died,
And our dear, sweet Maman she is dead, buried at his side.
Not a brother or sister have we, we are all alone.
Your name will be Eloise and mine is Henri Goyon.
In case they force the issue, maybe get nasty, or what,
Act crazy, have tantrums, do anything to throw them off.
Should they show us the pictures of our sister, remember:
Do not flick an eyebrow, get nervous, or recognize her.
So whatever will happen, little sister, Eloise,
If you understand what I'm saying, won't you poke me, please?
She gave Edmond a poke with her elbow. He stopped singing and sat back up. They exchanged glances and she gave him a little smile.
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