Yvette snatched up a few children, hid them in a bedroom and then returned to see others crouched behind the sofa or under the table.
Her heart pounding in her throat, she hurried to André’s side, and noticed his gun was no longer aimed at the intruder.
“Monsieur Rousselot is our contact. He was delayed by the police.”
“Get the children dressed. I overheard someone tell the officials a nun and priest were hiding out in an abandoned house.” Rousselot helped a little boy put on a coat. “I rushed over as fast as I could, but they are not far off.” He mobbed his bald head with a handkerchief.
Frantic, Yvette ran around the house gathering whatever food items she could while trying to secure clothing and comfort frightened children.
“Where will you take them,” André asked.
“I have several safe houses nearby with people who are willing to hide them. We will separate them until it is safe to continue. Then I will take them all to Lyon like planned.”
“You can’t handle them alone, not now in broad daylight with the police on your tail. I am going with you,” André insisted.
“No,” Yvette heard Monsieur Rousselot say. “You must leave. They are my responsibility.”
“André’s right,” she chimed in, “we can’t just run off and leave them.” She wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
She looked at Tanya with her chubby rosy cheeks—and freckled face Tomas— and there was Hanna to think about and… and…Yvette didn’t know which way to turn first. She grabbed her nun habit and priest robe and threw them in the fire. That disguise was the first thing the police would be looking for. She heard a woman’s voice and turned. A man and woman stood in the doorway.
“Come quickly.” Monsieur Rousselot ushered them in. “See I have help.” He glanced outside. “We must hurry.”
André grabbed Yvette’s hand. “They will be ok. We have done what we were supposed to do.”
“But--”
“There are others who need us, people counting on our presence.”
He was right. Yvette nodded. She knew at the onset they’d be handing the children off. She hadn’t thought it would be so difficult.
“There is a horse and wagon waiting about a mile down the road in an alleyway between the bank and the market,” Monsieur Rousselot said as he hoisted Tanya into his arms. “Bon chance.” They would need all the luck they could get, Yvette thought as she reached out and kissed Tanya’s forehead. “Bye-bye my darlin…” Tears formed. “I will miss you.” Yvette turned her head, covered her mouth and blinked several times in an effort to shield her emotions.
“We have to go,” André ordered as he pulled her away.
A sob escaped Hanna’s tight lips and André bent down. He wrapped one arm around her small waist; the other cradled her head in the crook of his arm. Hanna’s cheek pressed into his chest as his big body shielded her in a comforting embrace. Her little chin trembled as more sobs sprang forth revealing two missing front teeth. Her face was crunched with a wretched sadness Yvette felt in her own heart.
André kissed the top of her head. “Stay safe little one,” he murmured into Hanna’s curly hair, “stay safe.”
Tears tore from Yvette’s eyes as André sniffled, the painful emotion so strong it broke her heart. Reluctantly, he straightened and placed Hanna’s hand into the woman’s, who stood waiting.
As they all rushed outside, Yvette threw a glance over her shoulder. The sight of those children being led away would forever be tattooed in her memory. With a snap, the joy she felt moments ago brightening her spirits was gone, replaced with fear for their well-being. The need to turn around became so intense she stopped.
André grabbed her hand. “I know how you feel, but you can’t.”
Her eyes clouded by tears, she clung to his tight grip. Like shadows, they ran, zigzagging between houses and shops. She heard a whistle blow and knew the police had found their house, at least she prayed it was the house and not the children.
Hoping they headed in the direction of the bank, at the corner they struck off to the right at full speed. Finally, they came upon a building with the word Banque over the doorway. They darted into the alley. True to Rousselot’s promise, a sad looking horse stood patiently waiting.
Yvette couldn’t help but notice the large pine box in the back of the wagon. Their cover was a hearse! Her thoughts clouded by the idea that there might be a body in the coffin, she was keenly aware of André’s arms around her waist as he hoisted her up. Knowing his aversion toward the dead, she glanced at him as he settled on the bench, handed her a handkerchief and then picked up the reins.
“It’s just a box,” he said with a flick of his wrist. The wagon started with a jolt.
Their gaze glued on the gray horizon, they rode in silence. Tension grew with each thud—clop—thud of hooves giving away their location.
Yvette knew the village was indeed inhabited and her nervous gaze darted like a ping-pong ball. She strained to see if faces peered through curtained windows. She strained to hear voices ordering them to stop. Beside her, André focused his attention straight ahead. Only his erratic breathing gave away his stoic control.
Fog rolled like tumbleweeds over the silent town, reminiscent of a western ghost town, minus the saloons she mused, thankful for the white haze now cloaking them. Bitter cold wind blew whipping her hair in front of her face. She closed her eyes against the onslaught and hugged her body to keep from shaking. The knot in her chest twisted like a fisted hand.
Determined to hold down the jumpy fear tearing inside her, she thought about the children, wondered how they were getting on. Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them away. Dear lord, she whispered, keep them safe.
She thought about Monsieur Rousselot and the risk he took to find them. If not for the bravery of so many nameless people willing to offer their help, she swore she would denounce this entire country.
She thought about André’s mother who knew of her son’s actions yet, despite the strain of worry, applauded him.
The horse stumbled, jarring her attention to the present. She held her breath a moment and stared. The dirt road flanked by thick woods made a perfect hiding place for informants. From what she could see, they were miles from any village. She felt so vulnerable and with each clop of the horse’s hooves giving away their location the tension in her shoulders grew taut.
“André, how will we find our way back?”
“The horse knows the way.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Rousselot told me that this fine beast,” he gestured to the old bony horse that was anything but a beauty, “came from Marseille and traveled this road many times back and forth.”
“We can’t sneak across the demarcation line this time.” She wrung her hands together. “I hope there is a dead body back there.”
“For both our sakes I hope you are right.” He pulled back on the reins and the wagon stopped.
“What?” Yvette’s heart jumped in her throat. “Did you hear something?” Her gaze pierced through the menacing forest.
“No.” He jumped from the wagon and walked to the back. Curious, she angled her body toward him, wondering what he was planning to do. He pried the top of the box open slightly, hesitated, took a quick peek inside and let the wood drop with a thud. “All’s well,” he said when he climbed on board. “Definitely dead.”
Awed by the strength of his character, she forced a smile and straightened in her seat.
An hour or so later they came to the city limits and no amount of distraction could control the wild rhythm of Yvette’s heart.
Alongside two policemen, two German soldiers stood at the checkpoint.
“What are they doing there?” Her high-pitched tone sounded terse and she realized she had to calm down. She took a deep breath and exhaled evenly.
André pulled the wagon to a stop. “It appears as if they are in some kind of debate with the police.”
Yvette clasped he
r hand tightly. “Do you think more soldiers follow? Are they invading Marseille now as well? They’re usually not this far south.”
André shifted in his seat facing her. “You cannot worry about that now. Take out your papers. Answer only if asked and say very little.”
She nodded.
He pulled a gun out of his boot. “Take this.”
“I can’t.” She recoiled.
“Look. The odds are not bad. If need be I can take out a few before they get to us, but I’ll need your help. If the firing starts, shoot for the head, then turn away,” he said as he shoved the gun into her hands. “And stay calm.”
How was she to stay composed when her pulse thrashed like leaves in a storm and her heart sounded so loud it might give her fear away?
She tucked the gun under her right hip. Her fingers trembled as she held her entry card in her lap. She placed her other hand at her side and felt the gun within her reach. Breathe, just breathe.
Slowly the wagon rolled forward and stopped at the group of men.
A sharp-faced soldier goose marched over to them. “Your papers,” he demanded then flicked his hand out toward them.
What if he recognized a forgery? Yvette bit her lip and tried not to fidget in her seat.
Quietly the German scanned their documents. “From where do you come?” he said in broken French.
“One village over,” André replied.
That was a lie, Yvette thought, then realized he didn’t want to jeopardize the children’s whereabouts and was pointing him in the opposite direction.
“Why did you bring that here?” The German pointed to the coffin.
“My uncle died when visiting a friend. I am bringing him back to my family for a proper burial,” André said.
“It’s late for travel,” he said, eyeing them with suspicion.
Hatchet face. The thought popped out of nowhere and Yvette held down a giddy laugh stemming from nerves. His profile looked like a sharp-chipped blade.
“I was not aware there was a curfew,” André answered his tone even and almost too smooth. To someone who didn’t know him better they’d think that velvety timbre suggested a placid demeanor, she knew better. He reeked of controlled anger.
The German handed them back their papers and pivoted. Relieved, Yvette’s back, slumped against the wooden seat. André kept his gaze focused. The horse, that stood patiently eyeing the ground, snapped up his head and bit the German in the ass.
The German let out a yelp, stumbled forward and grabbed his backside, his fingers trying to close the large gap in his pants.
André pulled back on the reins.
A short chuckle burst from Yvette’s mouth.
The German whipped around “You--you…” Red-faced, he stepped up to the horse.
The horse chomped on a piece of uniform.
Afraid to get too close, the officer leaned forward and jutted out his hand. Like a pull and tug, without the rope, he poked his hand back and forth several times in an effort to pry the fabric free. Too afraid to get near the animal’s mouth, he was nowhere close to snatching back the fabric. When the horse shook his head and snorted, the German stumbled backward.
The soldier’s comrades were laughing so hard Yvette had a difficult time suppressing her grin and she’d swear, if animals could find the situation funny, the horse would be showing some teeth right about now. André, God bless him, showed no emotion.
The soldier sidestepped the horse and slid over to André’s side of the wagon.
“You did that on purpose!” He stamped his foot, either from anger or frustration, for Yvette got the feeling he searched for the right French words. “You amused, teach that…” he gestured toward the horse, “to disrespect me.”
“I can assure you I did not teach him,” André said.
“Down,” he ordered and Yvette’s heart held. “You,” he pointed to André. “Down.”
At that moment, the horse decided to drop the fabric. With a snarl, the German swiped the torn piece of his uniform from the ground and plastered it to his backside.
André handed her the reins. “If anything should happen to me,” he whispered, “you move this wagon as fast as you can and get out of here.”
“I won’t leave you.”
“Yes, you will.” André flashed opened his jacket revealing a gun. “More than likely I’ll be dead and you don’t want to be arrested.”
The German straightened. “Move,” he ordered then glanced to his comrades who stood laughing.
André jumped from the wagon and followed the officer, who held the cloth against his derrière as he marched toward the checkpoint.
As she waited, Yvette’s foot tapped the floor of the wagon. She had no idea how to use a gun, but so help her if André fired she would too. If he didn’t get his chance, she was not going to leave.
The horse pawed the ground and the wheels rolled forward. Her heart in her throat, Yvette gently pulled back and prayed the horse wouldn’t bolt. She had no idea how to stop a runaway horse!
She threw a desperate glance at André, who was deep in conversation with the other German soldier. What was he saying? Would they believe him? What if they arrested him? The tapping of her foot against the wagon’s floorboards grew more rapid. Her vision glued to the men, Yvette sat and waited as the minutes seemed to drag by. The reins felt heavy in her hands as she gripped the leather tightly. She couldn’t move in fear of startling the horse and to make things worse, she had to pee!
What was her fate? She crossed her legs. Would they arrest her? André’s warning rang in her ear. She knew what lay behind those words and the hard look in his eyes. If those men thought they could have their way with her, she’d swallow the cyanide capsule tucked in her pocket.
As she sat there envisioning the worst, Yvette’s chest grew taut with a knot she envisioned protruding like a mountainous sized bump.
Finally, after at least an hour of tapping, clenched legs and control, André returned. He boarded the wagon without a word, took the reins from her white-knuckled fists and guided the wagon into city limits.
When they were clear of danger Yvette turned to him. “What did you say to them?”
“Well, they weren’t happy.” His voice sounded stern.
“So?” Her leg tapped the wagon’s floor.
“It is Christmas.”
“Yes, I know that,’ she replied with exasperation.
“I think that was the most amusement our German and French friends have been privy to in a long time.”André’s serious eyes met hers. “I told them my horse hated men.” He grinned and she wondered why he found that amusing. “And that I too have taken a bite, or too, in places unmentionable.”
A short laugh of relief burst from her lips. She quickly stifled her mouth with her hand. They’d been in enough trouble, drawing attention was a danger she could do without.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THEY BROUGHT THE WAGON to the church.
Father François promised the body would get a proper burial.
André insisted he walk Yvette home. The crisp winter air, flavored with the Christmas spirit, carried a desolation that was hard to ignore.
Music filtered out from an open window and as they passed by, Yvette listened to Bing Crosby sing Silent Night, Holy Night. The deep crooning voice made her homesick for family, snow and for the happiness and the innocence of her youth. As much as she loved Paris, she missed the cows mulling in the pastures of her small village, the colorful wildflowers in the open fields she loved to paint and the sound of the church bell announcing Sunday mass. She missed her grandpère. Any day now, she was headed for America, a land so away from everything she loved.
“Yvette?” André looked at her with concern.
“It’s nothing. I was just wondering about the States. I haven’t felt American in many years. I’m not sure I will fit in.”
“Just be yourself and I’m sure everyone will love you.”
“That’s kind of you
to say.”
Could he? Could he ever love her? As much as she kept pushing the thought away, it always came back to that. She had feelings for him. She couldn’t deny that truth. Somewhere between plotting to thwart the Germans, deciphering cryptic messages and saving the lives of innocents, she had fallen in love with him.
They entered the hotel lobby, which was decorated with garland, ribbons and Christmas balls, creating a festive atmosphere and declaration of defiance the war could not damper.
“André,” Yvette turned to him. “I know it’s not proper, but would you come in and stay for a while, have a drink with me?”
“Are you sure?”
Unsure, but determined to explore her feelings, she pushed open the door. “I am past worrying about what people think.”
“It is Christmas. One drink.” André followed her in and closed the door. He sat in a plush yellow chair and she couldn’t help but notice he still wore his coat. Was he uncomfortable? Did he not wish to stay?
Yvette hurried into the bedroom, took care of personal needs and then stepped back into the spacious living area that all of a sudden felt a little close. Maybe inviting him was a mistake. If he stayed and she gave into temptation would he tell her he returned her love? What if he didn’t?
She found two glasses and a bottle of red wine she hid away for such an occasion and then walked over to him. He opened the bottle, poured them each a glass and raised the crystal goblet.
“Merry Christmas,” he said in English and she knew he was preparing her for her journey across the ocean.
“Joyeux Noël.” They clinked glasses.
“I feel bad you are not with your family.” Yvette took a sip of wine.
“My family understands.”
“You are lucky. You have a family who loves you.”
“And what of you chérie? Do you not feel the same?”
Yvette sighed. “Hmm…” She shook her head and took another sip. “Let us just say when my parents were together one needed earplugs. My grandpère used to usher us out of the room.” Grandpère always reminded her he had a good marriage and not to judge her parents. He promised her she would find love—had she?
Behind The Mask Page 24
