by Kathy Kacer
Albert nodded. “It took me a while before I was able to relax here—and trust anyone. I think I was a lot like your brother when I first arrived.”
“But what changed for you?” Maybe Albert had some advice that would be helpful to Henry.
Albert brushed the hair from his eyes again. “I just decided that accepting my situation was better than giving up on it. And once I did that, I felt pretty strong. But Henry has to decide for himself whether he’s going to fight the people who are trying to help him, or join the team.”
Helen sighed; she knew that Albert was right, even though she still felt helpless about how to change Henry’s mind.
“This conversation has gotten way too serious,” Albert said suddenly. And then he smiled. “It’s too bad the clown hasn’t been here for a while. We need a show like his to lighten the mood around here.”
“What clown?” Helen replied. She vaguely recalled Michelle saying something about a clown on her first day here.
“His real name is Marcel Marceau. We’ve just always called him the clown.”
“Do you know when he’s going to come back?” It would be wonderful to see a show of some kind. That could definitely help take her mind off her other worries. And she was sure that it would be good for Henry.
“Soon, I hope. Usually, he comes every week. But lately, he’s been coming less often. I asked Mère Supérieure when he was coming back, but she said she didn’t know.” Albert suddenly smiled. “I suppose Mère Supérieure gave you a new name when you arrived,” he said, switching topics. “Mine’s Marc Durand. Do I look anything like a Marc to you?”
Helen laughed for the first time. “About as much as I look like Claire Rochette.”
“I’ll never get used to it,” Albert said, shaking his head. “But I know how important it is.” He gestured toward a window. “I guess you learned that firsthand.”
Just then, the kitchen door swung open again and there was Sister Cecile standing in the doorway. Her mouth fell open when she saw them.
“What on earth are you doing here?” she asked, pulling a woolen shawl up to her neck. She was wearing a nightgown, and her hair, usually hidden under her wimple, lay in curls across her shoulders. It was strange to see her out of her nun’s habit.
“Good morning, Sister,” Albert said easily. “Or is it still the middle of the night?”
Helen stumbled to her feet. “Neither of us could sleep. And Albert said that it was okay to have some milk. It is okay, isn’t it?”
Sister Cecile paused, still looking startled, and then finally smiled. “Yes, of course, it’s fine. I have trouble sleeping myself at times.” She brushed her hair behind her ears.
“Would you like some milk?” Albert asked.
Sister Cecile’s smile grew broader. “Perhaps another time. Thank you for the offer. Just make sure you tidy up everything before you leave. The cook might not be pleased if she comes in to a messy kitchen in the morning.”
“We will, Sister,” Helen replied. “And thank you.”
She and Albert washed up their glasses as soon as Sister Cecile left the kitchen. Then they made their way back up the staircase. Albert hadn’t answered all of her questions or lessened all her worries. But talking had definitely helped.
She paused at the top of the stairs. This time, she was the one to extend her hand. “It was good to meet you, Albert, or should I say Marc?”
He smiled and shook her hand. “You, too, Helen, aka Claire. And thanks for the company.”
Helen grinned. “Thanks for the milk.” And then she added, “It’s a good thing it was Sister Cecile who found us.”
He smiled again. “That’s for sure.”
Helen turned and made her way into her dorm room and into her bed. Minutes later, she was fast asleep.
CHAPTER 12
Henry
Henry didn’t want to get out of bed. A week had passed since their outing to town, but he still couldn’t get the sight of those Nazi soldiers out of his mind—with their shiny black boots and that ugly symbol on their arms. Everyone was so upset about the whole thing—mean Sister Agnes, Mère Supérieure with her pointy nose, even Helen. It scared him to hear them talk about soldiers getting closer. He was missing Maman and Papa more than ever now. The sadness came in waves, sometimes growing so strong that he thought his heart would explode. He didn’t know missing someone could hurt like this. His mind went back and forth between missing his parents and worrying about bad things that might happen. Sad and scared; back and forth like the pendulum in the big grandfather clock that had sat in their home in Frankfurt.
So, this morning he wanted to stay put. Maybe if he pulled the covers up over his head, no one would notice him. The other boys in his room would leave and he would be all alone—maybe have a chance to do more writing in his code book. He kept the book under his bedcovers, hidden from sight, and only pulled it out when no one was around. Maybe if he wrote about that day in town and being questioned by the Nazi soldiers, he might start to feel better about it all. Writing things down helped. But he could only do that if he was left in peace and quiet. Now, the wake-up bell was ringing loudly, echoing in Henry’s head. The sun was bright in his dorm room, and all around him, boys were stretching, throwing back their covers, and getting dressed. The noise level in the room was climbing. Still, Henry didn’t move. He lay still, watching the action around him through narrow slits in his partly closed eyes.
The boy in the next cot—Henry knew his name was Philip—was staring at him.
“Hey, aren’t you going to get up?” Philip was skinny, and taller than all the other boys in the room. His face was a bit lopsided; that was the only way to describe it. His eye and cheek on one side were higher than on the other.
Henry didn’t answer.
“Are you sick or something?” Philip persisted, standing up and coming closer to Henry’s bed.
Henry wanted him to go away or stop talking to him. But Philip did not leave.
“If you’re not sick, then the nuns will be really mad if you don’t get up.”
By now, another boy had joined Philip to stand over Henry’s bed. His name was Paul. He had ginger hair and the palest skin Henry had ever seen. He had a reputation for being first for everything: first to the dining hall for meals, first to classes, first to finish his chores. The two boys began to talk to one another as if Henry wasn’t right there, lying in his bed beside them.
“He’s only been here a few weeks,” Paul said. “Maybe he doesn’t know the rules yet.” Paul had tried to talk to Henry a few days earlier, but Henry had walked away from him. He didn’t like this boy who seemed to be in everyone’s business.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell him,” Philip replied. “But he isn’t listening to me.”
“He doesn’t talk much,” Paul continued. “I don’t think I’ve heard him say anything the whole time he’s been here.” Paul leaned down and spoke to Henry, raising his voice. “Are you awake? Can you hear us?”
Of course he heard what they were saying. I’m not deaf, Henry thought. He could feel a slow burn starting in the pit of his stomach and rising to his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the blankets up over his ears. But nothing could block out the sound of the boys talking about him.
“Do you know where he’s from?” Philip asked.
“Germany, I think,” Paul responded.
“How did he get here?”
“I heard one of the nuns say that his mother brought him and left him here—him and his sister.”
At that, Henry began to take more notice. It was one thing for these boys to wonder why he wasn’t saying anything. It was an entirely different matter when they started to talk about his family, or how he had come here. How did they know all that stuff about him when he hadn’t told anyone? The slow burn of anger in his stomach was getting worse. Henry wanted the boys to stop. He felt his body coil, snakelik
e, ready to pounce if these boys said anything more. He tightened his grip on his blanket.
“Where’s his father?” Philip asked.
Papa!
“I don’t know,” Paul replied. “Maybe he’s dead or something.”
And that was all it took. Paul may have had a reputation for being quick, but he was no match for Henry. His eyes flew open and he shot out of bed like a lightning bolt, lunging at Paul and knocking him to the ground. His arms swung in wide circles, punching Paul from all directions, and all the while he felt angry tears roll down his cheeks. This boy had said that his father might be dead. What right did he have to say that? It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Henry wanted to scream all that and more. But instead, he continued to bash Paul with all of his might and fury. Paul raised his arms to protect himself and tried desperately to push Henry off him. But there was nothing he could do.
In the background, Henry could hear other boys gathering around, some shouting at him to stop, others yelling for help, a few encouraging Paul to fight back. And then suddenly, strong arms appeared out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around Henry’s body, pulling him away from Paul.
“Hey, stop it,” a male voice commanded. “It’s enough!”
Henry looked over his shoulder, recognizing the boy holding him back. His name was Albert, and he had tried to talk to him a couple of times. Albert was one of the older ones, and the other boys looked up to him.
Henry struggled in Albert’s arms for a few more seconds, but Albert was much stronger. Finally, Henry let his arms fall to his sides, though his fists remained firmly clenched. He breathed heavily and swallowed hard, staring at Paul, who slowly raised himself from the ground.
“Somebody needs to tell me what’s going on,” Albert demanded. “You boys know there’s no fighting here.”
Albert questioned Paul and Philip and the other boys, piecing together what had happened and how things had gotten out of control. The boys answered his questions like he was one of the nuns. Henry stood listening to the interrogation. He didn’t care that everyone was talking except him. He didn’t care that the facts were unfolding without him. By now, his tears had dried up. The fury he had been feeling was gone, released like smoke through a chimney. Instead, he was feeling just as sad and just as scared as he had felt when he opened his eyes that morning.
When Albert finished with the boys, he sent them downstairs to breakfast. Paul walked past Henry, glaring at him and rubbing his cheek, where a red welt had appeared. The skin around his left eye was already starting to change color, going from pale pink to a deep, dark purple. When all the boys were gone, Albert turned to face Henry.
“Okay, Henry, it’s just you and me now,” Albert began. “Do you think you’re ready to say something?”
Henry hung his head.
“I get it. You don’t want to talk.” Albert leaned forward. “I know it’s hard for you to be here.”
Henry still couldn’t look at Albert.
“Do you think your parents would want you to go around punching other boys?”
Henry squeezed his eyes shut. His parents would never have liked that he was fighting.
“Listen, it was hard for me when I came here, too. I was really scared, and mad at everyone. But you need to realize that it’s also hard for all the boys in here. They also miss their parents.”
Henry looked up at Albert, unblinking. He just couldn’t bring himself to feel bad for the other boys. No one understood just how much he needed Maman and Papa.
“My parents are both gone,” Albert continued. “I have no idea where they are. At least you know where your mother is. And your sister is here with you. That makes you so much luckier than most of the rest of us.”
Henry frowned. He hadn’t thought of himself as lucky at all.
“We’re all just trying to help one another,” Albert continued. “Can’t you see that?”
There was something in what Albert was saying that made Henry think. Maybe he really was better off than most of the other children here.
“It would be so much easier for you if you leaned on us a bit,” Albert added.
Henry lowered his eyes and looked away. He thought that no one understood him. But maybe Albert was someone who could. And maybe Henry could talk to Albert about all the sad and angry thoughts in his head.
Suddenly Sister Cecile rushed into the dorm room. Henry had never seen her look so upset.
“The boys told me there was a fight of some kind,” she cried.
Albert smiled easily at the nun. “Everything’s under control, Sister. Our friend here was just having a hard morning.”
Sister Cecile stared at Henry and then over at Albert. “How hard?”
“Let’s just say that Paul might end up with quite a shiner.”
Sister Cecile sighed deeply. “Thank you, Albert,” she said. “I’ll take over from here.”
Albert nodded, but before leaving the room, he placed a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Remember what I said, Henry. You don’t have any enemies here at the convent.” With that, he walked out of the dorm.
Sister Cecile stood looking at Henry for a long time before she finally began to talk. “We are all trying very hard to understand how you are feeling. But you can’t go around attacking people, no matter how frustrated you are.”
Henry lowered his head again. He knew Sister Cecile was just trying to help. Albert was trying to help. Even Helen was trying to help. He still felt completely miserable.
“You were lucky it was Albert walking by your dorm room this morning, and not one of the other nuns,” she said.
Henry nodded.
“I have to punish you for this outburst. I have no choice.” Sister Cecile pulled her shoulders back and inhaled deeply. “You will stay after class today and you will write ‘I will not hit anyone’ on the blackboard one hundred times. Do you understand me?”
When he looked up at Sister Cecile, he almost thought she was smiling.
“Now get dressed and go downstairs for breakfast before someone realizes you’re not there.” She turned and walked out of the room.
Now that he was alone, part of him was grateful that Albert was the one who had come across the fight, and not someone like Sister Agnes. She would have made him mop the floors or clean the windows for a week. Writing lines was easy. He could write a million lines. It still wouldn’t change the way he was feeling.
He dressed slowly. But before leaving his dorm room, he searched under his blanket and brought out his code book. Then he sat down on his bed, reached for a pencil, and began to write.
CHAPTER 13
Helen
A couple of mornings later, Mère Supérieure announced at breakfast that all future outings to town had been canceled. It came as no surprise to Helen. She had been aware of the many discussions that were taking place between the nuns as they scurried off after every meal to meet behind closed doors. At least there had been no talk of her and Henry being sent away from the convent.
She caught up with Albert after breakfast as they were leaving the dining hall. They hung back from the other children so that they could have a conversation.
“I heard you broke up a fight that Henry started,” Helen began.
“Standing up for himself is a good thing. It means Henry hasn’t given up. He just needs to learn to channel some of that in a better way. Fistfighting is going to get him in more trouble.”
“I know. I’m still so worried about him.” Helen couldn’t remember when he had gone this long without talking.
“After the fight, I thought Henry was going to talk to me,” Albert said. “But then Sister Cecile showed up.”
“I had hoped the outing to town might open him up—let him see that things were okay here.” But of course, the outing had been disastrous, and instead of making Henry feel more secure, it had closed him down even more. It scared everyone. “I don�
�t really care about outings anymore,” Helen added. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I just don’t want to leave this place right now.”
“I know what you mean,” Albert replied. “But it’s not just this town that’s been invaded by Nazis. A few weeks ago, Adolf Hitler’s troops marched into Paris. They practically wiped out the entire French army. And they killed almost a hundred thousand French soldiers.” Albert went on to explain that since then, France and Germany had signed an agreement to stop fighting, but it meant that Nazi Germany would occupy nearly all of France.
Helen sucked in her breath. “How do you know all of that?”
Albert shrugged. “I overheard the nuns talking.”
Albert seemed to hear things that no one else was aware of; Helen didn’t know how. But she was grateful for the information.
“We’re in the southern part of France,” Albert continued. “This area is called the free zone. It’s still a safe place.”
Helen wasn’t convinced. “How safe can it be when Hitler controls the rest of the country?” She was suddenly overcome with a deep longing for her parents. There was still no word from Maman, and it had been so many weeks. When some of the other children received letters from their loved ones, Helen would retreat to her dorm room. At those times, it was easier to be alone than to watch the joy on the faces of the others who squealed with delight as they tore open letters and devoured the news from home.
Mère Supérieure continued to insist that it was not unusual for long periods of time to go by before parents would be able to contact their children. The letters that did arrive were somehow smuggled into the convent through some mysterious network of friends. Helen knew nothing more than that. But perhaps that was why Maman hadn’t sent something yet, she thought. Maybe Maman hadn’t found a sympathetic contact to bring a letter for her and Henry. “Look around you,” the head had nun said. “Some of the children here have not heard from their parents in close to a year.”
