A week later Max tracked down the Sauverins. “The chief says if you want to return to Le Tronc he’ll have the truck take you. The driver needs to go on his regular run anyway.”
Alex peered at Max doubtfully. “Regular run?”
“Potatoes and carrots go down to the village. Wood and chestnuts come back.”
“I’m sure the Guins could use us,” André said tentatively.
Alex nodded. He and André had bonded with the men of the camp but it would be good to get back to Le Tronc.
Léon got the brothers planting turnips, beets, and beans right away. After they had put in several hours of backbreaking work, he suggested to André the time had come to see his family and pointed southward across the valley.
“When it gets dark tonight you can walk over if you’re up to it. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two. The path is uneven so it might be best to climb up to the ridge and then go down the other path. That way you’ll be out in the open a shorter time—if anyone’s watching.”
“When will I be able to see my family?” Alex demanded.
“Not yet. But that time too will come.”
“I’m afraid to see Denise,” André confessed. “I smell bad and I haven’t shaved.”
“Don’t worry,” Léon said dismissively. “We’ll get you all cleaned up for the missus. Besides, after so much time you could stink like a pig as long as she can see your face.”
As the sun began to set, André cleaned up and shaved as best he could. His whiskers mostly came off but his cheeks were still stippled by uneven stubble. Overjoyed to remove the shirt he had worn for almost two weeks, he put on the best of the last two remaining from Brussels which though wrinkled were not stained with dried sweat. He also shook out and donned his finest coat. Unfortunately he thought it best to keep on his rough trousers—a pair manufactured for the rigors of outdoor existence. They might survive a mountain hike.
“I’m off,” he told Alex, who sat watching. Should he offer a word of consolation? No. Better to leave Alex to his own devices, he thought, shutting the barn door behind him.
The moon was out, not shining down fiercely enough to reveal André but providing enough light for him to find his way. Still, as he reached the high road at the crest of the mountain and sought the trail that led to Le Salson, he tripped on a root projecting from the side of the road and fell hard, scraping his hand against gravel as he slapped and grasped to keep from falling the long way down. After working his way to his knees and then to his feet, he rubbed his hands together, pressed his sore hand against his pants, and hurried on.
Léon had told him the Bastide house was the fourth building after the path widened. As he approached an outbuilding between two other structures he grew confused. Finally he came to a house that might have been the fourth; at least it looked lived in.
In the moonlight shining more brightly in the open, the house’s stoop struck André as clean and welcoming. An ancient pot filled with dried branches and the first wildflowers of the season rested on a great stone set beside the door. It looked like Denise’s handiwork.
No light escaped through the small cracks between and around the latched shutters. André firmed his resolve and knocked gently, then again with greater force. He pressed his ear to the door and heard grumbling and a shuffling toward the door.
“What is it?” a strange voice called fearfully. “Who’s there?”
“André Sauverin.”
He heard the strange voice again, another, and then one he knew.
“André?”
“Yes!”
The bolt slid back and Denise stepped through the doorway into his arms. André squeezed and held her tight, pressing his lips to hers in a long, lingering kiss. Then he held her at arm’s length. How wonderful to see and feel her!
“Oh, my dear,” Denise breathed. “Come in.”
She guided him into the large front room where he greeted Irene Bastide warmly and was introduced to Ernestine Roux. With tears in their eyes these women quickly, kindly, made themselves scarce so that André and Denise could sit on the couch talking privately, holding each other’s hands tightly.
Denise spoke with great pride of their children: how well they were developing and how extraordinarily helpful, thoughtful, and brave they were being. Then she asked excitedly, “Should I wake them for you?”
“I’d hate to disturb their sleep.”
“But they’d be so thrilled to see you!”
“All the more reason not to. It’s better for now that they not know I’ve been here or that I’m staying relatively nearby. Secrecy is important for us all—and quite a few others.”
“I understand. But I hope it won’t always be this way.”
André sank into himself. He hadn’t thought through how hard this would be.
“The children are always asking where you are,” Denise said. “I tell them you’re all right, nothing more.” She squeezed his hand more tightly. “But come quietly and look at them. We won’t use a light—just the lantern which we’ll leave outside the door.”
Upstairs their daughters slept in the big bed as if to protect one another. In the drawer where Cristian dreamed, the boy’s sweet face was turned to one side atop his pillow. André hardly recognized his littlest one. Dark hair now covered his son’s head entirely. André could hardly believe how large he had grown even though he was still small enough to fit in a drawer. It was almost as hard for André to stand there without kissing and caressing Cristian as to realize he would soon have to leave.
Meantime the Bastides had slipped into the great room to add a bit of wood to the evening’s fire. It gave the room a lovely warmth and provided a dancing, guttering light to illuminate and animate their faces.
“I can’t stay much longer,” André said regretfully, returning with Denise. Then he looked deeply and lovingly at his spouse again before addressing the older women. “I’m just happy to see my wife and children doing so well thanks to your consideration and care.”
“We could do no less,” Ernestine said.
“And your children are so wonderful,” Irene enthused. “Especially little Cristian. He’s such a darling and so proud to be walking!”
“I’ve missed so much,” André said sorrowfully.
“We’re most fortunate to be here,” Denise affirmed. “Irene and Ernestine really look out for us. And I feel we’re well-hidden.”
“I hope so,” André said, concerned. Then he pulled Denise close again. “Now I have to go,” he said softly.
“I know,” Denise replied equally softly. “But you can come again?”
“Next week perhaps. It depends. We might be busier then.”
Denise accompanied André to the door. Standing out on the stoop again he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately.
Breaking away he gazed into Denise’s beautiful eyes. A faint smile played across his lips. Then he disappeared into the dark.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BETRAYAL
SEPTEMBER 25, 1943
The successful harvest was pretty much at an end. Now it was time to prepare the Guins’ fields for the first hard freeze and to begin gathering chestnuts. But for the first time in months Max Maurel showed up. The Resistance had need of the Sauverins again.
“What do you want us to do this time?” Alex asked sarcastically. “Steal pigs?”
“Alex,” André admonished. Then he told Max, “If you think we can help we’re ready.”
“Isn’t there anything you can tell us about it?” Alex burst out.
Max looked uncomfortable. “We think we have an information leak.” Alex eyed him warily, dissatisfied. “Look,” Max continued, sounding defensive and pettish himself, “I don’t know everything and I don’t want to know everything. It’s enough for me that the chief asked for you specifically.”
“How long this time?” Léon demanded.
“A day or two. Maybe three.”
Much as Léon supported the Resist
ance, he was annoyed. But all he said was, “We’ll be here if and when you come back. We’re always here.” And all he thought was, Chestnuts!
Heading back toward the mountain, Max and his friends had some catching up to do.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you in so long,” Max said. “I do keep an eye on you.”
“What do you mean?” Alex demanded. “Spying?”
Max laughed. “In a way. The camp at Le Crespin is so close to Le Tronc, some days when I walk out from under the trees I can actually see you working in the fields.”
“Well doesn’t that make me feel safe—to know anyone can see us almost anytime from almost anywhere!”
“It’s nowhere near as bad as that,” Max insisted. “If it were we would have moved you long ago.”
Asked about the last few months, André said hard but invigorating labor had been leavened by making his way to Le Salson every week to ten days. Unfortunately Alex still hadn’t been able to visit his family.
“But that time will come I’m sure,” Max hastened to say.
Arriving at the camp of the Maquis, the puzzled Sauverins expected to see the schoolmaster from Soleyrols. Instead a stranger with a wary expression came in. André thought he looked familiar, perhaps from the temple in Vialas. The young man seemed to recognize him too.
“Pierre, schoolmaster from Vialas,” the chief said, “this is Max, André, and Alex. Tell them what you discovered.”
Now André understood: Pierre Jabot—a handsome dark-haired man, not yet thirty, with the strong build of the region’s laborers—taught the upper school.
“First if I may,” the young man said tremulously, “I’d like to acknowledge monsieur le professeur Sauverin, whose presence honors this humble schoolteacher.”
“No last names!” the chief burst out. Then he did a double take. “You know him?”
“Everyone in Vialas knows about André Sau…Sorry. His excellent reputation precedes him.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t precede him too far,” the chief joked. Everyone chuckled politely. “Please, Monsieur Pierre. Go on.”
Flushing, the teacher said, “Yesterday morning in class I noticed one of my older students—Thomas Vignie, the seventeen-year-old son of Maurice Vignie, a petty merchant in the village—drawing a map. This immediately struck me as unusual—Thomas has never been much for drawing—so I went to his desk and bent closer to see. He tried to cover it but I’d already seen enough. He was constructing a reliable guide to this camp and its layout.”
As if jolted by electricity, Max burst out, “But how did you know about this camp?”
“That’s irrelevant,” the chief said, cutting him off.
“Don’t worry about me,” Pierre told Max. “A farmer who provides food for the camp is a close relative. More to the point: how did Thomas know about it and why would he draw it? Troubled, I let class out early and came to tell the chief.”
“The teacher’s just lucky the lookout liked his face,” a lieutenant joked.
“Very disturbing,” André said, not finding this a joking matter.
Alex said, “I still don’t see what this has to do with us.”
“I understand you put your children into the school in Soleyrols,” the chief said.
“Before they were forced into hiding,” Alex complained bitterly.
“I don’t care how long ago!” the chief exploded, his patience with Alex wearing thin. “Some of the children there may have older brothers, sisters, or cousins who might have said something indicating an interest in the Resistance.”
“Neither of our daughters mentioned it,” André said regretfully.
“Then here is what we must do,” the chief said, forcefully crunching his words through clenched teeth. “We need to stake out the road leading from Vialas to Génolhac and Alès. I need to know if that map goes anywhere!”
“If so,” André asked delicately, “what then?”
“Then Max and the others I’m sending with you will know what to do.”
Max nodded, grimly determined.
The implication of a potentially violent outcome hung heavily in the air. André wondered, Is this where Max’s medical skill comes in?
“Look,” the chief said, “this kid or his father may be a collaborator, unless it’s both of them.” He leveled his steady gaze on each man in turn. “This is serious business with potentially serious consequences. We have no choice but to get to the bottom of it.” He settled his blazing eyes on Max. “You’re in charge. In addition to Monsieur Jabot and the Sauverins, I’m sending two more of our hands with you. You’re to leave immediately. Our best guess is that one or another of these Vignies will head for the closest Gestapo station, in Génolhac, if he hasn’t gone already.” He began writing out a note. “Let’s not waste another second. Here.” He handed the finished note to Max. “For your own protection. If you’re stopped and questioned by the enemy it won’t do any good—in fact it might play against you. So be prepared to destroy it quickly. But if you’re approached by a member of another Resistance brigade, it could save your lives.”
Max folded the slip of paper carefully and secreted it inside his clothes.
“You’ll want to take a pistol,” the chief told Max. “Go to the supply section. Your other two already have rifles.” Then he asked the Sauverins, “Do you have any arms of your own?”
“No,” André said, anguished but trying not to show it.
“Then you’ll get rifles too,” the chief said, turning to other business. “The others can show you all you need to know.” He stared at them hard as if trying to hypnotize them. “This isn’t a game. If you need to use force you must do so without hesitation. Understood?”
“Understood,” Max said, assuming his command and answering for all.
As they left the room, Max quietly asked André if he would be all right.
“I’ll carry a rifle,” André answered gravely, “but I won’t use it except in self-defense.”
Two armed Maquis—Albert Lazare and Guy Chauvert—joined their procession to the supply barn. The resister in charge gave Max a pistol and handed each Sauverin a rifle. Pierre Jabot remained unarmed. He only needed to identify the Vignies.
“Ever use one of these?” the supply master asked the Sauverins.
André stayed silent. Alex examined the firearm admiringly and said, “The only rifles I’ve ever fired were a lot older.”
“Well it’s easy—maybe a little too easy,” the supply master said, demonstrating. “Put the cartridge here, press the rifle butt against your shoulder—tight or the kickback might break your collarbone. Sight your target along this line and when you’re ready squeeze the trigger slowly.” He lowered his weapon and grinned at the brothers. “Good hunting,” he called gaily.
My God, André thought. This Maquisard thinks killing a man is as easy as shooting wild boar!
Stuffing bread, meat, and cheese into their pockets for what might be a long stakeout, the men followed Max, who set a fast pace down the cartway. Heading over the pass into the next valley, he kept his six-man squad off the road by descending toward Vialas on a parallel path well worn by previous Resistance activity.
The sun approached the western horizon and shadows lengthened as the men neared their destination in silence. When they occasionally heard voices coming toward them from the woods, Max signaled them to crouch down behind bushes or trees.
“Around the next bend,” he finally whispered, “is a good place to wait and rest. Up in the woods we’ll still be able to see the road. There are places to hide quickly if we must.”
After four hours of walking, all were relieved to sit on a fallen tree. With shoulders chafed by rifle straps, the Sauverins were pleased to lay the weapons across their knees.
Max left his subordinates and carefully picked his way down toward the road. An engine rumbled and brakes squealed as the old red bus struggled along its route between Vialas and Alès. Later a small truck could be heard goin
g the other way. Its headlights shined spottily through the leaves until it too disappeared.
Then Max returned to lead the men to a spot closer to the road. By peering through branches and around the large trunks of old-growth trees, all could obtain a clear view.
“Stay where you can see,” Max told Pierre. “Can you recognize the father too?”
“If there’s enough light,” Pierre replied. “He’s visited the school many times. I remember him particularly because he always asks annoying, pointless questions. Frankly I don’t like him even without this terrible business. Inflexible and demanding. He’s got a reputation for insisting shoppers in his store have exactly the right ration coupons to buy anything. None of the other merchants in Vialas are that strict. Even if you have the proper coupons he may not have what you’re looking for unless you’re willing to pay more.” Pierre shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve always thought his son nice enough. Wants to be an engineer but he’s under his father’s thumb.”
“Just tell us if you see either of them,” Max said.
One old farmer walked by grumbling to himself, but no one else appeared as dusk gathered and deepened. Then a bicycle came along, its headlight beaming a faint glow ahead. Pierre signaled frantically. Max leapt into action.
Waving the bicyclist to slow, Max only made the rider pedal faster, trying to maneuver around the human obstruction. But the others waited a few meters on.
The bicyclist skidded to a stop, positioned to take off if allowed or to make a break.
“What’s this?” the rider asked, sounding simultaneously aggressive and defensive.
As the schoolmaster nodded, Max asked the detainee, “Are you Maurice Vignie?”
The stunned suspect glared at the half-dozen men surrounding him. “Yes and I’m in a hurry, so if you’ll excuse me…” No one did. Panicking, Maurice shouted, “I need to go!”
“I’m sure you do,” Max said coldly, “but first we need to ask where you’re going.”
“None of your business!” Maurice squealed. Then he growled, “To Génolhac. To visit a friend. Anything wrong with that?”
In This Hospitable Land Page 31
