by Kacey Ezell
“Everyone, this is my Auntie Sylvaine,” Deedee said in French as she stepped away, leaving one arm wrapped around the other woman’s waist. “Who is not truly a relation, except by affection. She will be our guide today.”
“Yes,” Sylvaine said, spreading her hands wide in a gesture of welcome. “Please, take a bicycle. I gathered several, for I did not know how tall any of you were...does everyone know how to ride?”
“We do,” Evelyn said after mentally confirming with the men that this was the case.
“Good. It is not quite two hours to Urrugne, but there are some hills. We will go at a steady pace, so keep up.” With this admonishment and another smile, Sylvaine took hold of the handlebars of the bicycle closest to her and swung her leg over. Evelyn could see the full skirt the woman wore was actually split, and she felt a quick stab of envy. Bicycling for two hours in her current dress would not be terribly comfortable.
Not that comfort was much of a consideration, she supposed.
It took a bit of doing, but they all eventually found bicycles that fit well enough, and one by one they pulled out onto the street. Thankfully, the day was unseasonably warm, almost spring-like.
Evelyn hadn’t ridden a bicycle since she was a small girl. At first, she had a hard time keeping her balance, especially because her skirt kept getting caught on her pedal. She wobbled her way behind the others for a few hundred meters.
Evie! Are you all right? We don’t want to get separated, Abram called back to her.
I...yes. It’s just that I’m not used to this...and this skirt...
Ahead, Sean pulled himself out of the line and cycled back to her before stopping.
“Here,” he said out loud as she stopped beside him. “Tuck your skirt up like this. You’ll flash some leg, but it will help you balance better.” As he spoke, the flight engineer reached out for her draping skirt and helped her to tuck it under her bottom on the seat.
“Thank you,” Evelyn said, feeling her cheeks heat up.
“You’re welcome. Now, do you think we can try to catch up?” he asked, looking forward to where the others had continued after Sylvaine. Abram was looking back at them, and Sean gave him a wave.
We’re fine, he sent down the lines of the net. Evelyn looked back at him to see him watching her face. She gave him a small smile and a nod. We’ll catch up.
And they did. Without the skirt problem, Evelyn found her balance and was able to establish a rhythm of pedaling that allowed her to pick up some speed. She and Sean started to push up the slight incline ahead of them just as the others disappeared over the top. A moment later, they reached the summit themselves. Sean looked over at her, one rusty eyebrow raised in a challenge. She laughed and pushed ahead, letting the bicycle accelerate as it coasted down the hill. A breeze lifted her hair, and the morning light felt like a benediction on her face. Behind her, she could hear Sean’s answering chuckle over the whirr of her tires on the road.
They were still laughing when they joined the others, who had stopped on the side of the road.
“What’s happening?” Evelyn asked Deedee in French, her voice still breathless and light with laughter. “Where’s Sylvaine?”
“Up there,” she said, pointing. Evelyn looked to see the tall, muscular Frenchwoman talking to someone through the window of a black sedan car. Deedee seemed calm, but something in the air put Evelyn very suddenly on edge.
Ahead, Sylvaine pushed her bicycle back and waved at the car. A hand appeared from the driver’s side window and waved back, and the car accelerated toward a T-intersection ahead of them. The car turned to the right and soon disappeared behind a curve in the road. Sylvaine turned her bicycle and headed back to them, her face sober.
“The road to Urrugne is blocked,” she said without preamble. “That was the head of the local police. He is friends with my husband. I told him we were out for a picnic on this lovely warm day. I think we must cut across country from here. This will add some time to our journey, but it is better to be safe, no?”
Without waiting for an answer, Sylvaine turned her bicycle to cross one of the fields that bordered the road. Evelyn and the others followed and continued when the field turned into woods, and it became apparent they were following some kind of game trail. It was rough going with branches crowding close on either side, threatening to stab an eye or whip across a cheek. Evelyn fell twice, once when her front tire slipped on some loose rock, and once when crossing a small stream. She didn’t hurt herself, but she was muddy and wet, and all of her earlier joy in the day had disappeared.
It wasn’t until the sun rode high in the noonday sky that they reached their destination. The village of Urrugne lay tucked between the mountains and the seashore.
It’s lovely, she sent to the men as she looked around at the red tile roofs and bright white walls of the houses. Though the trees were winter-brown, there were enough mountain evergreens to give the place some color and that deliciously fresh scent. Evelyn felt a sudden twist of homesickness for the pine forests that covered the Black Hills of her home.
It is, Abram sent. I bet Jerry thinks so, too.
Evelyn blinked and looked through Abram’s eyes. Sure enough, two men in German uniforms sat at an outdoor café a block or so away. Neither of them was currently looking in their direction, but unless their path changed, they’d be riding right by those men. She blinked back into her own eyes before she fell and tried not to let her sudden fear soak through the net.
Not that everyone wasn’t feeling it.
Remember what I said, Paul sent. Be nonchalant. They’re busy talking, so they may not even look up at us. Just keep riding.
But, of course, they did look up. And, as young men sometimes do when they see young women riding by, they called out.
“Ah! Mademoiselle! Did you fall? You are so muddy!” the first one said, with laughter in his voice. His tone was kind, if slightly mocking, and his smile held no malice.
“Yes, Monsieur,” Evelyn answered, her heart in her throat. Her voice trembled, but she hoped he would just think she was breathless as she rode by. “I am not a skilled cyclist!”
“Come back! I will teach you!” the German cried, causing his companion to laugh as well.
“I am sorry, Monsieur, but we are late!” To lend credence to this claim, she pumped harder with her legs and inadvertently swerved when she pulled on her handlebars. She could hear the Germans’ laughter fading behind her as they continued to pedal down the street. They turned into an alleyway, where a truck awaited them.
“Quickly now,” Sylvaine said. “Off the bikes, put them in the back of the truck. That was well done, girl,” she said to Evelyn.
“Better if they had not noticed us at all, but I think they will not be suspicious of a group with so many women,” Deedee said. “And anyway, you could hardly avoid answering.”
“If they ask, I shall say you are a friend of my daughter’s from school,” Sylvaine said as she lifted her own bicycle into the truck. “Good. Now, through that blue door there, you will find wine and some food. Rest for a bit. I shall return soon to collect you all.”
The woman gave them a tight smile, hopped into the driver’s seat of the truck, and pulled a men’s hat down low over her head. She gave another wave and then the truck roared to life.
“Come,” Deedee said. “We must get inside.”
Inside the building, which turned out to be one of a row of narrow, tall houses, all was as Sylvaine had said. Evelyn took a moment to try and wipe most of the mud from her dress and wash her hands and face while the others poured the wine and parceled out the bread, cheese, and dried fruit that had been left for them. No one said much as they ate, for the ride had wearied them all.
“What is next?” Abram asked at one point.
“Next,” Deedee said, after she swallowed the mouthful of fruit she had been chewing, “we will go up into the foothills, to my friend Neria’s house. We will sleep there for the rest of the day and leave tomorrow night
to cross the mountains.”
“So this is it,” he said, his lips curving in a smile. “We are that close?”
“We are close,” Deedee answered, but her voice was grave with caution. “But this is the most difficult part. You must remain alert and avoid overconfidence.”
“Sure. Of course. But we’re close,” he said, his smile growing. “That’s not nothing.”
“I suppose it is not,” Deedee said, and returned her attention to the meal.
Perhaps half an hour later, Sylvaine returned in the truck. The bed had been emptied of the bicycles and covered over with a tarp. She entered through the same blue door they’d used and waved them over with impatient looking gestures.
“Come, hurry!” she said. “Men in the back. Evelyn, ride next to Deedee and me.”
They left their plates on the table where they lay, assuming someone would come and clean them up soon. Sylvaine didn’t appear nearly as concerned with tidiness as with speed, so Evelyn sent a silent apology to whomever had to clean their mess. Then she was out of the door and up into the truck.
Much to everyone’s relief, Sylvaine didn’t drive back through the middle of town. Instead, she took a narrow, dirt road that wound up into the foothills to the south. Again, Evelyn felt that twist of homesickness as more and more of the dark pines surrounded them.
You’ll be home soon, Evie, Abram said. We’re close.
She sent him back a wordless pulse of gratitude and warmth as the truck swung around another turn. A stone house came into view a few hundred meters farther up the track. It sat tucked down in a hollow between two ridges and looked out on the valley below. Sylvaine drove up to it and cut the engine.
“Lovely view,” Abram said when they lifted the tarp and let the men out of the back. Evelyn felt a brief stab of pity as she watched them try to stretch out the kinks they’d gotten from riding up the long, winding, bumpy trail.
“It is,” Deedee agreed. “Let us go inside, however. I do not like having you all in the open.”
The farmhouse door was wide and wooden and looked as if it had been there since the late Stone Age. Deedee rapped her knuckles lightly upon it, and it swung instantly open. A figure stepped forward out of the gloom inside and crossed heavy-thewed arms over a barrel-like chest.
“Inigo,” Deedee said with a smile. The man didn’t return her smile at all, but simply opened his arms and welcomed her into a tight hug. Then he released her and waved them all inside.
“This is Inigo Zufiro,” Deedee said, once the massive door had been closed and the windows un-shuttered so they had some light. “He is the best Basque mountain guide there is. He also speaks very little French and no English. But he will see us safely across the mountains. Tonight?” she asked, turning to look at the man.
“Tomorrow,” he said in French. “Tonight storm.”
“Ah, good. So...I will show you to some bedrooms, and you must all sleep as much as you can. We will leave as soon as it is dark tomorrow night.”
* * *
Night came earlier in the mountains.
“Evelyn,” Deedee whispered. Her voice pulled Evelyn from her napping dreams of pine forests and the Black Hills. Evelyn blinked and opened her eyes to find the Belgian woman holding a shielded lantern in the tiny bedroom they had shared. “It is time to go.”
Evelyn sat up and rubbed her eyes. She had gone to bed shortly after the noon meal, hoping to rest up for the ordeal ahead. When she’d laid down, she had thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep for nerves, but that turned out not to have been a problem at all. The creeping exhaustion of the previous days had overwhelmed any anxiety she had felt.
“Here, put these on your feet,” Deedee said. “They will help you keep your footing in the mountains.”
She held out a pair of canvas shoes with soles made of rope. Evelyn took these and turned them over. She’d never seen anything like that.
“Put them on,” Deedee said again. “We need to go.”
With the strange rope-soled shoes snug on her feet, Evelyn straightened the shirt and trousers she’d been given and braided her hair back out of her face. Deedee handed her a knit cap and then urged her downstairs. The men were there, with their own strange shoes on. Inigo, the big Basque, was checking their feet.
“They’re called Espadrilles,” Deedee said, in answer to Evelyn’s obvious curiosity as they entered the kitchen. The fading sunlight was disappearing in the west as twilight rose around them. “They’re the traditional Basque shoe. They’re good for the mountains, as I said, and if they fit right, you should not get blisters. That is why Inigo will check your feet.”
Which he did. Through gruff, peremptory gestures, he managed to indicate that he wanted her to sit in a chair near the kitchen fireplace. He then knelt before her and took her feet, one by one, in a surprisingly gentle grip while he tugged at the shoes to see if they would slip. He re-tied the long laces around each ankle and then grunted his satisfaction and got to his feet. He gave Deedee a nod and pulled a small bottle out of his bag and took a swig.
“Cognac,” he said, and gave the group a tight smile. “Now we go.”
“All right,” Deedee said. “Here is what will happen. We must move in single file and in complete silence. Sound carries in the mountain air, and this passage is strictly forbidden. Stealth is our only chance. You must obey Inigo’s instructions to the letter, without hesitation. This journey will take all night, but when it is over, you will be safe in British custody. Are you ready?”
“One hundred percent,” Abram said, speaking for all of them. Evelyn could feel his determination echoing hers, and Sean’s, and Paul’s. Ready didn’t begin to describe how they felt.
“Good, then let us go.” She slung her small knapsack over her shoulder, while Inigo stowed his cognac in his own, larger ruck. He lifted and settled the pack on his back and then gestured for the rest of the party to follow him outside.
“Good luck!” called Neria, the lady of the house, as they went through the door one by one. Evelyn gave the quiet woman a smile and a wave.
They walked maybe fifteen meters away from the stone house, just enough to get into the trees, when Inigo stopped them beside a large pine.
“Sticks,” he said, and bent to retrieve something from the forest floor. He straightened and handed Abram a stout stick, large enough to suit as a walking stick. The Basque had one for each of them, it seemed, even a slightly shorter one for Evelyn.
“Thank you,” she said in French as he handed it to over. He gave her a nod and then pressed his finger to his lips. Right. Complete silence. No more thanks from here on out.
I suppose we can never thank them enough anyway, she thought to the men on the net.
Yes, we can. Cosca told us how, Abram replied. You remember.
Of course. Yes, I do remember, she said. All right. Let it be so.
Walking sticks in hand, they started up the path. The night was dry, thanks to the soft wind, and the temperature dropped rapidly. Evelyn was grateful for the woolen cap Deedee had given her, as it shielded her ears from the chill. Her nose and cheeks turned cold, and she imagined they were bright red. One by one, and then in groups and hundreds, the stars winked into existence. Evelyn’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and once again, her memory took her back to her mountain childhood. Only in the mountains did the stars shine with the icy brightness she saw overhead. Though the wind cut at them all, Evelyn felt the light of the stars like a benediction, and her spirits lifted as they climbed.
And climbed. And climbed some more. Inigo set a steady, distance-eating pace with his wide steps. He seemed to know this land as if it were an extension of his own skin. He led them up game paths that looked as if they’d never seen human feet, always with one wary eye on the nearby roads. Occasionally, he would stop at a certain tree, or behind a collection of boulders, and produce some treasure cached there. A bottle of cognac, once. Some dried meat another time. Once, another knitted hat, which he handed to Sean to use. An
d then he’d nod and turn without a word and start the climb again.
Some hours in (Evelyn had no idea how many), they were roughly halfway along the coast from their starting point when the strong beams of a lighthouse swung across their path. The light played over the hills, lighting the crests and casting the valleys into deeper shadow. In the distance, they could see clusters of lights hugging the coast. Irun, at the mouth of the Bidassoa River, lay just ahead. Farther along, San Sebastian stained the sky a kind of smoky orange color. Evelyn looked back over her shoulder. France, of course, lay mostly blacked out, due to the British and their night bombing raids.
That’s the river down there, Abram said. Just beyond that, and then we’re nearly there. Nearly home free!
It’s starting to snow, Paul said. This could get interesting.
* * *
Evelyn looked up. Sure enough, small white flakes were drifting here and there in the air. The mountain girl in her quailed at the thought of being caught out in the hills in a snowstorm, but their guide didn’t look concerned. Neither did Deedee. She simply gestured to them to keep moving and walked tirelessly behind the big Basque man.
They started down into the stark shadow of the Bidassoa gorge. The snow started to stick to the rocks underfoot, reflecting back the starlight from above, but making everything slick and treacherous underfoot. Evelyn slipped once and fell heavily on her rear. Sean was beside her in an instant, offering a hand to help pull her up.
I’m all right, she told everyone. It’s just slippery.
Place your steps carefully, Abram said. And use your sticks.
Despite this advice, Evelyn was not the only one to fall. Sean went down once, as did Abram himself. Only Paul, with his catlike grace, managed to stay upright for the entire path down into the gorge.
Gradually, Evelyn started to become aware of a distant rumbling, not terribly unlike the sound of a formation of Forts returning from a mission. It grew louder as they descended, the sound echoing off of the steep walls of the gorge. Here and there, through the trees, Evelyn could catch a glimpse of white water tumbling over the rocks below, racing west to the sea. Now and then, across the valley, they could see the gray gleam of the road that ran along the Spanish border. Just down the ridge from this road, a set of railroad tracks lay silent in the night.
