Krista’s
escape
Gemma Jackson
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, businesses, organisations and incidents portrayed in it are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published 2020
by Poolbeg Press Ltd.
123 Grange Hill, Baldoyle,
Dublin 13, Ireland
Email: [email protected]
© Gemma Jackson 2020
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
© Poolbeg Press Ltd. 2020, copyright for editing, typesetting, layout, design, ebook
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978178199-346-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
www.poolbeg.com
Also by Gemma Jackson
Through Streets Broad and Narrow
Ha’penny Chance
The Ha’penny Place
Ha’penny Schemes
Impossible Dream
Dare to Dream
Her Revolution
Published by Poolbeg
Foreword
Dear Reader,
Thank you for buying the first of my Krista novellas. I hope you enjoy the series. It’s exciting for me to write these shorter stories so they can be delivered to you that much faster – as so many of you have requested.
I have a little office set up under my stairs. The only space in my small seaside home that was available. I sit and write about Krista and her life and I find myself marching up and down my hallway almost tearing my hair out. I shout aloud and plot. Did you know that after the war men were offered a college education and women were offered cookery classes so they could return to the kitchen? Aaagh! One of these days the men in the white coats are going to come for me. Do you think they will accept the fact that it is my writer’s imagination making me act like a crazy person?
Krista is a new character for me. The first time we meet her she is 17 and unhappy at home. But the year is 1938 and we all know what is coming! WWII.
I am fascinated by the changes that the general public were forced to accept and learn to handle then. Young men and women had to leave the life they knew and any dreams they might have had, and step up to all that was demanded of them. Could you do it?
Now that the Official Secrets Act has expired and the wonderful women that served are allowed to speak of their service, I have read so many amazing true stories. I have laughed and cried as I read and found myself wondering what I would do if called upon to risk my life for my country. I am a bit old now but it doesn’t take much imagination to put myself into the shoes of the women who served.
Because of my own love of the sea, I find that the books I choose to read are often about the WRNS – the Women’s Royal Naval Service. Their daring and bravery leaves me breathless. I hope to share some of what I have learned with you without turning my books into a history lesson.
When we meet my main character Krista she is living in Metz, a little village on the French-German border.
Many, many years ago I attended a wedding in Metz. For those of you who don’t know, a French wedding goes on for days. There is more than one ceremony. I think during that time I met every person in the village and was treated like royalty. I was the first foreigner to pass through there since the war! The villagers shared their war stories with me in little kitchens while producing amazing food. I sat in those kitchens stuffing my face and hearing stories that made the hair rise on my head. Little did I know that one day I would be able to use what I had learned.
Oh, what wonderful memories I have of Metz and the people I met there! My friend the bride was the only daughter, with eleven brothers. Gasp. Each one more handsome than the last. I was wined and dined and treated like a movie star.
I love to dance and have – well, had really, who knows where they are now – medals and cups for Latin and Ballroom dancing. The bride’s brothers all danced. I was taken to the local café where the table and chairs were pushed back, the jukebox was turned on, and I was swept off my feet by those tall, dark, handsome men. The crowds cleared the floor and watched. I felt like Ginger Rogers and have never forgotten the wonder of the time I spent in what was a little out-of-the-way part of France.
So, come along with me on Krista’s journey. I know I’ll have fun writing it and hope you have fun reading it.
Gemma
MAY 1938
Auberge du Village
Metz, France
Chapter 1
Krista Dumas opened her blue eyes at the first cheep from the birds greeting the coming dawn. She snuggled blissfully into her rough calico pillow. She loved this time of day when it felt as if she were the only human in the world awake.
This tiny room under the eaves was her place. The only part of the building where she could escape the demands of her family and the business they ran. It was time to start her day. She climbed carefully out of the narrow bed – she had hit her head off the wooden beams of the roof too many times to count. She took the few steps necessary to reach the rooftop window and, pushing upwards with her hands on the glass, she stood on her toes to put her head out of the opening. She took a moment to appreciate the changing colours in the morning sky – all she could see from this vantage point.
She left her perch and walked over to the door with lowered head – the woollen dressing gown left behind by a visiting Englishman hung on one of the hooks on the back of the heavy wooden door. She pushed her arms into the sleeves before removing the chair from under the door handle and undoing the bolt. One could never be too careful while living in an auberge. She pulled open the door and on bare feet made her way to the wooden staircase leading down to the family rooms on the fourth floor. Practically holding her breath, she walked along the bare hallway towards the toilet.
She squatted over the Turkish toilet, smiling as always when she thought of the horror of some of their guests on first seeing the flat marble stand set into the floor of the guest toilets. She used the water hose set into the wall at the side of the toilet to flush – her mother objected to the rattle of pipes from a pulled chain. Having taken care of the rest of her business, she went back to her room to dress and start her day.
She glanced at the handsome leather-cased travelling clock standing on the ledge over her bed. It too had been left behind by a guest at the auberge. Krista had once suggested writing to the guests and informing them of their lost possessions. Her mother had slapped her around the ears at the very thought of the waste of time and the expense. If the guest was careless enough to leave items behind it was their hard luck in her mother’s opinion.
Krista returned the chair to under the doorknob. She had to hurry. It was her duty to open the café-bar-tabac that her family ran from one side of the ground floor of the auberge. She had deliveries of breakfast breads to accept from the nearby boulangerie and there would be trouble if she did not have coffee brewing for the many early morning workers who stopped at the café each morning for coffee and a croissant.
She rushed around the room preparing herself to face
the long day ahead. She took her black skirt and white blouse from the nail beaten into the wall. The outfit served as her uniform but it was also the only type of clothing she was allowed. Not for her the light bright clothing her age group wore. She pulled the hated black woollen stockings over her knees, then thick elastic garters to hold them in place. She’d carry her shoes down the stairs. She brushed her long white-blonde hair before forcing it into a heavy bun at the back of her neck with a sigh. She did wish her mother would allow her to adopt the short style so fashionable these days. The last thing she did before leaving the room was to take a long white apron that covered her from neck to hem from the back of the door. She checked herself as well as she could without a mirror before making her way silently down the long stretch of stairs to the ground floor.
“The excitement of my life!” Krista said aloud to herself. Why not? There was no one else around. “Coffee … where would we be without coffee?” she muttered as she prepared the machine for the day. “Can no one else clean this blessed machine? It is the same every morning. I have to come downstairs a quarter of an hour early to clean the coffee machine. Could one of the men not do it when the place is closed at night? They could put the parts in to soak. Is that too much to ask?” She continued her grumbling as she soaked parts of the machine in boiling water.
Her movements were quick and familiar as she prepared the area for its first customers.
“I am not cleaning those windows.” She knew she would. She couldn’t bear to see smudges on the long windows that gave a view out onto the main street of their village. She pulled chairs off tables and set them on the floor. “At least the floor is clean. I suppose I should be grateful for that small mercy.”
It saddened her to see a man she knew walk past without his usual wave and smile. How long had it been since anyone smiled to start their day? Now people stumbled along with heads down and shoulders hunched. “It is all so different,” she whispered. Alone here she could admit to herself that she was scared. No one talked openly about the changes taking place in their world. The café-bar-tabac customers, who used to greet each day with loudly expressed opinions of everything under the sun, now huddled over their coffee and glanced under frowning brows at their neighbours. How long could such a state of affairs continue?
She was seventeen years old and sometimes felt as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“Maurice,” she gasped when she opened the main doors to find a scowling young man and a visibly frightened youth standing on the other side. Her stomach heaved but she tried to hide it. She looked at the trembling youth being pushed forward roughly. She thought she knew his face but couldn’t remember his name. The large wooden tray of breakfast rolls almost fell from his hands as he was pushed into the café. She wanted to know why her friend Hanna had not delivered the rolls but was afraid to ask.
“Is it not a little early for you to be out and about, Maurice?”
He didn’t answer but pushed her rudely out of the way.
“Leave that there.” He pushed the youth forward again, causing him to slam the large wooden tray onto the marble counter of the bar. “Off you go now. There’s a lot of work to be done.” He cuffed the youth around the ear and sent him on his way with a shove.
Krista watched the youth run out the door, wishing she could run away with him. She left the main doors standing open at her back. She wanted somewhere to run if Maurice tried anything unpleasant.
“Since when have you decided to accompany delivery boys?” Krista couldn’t stand there like a dummy. She wished she was strong enough to give the smirking Maurice a box on the ear.
“My family have taken over the boulangerie.”
“I wasn’t aware it was for sale.” She had to force strength into her knees. This was a nightmare. Why hadn’t her friend Hanna told her that the business was for sale?
“Do not be stupid. Why should we pay good money to those stinking Jews? My father warned them to get out of town. There is no place for such as them around here.” Maurice had hoped the family would stay put. Shame the beating he and his friends had given them had frightened them into fleeing. He would have enjoyed repeating the experience. He wasn’t going to spend his life catering to stinking peasants. He had been a member of the Hitler Youth for years – was one of its youngest commanders. He was going places. “Give me a coffee.”
“This is a business.” Krista walked slowly and carefully behind the high counter of the bar. Maurice was like a wild boar – quick movement could cause him to attack. “We do not give coffee. We sell it.”
He moved swiftly, leaning over the counter to grab her arm and squeeze it painfully, jerking her towards him. The action pulled her to her toes and pressed her bosom painfully against the edge of the marble countertop. He was much faster than his stocky build had led her to believe. A mistake she wouldn’t make again. She refused to give him the satisfaction of crying out as his thick fingers tightened around her slender arm.
“You be careful how you speak to me.” He shook her violently.
Out of the corner of her eye Krista saw some of her regular customers approach the open doors. It shocked her to see them turn away from the opening when they saw what was going on inside.
“I have spoken to your father.” Maurice shook her, his lips parting in a savage smile that almost froze the blood in her veins. “I have told him I want to wed you. He was delighted that his youngest and only daughter would make such an advantageous match.” He laughed loudly at the look of horror on her pretty face.
“You’re dreaming!” Krista wanted to scream that she would never agree to marry the boy who had tortured her with his marked attention throughout her childhood. She had more sense than to say it aloud. Maurice delighted in watching his victims squirm – he always had. She prayed for someone – anyone – to come by and stop this madness. “I have work to do even if you don’t.” Please God let someone come into the bar! Would no one stand up against this bully?
“I warn you now, it will be far more pleasant for you to serve only me.” Maurice ignored her objection, delighting in the pain he caused. She had scorned him long enough. He would have her and he would make her pay for every slight she had ever inflicted on him. “There are other ways women such as you can serve the Fatherland.”
“I am a citizen of France.” There were rumours of women disappearing – dreadful whispers of homes set up to breed Aryan children to serve the Fatherland. Surely something of that nature could not be true?
“I only have to drag you across the road and we will be in Germany.” Maurice applied more pressure to her arm and tried to move her out from behind the bar.
She could not allow him to remove her from the premises. She would be without papers and at his mercy if he managed to pull her onto German soil. Living on the border between Germany and France as they did, it would be a simple matter for him to trap her. She would put her identity papers in her apron from this day forward. It would appear she would have to rescue herself from this man’s clutches – not for the first time. She reached behind her, putting pressure on her aching arm. She turned on the water tap, grateful she could tell what she touched without sight. She grabbed the flexible rubber hose attached to the tap and aimed it at his face.
Ducking, he pushed her roughly away from him. The bitch did not know who she was dealing with but there was no need to risk being soaked. He would have her at his mercy soon enough. She had been promised to him. There was no need to draw unwanted attention on himself. Not at this moment – but soon! Soon all would know who he was and what he was capable of … soon.
He left the bar, whistling.
Krista trembled as she served the first of her customers. No one mentioned what had gone on before – and they knew – they had seen! Her arm ached and she fought the tears that wanted to fall. What had happened to her friend Hanna and her family? Were they safe? Who could she ask? This was no way to live. Her thoughts turned and boiled while she continue
d to serve the customers who passed through the bar. She had been doing this work since she was a small child and blessed the fact the movements were automatic. She needn’t think of words and greetings while her brain continued to wonder and worry.
She greeted the local women who came early to restore order and clean the restaurant which took up a large area on the ground floor. They carried out their work without the usual whispered conversations. They left with a nod when their work was complete. They would return later to clean the rooms and public area of the auberge. Krista missed the shared laughter and snippets of gossip that had at one time been the normal behaviour of this group. When had their world changed? Why was she noticing it so much this morning – was it because of Maurice?
She continued to work automatically. Part of her duty was to greet the auberge’s early-rising guests when they left their rooms, and offer breakfast. The auberge had six large guest rooms on the second floor of the building. There was also shared accommodation offered on the third floor. The fourth floor and attics were the family’s living quarters. She carried out her duties with a forced smile on her face, glad that her black skirt hid her trembling knees. She could not afford to break down. She served breakfast to their guests and local customers, took care of those wishing to check out and offered advice on walks and activities in the area to those who requested them.
The tour of the nearby Riesling vineyard that sat on the German side of the border was very popular with their guests. Baron von Furstenberg welcomed foreign visitors to his caves where his wines were sampled and sold in great quantities.
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