‘Climb over them,’ Beatrice told me. ‘To the far end.’
I thought she would follow me, but instead, she reached into her dress and removed a small revolver.
‘Where did you get that?’ I asked.
‘It belonged to Claude,’ she told me. ‘Now hide, and no matter what happens, do not come out!’
‘But…’
‘Now, Joelle!’ she urged.
I did as she asked, my heart pounding faster, dread causing chaotic thoughts. I was scared for Mo and Beatrice, but not worried about myself. I did not want to hide away, while they faced the enemy. I wanted to fight too.
I heard shouting and harsh words, but the language was French, not German. Very quickly, Beatrice spoke up, shouting to the men outside.
‘We are Resistance!’ she yelled. ‘He is British. He cannot understand you!’
The door to the barn was kicked ajar. There stood a heavy-set man holding a shotgun. Another joined him, leading hunting dogs, and holding Mo.
‘Maquis?’ asked the man with the shotgun.
‘Yes, yes!’ said Beatrice. ‘We were betrayed, and we ran. We are not your enemy!’
The man shrugged.
‘Well, well,’ he replied. ‘You should have said. Welcome, my comrades!’
He lowered the gun and smiled warmly, and I closed my eyes and once more thanked our lucky stars.
FOURTEEN
Beatrice and the men spoke for a while. Mo stood with me, his shoulders tense.
‘It’s okay,’ I told him. ‘They are Resistance, like Beatrice.’
‘How can we trust men we do not know?’ he replied.
‘Because we have no choice,’ I reminded him. ‘And just look at them. They are obviously on our side.’
The man with the shotgun sensed our gaze. He turned, smiled, and gestured for us to join them. When we did, he ruffled my hair.
‘Beatrice tells me that you are a true hero of France,’ he said. ‘That your parents sacrificed themselves for our cause.’
The pain of my parents’ demise must have shown on my face. The man grew sorrowful and asked my forgiveness.
‘I did not mean to upset you,’ he added. ‘I too have lost family. A brother and an uncle, taken by these animals.’
I nodded.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I told him.
‘And I yours,’ he replied. ‘I am Thomas.’
He wore muddy boots, grey trousers that seemed to be made from an old sack, a thick black coat and navy cap.
‘Joelle Breton,’ I said.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘We meant no harm. You are all welcome here.’
He nodded towards Mo.
‘And you,’ he said in heavily accented English, ‘you are pilot for the British?’
‘Yes,’ said Mo. ‘I am trying to get back to England.’
Thomas raised an eyebrow.
‘But you head north?’ he said. ‘That is not good. Too many Germans.’
Mo shrugged and said nothing, and Thomas changed the subject.
‘Hungry?’
We nodded.
‘We have rabbit stew and bread. Come!’
Thomas led us past the first three derelict houses and through the door of the fourth. The ground floor was uninhabitable – open to the elements and freezing. Thomas went to the rear, where junk lay piled up. He pulled aside old wooden crates and sacks of woodchips until I saw a secret hatch.
‘A cellar,’ I said, as I remembered my old house.
‘Our hideaway,’ said Thomas.
His friend left the dogs to roam the upper floors, before joining us with Beatrice.
‘This is Jean,’ Beatrice told us.
He was younger than Thomas but of the same build – stocky and powerful, with wide shoulders.
‘He is my son,’ Thomas confirmed.
Just inside the hatch, an oil lantern hung from the stone wall. Thomas lit it and led the way. I was expecting a narrow, damp space, but the cellar was deep and wide and cosy.
‘We widened and reinforced it,’ Thomas explained. ‘It is linked to the ones beneath the other houses.’
‘We have several escape hatches around the hamlet too,’ Jean added.
‘It is a warren!’ Beatrice exclaimed. ‘A perfect hideaway.’
Thomas gave a proud smile.
‘When the Germans invaded, we decided to dig in,’ he explained. ‘We are active in the Resistance too.’
I glanced at Mo, who seemed uninterested. He hadn’t relaxed at all.
‘What’s the matter?’ I whispered.
‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘I am simply being careful.’
I nodded and left him alone. After our betrayal at Vincent’s hands, Mo’s reluctance was no surprise. I wondered whether I was too trusting of Thomas and Jean. Should I have been as wary as Mo, perhaps?
‘Sit, sit!’ said Thomas, clapping his hand across Mo’s back. ‘We eat, then we talk!’
We ate and chatted and shared stories of our time under the Germans. Thomas and Beatrice then left us to discuss Resistance matters and Jean went to check on his dogs. I turned to Mo, who seemed more relaxed than earlier.
‘What you said?’ I began. ‘Was it true?’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘When you said you’d take me with you?’
Mo’s offer had been playing on my mind since we’d left my home. Left Mrs Moreau and the bakery, and the buried remains of my dear parents. I was all alone, except for Mo and Beatrice, and I knew that a choice was coming. Soon, I would have to decide whether to remain with Beatrice or to follow Mo. My head told me to stay, but my heart had other plans. Yet, that longing to leave France seemed silly and ill-judged. I hardly knew Mo and life in a foreign country seemed unimaginable.
‘Sikhs live by a moral code,’ Mo told me. ‘Part of which is to remain true to our oaths. I have given you my word, Joelle. I will not let you down.’
‘But I am not your family,’ I replied. ‘You have no duty to me.’
Mo shook his head.
‘We are all family,’ he said. ‘Every man, woman and child on this Earth. I believe that all of creation is one whole. We are bound together, each of us, by invisible links, and all are equally important.’
‘But…’
‘The decision is yours to make,’ he told me. ‘If you trust in my care, I will always look after you. If you choose to remain in your own country, that I will also accept.’
‘And this is what Sikhism teaches you?’ I wondered
