“My cousins, Amélie and Chantal, are there. They will want to see me and hear about Jeremy; Amélie in particular.” He told the story of how she had saved the British soldier at Dunkirk and the obvious attraction between them.
Although sympathetic, Jacques objected. “There is nothing she can do for him now. The Nazi war machine will not pause for sentiment. You’re a valued fighter. We need you in Marseille.”
“This war won’t be won in a day,” Nicolas had replied. “At the end, if we’ve sacrificed our humanity, we will still have lost. My cousins need me for a short while and then I’ll meet you in Marseille.”
Reluctantly, Jacques agreed. They traveled together to Bourges. Progress was slow. Vehicular and foot traffic congested the roads, and frightened people filled the trains. The two men used each mode of travel intermittently depending on what was available, catching rides when they could, boarding trains when possible, or just joining the mass of trudging refugees.
Late that afternoon, they stopped to rest in a small café in a village south of Bourges. The owner apologized for having nothing to serve aside from water, but he allowed them to rest their legs at one of his tables out of the heat. He refused payment.
Inside, the place was empty, although a radio played from behind the cash register. There, while sipping water and allowing their minds a respite from the atrocities they had seen, the two men listened to General Pétain’s address to the nation calling for an end to hostilities.
Their eyes met, fury rising as they understood the implications. They scoffed when, at the end of his speech, Pétain said, “I give the gift of myself to France.”
Jacques leaped to his feet, shoving the chair backward and glaring at the radio. “Keep your gift, coward,” he yelled at Pétain’s imaginary presence. “Your illegal government might surrender, but the people of France never will.”
Out on the street, car horns tooted, joined by a jubilant cry from the stream of people going by. Nicolas hurried to look out the door.
Some men and women danced and hugged. The crowd had stopped its forward movement. Apparently, word had spread in the street about Pétain’s broadcast. As Nicolas watched more closely, some in the crowd reversed course and headed in the opposite direction with expressions of relief. They engaged each other with animated, happy laughter and conversed with big smiles and bright eyes.
For others, the news did not appear welcome. Their shoulders drooped further, and they continued their journeys with a seemingly heavier tread.
As Nicolas returned to his seat, the restaurant owner entered from the kitchen, worry plastered on his face. He brought with him a tray with a loaf of bread, some cheese and sliced beef, a bottle of wine, and three glass goblets.
“I heard you,” he told Jacques, shaking his head. “This is a bad thing. France will pay a heavy price.” He set the food and drink on the table. “Please, be my guests. This is from my personal pantry.”
While the two men thanked him, he crossed to the radio and fiddled with the dial. “Let’s hear what they say on the BBC.”
Fifteen minutes later, they listened as de Gaulle called on his countrymen to resist by whatever means. When he finished with “Vive la France!” all three men stood and lifted their wine goblets in the air.
“Now there,” Jacques exclaimed, “is a leader we can follow.” They clinked their glasses together.
25
Later in the afternoon, Amélie went for a walk. Chantal seemed no better or worse, sitting on the front veranda looking across the countryside while clutching her family photograph. Amélie had tried to raise her spirits by gently pointing out various sights, but her sister barely responded.
Her uncle and aunt’s farm spanned many acres, with orchards of apricots, peaches, raspberries, and walnuts. They kept a small part of the farm reserved for dairy operations and produced their own branded cheese for market. Situated in the verdant valleys within the Rhône-Alpes, the majestic beauty lifted Amélie’s spirits, and she had hoped that it might have a similar effect on Chantal. When she received no indication that such would occur, she struck out on the dirt lanes leading through the orchards.
Deliberately shutting out memories of the past week as she walked, she breathed in the sweet air laden with the scent of blooming wildflowers. A cool breeze sweeping down from the mountains reinvigorated her.
After an hour of hiking, she started her trek back to the house. As she did, her stomach tightened, and the dread that had been her constant companion since hearing the first sounds of war returned. It increased the closer she came to the house.
When she reached the driveway that led out to the main road, she saw another figure advancing toward her in the waning sunlight. She stopped to see who it was, putting the flat of her hand above her eyes to shield them from the sun.
She gasped as she recognized Nicolas’ swinging gait. Arms flung wide, she ran to him and embraced him tightly.
“I’ve been so worried about you,” she said as happy tears ran down her cheeks. She stood back to look at him. He appeared gaunt and tired, and she noticed that his signature big smile was gone. “Your father is here, and Chantal. They’ll be thrilled to see you.” Grasping his hand, she led him up the road to the farmhouse.
Chantal saw them coming. She hurried to Nicolas, buried her face against his chest, and sobbed quietly and uncontrollably.
Surprised, Amélie backed away and let the moments linger.
Claude emerged through the door. Seeing Nicolas, he put his arms around him and Chantal. Very few words were spoken.
At last, the emotional greetings completed, the uncle, aunt, and cousins welcomed Nicolas into their home. Dinner followed, yet Amélie noticed that despite the happiness at seeing
