“Ah, I know of them. We call them Îles de la Manche or Îles Anglo-Normandes. Do you speak Sercquiais?”
“Those are the right islands, and yes, I speak Sercquiais. Even though it’s a French dialect, no one who didn’t grow up there understands it. Children are taught both French and English. We learn our patois on our own. Sark is a backward place.”
Amélie wrinkled her forehead. “What do you mean, ‘backward?’ The education sounds like it must be good.”
“The culture is dated. We don’t even allow cars.”
Amélie nodded with a bemused expression. “Maybe it’s good that your island is backward.” She indicated their surroundings beyond the confines of the room. “Look what we have now in Dunkirk.”
Jeremy first nodded, and then shook his head grimly. “You have a point.”
“So, you fight because you’re British. Do you think the Americans will fight?”
Feeling a downward pull in mood, Jeremy’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. This war has already gone on nearly nine months. Americans want to stay neutral.”
“Then they will fight. Hitler won’t let them stay neutral. He’s already taken Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland—"
Suddenly, the door burst open and Chantal rushed in with a look of horror. Tears ran down her face. “The Germans have entered Paris,” she cried. “I heard it just now on the street. The Nazis are celebrating.” She wrung her hands together in despair. “What will happen to us?”
Amélie gasped. Then they heard the front door of the house open and close, and Ferrand hurried into the room.
He spoke rapidly to Jeremy. “The Germans are searching all the houses in the neighborhood. I’ll hide you. Come with me. Now.” As he headed out the door, he told his daughters, “Stay in the house. Look normal.”
Jeremy bolted after him while pulling on his dirty uniform. Then he stopped and turned to Amélie. “I will never forget you. After the war…” His voice trailed off.
With tears brimming, Amélie nodded. “Oui.” Her voice caught and she wiped her eyes. “After the war. Go!”
Amélie and Chantal sat in the front room staring out to sea. Occasionally, Chantal searched Amélie’s face for a clue to her thoughts, but Amélie remained impassive. Finally, unable to restrain herself, Chantal asked, “Do you think you’ll ever see him again?”
Amélie shrugged. “I don’t know. Right now, we can think only about how we get through tonight. When the Germans come here, don’t be so inquisitive. Be quiet, answer their questions, volunteer nothing, and look scared.”
“I am scared.”
“Good. Stay that way.”
“You don’t have to be so cross with me.”
Amélie smiled gently. “I’m sorry. You’ve been wonderful.”
Chantal remained quiet a moment, but curiosity overcame her judgment. “Do you love him?”
“Don’t be silly. I just met him two days ago, and he was unconscious.”
“But you cried when he left.”
“Of course,” Amélie deflected. “Those Germans on the road could have killed us.”
Chantal darted to the window. “Look, they’re coming. The soldiers are leaving the neighbor’s house and coming this way.”
“And where’s father?” Amélie cried. She rushed to the kitchen, doused cold water on her eyes, and returned to the living room to sit and wait. Chantal sat across the room in a chair, her legs kicking, her eyes wide. She bit her fingernails.
They heard the garden gate creak open, the stomp of boots on the sidewalk, and then an abrupt knock on the front door. Amélie went to open it.
The officer who met her was dressed immaculately in his uniform. He exhibited flawless manners and a friendly attitude, whether sincere or not.
“Good afternoon, mademoiselle,” he greeted in French with a perfect accent. “I am Hauptman Bergmann. But I see that you’ve been crying. Is anything the matter?”
Bergmann personified Aryan good looks with a square jaw, blond hair, and blue eyes, and he carried himself with a confidence just shy of arrogance that repulsed Amélie. She sniffed and wiped an eye. “Of course I’m crying. I just heard that your army marched into Paris. Dunkirk is destroyed, and everything in our country is turned upside down. I don’t even know if I’m allowed to leave the house, or when.”
“I understand. Please accept my assurance that we are here with the greatest of intentions.” Bergmann’s condescension grated on Amélie. He continued, “When this mess is finished, we’ll all be friends in one big country. Right now, we ask for patience while we settle in.” He turned to an orderly standing just behind him.
Amélie recognized the soldier as the one who had jostled her when she had gone out in the rain. Involuntarily, she froze.
“Who lives in this house, Kallsen?” Bergmann asked.
“The Boulier family,” Kallsen replied, after checking a list on a clipboard. “Ferrand Boulier lives here with his daughters, Amélie and Chantal. His wife is deceased.”
Bergmann turned back to Amélie. “My condolences regarding your mother. May I assume that you are Amélie Boulier?” She nodded. “Is your father home?”
“My father went out right after we heard the news about Paris. I think he went to find out more detail.”
Bergmann feigned hesitance. “May I come in? I want my soldiers to check out your house. Nothing invasive. We’ve had reports of British soldiers still loose and hiding, and we want to apprehend them before they cause damage to local residents.”
Mindful of the irony of a German officer concerning himself about destruction amid the ruins of Dunkirk, Amélie stepped out of the way and motioned for Bergmann to enter. He turned to Kallsen and indicated that he should join them.
Two more soldiers followed. They immediately went to other parts of the house to carry out their search. Kallsen remained inside the front door, prepared to take notes.
Looking around the living room, Bergmann said, “Very nice. I’m happy to see that the fighting did you no harm.”
“We were fortunate. It stopped a few houses closer to town.”
Noticing consternation on Chantal’s face, Bergmann crossed the room to rub her cheek.
Chantal blanched. Her eyes widened further.
“You have nothing to fear from me, young
