In a Field of Blue

by Liviero, Gemma

  “No,” said Jerome. “You must trust me. This is for the best. Several soldiers from the prison had to be taken away with influenza, and some of the inmates were released to the hospital. I cannot let you in that place. Do not argue with me.”

  I saw that Jerome did not have the strength to argue, and I did not have the heart to defy him.

  “And what good is it anyway if you are both imprisoned?”

  Jerome decided to kill the last chicken so that we could take Helene some stew. And over the following week, we were sharing half the food we prepared between the two of us and taking the other half to Helene, knowing that she needed much strength for the baby. But we were starting to feel real hunger. Those in Bailleul and the villages surrounding who had chosen to stay felt the hunger also and were desperately searching for ways to now escape the town. I wondered if we would all die and prayed daily that the Allies would make fast steps to win the town back.

  From Edith, a local woman whose son had also been imprisoned, I learned something about the conditions inside the cells, which Jerome had been keeping from me. Her boy had been accused of stealing guns and scouting for the Allies. He was only fifteen, and I felt for Edith, who was there visiting every morning also. Helene was looking very pale and thin in the face, and her dress had turned a dirty gray color, she told me, and Helene had been very kind to Edith’s son. Several people had been released for no given reason, and there were half a dozen prisoners left. The cells were filthy, buckets of excrement left uncollected. Several townspeople were told to empty the buckets from the cells, but it did not stop the stench that remained behind.

  I wondered how long the prisoners could go on like that. Surely something would happen and everything would return to normal, or whatever normal was before. Helene’s only crime was to fall in love with an English soldier.

  I waited for Jerome on a rainy day outside the prison, and he had an expression that was different. He had grown thinner and weaker since Helene had been taken. We had no more fruit, and our supplies in the cellar were diminishing.

  “What is wrong?”

  He shook his head.

  “Everything is wrong,” he said. I begged him to tell me what he had seen. He did not hold anything back this time. He said that the conditions were unlivable, and I saw that he had tears in his eyes.

  “The young boy who was put in there for spying is dying. He will not see out the day. Helene cradles his head in her lap. He has not been able to sip water for many hours.”

  I put my hand over my mouth. It was so wrong for Edith to see her son, Jules, suffer. We climbed back onto the trap, and on the journey home, we were silent, and our hopes for any kind of reprieve were fading.

  The following day on our visit, we learned that the boy had died in the night, and they had dumped his body on Edith’s doorstep. She had awoken earlier than normal to take him food only to discover him lying in the street. She had lost her husband in war and now her son, and she had begun screaming at the sight of her son’s body. Passersby carried her back inside and before soldiers had time to arrest her for the spectacle.

  At Jules’s burial the following day, Edith told Jerome and me that Helene had been so kind to her boy; she had torn her own skirts for cloths to cool down his body. We hugged, and she began weeping into my shoulder, her heart aching.

  “I miss him,” she said as I stroked her head.

  “I know” was all I said, because there are no words to replace a lost child.

  I looked at the new graves that had been dug recently. War wasn’t right. Life was unfair. We were dying one by one, it seemed, until there was none. Several of the remaining residents had died from the influenza the Germans had brought with them also. People caught doing anything wrong were taken to the square and executed. A woman was imprisoned for attempting to send her young son with a message to his father in a neighboring town. The invaders took over households and treated the owners with contempt. The townspeople were at their bidding. Any couples that did not have a farm to run were called up to dig trenches, and their children were used elsewhere.

  Children old enough to help had been captured and taken to pick the crops of farmers, carry supplies and ammunition to the front line, and run errands until late into the night. Even very small children were recruited to deliver messages between gunners on the front line and the servicemen in the town, often working long hours without water and food. One of the graves I stood beside held a girl less than ten killed by a bomb when she was delivering a message close to the officers at the front line.

  Those who had fought back against the German invasion paid a price. One farmer destroyed all his own crops rather than see enemy soldiers take everything. For that he and his daughter were shot; the son, twelve, taken to work alongside the Germans, never to be seen again; and the wife left to bury half her family.

  There seemed no escape from our wretchedness.

  We could hear the Allies fighting to take back the town, but we feared also that the Germans were gaining a stronger foothold into France. We heard so little of what was happening elsewhere. During some of the bombings, more of the villagers escaped to the south. Jerome and I had a chance to flee also, but we could not leave Helene. Captain Lizt must have known this, too. He had not called us in to work, and we suspected he was leaving us here in the hope of luring and catching Helene’s English officer. I went to bed each night listening to the sounds of firings in the distance, something that had become part of our lives.

  Some nights after Jules’s burial, there was a loud knocking at the door. Edith had run on foot along the dark country road to see us, risking her own life. She lived in a house close to the prison and came to tell us that she had seen Helene being carried toward the asylum. She said that Helene was holding her belly, her face in pain: it appeared that she was in labor, the baby early.

  “The asylum is now used as a clearing station for German wounded,” said Edith. “All the nurses and most of the nuns were evacuated with the British but a number of sisters stayed behind to take care of them.”

  Jerome, Edith, and I took the horse and cart to the edge of town. Edith had insisted on coming with us. She said that she had assisted with midwifery before and was certain she could help. She also had much to do with the sisters, as she worked sometimes in the asylum kitchen, and she offered to go ahead to see the nuns while we waited in the shadows of buildings, praying no soldiers would patrol. It seemed they had become a little sloppy with the loss of many men, and more so lately with their focus on the battlegrounds.

  Edith returned after half an hour.

  “The sisters have told us to stay away. That they are to let no one in.”

  “We must go in regardless,” said Jerome.

  “No, you can’t, but I have another idea,” said Edith.

  She pushed some cloth toward me.

  “What is it?”

  “Some holy garments that I have not had permission to take, but I think in this case we will be forgiven.”

  I recognized her plan immediately.

  “Yes,” I said, and turned to Jerome. He looked at me with his sagging eyes and nodded. There was little other choice.

  We donned the nuns’ habits and veils, and both Edith and I furtively made our way back toward the asylum. As we drew closer, several muted lights revealed us, and we bowed our heads and held our breaths.

  The side door to the kitchen was unlocked, and I followed Edith inside. She put her finger to her lips to signify that I was not to talk at all. “And keep your head down,” she whispered.

  We walked along the hallway, encountering no one at first, and then suddenly out of the corner of my eye, I saw a German soldier. Edith greeted him, but I did not look up, as promised. I thought that he paused slightly as we walked past, that he had recognized me, but it was my fear playing tricks on me.

  I had no idea where I was going, but turning a corner, I was suddenly confronted by Sister Joan, the superintendent of the hospital. She recogn
ized both of us, expressing surprise, but immediately understanding the urgency, she indicated to follow her into the laundry room.

  “What are you doing? You will get killed!”

  “I must see Helene,” I said. “She has been brought here.”

  “Yes, I know. Sister Angela, our midwife, is with her at present, and one of our other nuns to assist. We have called for a doctor also, but the German doctors are busy at their field hospital. There are no others here.”

  At that there was a loud explosion close by, the force vibrating the ground beneath our feet and causing the walls to shudder. Joan looked around anxiously.

  “I do not know how much longer we can stay here. Many have had to leave. I was just on my way to take some fresh linen. We are doing everything we can.”

  “Is she sick as well?” I said, alarmed.

  Sister Joan paused before she continued. “She is weak but well enough, and the contractions are as normal.”

  “I must see her.”

  She looked at both of us, then reached for freshly laundered sheets and towels on the shelf.

  “There is a soldier at the door, and I do not know if he will allow any more,” said Joan. “They also might recognize you.”

  “We can replace the other sister with the midwife, with the two of us, so it is not as suspicious,” said Edith. “You can say that she is needed elsewhere.”

  Joan thought about it, lines deepening on her forehead.

  “Very well. But, Mariette, you must not draw attention to yourself. You need to tuck in that bright-colored hair of yours under the veil. I will do the talking.”

  “Thank you, Sister,” I said.

  I found that my whole body was trembling with anticipation as I longed to see Helene. We passed no soldiers in the hallways, but as we got to the ward at the end, I saw a soldier sitting outside with a gun. It was not a soldier that I recognized, thankfully.

  Joan spoke to him, and he nodded quickly, much to my relief. It was clear he had some respect for Joan. We knew that many of our nurses had helped their injured soldiers.

  As we entered the room, Helene was in too much pain to see the panic on my face. I could see immediately what else Jerome had been hiding from me. The change was too shocking.

  Helene’s face was the palest I had ever seen it. Her brown skin was waxen, with a yellowish tint, and her hair was plastered around her face with sweat. There was darkness below her sunken eyes, their normally green color appeared cloudy, and the whites around her irises were webbed with red. I had seen the effects of illness and lack of food in the faces in the street. Everyone had suffered in a small way, and we all felt the hunger, but Helene’s was painfully obvious by her starved appearance.

  The two nursing sisters who had been attending Helene seemed surprised to see Joan, who made a sign to be quiet. The other women had taken off their veils, and their sleeves were rolled up.

  Helene had been gasping for breath during one of her contractions when she noticed me just inside the door. Her eyes closed briefly in relief as the pain ebbed temporarily, and I saw the hint of a smile as she reached out her arm in my direction. I rushed to her side. I had promised myself that I would not cry, but tears came, and I kissed the back of her hand several times, then left my lips to rest longer on her forehead. Her skin was hot to touch.

  “I missed you,” she whispered, and then she screwed up her face with another contraction. I squeezed her hand.

  Sister Angela revealed that Helene’s contractions had apparently begun hours before she had left prison and that the birth was close. The superintendent said she would be back to check on us but warned that a full evacuation might be necessary if the bombings came any closer. She wished us well, then led the other sister out of the small room so as not to draw suspicion with so many in attendance.

  Edith and I were on either side of Helene, supporting her, and Edith held a cloth to her forehead, while the nursing sister watched for signs of the baby’s head. Helene had been changed into a white hospital shift, and the sisters had been bathing and washing her. Though I could see she had not been kept well: there was much dirt under her fingernails, her feet covered in grime.

  Within half an hour, Sister Angela reported that the baby was coming. And at the same time, another explosion sounded on the far side of the town.

  Helene’s body was bathed in her own sweat, and I helped her sip water from a glass.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Helene said. “I’ve been worried about you. Jerome was not allowed to speak to me, just leave me the food. I’ve had to share it with others who have none.”

  My suspicion that Jerome had not been telling me about her deterioration seemed evident, and it was obvious why he had left the jail so pale the last time. Helene had not only lost weight, but she had a fever also.

  The shelling outside shook the building again, and sounds of airplanes roaring through the skies were followed by rapid fire. Edith went to the window and reported that there was gunner fire on the horizon and the sky was littered with white and yellow flashes.

  “Why are our soldiers bombing us?” Helene asked.

  “They don’t know we are here. They would have expected all townspeople to be gone by now.”

  “Do you think Edgar is out there?” Helene asked, her words sounding distant. “Do you think he is all right?” She was slightly delirious, I realized, and my heart ached so much for her. Despite her own pain, she was thinking of someone else.

  The child came through at the sound of more distant gunfire, and Helene collapsed back on the bed. It was a boy, small but healthy, his tiny lungs strong enough to produce prolonged wails. He was dark pink in a white and greasy coating, but his small and wondrous face was clear. Sister Angela cut the cord and swaddled him in a soft blanket, then passed him to me.

  I held the baby, who flexed his little hands and fell back to sleep, while Angela and Edith helped clean up Helene and change the bedsheets.

  I showed Helene the baby, but she did not reach for him. She looked exhausted and frail. I touched his small fingers with wonder.

  “I must go quickly to find a doctor,” Angela said, touching my arm. Though her face was passive, I read the message in her touch. Helene was dangerously ill.

  I heard Angela talking to the soldier outside, who was asking her many questions. He was hesitant about her suggestion, instead telling her only to bring back medicine. But the sister insisted that the patient would die if she did not see a doctor quickly. I could tell that she wasn’t just saying this in the hope that the soldier would offer to go instead, perhaps for the benefit of us escaping, but that she meant it. I looked across to Helene, who had dozed and not heard the conversation. Finally the soldier agreed, but he was terse, and the shelling so close to the hospital had probably reached his nerves and propelled a hasty response.

  Helene had her eyes closed, propped up against pillows on freshly changed linen. I leaned down, still with the baby in my arms, to kiss the top of her head.

  “There is so much gunfire,” Edith said at the window again. “I think the front line goes right through our town.”

  While Helene slept, I carried her sleeping baby around the room and wondered what his future would be. We were fatherless children for much of our lives, with strange men always around in the first years, and the thought that the child had no father also made me sad. I wished then that I could remember the face of my mother. There had been too many gypsy women in my past for me to feature one. It had always been Helene there at my side, the one I turned to. I looked at her at peace for now, temporarily oblivious to this dire situation. What now? What must I do?

  Angela came back with some medicine but no doctor, reporting that he was not answering the door, no doubt part of the original evacuation. The sister woke Helene up and fed her some strong-smelling syrup that supposedly dulled her pain and helped reduce her temperature. She lifted Helene’s wrist and checked her heart and then felt her neck and arms.

  �
�She needs to be cooled very quickly,” she said, and proceeded to bathe her with a cloth.

  I looked across at Helene, then handed the baby to Edith. The shelling had stopped momentarily, and Helene now had her eyes open, watching me. She patted the soft bed beside her, and I rushed to sit with her and took both her hands in mine. She felt cold and clammy, and I felt the slight after-birth tremor within her body.

  I told her that a doctor would come and then we would take her away.

  “It is no good,” she said. “There is no point.”

  “Don’t talk that way!” I said as gently as possible without sounding like I was scolding her.

  “Mariette,” she said softly, her voice cracking with the effort, as if she had not used it for a long time. “I want you to take the baby and disappear from this place. It is too dangerous, and you must be safe. I want you to promise me that you will look after the baby and Edgar when he returns.”

  “I can’t leave you. Ever!”

  She gripped my wrist a little tighter, though there was so little strength in it.

  “For the sake of my baby, you must take him away now. You and Jerome. I fear that things will get far worse than better. And they will never release me. You need to find Edgar. There is a reason the baby came early. He will help Edgar heal.”

  I had a sense that she knew I had lied about not seeing Edgar and that perhaps she had known all along about his illness.

  “You must come, too,” I said.

  But I knew she couldn’t. She was so weak she could barely raise her arms, and there was no way we could carry her from the building without being seen.

  “The boy must know his family, and you must take care of both the baby and Edgar. He sacrificed for us, Mariette. He risked his life for us, for France!” She gripped my wrist tighter for a brief moment. I could feel the love and loyalty in those words, which she was transferring to me by touch. “Promise me!”

  Machine guns sounded, and the smell of smoke permeated through the windows. I felt then that something big was about to occur and hoped the Allies would drive the Germans away. But she was right. She always was. It would be months yet before Bailleul would once again be in friendly hands, and then there would be little left for the townspeople to return to.