“I do not wish to dishearten you, yet I’m sure I met the people you describe, an old woman and her son. The boy was a few years younger than me, Ibarra by name. Yes, I saw them near Figeac, in the countryside. We stood in line at the back of a lorry.”
Père Gaspard’s voice turned sharp. “How do you know that name Ibarra?”
The young man looked off into the brush. “The soldiers recorded all of our names, sir. I heard them, one by one. The boy was Gabirel, the woman ... forgive me, I cannot remember.”
“Did this happen before our Maquisards cut the railroad line to Montauban?” Père Gaspard strained forward, even more agitated than when he’d returned from Terrou. Watching him, the base of Kate’s stomach formed a hard knot.
“Before. I swear it. In Figeac, everyone but me boarded the train, two carloads full, bound for Montauban.”
“And those from Terrou?”
“I know nothing of them. I am sorry. I only passed through the countryside at the wrong time. Otherwise, I would never have entered that line myself. One minute, I sneaked through a barn south of Figeac, where a mama goat bleated for her kids, and the next minute, a German soldier blocked my way.”
Père jerked his head at Kate’s sharp intake of breath. South of Figeac—did he mean the baby goats that romped in the meadow with her a few weeks ago?
“You say you escaped at the Figeac station?”
“Oui. A woman holding a baby started screaming. She fell to the earth and others surrounded her. I was last in line, so when the officers ran to her, I saw an opportunity to slip away. At least they never discovered my mission.”
“And you carry word northward for whom?”
“For the camp near Argentat. Would that I had not heard you ask about that name, Ibarra, for now evil tidings have found you.”
Père Gaspard clasped the young man’s shoulder. “The fault lies not with you, son.”
“A coincidence. A bad coincidence.”
The priest’s eyes sparked. Kate knew what he was thinking—no coincidences exist.
“We have longed for word of the Ibarras, and you were sent to tell us. Even though the news causes pain, we thank you.”
He reached into his pack and handed over some bread. “Be on your way again, and may God speed your feet to Argentat. Remember, the messenger sometimes suffers for the message he bears.”
The courier bowed and took off as though a hoard of devils chased him. Kate and Père watched his feet puff dust from the roadbed until his form faded.
Then the life left Père Gaspard’s face. “Mon Dieu. How can this be, Madame Ibarra thrown into a lorry and taken to Montauban?” He hung his head. “How can this be? They have taken her and Gabirel to Germany.”
Deportation. Related words swamped Kate. Interrogation. Torture. Death camps. But nothing could be worse than Domingo’s mother being treated this way. Simply being uprooted would destroy her. Departing her valley, this land of her birth, and in the back of a lorry, handled like an object of disgust. Worse, she surely observed the look in her youngest son’s eyes as he stood by, helpless.
A wave of that helplessness enveloped Kate, but she brought herself back to Père Gaspard, still literally shrinking before her eyes. She had no language for what she witnessed as the news settled in. For a moment, a great darkness threatened her mind, but then she remembered something Mother Hélène said just before they parted.
You may serve as Père Gaspard’s confessor … Hot tears scathed the backs of Kate’s eyelids. Some confessor she would make. If Père uttered one more word, she would collapse, too.
The sun’s rays peeked out from behind the clouds, but gloom hovered around them like dense fog. Had this terrible report reached Domingo yet? Wherever he traveled, Kate sent him strength. Even as she did, she imagined him following a rail line all the way to Germany after the war.
If he thought he could somehow find his family, nothing would stop him. As she considered his mind working, a longing as sharp and defined as the gorges in the Causse de Gramat enveloped her.
With all her heart, she wanted to be there when he found out, to hold and comfort him as he had comforted her at Monsieur le Blanc’s passing. The intense physical desire she’d experienced the night Domingo left burgeoned into something broader and stronger. She desired not only to share his loss. She wanted to be part of his life, broken or whole.
Chapter Twenty-One
Petra raised the canvas, hoisted his bag into the lorry with a grunt and stepped aside. Domingo unleashed his straps and just like that, transferred his ponderous burden to the custody of some unknown person inside the lorry. The dim interior shaded the recipient’s features, so he and Petra would never know who’d received the heist.
Arms light with the sudden weight reduction, Domingo pondered. Would it feel like this if he could let go of all his burdens? Maybe sincere prayer did that for Père Gaspard.
But he had no time to consider the question, for Petra already slunk out of sight into the cover of a low-hanging grove. Half an hour later, they paused on a trail leading northeast along the Dordogne. Domingo assumed they would head back to the Lot encampment, but Petra, as always, thought faster, deeper.
On a curve in the path, he halted to point out a crossroads visible below their position, where the trail widened into a road. “See how those two trails meet ours down there?”
Domingo craned his neck. Petra stood as still as a gnarled gneiss outcropping, waiting. Domingo did the same, but his instincts told him little, only the approximate direction to their original encampment, as well as the certain knowledge that the river would keep turning on itself, back and forth, making thumbs and fingers all the way to Souillac, as rivers often did.
But Petra saw more, or heard more. How to describe the unique skill this man possessed for searching things out and making sense of them? Over countless trails and missions, its reality became clear. Petra could make decisions in a flash, but only because of what he ascertained before the fact.
While Domingo merely reacted to scanty details, something more refined took place between his comrade’s heart and mind. With his head twisted toward Domingo, Petra’s hand dropped from his pack strap. He held his tongue a minute longer, and then instead of sharing his thoughts, asked a question.
“What do you think? Should we turn south here, toward the encampment, or continue a little farther along the river?”
He deserved more than a shrug, so Domingo conjured a question. “What do you sense about this place?”
“The breeze tells me that stretch ahead swims with activity. Most likely the local partisans have set up ambushes for any Wehrmacht units passing this way. Who knows? Maybe they need our services here to fell foot soldiers more than back in the Ségala.”
“Maybe.” Domingo had no doubt they would find out.
But Petra waited longer, so Domingo added more. “Perhaps we could go a distance along the river. There’s bound to be another road heading south not much farther along.” After all their travels together, he could have voiced Petra’s reply.
“A good idea. As strangers here, how can we know without checking? You have spoken well.”
Domingo jogged along behind his leader, for Petra had become exactly that. Such a guide orchestrated options and set up alternatives. In this way, he made his followers feel they chose the way themselves.
After another kilometer, Petra paused again, and Domingo drew up beside him. Petra barely whispered. “Hear them?”
Domingo concentrated and finally heard—or sensed—the shuffle of feet against rocky path. He no longer analyzed how Petra heard the sound or felt the vibration when they were still moving down the trail.
But his gift amounted to more than physical senses. He possessed a knowing beyond Domingo’s comprehension—God’s gift. He might have coveted Petra’s ability, but only gave thanks to be reunited with this man endowed with such invaluable intuition.
While they waited, the murmur strengthened until Doming
o realized more than one or two men approached. Petra squatted and shifted downward, ear to the earth. Then he held up four fingers.
Domingo would have bet a bar of gold they would soon see four men hiking along the trail, and they did. The group’s forward man pulled back when he saw them, but Petra held out his hand in a peaceful palms-up.
The strangers smelled of musty sod and mulch, river water and perspiration. One of them smoked a handmade cigarette, a jaunty railroader’s cap tipped over his forehead.
The leader took the initiative. “You need an assignment?”
Yes, they awaited another mission. Why not here? Why not now?
“Oui.” In Petra’s simple reply, a surge of power engulfed Domingo in spite of the ache in his muscles, the heat, his tiredness, and his anxiety about Maman, Gabirel, and Père Gaspard’s people. It even surpassed his newfound realizations concerning Kate, and he knew he could perform whatever these partisans required of him.
“We keep watch between here and Souillac, and onward to Bretenoux. There are only two big bridges here, but we have orders to kill any feldgraus that approach.”
“You have seen many?”
“One or two have found their graves in the ravines.” The man jerked his head toward the waterway on the other side of the path. “We must not let them get through, but we need more men. Many of our best have gone north to join the ambushes all the way across Correze. Our weakest place, the other side of Souillac, cries for more watchers.”
With a look, Petra sought and received Domingo’s silent assent. “We’ll be your watchers. Tell us exactly where to go.”
~
Little by little, Kathryn sensed the rhythm of her normal stride return. Back and forth to the far end of the hallway, four times a day, walking all by herself. Back in her room, she collapsed in her chair and stared out the window at a concrete parking lot.
On the way to her room, she always paused at the nurses’ station, where the calendar contained so many scrawls and notes that, without her glasses, Kathryn couldn’t make out the date. Surely she’d known that fact earlier in the day, but now, it escaped her.
“Why did I leave my glasses back in my room?” Her question reached no one, so she kept moving toward her destination.
Back in her hospital room, a pleasant surprise waited. “I’ve been watching you walk—almost normal, dearie.”
From her chair next to the door, Kate still panted, but Darlene’s contagious cheer called up a smile.
“So, how’s our church cleaning lady doing today? Your color looks a lot better. Here, I brought you something to read.” The newspaper headline immediately piqued Kathryn’s interest, as well as answering her question about the date.
ANNUAL RODEO JUST ONE MONTH AWAY
“Why, I’ve slept away half the summer!”
“Honestly, hon, I wondered if you’d ever wake up. But here you are, rarin’ to go.” If Darlene could be accused of anything, it would be eternal optimism. “And I’ll tell you one thing, I’ll be glad to hand the cleaning job back over to you. People have no idea how many volunteer hours you spend over there. We had an ice cream social last Sunday, and you wouldn’t believe...”
Oh yes, the annual social—so she’d missed that. First time in years her famous chocolate cake had been absent from the dessert pickings.
A man in a white doctor’s coat crossed the threshold. “Mrs. Ibarra? We have a test to run on you. You’ve done so well here that you’re being considered as a member of a medical experiment on recovery from head injuries.”
“What...? I don’t want to...”
“Come with me, ma’am. Others will benefit greatly from your cooperation. It won’t take long at all.” He placed his hand on Kathryn’s wrist, but Darlene spoke up.
“Didn’t you hear her say no?” Her spunk touched a deep chord in Kathryn, who took it from there.
“No one’s spoken to me about any experimental group. Did my doctor send you?”
“Why, yes. He said you’d be glad to take part.”
Darlene raised her right eyebrow and squinted, so Kathryn knew she wasn’t the only one with doubts.
“Well, I’ll think on it, but you’d better bring me something in writing first. I like to know what I’m getting into.”
He backed away, and as he did, Kathryn noticed his shoes. Somehow, they looked familiar. A shadow passed over her spirit as Darlene started to chat again.
“The things these hospitals do these days ... why, I heard the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota runs groups like that all the time. Ralph’s cousin’s mother went to one last winter. Guess they studied how people sleep or something.” She chuckled. “That’d be a good one for you, eh?”
“Not funny, Dar.” Kathryn bit her lip. Something about that stranger ruffled her nerves. Then, as Darlene turned to cheery news about local goings on and Mara getting ready for the rodeo, a puzzle piece clicked into place.
Those shoes went with a pair of brown tweed pants—the pants that stranger wore the day she’d fallen in the church. A shiver ran across her shoulders.
“Are you cold? I can shut the window ...”
Kathryn held up her hand. “No, it’s just—did that guy look familiar to you, Darlene?”
“I don’t think so. Have you seen him before?”
“Maybe.” Darlene chatted on, but Kathryn’s thoughts swirled.
She’d been too busy relearning everyday tasks to give much thought to her fall. Besides, the memory of her infamous accident haunted her. How could she possibly have been so clumsy? In a way, she dreaded going back home, and out in public. Surely people in the community had been wondering the same thing.
“So, I told Mara that maybe ... maaaaybe Grandma would be able to watch her perform. Have they said anything about you coming home yet?”
“Hum? Sorry, what did you say?”
“Nothing important. I only asked about you coming home, the subject you’ve been talking about ever since you woke up.”
“Oh, yes. Maybe in a week or so, they say. Will you be able to come and get me, Darlene? Gabby would, she said, but she’s already missed so many days of work, I hate to ask her.”
“You bet, my friend. Everyone’s dying to see you again.”
Sudden embarrassment caught Kathryn in a vicegrip. “I... I can't believe I've created so much trouble for everybody. You've already done so much for me--for my family.”
“As you would have for me if the tables had been turned. Why, when I think how you helped me out that time Antonio broke his leg...what would we have done without you?”
“Antonio broke his leg?”
“Of course he did. Take a minute to think, and it’ll come back to you. Picture me fifteen years younger, with three little ones, and a very icy winter...”
“Oh, yes, now I remember. He slipped unloading wood, and Gabby happened by to play with...what was that little girl's name?”
“Come on, now. Our children practically grew up in your house, Kathryn. What was her name?”
“Let...Lettie?”
“Of course! And I was busy inside—what was I doing?”
“You were...someone had the flu, and the doctor came...”
Darlene ran over and gave Kathryn a hug. “See? Everything you’ve ever known is all still in that noggin of yours—we just need to coax it out. Now, who had the flu? Who were we worried about?”
“Antonio’s...his mother?”
“Absolutely. Yup, we just need to coax all of those memories out of your head, and I’m just the person to do it.”
“You remind me of somebody, Kathryn.”
“Someone you knew a long time ago, way back when you were little girls?”
“That’s right.”
“Somebody you write to every week—somebody over in England?”
“Yes.”
“But she grew up in Iowa with you, right?”
“Yes—oh, how could I ever forget her name?”
“I’ll give you a clue. Her name start
s with an A. A d...”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Addie. Kathryn dropped her head. Darlene, I don’t understand my brain. The things I know best seem the hardest.”
“Well, it’s going to take an awful lot of patience.”
“Which I have in spades, my friend.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Two shabby maquisards jumped out of a lorry that screeched up to one of the portals. Not ten feet away from Père and Kate, they flipped up the canvas. Moans came from inside as the men reached in for wooden gurney poles. Blood oozed onto stained canvas as a wounded man cried out and rolled to the side, his trousers splotched dark red from knee to hip.
“Hurry. This other one has already lost consciousness.” The gruff order from inside the lorry sped the stretcher-bearers through a heavy side door that opened from the inside as if by magic.
“So, Saint Pierre’s has transformed into a hospital, too, a refuge. They can scarcely look up, but help awaits them here.” He turned to Kate. “Just as our help awaits in the triumph of the Cross.”
The men returned for the victim inside the lorry, and Père Gaspard took a step away. “Wait here. I’ll be back soon.”
The chiseled artwork far above Kate, still intact after all these centuries, held her attention. What led the designer to choose the second coming rather than the last judgment? And why had the judgment been the common choice back then?
The more she craned her neck, the more she saw hope in the midst of earth’s trials, and strength in seeming defeat. She hadn’t given much thought to the second coming, but Père certainly had. She’d have to quiz him some more.
Words Kate had heard in tiny Emmanuel, Aunt Alvina’s country church, wafted through her mind—Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Maybe this wonderful counselor with His arms outstretched in stone, had soothed the pain she’d caused Aunt Alvina. Surely her aunt had turned to Him for comfort. And what if right now, Aunt Alvina watched her from eternity with compassion instead of condemnation?
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