The Hesitant Hero

by Gilbert, Morris

  Rochelle left Marie inside the house with Yolande and then the older children helped Jolie and Annette carry Tyler inside. Carrying him was much easier this time, with two adults helping.

  “I will hide the wagon deep in the woods and tie the horse out there as well,” Annette told Jolie after they had Tyler settled on a bed.

  “Why are you helping us like this, Madame Fortier?” Jolie asked.

  “My husband was trapped on the beach at Dunkirk and escaped on an English ship. The Germans are evil. I know that much. My husband will fight wherever he can until this country is free of the filthy Germans!” She took a deep breath and looked at all the children, who were peering at her. “I won’t be long. Do you have milk for the little one?”

  “Only a little.”

  “I’ll bring some when I come back.”

  “Will the Germans find us here?” Yolande asked as Annette left.

  “No, God has brought us this far. He won’t abandon us.”

  ****

  Tyler groaned at the pain in his head. He felt buried in blackness, as if he were wrapped in a huge black bunting of wool.

  Gradually the darkness lifted, and he felt hands touching his head. He tried to push away whoever was hurting him, and his hand struck something soft.

  “Be still, Tyler. You’re all right.”

  Consciousness came rushing back, and when Tyler opened his eyes, he saw Jolie’s face above him. An oil lamp threw a yellow corona of light over her, giving her hair a reddish glow. She was looking at him strangely, her lips soft and maternal.

  “You’re all right,” she said. “You were shot, but it’s not serious. I had to put a couple of stitches in.”

  Tyler tried to remember what had happened and suddenly he did. He tried to sit up, but Jolie put her hand on his chest and held him down. “Don’t try to move. You’ll feel better if you lie still.”

  “The Germans. What—”

  “They were both killed. The lieutenant’s first shot hit the soldier, and then your shot killed the lieutenant. But his bullet grazed your head.”

  Suddenly Damien’s face appeared to Tyler’s left. “Does it hurt? Did you know the Germans are both dead and we’re hiding in this house because Madame Fortier says it’s all right?”

  “Hush, Damien,” Jolie said with some irritation. “Go to bed as I told you.”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  “Then get sleepy.”

  Damien went away grumbling and intimidated by the determined set of Jolie’s features. “They’ve all been terribly worried about you,” Jolie told Tyler.

  “Where is this place?”

  “It belongs to a family named Fortier—an older couple and their daughter-in-law.”

  “But how did we get here?”

  “We put you in the wagon and hauled you here. We knew the Germans would expect us to go north, so we came back south.”

  “Jolie, they’ll be searching every house in the vicinity.”

  “I know, but we traveled a pretty good distance before we stopped here, and this house is completely hidden from the road. The Fortier family has another house closer to the road. That’s where they live. If the Nazis quiz them, they’ll tell the Germans that nobody has passed by this way.”

  “What about Crazy and the wagon?”

  “They’re well hidden. Don’t be concerned.”

  A movement across the room caught Tyler’s eye. A woman was standing across the room by a fireplace, apparently cooking something. She now brought a bowl over and said, “You must eat. This will be good for you.”

  “I must thank you, madam, for your kindness.”

  He felt dizzy as Jolie gently helped him to a partially upright position and then put her arm around his shoulders. “Perhaps you could feed him, Annette, while I hold him.”

  “I feel like a stupid baby!” he muttered. “I never did like to have to be taken care of.”

  “It will teach you humility,” Annette said, and a trace of a smile touched her broad lips. “Some Americans can use a little extra humility.”

  Yolande appeared at Tyler’s side, her face troubled. “Oh, you’re awake. I was afraid for you.”

  “I’m all right. Don’t worry. I’ll be as good as new first thing you know.”

  “Could I lie on the bed beside you?”

  “Sure you can. It’s a big bed.” Tyler tried to be patient while the woman fed him the soup, but he felt a weariness creeping in on him. “My head’s swimming, and . . . I seem to see two of you.” He blinked and the illusion didn’t go away, which was a bit frightening. “I hope this isn’t going to be permanent.”

  “You probably have a concussion, Tyler. You have to rest and be very still. Now, let me help you lie down.”

  Tyler lay back, his head pounding, and closed his eyes. Yolande moved in closer and he clasped her small hand in his.

  “Maybe I can pray for you to be well,” the little girl said. “We prayed for God to bring us somewhere where the Germans wouldn’t catch us, and He did.”

  “I think that would be very good, Yolande.”

  Tyler lay very still and listened to the small voice as the child prayed the simplest kind of prayer for him. But as she was praying, extreme fatigue came over him and a warm blanket of darkness enveloped him.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  House-to-House Search

  Lieutenant Bernard Scharmann felt the perspiration coating his forehead but did not dare move. He held his hands down at his sides, his back straight as a ramrod, as he stood in front of Major Hermann Dietrich. He had served under the major long enough to recognize the danger signals, and he was well aware of the dangers that beset him now. He would not be the first aide that Major Dietrich had demoted back to the rank of private and thrown into an infantry spearhead division, where the odds of death were all too good.

  The two were standing in the library of a local pastor whose house they had commandeered as a temporary headquarters. The walls were lined with shelves containing books of all sorts, some of them very old, some new, some paperbacks and others exquisitely bound in expensive leather. Sunshine poured in through a window to Lieutenant Scharmann’s right, illuminating the face of Major Dietrich and emphasizing the flush that discolored his cheeks.

  From outside drifted in the noise of vehicles roaring by—motorcycles, trucks, and staff cars—and overhead the hum of aircraft scored the heavens. Desperately Scharmann racked his brain trying to think of some way to pacify Dietrich, but absolutely nothing came to him.

  Ever since the death of Lieutenant Werner Braun, Dietrich’s nephew and the pride of his life, it seemed to Lieutenant Scharmann that Dietrich had stepped out of rationality and reason into mindless rage. Lieutenant Scharmann had been present when the news of the death had arrived, and it had seemed as if all other rational and reasonable powers of thinking had left Dietrich, and he had thrown himself into a tornado of activity. He seemingly had forgotten his duties of sweeping across France to nail down the critical checkpoints and had given up sleep in a furious search of the countryside for the murderers of his nephew.

  “Why are you just standing there, Lieutenant? Do I have to do everything myself?” A vein throbbed in Major Dietrich’s forehead—a certain sign Lieutenant Scharmann had learned to recognize. When that vein throbbed, Dietrich was capable of any sort of violence.

  “Sir, I’m sending more men out to search for these murderers, but it is—”

  “Why do you not go yourself? Our men need a good officer, and somehow, Lieutenant, I think you are not the one. Perhaps you would serve more efficiently as a private!”

  Scharmann felt beads of perspiration coalescing and running down his face. He had long known that there was no way to argue with Major Dietrich when he was in this mood. Everything he might say would be seized upon and used as another opportunity for provocation. It was best to remain silent, and he did so by holding himself rigid while Dietrich marched back and forth, his legs moving stiffly as if he were a robot.<
br />
  “Look at this area, Scharmann,” the major said as he pointed to the map on the wall. “It’s a small area. We have enough men to search every house and every business. Did you order them to look in the cellars and in the attics?”

  “Yes, sir, I did. I followed your orders explicitly, passing them on to the men. They all understand how important this is, and—”

  “They understand nothing! They are stupid and will do anything to get out of performing their duties.” Dietrich banged the map with his fist. “If you do not find these people within twenty-four hours, you will regret it, Lieutenant.”

  “I will go at once to talk to those making the search. I will make the matter plain to them!”

  “You may threaten them in my name. If they do not find these dogs, they will all suffer for it!” Major Dietrich glared at the pale-faced officer and snapped, “Make it plain!”

  “I will tell them, sir.” Scharmann saluted, but Major Dietrich gave him a withering look of disdain. Wheeling, Scharmann left the room, and as soon as he had closed the door behind him, he pulled off his hat, fished in his pocket for a handkerchief, and with an unsteady hand wiped the perspiration from his face. Under his breath, he cursed the fate that had brought him under the authority of a man like Hermann Dietrich. He remembered sourly how happy he had been when he was appointed to this position, for serving as Dietrich’s aide was an almost certain route to promotion. Now, however, he would have changed places with almost anyone in the Third Reich.

  He’s gone crazy! He doesn’t care about the war and doing his duty for the fatherland. All he wants to do is find these people. And Braun was never such a great a man either. He was spoiled rotten and a poor soldier, but nevertheless he was Dietrich’s nephew, and if we don’t find his murderer, we may all wind up being shot.

  ****

  Sergeant Franz Holbein pulled a bottle from his hip pocket, unscrewed the cap, and lifted the bottle to his lips. His throat worked like a snake swallowing a frog, or so it seemed to Adolf Müller, who watched with a sour expression. “Save some of that for me,” he complained as the other drank.

  The two were marching along, rifles slung over their shoulders by the straps. Holbein handed him the bottle. “Don’t drink it all. That’s all I’ve got. And there’s no telling when we’ll be able to get our hands on more of it.”

  Müller took a long drink and gasped as the fiery liquid hit his stomach. “That’s good stuff.” He burped heartily. “These Frenchmen keep some pretty good wine—even peasants. Maybe we’ll liberate some of it, eh, Sergeant?”

  “If we don’t find this American that killed the major’s nephew, we’ll be needing more than liquor to keep us going. You heard what the lieutenant said.”

  They had been searching all day long, and now the sun was starting to go down and the heat seemed to be passing away from the earth. Both of them were weary of the search and longed to get back to their regular duties.

  “We can’t search behind every bush and every tree,” Mül-Wler complained.

  “Why don’t you go explain that to the major?” Holbein said bitterly. “Lieutenant Scharmann bawled us all out like we were the enemy.” He let out a string of curses. “What do they expect us to do? We need to be conquering France, not looking for a bunch of kids and some American. Sometimes I think Major Dietrich has lost his mind!” He kicked viciously at an empty bottle, sending it rolling off the road and into the bushes.

  “I think they must have gotten away. These people hate us. You can see it in their faces.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it. Did you expect them to love us?”

  “It wouldn’t be too hard to hide a wagon and a horse with all the trees around here, and if they split those kids up, they’ll disappear like a puff of smoke.”

  The two men trudged steadily on until they came upon a lane that led to a small house. “We’ll search this house and then we’ll take a rest,” Holbein said.

  “Keep your eye open for some of that wine—maybe something even stronger.”

  The two men stepped up to the cottage, and Sergeant Holbein beat on the door with his fist. “Open up in there,” he yelled loudly. “Come out!”

  The door opened and the man said, “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “You can get out of the way. We’re searching your house.” Holbein shoved his way in, closely followed by Adolf Müller. Two women were inside—a middle-aged woman standing beside the stove stirring something in a pot, and a younger woman who was watching him steadily.

  “We’re soldiers of the Third Reich, and we’re searching for a man and a woman with some children. Have you seen them?”

  Holbein saw the man glance over toward the woman.

  “There’s been nobody like that come by here today.”

  “Müller, search the house while I interrogate these people. Look in the attic and in the cellar, if there is one.” He winked and added with a crude grin, “And keep your eyes open.”

  Sergeant Müller grinned. Keeping his rifle at the ready, he moved out of the main room of the house, which consisted mostly of a cooking and a dining area. He went past the dining table and down the hall.

  Meanwhile, Sergeant Holbein peppered the family with questions. “What is your name, old man?”

  “Henri Fortier. This is my wife, Bertha.”

  “And who are you?” Holbein asked the younger woman. He moved closer to her.

  “Annette Fortier.”

  “You are their daughter, then?”

  “My husband is their son.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He is in the army.”

  “The French army, I assume.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “You understand the penalty for concealing fugitives?”

  “We have concealed no one.”

  “If we find any evidence that you are lying, you will all be shot.”

  “I have not seen the people you speak of.” She kept her eyes fixed on him. “Who are they?”

  “Three of the children are Jewish. The man is an American. You could not mistake him. The woman, they say, is French.”

  Annette Fortier’s expression did not change. “We have not seen anybody like that. It would be impossible for them to pass without our notice.”

  “I know that.” He stepped closer and put his hand on her arm. “A woman must get lonely without her husband,” he said as he lifted his hand and held her chin. “Maybe we will come back after we find these people. Would you like that?” He grinned at her.

  “No.”

  There was a coolness in the woman’s eyes, and all the frustration that had built up in Sergeant Holbein seemed to explode. He slapped her face with his open hand and saw that her expression did not change.

  “Stupid pig!” he shouted.

  Müller reentered the room, a bottle of wine in each hand. “They’re not in the house,” he declared, “but they’ve got a good wine cellar.”

  Holbein was exhausted and his anger at the woman faded as he contemplated, with a great deal of concern, having to face his superiors. He turned again to Henri Fortier and said, “Don’t forget that your women will be shot, as will you, if we find out you are hiding these people.”

  “There’s no one here. You’re welcome to look all you please,” the farmer said as he shrugged.

  Holbein cursed them all and then walked out the door, followed by Müller. As soon as they were outside, he said, “Give me one of those bottles.”

  “Sure, here you go.”

  Holbein took a corkscrew from his pocket and opened the bottle, then handed the tool to his partner. When the two men had drunk deeply, Holbein said, “It’s going to be dark soon. We’ll try to get to one more house. This motley group can’t have gone far with all those children in tow.”

  “Pretty good-looking wench, that younger one back at the farm.” He tilted the bottle and took a long drink. “Maybe I’ll come back and visit her.”

  “Keep your mind on your business, Müll
er. If we don’t find these people, both of us will wind up being cannon fodder in a frontline division.”

  * * *

  “ . . . and they threatened to come back,” Annette said. “We may have to find another place to hide you. It won’t be safe for you to stay here. I thought they would have given up by this time.”

  “No, we’ll have to get away,” Jolie said. She was seated at the kitchen table across from Tyler. Jolie was thrilled at Tyler’s quick recovery. He still had a slight headache and the wound itself was tender, but he was feeling much more like himself already. He wore a bandage around his head, and Jolie thought with a chill that if the bullet had gone directly into his skull he would probably be dead.

  Annette had come to the old house to deliver the news about the two German soldiers searching for them.

  “Did they have good descriptions of us?” Jolie asked.

  “They knew you were an American, monsieur, and they knew that three of the children were Jewish. They described your group well enough that anyone would recognize you from it.”

  “It’s a miracle they didn’t come back into the woods,” Jolie said. “That would have been the end of us.”

  “They’ll probably do that sooner or later,” Tyler said. “They know we couldn’t have gotten far. They’re searching the houses now, but I’m afraid when they don’t find us, they’ll bring as many men as they can spare and look behind every tree.” He touched his wounded head. “I’m well enough to make a move now—and we’ve got to do it.”

  Annette Fortier did not understand the American man’s part in this at all, but after spending a little time with Jolie Vernay, she understood how attached the woman had become to the children while working at the orphanage. She was holding the baby, Marie, and looking down at her face. The baby suddenly smiled, and Annette remembered someone saying that babies this young couldn’t really smile but probably just had gas. She smoothed Marie’s fine, soft hair with her fingertips as Tyler and Jolie wrestled with the problem before them. She had cared for the baby almost constantly since the two had come.