Behind The Mask

by Marianne Petit

  “I don’t know if this will work, but I borrowed these.” He held up a priest’s robe and a nun’s habit, then laid them on the table. “I’m hoping they’ll think we are a missionary group just heading out of the city for an outing in the country air. If we go by foot they may believe we are to return by nightfall.”

  “A nun?” Yvette grinned. “Hmm…” The wild desires rushing through her were anything but virginal and certainly un-nun-like. “I’ll gather up a few parcels of clothing for the children.”

  “No.”

  “But--”

  “This is supposed to be a day outing,” André insisted. “If we are checked and extra clothing is found the border patrols will become suspicious.”

  “What are we to do if it rains? They are children and in this cold sickness can come so quickly.”

  “We have no choice.”

  She understood his logic and decided not to argue it was the middle of winter and that in itself was suspicious. “I have finished their traveling papers. But who is meeting them?”

  “My brother.”

  “Gerald?”

  “Yes, he is meeting them in Lyon. There are many passageways between the buildings that make it easy for them to pass undetected. Then he will take them to Switzerland.” André dragged his hand through his hair. “It will take us a day by foot. Once the children are delivered to our contact, we’ll camp for the night and return the next day, though I don’t know if or where we will find shelter.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time I slept in someone’s barn.”

  He stared at her with fixed intensity. “You had a rough trip, coming down from Paris didn’t you?”

  “I managed.” She thought about how far she had come, not so much distance-wise but in personal growth. She liked herself so much better now, felt so much stronger and proud of herself.

  He leaned in near her ear. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

  “Yes.”

  “Danger aside, I’m talking about you and me alone.”

  Her cheeks grew hot as the significance of his words took root. “I know a perfect gentleman when I am in his company.” Alone… with him… under the stars… Her pulse throbbed. How dreamy… how dangerous--

  “And your reputation, should this come out?”

  “To hell with reputations.” Did she really mean that? Could she afford to be so flippant, so modern in her thinking? “We are at war, after all.” Despite her insistence that he would make no advances toward her, did she trust herself? One kiss and…

  He shook his head, disagreeing, but she could swear a wishful yearning darkened his eyes.

  Thoughts of sharing a blanket around a campfire and the remembered feeling of his hard body against hers lingered in her mind and she had to force herself to concentrate on the conversation. Lord, how was she to resist him?

  “We may never make it past the guards,” he said softly.

  Understanding the gravity of their journey, she nodded. “We have to.”

  “We may not.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Are you sure--”

  “Tell her the risks.” Géry’s gate was swift, angry as he stalked across the room.

  André stepped back, releasing his hold on her.

  Before André could get a word in, Géry continued. “The punishment for men found helping refugees is execution, for women it will be a work camp.”

  “So you have told me.” Yvette rolled her gaze to the ceiling. Géry had said enough already. His concern was appreciated, but she was going. End of story.

  “You have more to fear than he does.” Géry shot a piercing glance to André. The hatred in his eyes went deeper than André agreeing to take her with him and she wondered why all the hostility.

  “Géry is right. Execution is quick. Labor is a slow death.”

  “What would you have me do? Not go?” she asked.

  “Yes,” both men said in unison.

  Yvette placed a hand over Géry’s arm. “It’s sweet of you to worry about me, but I’m going.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the slight twitch in André’s jaw.

  “She’s up to the task,” André said. Genuine honesty softened his eyes. He meant every word, even if the overzealous tone of his voice indicated underlying tension that had nothing to do with their impending journey.

  “I insist on going in her place.” Géry squared his shoulders. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “You are not needed.” André stepped forward, close enough to battle and although he seemed his calm self, Yvette found the strain between the two men disturbing. “I will keep her safe, but thank you for your offer.”

  Thinking to squash the anxiety before things got ugly, Yvette held up the nun’s garb. “Géry I don’t think you’d make a convincing nun.” She smiled.

  He grumbled something incoherent and stepped back. “Well, I don’t like it.”

  “Duly noted,” André replied stiffly.

  Yvette wondered if Géry would be satisfied with the remark and she was relieved when he turned and headed up the stairs without further confrontation.

  “On route we will be met by a passeur who will guide us, so we need to keep a scheduled pace. It will be a grueling day,” André continued as though nothing had happened.

  “I understand.” She really didn’t understand why men needed to throw around so much testosterone in the presence of a woman. “I’ll make up a picnic basket.” Acting like two oversized rutting bulls didn’t make either one look good.

  “I’ll gather blankets and a few items we may need. Generally, the checkpoint is not well guarded. If we are lucky and French soldiers are guarding the line, not the police, they will be short on ammunition. Even better, they may be without it since it’s well known they are the last to receive ammo. There are usually two men for every kilometer and they work in groups of fours, so some parts of the line are out of sight of guards for a short period of time. That’s where we will cross after they make their round.”

  He slipped his hand into hers. “Come, the children are waiting.”

  They said their goodbyes to Father François and piled into the truck waiting to take them closer to the demarcation line and closer to danger. The ride solemn, everyone seemed deep in thought.

  André explained to her the children’s parents were wanted by the Nazi party, more than likely for their political affiliation, or radical idealism. Though she understood the parents were protecting their children by sending them away, she just couldn’t imagine making that choice. She said a silent prayer for their family and prayed, as they passed a gendarme, that he didn’t pay them any mind. She held her breath and looked out the back window to make sure the officer didn’t follow them or call for backup.

  The nun’s habit and heavy wool cloak felt bulky and with the extra set of clothing beneath, she felt like an overstuffed Christmas turkey. Regardless of what André had said, she found extra pants and sweaters for the children and made them double up as well.

  It was noon by the time they made it to the edge of town. They quietly piled out of the truck. André pointed to a section of woods where he believed would be the safest place to cross. They split into two groups, the older children taking charge of a younger child. The tension in the air sizzled like a live wire.

  “Stay close,” Yvette ordered as she gathered her group together. “Hold hands.”

  She felt giddy. Fear could do that. She reasoned the emotion was a self-preserving need to focus on how ridiculous she felt as a nun and not on the terrifying situation they’d face if they were caught.

  The sun peaked above the treetops. An occasional bird flew across the bright sky. The air felt brisk. A lovely day for an outing, she told herself to keep her spirits from quivering.

  The children looked ragged in clothes that were either too tight or hung over thin bodies like cloth flapping in the wind from a clothesline. André hadn’t said a word to her when he saw the way they were dressed and she was thankful he ha
d not confronted her.

  The priest robe did little to detract from his good looks. He made one handsome priest. She’d bet a week’s salary he could pack the church with women, who couldn’t help but envision themselves in his arms.

  She noticed he glanced down both sides of the street, several times. Before them, a stretch of grassland offered little protection. “I’ll keep a lookout.” He surveyed the area, making sure the coast was clear. “Go,” André ordered. “Head straight into the woods. Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

  Yvette nodded. “Children, follow me.” She took the hand of a young girl who looked up at her with wide, dark eyes. They proceeded across the open field without glancing back. She desperately wanted to make sure André followed close behind, but kept her gaze focused on the tall pines swaying in the breeze. When she made it to the edge of the woods, she sighed a breath of relief. Her spirits soared. The worst of their journey was behind them! The thought made her lighthearted.

  “You there, halt!”

  The authoritative male voice sent a wave of prickles up her neck. Her heart pounding in her throat, she pivoted on weak knees.

  André and his group were about halfway toward them when the gendarme came out of nowhere. A giant man, he stood stiff and straight making him appear more authoritative and not one to challenge. The sight of his gun pointed at the group clenched Yvette’s chest.

  André’s gaze met hers, his calm—hers frightened. The idea to run and hide took shape in her mind, but she froze.

  “Children. Shh.” She pressed her finger against her lips.

  “Not to worry,” she heard André say to his group as he slowly pivoted around. “Bonjour.”

  “Halt. I say. Halt!” The officer hurried over to him. “Where do you think you are going?” He jabbed his gun menacingly at them.”

  Yvette sucked in her breath. Her knees wobbled.

  “Just a brief jaunt in the woods,” André replied, calm as can be, “a day’s lesson on how animals survive as the weather gets colder.”

  “Father, don’t you know you must exit at the checkpoint? Good Lord...” His shoulders slumped in a very nonmilitary manner. “Father, I could have shot you and the children.”

  “Good thing for us you didn’t.” André grinned and placed his hand on the officer’s shoulder. “Please forgive my ignorance. If we turn back now we lose daylight and the children have been looking forward to this excursion for months. Surely you can find mercy in your heart and allow us to pass here.”

  The gendarme wiped his mouth and glanced around trying to figure out what to do next. “Do you have papers?”

  “Of course.” André reached into his satchel and pulled out the sauf-conduit slips.

  Yvette felt a tug on her gown and glanced at the little girl beside her.

  “Miss Eva.”

  “Shh.” Yvette glaced sideways, barely looking at the child and brought her finger to her lip. What if the officer discovered they were forged? Was she really such a great artist? He wasn’t going to be fooled… She gnawed her lip. What had she been thinking? Dear Lord, what had she been thinking?

  “But miss Eva…”

  Yvette bent down to the little girl. “What’s your name?”

  “Tanya. Should I open this now?” From around her neck, she lifted up a locket.”

  “It’s very pretty.” Yvette’s gaze bounced back to the two men.

  The sentry looked over the papers one by one and Yvette thought he’d never finish his scrutiny. “I don’t need to tell you the woods are not safe after dark.”

  “Mommy said if we got caught I should take this.”

  “What?” Her nervous about to fray, Yvette didn’t mean to sound so annoyed and felt guilty when Tanya looked like she was about to cry.

  Wanting to keep her attention on André, but seeing the distress on Tanya’s face, Yvette bent down. “What honey, what did your mama say?”

  Tanya opened the locket. Inside laid a cyanide capsule.

  “Oh dear Lord, no!” Yvette stared wide-eyed as the significance of a desperate mother’s act took root. The thought repulsive, she took the pill from the locket. “Look, we are safe.” She pointed to the guard who handed André the papers. “Everything is fine. Everything is going to be just fine.”

  “The re-entry into the village is about nine kilometers to your east. Make sure you cross there.” The gendarme holstered his gun.

  “We will do that. God bless you.” André made the sign of the cross and turned. “Come now children, we have a lot to learn today.”

  Yvette breathed a little easier.

  Focused so intently on the gendarme, it took a moment to realize Tanya had started coughing. With shaking fingers, Yvette reached out and felt the child’s clammy forehead. She bent down and wiped her nose.

  Realizing the danger had passed, a few of the older children started talking amongst themselves. Some of the younger kids busied themselves by picking up rocks and tossing them. One little girl, about six or seven, found a rather large ugly-looking bug hiding under a rock. She studied the insect as though she couldn’t decide if she should scream or ignore the little monster.

  “You make a convincing priest,” Yvette said as André and his group made it to their side.

  “Seems I may have found a new profession. I had him duped.”

  “Thank the dear Lord for fools,” she said.

  “Amen to that.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THEY FOLLOWED THE RHONE River north and as they made their way through the woods André’s thoughts centered on his conversation with Louise. Why was Géry watching her? The plan to derail the train was part of his own operation. Why had Louise and her group gotten involved? Who gave them the information? Had Géry learned something about Louise’s unit and denounced the group thinking to take them out of the picture so his group wasn’t jeopardized? He wasn’t a traitor. Géry was one of his most trusted men. He was the first to join the group. He hated the Germans.

  At the edge of the forest, André glanced around the valley, making sure the area was clear of danger. Seeing nothing, his thoughts once again, settled on a man he’d come to think of as a comrade. None of this made sense. It couldn’t be Géry. No. Coincidences happened. How well did he know Bayard, or Luis for that matter? It could be one of the new recruits, André reasoned. Hell Bayard knew about the job, so did half the men in the group. When he got back to the church, they’d talk and clear the air. There had to be a logical explanation. It wasn’t Géry. Hell no. After a few drinks to smooth over a bruised ego or two, they’d focus on finding out who the mole was.

  “Our contact should be waiting for us once we cross this vineyard,” he said to Yvette, who was lifting the jacket collar of a little girl more securely around her neck to keep her warm.

  “There are miles of vineyards. Hours’ worth of ground to cover. We have to stop.”

  “No. It’s too dangerous.”

  “We’ve been walking for hours.” She shifted the child she was holding to her other hip. “The children are exhausted. We can’t go on.”

  André glanced at the group who doggedly shuffled along in silence. Their shoulders were hunched, he’d grant her that, but no one protested. “They are doing just fine.”

  “We can’t push them anymore, it’s inhumane,” she insisted.

  “We have to continue or we’ll miss our contact.”

  “They’re children. Not soldiers who you can just order about with no thought to their well-being. We are stopping.” She placed the little boy to the ground. “Come children.” She waved them over to her.

  “Fine.” André glanced at his watch. “Briefly. It will be dark soon.” They were ahead of schedule. A few minutes wouldn’t risk anything. Besides, they’d be safer under the cloak of darkness.

  An hour later, under the waning moonlight, they started up the steep climb. Cold misty dew wafted against his face. The dampness seemed to seep into his bones causing old wounds to stiffen and throb. The
frigid bite of winter, menacing gray clouds and threat of snow nipping the air gave him concern. Mile after mile the countryside continued upward. Dark shadows swallowed up the ground, making it difficult to see.

  His feet sore, tired, hungry, André’s vigilance never relaxed; neither did Yvette’s. She held one child in her arm, clutched the hand of a little boy and kept a careful watch on the others.

  He was glad the children wore extra clothing and thankful Yvette hadn’t listened to him. Stubborn, determined, independent, she was his kind of dame… one hell of a gal… and so different from the woman he thought he once loved. By the end of their sixth month of marriage, Amelia had turned into someone he didn’t recognize.

  André pushed the disturbing thoughts away and concentrated on their surroundings. The ritual of the harvest was over, leaving the vines bare. Life in the vineyards went on, oblivious to everyone’s fears. These vineyards were the seasonal rhythm of life and he prayed, as they passed silently through the rows, shoulder to shoulder, the gnarled limbs would not betray their position.

  Except for the soft thud of their footsteps, the impenetrable silence meant they were alone, but the stillness only added tension to the air. André strained to hear movement—any breathing beside their own—any sound lurking in the foreboding darkness jeopardizing their well-being.

  They were all exhausted when they finally stepped from the last row of vines and headed to the designated spot where they were to meet up with their passeur.

  As they approached, the outskirts of the village, edginess began to settle in the pit of André’s gut.

  “André what’s wrong?” Yvette shuddered involuntarily.

  “Nothing.”

  A full moon peeked out from beneath a dark cloud, shining a path of bright light to the ground.

  Instinctively they crouched, fearful—aware of the danger of being seen.

  “How do you know we are going in the right direction?” she whispered.