by Anne Barwell
“Umm….” Kristopher hesitated. “Yes, I am. Bonjour, Madame, je m’appelle Kit.”
Although he spoke the words clearly enough, his accent was definitely not French. His language skills had improved to the point where he’d probably followed most of what they’d said, including the warning Michel had given him, but when he was nervous, his accent slipped. He was definitely more on edge now than he’d been on the train. His response to the soldier had been impeccable, but then Michel had coached him on different phrases the night before and made him repeat them several times until he got it right.
They’d also discussed what name Michel would use to introduce Kristopher to his parents. Michel wasn’t happy with sharing Kristopher’s real name, but didn’t want to use a false one. Kristopher had suggested Kit and had promised he would not reveal his last name.
Rosine raised an eyebrow. “Should I be speaking German to your friend, Michel?” she asked.
Michel swallowed. “Kit is German, Maman, but he can be trusted. I promise. He is… I owe him my life.” Better to get the initial introductions out of the way first before adding anything else.
“You’ve had an interesting time away, I see.” Rosine called the dog with a sharp whistle, and he trotted at her heels as she began walking back to the house. “Come along. Eat first, and then I will send someone to fetch your father in from the fields.” She gave Kristopher a nod and continued in German. “Any friend of Michel’s is welcome in my home. Please join us. I am looking forward to meeting you properly.”
“Merci, Madame,” Kristopher said. “My French is improving, but I understand more than I can speak, and I apologize for my accent,” he added in German. “Your German is very good.”
“My sister-in-law is German, as Michel has probably told you. I learnt her language while she, like you, was struggling with French. It is important to make loved ones feel welcome, don’t you think?”
Kristopher shot Michel a panicked look.
“Yes, it is,” Michel said, forcing himself to sound calm, even if he didn’t feel it inside. He’d known his mother would figure out that Kristopher was more than a friend, but how had she done it so quickly?
Rosine chuckled as they followed her inside. “Come now, ma petite crotte, I am your mother. Mothers know such things. I’ve never seen you at ease with anyone as you are with this man. You keep glancing at him when we’re talking, and there is a look in your eyes when you do that I had given up all hope of ever seeing in you. Despite my teasing you to bring a nice girl home, did you really think I did not know what you and François were doing in the barn?”
“Corin—” Michel stopped and shook his head. Corin wouldn’t have told their mother. He’d promised to keep it a secret, and he never betrayed a trust.
“Corin didn’t need to tell me.” Rosine took down two bowls from the shelf and began ladling stew into them. “Sit and eat.”
Michel slid into one of the kitchen chairs obediently, and Kristopher followed his lead, taking the one next to his. “Does Papa know?” Michel asked.
His mother might accept all of this, but Michel wasn’t so sure his father would. Jérôme Faber had, like his wife, learned German, but once France had been invaded by Germany, he refused to speak the language. France was for the French, and the Germans had their own country.
Rosine put two spoons down on the table, then busied herself cutting slices of bread. “Do you love my son?” she asked Kristopher as she put the breadboard on the table and sat down opposite him.
Kristopher met her gaze unflinchingly. “With everything I am,” he said softly. “I will do everything I can to keep him safe and bring him home to you once this war is over.”
“I believe you.” Rosine smiled. “You have honest eyes, Kit…. Is that your real name or just the name you are using?”
“It is my real name,” Kristopher said. “I wouldn’t lie to you, although there are questions I can’t answer.”
“We can’t tell you his full name, Maman,” Michel said. “I’m sorry. It would be dangerous. We can’t stay for long either, but I had to see you in case….” He put down his spoon, although he hadn’t tasted the stew yet. “I wanted you to meet him, and for him to meet you.” He felt tears welling and blinked them back. “I love him, and I hoped we could have a life here together once the war is finished.”
“How much trouble are you both in?” Rosine asked.
“As Michel said, we cannot stay, and you have not seen us. I’m sorry.” Kristopher squeezed Michel’s hand under the table.
The front door banged shut. Michel let go of Kristopher’s hand quickly.
“In here, Jérôme,” Rosine called. “We have company, mon cher.”
KRISTOPHER WOULD have known the man was Michel’s father anywhere. He looked like an older version of Michel—same build and brown eyes flecked with green, although Jérôme Faber’s hair was peppered with gray. He was ten years older than his wife, Kristopher remembered, and although it was obvious by the way Michel spoke of him he loved his father dearly, he was clearly nervous about how Jérôme would react when he discovered the truth.
“Michel!” Jérôme strode toward Michel, who stood immediately. The two men kissed each other on the cheek, then hugged. “It is very good to see you, mon enfant.” He studied Michel for a moment. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”
“What makes you say that?” Michel asked.
“You’re risking a visit, and the war is not over. I heard you had taken an assignment in Berlin, but we haven’t heard anything of you since.” Jérôme glanced at Kristopher. “Who is this?”
“Papa, this is my—”
Given Rosine’s observation of his accent earlier, Kristopher thought it was a good idea not to pretend to be something he wasn’t. Michel’s mother might appreciate the attempt, but his father wouldn’t.
“Je m’appelle Kit,” he said holding out his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he continued in German. “Michel speaks of you often.”
“Why have you brought a German into our home?” Jérôme ignored Kristopher’s hand and spoke angrily to his son in French.
Michel tensed and then his eyes flashed. “It is important to me that you meet.” He faltered a little when his father’s eyes widened and then he glanced at Kristopher. “He… Kit is a good man and has taken many risks to end this war.” Michel licked his lips. His mother nodded. “He is my dear friend, and—”
“Did you know about this?” Jérôme turned to his wife. He then said something in French Kristopher didn’t understand.
Michel paled but kept standing.
“We do not choose who we love,” Rosine said. “Our hearts choose for us. You’ve said that often enough yourself, mon cher.”
“Love?” Jérôme looked at Michel closely, then Kristopher.
Kristopher shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Michel not only stood his ground but placed one hand on Kristopher’s shoulder. “Oui,” Michel said, “je l’adore, Papa.”
“I wasn’t talking about him loving a German!” Jérôme shot his wife a glare. “And has it escaped your notice that not only has he brought a German into our home, but he—”
Kristopher pushed back his chair, barely giving Michel time to move out of the way. “I do not want to cause trouble,” he mumbled before Jérôme could finish his sentence. Had this been a mistake? “Je suis désolé.”
Michel caught his arm and squeezed it. “Don’t apologize, and you are not causing trouble, mon cher,” he said. “Wait outside. My father and I have a few things to discuss. I will not be long.”
“If you need me to, I’ll stay.”
“I won’t be long,” Michel repeated. “I promise.” He turned back to his father and switched languages. Kristopher recognized a couple of swear words before he slipped from the room. Both men’s voices were raised, and he’d never heard Michel this angry before.
Alfred nuzzled his head against Kristopher as soon as he sat on the doorstep, and he petted the do
g. “He needs to make his peace with his father, not argue with him.” Kristopher put his head in his hands, and the dog whined.
The door opened behind him, and he jumped, but it was only Rosine. She sat down beside him, and he moved over to give her more room.
“My husband and son are both protective of those they love,” she said. “Don’t worry about Michel. They will yell for a while, and then they will calm and talk properly. Sometimes I think they are too much alike. Corin was not much better.”
“Michel told me about Corin,” Kristopher said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“When Corin died, I feared something inside Michel had done so as well. It has been a long time since I have heard him this passionate about someone or something,” Rosine said. “Do you still have family in Germany?”
Kristopher started to nod but then stopped. With no recent news of Clara, he had no idea whether his sister was still alive. “My father died in the Berlin bombings last year,” he said. “My sister was arrested… I….”
“And your mother?” Rosine asked softly.
“She died when I was born,” Kristopher said. “I never met her.” He wasn’t sure why he was sharing something very personal with someone he barely knew, but Rosine was easy to talk to. She reminded him of Michel in that.
“How much trouble are you in?” Rosine repeated the question they’d avoided earlier.
“A lot,” he admitted. “I’m sorry for getting Michel involved in all of this.”
Rosine rolled her eyes. “I know my son. He would have become involved anyway. He’s a good boy, and he could never refuse anyone in need. He also knows his own mind, so there is no need to apologize.” She sighed. “He’s come to say good-bye because he thinks there is a good chance he will not come home.”
Kristopher started to protest, but she held up her hand to stop him.
“Michel wouldn’t risk coming here otherwise, if he is in trouble. I know he wanted us to meet, but there’s more to it than that.”
“I meant what I said about doing everything I can to keep him safe.” Kristopher saw the fear in her eyes and winced. If Michel was caught, Kristopher knew what Holm and his men would do to him. “I can’t promise he will survive this, but….”
“We all do what we can in this terrible time.” Rosine tilted her head to one side, then stood and gestured for Kristopher to do the same. “They have finished talking,” she said. “Don’t worry. Michel’s father loves him and wants what is best for him. As all parents do. He might not like the situation at first, but he will come around. We have already lost one son, and he will soon realize that if he doesn’t accept Michel for who he is, there is a good chance he will lose another.”
Michel and his father were quiet as they joined Kristopher and Rosine outside. Kristopher met Michel’s gaze, and Michel gave him a slight nod.
“Papa and I have talked, and we both think it best if we leave now. We have already risked much in coming here.”
“This isn’t Michel’s—” Kristopher would never forget that the last conversation he’d had with his father had been an argument. He’d do whatever he could to ensure Michel and his father parted on good terms.
“I know, and I am the one who needs to apologize.” Jérôme offered his hand to Kristopher, who shook it. “Look after my son,” he said in German. “You are his heart. Both of you have a home here when this is over. Make sure you come back to us.”
“Thank you,” Kristopher replied in French. “I will.”
Chapter Eight
“YOU SHOULD be safe here for a few days,” Jacques—the farmer who was their contact in Pont-Audemer—told them. “Take care to stay out of sight. Although the Germans rarely bother us here, one of their officers has taken a fancy to my daughter.” He wrinkled his nose in an expression of disgust. “She has successfully spurned Leutnant Beutel’s advances and has not seen him for several days, but I do not think it is the end of it.”
“That doesn’t sound very safe to me,” Liang said. “Are you sure we shouldn’t be finding somewhere else to stay?”
“This is as good a place as any,” Jacques said. “Other farms have been forced to billet some of the Hauptmann’s men, but those men haven’t caused any trouble. Some of them seem to want this war over as quickly as we do.”
“That doesn’t mean we can trust them,” Sébastien pointed out. He looked around the loft but didn’t move away from the door.
“Of course not,” Jacques said, “but if we keep things civil, they are less likely to suspect we are helping fugitives, oui?”
“Oui.” Matt took charge of the conversation before Liang and Sébastien had the opportunity to derail it further. “We appreciate your hospitality,” he said, “and will only stay for as long as we need to. Any trouble and we will leave sooner. The last thing we want is to arouse any suspicions or put you in danger.”
Luckily Jacques spoke fluent German, so Matt didn’t need either Sébastien or Liang to translate. Shame Jacques hadn’t been home when they’d arrived, as Matt’s French was not that good and Jacques’s wife didn’t speak German or English. He understood more than he spoke but preferred to deal with people directly rather than through a third party.
“If you are discovered, it means we cannot help anyone else.” Jacques gave Matt a smile. “Good evening, Monsieur Chastain. I’ll have my wife bring up some stew in about half an hour.”
“Merci.” Matt waited until their host had left the loft and his footsteps had faded away. “Whatever your opinions of the local German occupiers, keep them to yourself or among our group,” he told Sébastien. “We have no idea as to Jacques’s true feelings or whether he is simply using conversation to find out information he can pass along.”
“You do not trust me either,” Sébastien said. He nodded approvingly. “I, on the other hand, have Michel’s word that I can trust you. Nevertheless, I make my own decisions about such matters. I have been fighting the Germans for as long as he has, and I have seen too many of my own countrymen betray us by collaborating with them.”
“So you do not trust Michel either?” Liang raised an eyebrow.
“I have not known him long, and although Arlette speaks highly of him, her opinion is somewhat colored by emotion.” Sébastien dumped his bag on the floor to the left of one of the windows. He peered outside. “This will be the best exit if we need to leave in a hurry. I noticed the pitch of the roof is lower at the other end. We should be able to reach the ground from there.”
“I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that,” Liang said. “I’m also hoping to continue to stay well clear of the Risle and all those canals.” He hadn’t been happy when he’d discovered that their destination was a town with roads crisscrossing the canals, although he’d made appreciative noises about the medieval buildings they passed on their way to the farm.
“We need time to rethink our strategy,” Ken said. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to stay here?”
He hadn’t spoken much since they’d abandoned the truck outside Corneville-sur-Risle. When they’d quickly changed clothes, he’d voiced his concern about Holm being in Caen, but Matt had decided it was a conversation better left for later. They needed to get off the road and reach Pont-Audemer as soon as possible. Once they were settled there, they’d reassess the situation. Apparently Ken had decided they’d waited long enough.
“Here is as good as any a place,” Matt said. He hadn’t been happy to hear about Holm’s relocation either, and would be happy if he never saw the man again, unless their meeting came with the opportunity to put a bullet in him.
“What is your connection with this Holm?” Sébastien asked. “Given your reactions, it sounds personal.”
“You could say that,” Liang said.
“We had the misfortune of meeting him in Berlin,” Matt said grimly. He wasn’t about to go into details Sébastien didn’t need to know. Not only that, but given what Holm had done, he didn’t want to reopen old wounds. He and Liang still bore
physical scars of their encounter, and Ken hadn’t gotten over his meeting with Holm either. The need to discover the truth about his father haunted him, and nothing Matt said to try to convince him Holm was lying about Patrick Lowe being a murderer seemed to help.
“Do you think his being in Caen is a coincidence?” Sébastien’s eyes narrowed. “If we’re working together, I need to know what’s going on. I’m not walking blindly into a dangerous situation.”
“It’s a coincidence,” Matt said firmly. It had to be. Months had passed since they’d escaped from Freiberg. “He’s a high-ranking SS officer and had been in Berlin a while.” With the institute he’d been in charge of destroyed, his superiors wouldn’t be happy with his lack of results in failing to find Kristopher.
“Even if it is, he’s still dangerous and too close,” Ken said. “What if the Oberscharführer mentioned our meeting outside Bétheny?”
“We were using different identities,” Matt said, but Ken had a point.
“Soldiers who were supposed to deliver prisoners to him who aren’t going to turn up,” Ken said. “Even if Holm being in Caen is a coincidence, if he suspects anything, he’ll use it as an excuse to resume his hunt for us.”
“Mon Dieu,” Sébastien swore under his breath. “So you do have a high-ranking SS officer hunting you. Wonderful. I had a bad feeling about this assignment, but I let Arlette talk me into joining her.”
Liang let out a loud sigh. “It’s never a good idea to let a beautiful woman talk you into something. You’re not sweet on her, are you?”
Matt hid a smile, amused at how Liang being sweet on a woman had changed his perspective.
“We are at war,” Sébastien snapped at him. “This is neither the time nor the place for such things. We could all be dead tomorrow.”
Matt noticed he hadn’t answered the question. If Liang’s suspicions were correct, this complicated matters. “You shouldn’t be working together if you are,” Matt said. “It changes the way you react. Logic doesn’t always work when you have feelings for someone.”