The Hesitant Hero (22 page)

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, Müller. 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.

“I must proceed with my original plan to go into Honfleur and find my friend Jean Clermont,” Jolie was saying. “It’s our only hope. That was my plan from the first. The only problem is that I don’t know where he lives. I only know the name of the town.”

“If you get on the road with these children, they’ll pick you up at once,” Annette said quickly.

“No, I will have to go alone to find my friend.”

“I don’t see how that can work,” Annette said slowly. “It would be too dangerous.”

“Why?” Jolie asked.

“You do not know the back roads, and if you stay on the main roads, you will certainly be picked up and taken in for questioning, anyone fitting the description as closely as you do.”

“But I’ve got to get to Honfleur!” Jolie said. “Jean is the only one who can help us.”

“Then I will go with you. We’ll take your horse and go together.”

Jolie looked up with a slight shock. “But, Annette, you know how dangerous it is.”

“Just being alive is dangerous in these times.” She smoothed Marie’s hair and rocked her gently. She was holding the baby as if she were a priceless treasure.

“I don’t think you should go, Annette,” Jolie said. “It’s not your problem.”

“Your problem has somehow become my problem. I will go with you, but you must disguise yourself.”

“I could do that, I suppose.”

“My parents live in Deauville. It’s a very small village only two or three kilometers from Honfleur. Everybody knows
everybody in those two villages.” She shrugged. “If your friend lives in Honfleur, my parents will know him or at least know somebody who knows him.”

“I’d feel better if you didn’t go alone, Jolie,” Tyler said quickly. “Annette is right.”

“But what about Marie?”

“It won’t take you too long, will it? Rochelle and I can take care of Marie.”

Jolie hesitated but saw no other way. “All right,” she said. “We need to go as soon as possible.”

“Yes. We should go tonight,” Annette said. “The Germans won’t be familiar with the back roads that we’ll take, so we should be all right.”

“I’m ready,” Jolie said and got to her feet.

Annette looked down at Marie again, kissed the top of her head, and came over to hand her to Tyler. “You take good care of her until we get back.”

“I’ll do my best. And you take good care of my favorite doctor there.”

“If God wills, we will be back very soon. But first I need to go to the other house and get a few things. I also need to let my husband’s parents know that I will be gone for a time.”

****

Jolie slipped the ragged dress over her head and looked down at the rough shoes that Annette had provided. They were worn, and Annette had already removed the laces that had originally come with them and tied them together with pieces of string. Jolie reached up and touched her hair, which was now stiff with dirt.

“Hold still,” Annette said as she spread some dirt on her face. “There. That looks better. Pull this hat down over your ears.”

Jolie put on the floppy hat. “How do I look?”

“A lot better, but remember you’re a half-wit. If anybody stops us, don’t talk at all. Just slobber, I suppose. Make sounds
as if you want to speak but can’t. Keep your eyes down. Don’t even look at them. I know it’ll be humiliating, but this is dangerous. If we make one mistake, that would do it.”

“What about my papers?”

“If anyone asks for them, I’ll give them mine. I’ll ask you for yours, but you’ll moan and cry and say you lost them.”

“I think this will work, Annette.” Jolie put her hand on the other woman’s arm. “Why are you doing this for us?”

“For two reasons. One, I hate the Germans, and two, I think God wants me to help you escape.”

“You’re a good woman. I hope all goes well with your husband and that he will be back with you very soon.” She leaned toward the mirror and smudged some of the dirt on her chin. “Have you been married long?”

“For four years.” Annette hesitated and then said, “I come from a large family. All I ever wanted was to have a husband and my own children about me.”

“I’m sure that will happen very soon,” Jolie smiled. She knew she looked grotesque with her dirty face and stringy hair, but she was sure Annette would understand her sincerity anyway. “You will have your own family someday, and it won’t be long.”

“I’m not so sure. God has not given us a child yet.” She shrugged her shoulders, and the two went into the main room to join the others.

“What happened, mademoiselle?” Damien asked. “You look awful.”

“It’s just part of my disguise, Damien.” Jolie grinned at him. “Rochelle, you take very good care of little Marie.”

Rochelle looked down at the baby in her arms. “I wish you didn’t have to go. I’m afraid for you.”

“I’ll be all right.” Jolie kissed Rochelle on both cheeks and passed her hand over the baby’s head, holding it on her forehead for a moment. “I’m so glad she’s doing well, but it’s so important that she stay healthy. I pray that God will keep her from any sickness until we reach England.” Jolie was well
aware that a baby’s constitution is delicate, and being exposed to the elements as they were day by day, she could only pray that Marie would remain healthy for the rest of their travels.

“Let me go with you,” Antoine said quickly, his eyes bright. “Maybe I can help.”

“No, they’ll be looking for young people. It’s something we need to do alone. You stay and help take care of the children.” She hugged him and then kissed him on both cheeks, laughing at his shocked expression. “I hope you don’t mind the hug too much. I’ve grown rather fond of you.”

Antoine cleared his throat. “It’s all right. I didn’t mind.”

Jolie knelt down beside Yolande. “Are you going to be a good girl?”

“Oui.”

Tears were forming in the girl’s eyes. “Why, you shouldn’t be crying.”