The Sisters of St. Croix (21 page)

“If you don’t mind, Father,” Mother Marie-Pierre said, “I think it would be better if we split up and had some children in each room. Then if they wake in the night, they’ll be with someone they know.”

“Arrange it entirely as you wish, Mother,” the priest said cheerfully. “I’ll find you some blankets and then when the children are settled, perhaps you would join me for the evening meal.”

How different from Father Michel in St Croix, thought Mother Marie-Pierre later, as she lay on a blanket on the floor with Jean-Pierre and David sleeping top-to-tail in the single bed beside her. He would never have put himself out in this way.

Madame Papritz found breakfast for them all before they set off once more to catch the train to Paris, so that the children were all well fed and comfortable for the rest of their journey.

Father Bernard said brief prayers with them and then gave them a blessing, but as they passed out into the street, he held Mother Marie-Pierre back for a moment.

“Mother,” he said quietly. “You must remind the young sister, Sister Marie-Joseph, is it? You must remind her to answer to her name… and teach her the Lord’s Prayer, if nothing else. Otherwise, she will give you all away.”

Mother Marie-Pierre held his eyes for a moment. “Thank you, Father. I will speak to her.”

“Go with God, Mother, and may He keep you all safe.” He raised his hand. “If ever you find yourself in need of somewhere to stay in Amiens,” he added in a soft voice, “please remember that you will always be welcome here, you and whoever is travelling with you.”

Mother Marie-Pierre took his hand. “Thank you, Father. I’ll remember.”

The nuns shepherded the children onto the Paris train and settled them into a compartment. It had been empty and as they filled it, no one else tried to get in with them. Several peered in through the door, but passed on down the corridor when they saw nuns and children packed into the small space.

At last the train started and Mother Marie-Pierre felt herself relax. They were on the last leg of their journey. When they reached the Gare du Nord they would be only a short walk away from the convent, safety and the commonsense of Mother Magdalene. Sister Danielle was singing rhymes with Monique, Catherine and Margot; Anne was sitting comfortably on Marthe’s knee playing with the cross she wore round her neck, and the boys were peering out of the window at the countryside rushing past. Mother Marie-Pierre closed her eyes, soothed by the rhythm of the train.

She awoke with a jolt as the door was hauled open with a loud rattle and two men came in. They were not in uniform, but there was no doubt that they were German and official.

“Papers,” growled the first one and held out his hand towards Mother Marie-Pierre. The singing stopped abruptly and the three little girls stared fearfully at the two men. Paulette looked anxiously at Marthe and then Mother Marie-Pierre, and the boys turned from the window, the colour draining from David’s face. Marthe ducked her head and began rocking baby Anne in her arms. The child crowed with delight at the sight of the men and held out a chubby hand to them.

Mother Marie-Pierre calmly took the papers she carried for all of them and handed them over. Please God, she prayed silently as they began to look at them, let me think of the right words to say when they ask about Marthe and Margot.

She saw them glance at her own papers first, then Sister Danielle’s, then Sister Marie-Joseph’s. His interest seemed only cursory at first, then he turned to Mother Marie-Pierre. “You’re the reverend mother, right?”

Mother Marie-Pierre agreed that she was.

“And where are you all going then?”

“I’m taking these children home, to the order’s mother house in Paris,” she replied.

“Why’s that?” he demanded.

“They are orphans, Monsieur. We run an orphanage there.”

The man grunted. “Which of you is Sister Danielle?” he asked, looking over to the other two nuns.

“I am.” Sister Danielle raised her hand.

“So you’re Sister Marie-Joseph,” he said to Marthe.

Marthe kept her face close to the baby squirming in her arms. “Yes, Monsieur,” she whispered.

“Just a minute.” The second man had been scrutinising the children’s papers. Mother Marie-Pierre felt her heart give a jolt as he went on. “We’re one set of papers short here.” He looked at the children. “Answer your names,” he said gruffly.

Mother Marie-Pierre decided it was time to speak. “You are quite right, Monsieur, we have no papers for little Margot Lenoir.” She indicated the child who was huddled against Sister Danielle. “She has only just come to us. Her father died last year in the retreat to Dunkerque, her mother last week in a fire. Her papers burned with the house. We have no replacements for her yet. We shall apply for those when she is living in the convent.”

“You should not have travelled without them,” said the man eyeing her suspiciously. “A fire? Sounds rather convenient. How do I know it’s the truth?”

Mother Marie-Pierre looked him in the eye. “Because I have told you it is.”

At that moment there was a noise from further down the corridor, some shouting, the sound of a shot and the train began screeching to a halt. Although it had not been travelling particularly fast, the carriages swayed violently as the brakes locked and the two boys, standing by the window, were thrown across the compartment, knocking Margot off Sister Danielle’s knee. The little girl began to cry, but her distress was forgotten as another shot rang out from further up the train.

The two men spun round and out into the corridor where a thin man, with blood streaming down his face, tried to force his way past them. There were more cries from behind him and with a terrified glance over his shoulder, he gave the men a violent shove and tried to open the door of the still moving train. The two men staggered against each other for a moment and then went after him, one grabbing at him to stop him from jumping from the train, the other drawing a gun from his pocket.

The fugitive forced the door open and without a second glance behind him flung himself out as the man raised his pistol and fired. The train finally ground to a halt, its wheels screeching against the track in protestation and immediately the two men—Gestapo, as Mother Marie-Pierre had recognised them to be—leapt out after the fleeing man. More men shoved their way along the corridor, and jumping down onto the line fanned out in search of the fugitive. There was the sound of more shooting before Mother Marie-Pierre slid the compartment door closed, and turned to her white-faced companions.

“Whoever that poor soul was, he saved us from the Gestapo,” she murmured.

“Were they Gestapo, Mother?” Sister Danielle asked softly.

“Almost certainly, Sister.” She smiled at the children. “Now then, guess what kind Madame Papritz gave me before we left.”

Paulette, old enough to realise the danger they had been in, tried to sound interested. “I don’t know, Mother. What?”

“Some
pain d’épice
!” She produced the gingerbread from her bag and as the children watched in delight, broke it into five pieces. The children took it hungrily and were happily munching when the train jolted and began to move forward again. An hour later than scheduled, it steamed into the Gare du Nord.

When they arrived at last at the mother house, they were taken at once to see Mother Magdalene. One look at Mother Marie-Pierre’s face was enough to tell her things were seriously wrong. She sent Sister Danielle and Marthe, whom she still assumed to be a novice, off to settle the children in the guest quarters and then sat Mother Marie-Pierre down to hear why she had come. She was a good listener and she heard Mother Marie-Pierre out without interruption.

“You did right to bring them to me,” she said at last. “They will be safe here. I will get papers for little Margot, and they can live with us here as long as is necessary. We have ten other children here in the orphanage with us already. They will soon fit in and feel at home.”

“What about Marthe?” asked Mother Marie-Pierre. “She cannot go on disguised as a novice. Father Bernard, in Amiens, saw at once that she was not a nun, and she herself is not at all happy with the deception. I had great difficulty getting her to wear the habit, even as a disguise.”

“You say she used to work in the hospital as a lay worker?” Mother Magdalene asked.

“Yes. Sister Eloise says she has the makings of a good nurse.”

“Then there is no problem,” Mother Magdalene said serenely. “She can work with us as a lay sister, and I will try and get her trained properly as a nurse so that she can support herself outside the convent.”

Mother Marie-Pierre joined the sisters in their chapel that evening and again in the morning for Mass, and then she set off for the station and the journey home.

“Won’t you stay a few days?” suggested Mother Magdalene. “Just till the children settle in?”

“No, Mother, I can’t. The sisters in St Croix need me. But if you’ll keep Sister Danielle for a week or two, that will make the transition for the younger ones a little easier.”

It was agreed, though Sister Danielle was anxious about Mother Marie-Pierre travelling back to St Croix on her own.

“Don’t be silly, Sister,” Mother Marie-Pierre said briskly. “If the trains run on time, I shall be home before dark.”

She was lucky, there were no delays and she managed to hitch a lift from Albert to the village on a carrier’s cart, so she didn’t even have the long walk back to St Croix. She was back at the convent by late afternoon.

She was greeted by Sister Celestine, who, on opening the door, cried out in relief to see her.

“Oh Mother, thank God you are home.”

Mother Marie-Pierre looked startled at her tone. “Why, Sister, whatever is the matter?”

Sister Celestine seemed about to tell her something but then hesitated and replied rather lamely. “Nothing, Mother. I mean, Sister Marie-Paul asked me to say that she needs to speak to you as soon as you get home.”

“I see.” Mother Marie-Pierre raised an eyebrow. “Then you’d better run and tell her I’m back. I shall be in my office.”

As the reverend mother and the children trundled out of the village square in Jean Danot’s farm cart, Colonel Hoch strode back into the Gestapo headquarters calling to his aide, Lieutenant Weber.

“I don’t trust that nun,” he snapped as the man came into the office to join him. “She’s up to something.”

Weber knew his officer well enough not to question this statement, though privately he doubted that the reverend mother was up to anything. After all, what could a nun do?

“Find Major Thielen,” Hoch said, “and then come back here.”

Major Thielen entered the room to find the colonel pacing the floor.

“That nun, the one who came here about the Jews the other day,” Hoch said. “I don’t trust her. She’s just set off to Paris with a cartload of children.”

“But surely, Colonel, you searched the cart before they left the village,” Thielen said tentatively. He had watched the whole thing from his window and had been very relieved when there proved to be nothing concealed in the cart. He disliked Colonel Hoch and he disliked his tactics. Everything Hoch did antagonised the local population. Occupation was not easy and Major Thielen, although authoritarian himself, had tried, to some extent, to work with the local people. Co-operation backed up with information from whoever was prepared to provide it was his preferred method. He was aware that there were pockets of resistance in the area, and information encouraged and bought was far more useful than Hoch’s arrogant approach. That was more likely to harden that resistance than to defeat it.

Hoch was, Thielen thought bitterly, as he’d watched him search the cart, the worst type of upstart; a bully, not a true army officer, but one of what Thielen privately called Himmler’s gang. He found now, as they stood face-to-face, that he had to school his features well to hide his loathing of the man.

“I don’t trust her,” repeated the colonel. “Who searched the convent?”

“I did, sir. I had ten men with me and we searched the place from top to bottom.”

“And what did you find?” demanded Hoch.

“Nothing, sir. There was nothing out of the ordinary. We searched the hospital, the chapel, the cellars, everywhere.”

“And this nun, this reverend mother? How did she behave?”

“Some of the sisters were afraid when we arrived, but she calmed them down and then led me round the convent.”

“Did she indeed?” Hoch considered for a moment and then spoke to Weber. “Franz, I think we should pay another visit to this convent, a surprise one while the reverend mother is away. Bring twenty men and then fetch my car.” He turned back to Major Thielen. “You, Thielen, give me the geography of the place. How many entrances? What’s the place like at the back?”

Major Thielen considered. “There’s a courtyard behind the main building, which has a high wall round it,” he said. “The hospital has been built on there. In the courtyard there are some outbuildings, a shed, a henhouse, that sort of thing, and there is a door into the kitchen. There is also a little walled garden.”

Hoch nodded. “I assume your men searched these outbuildings.”

Thielen stared woodenly ahead of him. “Of course, sir.”

“Right, well, we’ll search them again. They won’t be expecting us back again so soon, and without that reverend mother there things may be easier. You, Thielen, will stay here to receive the reports from those still searching the outlying farms.”

Hoch strode out of the building into the square, leaving Major Thielen fuming in his office.

The men Hoch had sent for were formed up, waiting.

“We are going to search the convent again,” he snapped. “I shall arrive at the front door, and as soon as it is open, ten of you will go straight in and search the main building. You know the drill, look for any possible hiding places, pay particular attention to the cellars. The rest of you will have approached the place from the back. When you get the signal, you go in that way. There is a door in the courtyard wall. Break it down if you have to. Search the outhouses—they are just the sort of place a Jew might hide. Go into the hospital, check every patient.