In This Hospitable Land (47 page)

The Sauverin brothers trailed along behind Max all afternoon, Blackie obediently at their heels. The size of the flock diminished until Max finally said, “We’ll take ours here.”

The Sauverins took a deep breath and walked slowly toward the flock from the rear.

“Eh Blackie,” André called softly. Then using the singsong mountain patois he had practiced with Touté he gave the dog instructions and, he hoped, confidence. He was relieved to be rewarded by the dog’s practiced response. It was important not to spook the flock.

Blackie worked back and forth carefully, herding the sheep, heading them onto the right path, not letting any rejoin the larger flock. In a gratifyingly short time, Max and the Sauverins managed to move their small flock over the hill on the way to their new home.

As the sun began to set, the handful of local farmers stood talking quietly, waiting. When Max, the Sauverins, and the sheep appeared, Blackie, at his owner’s direction, brought the flock to a halt in the center of the road.

“You take these three,” the farmer told one of his neighbors. “They look like yours.” He did the same with the other sheep and farmers. In the end fifteen nervous “diverted” sheep were left. “Okay, Blackie. To the barn.”

In minutes everything was back to normal. No one entering the village would have guessed that a few more sheep had been mixed in with each farmer’s flock.

In the morning Max and the Sauverins began hiking back to the camp, avoiding all roads associated with Le Pont-de-Montvert. Great care was taken to cross only where adequate cover shielded them from unwanted view and even then only when all was quiet.

“Today or tomorrow at the latest the Germans will miss their sheep,” Max said. “I’d love to hear how the collaborators explain it.”

Late in the day they climbed the last hill to the camp. Smoke swirled into the sky from two chimneys on the grounds. Though it was quickly lost in the gloom of dusk, Max thought he should talk to the chief about it since it was imperative that the Maquis conceal their hideaway.

In the large barn everyone had a story to tell or a comment to make.

“I had to act as the bellwether. They would only follow me.”

“Dumb animals. Stupid sheep.”

“But good eating.”

“No matter how old, mutton makes better eating than turnips three times a day.”

The banter died away as the men laid themselves down and dozed off.

“We’ll stay a week or so,” Max whispered to André and Alex, leading them back to their quarters. “It’ll be safer staying together in an armed camp. Once the Milice tell the Germans five hundred sheep have disappeared, the Gestapo will go everywhere to hunt them down.”

“To hunt
us
down,” Alex corrected him.

“So,” André asked, wiping off his glasses briskly, “are we now one with you?”

“You are now Maquis,” Max grinned, grasping each by the shoulder. “Welcome!”

André settled his glasses back. “So there’s more for us to do?”

“Eventually. Meantime I’ll get you back to Le Tronc as soon as it’s safe to leave.”

Max and the Sauverins sat around pondering the future. André expressed a heartbreaking sense of helplessness about Denise and their three children.

“We’re in your hands,” he said over and over. “Yours and our fellow Maquisards.”

Alex acknowledged similar thoughts and feelings about Geneviève, Katie, and Philippe. Both brothers fretted about their mother and their relatives in Aubenas and Belgium.

“Don’t worry about your mother,” Max responded to the brothers. “I’ve heard that she is safe. Especially staying with my mother in Alès. Mother is very cautious when there are Germans around.”

“How do you know?” snapped Alex.

“We have those who get the word through to us.” Max raised his hand slightly to end the conversation.

Then word came that the Germans were furious over their sheep loss, demanding of their French partners how a flock so large could simply vanish.

In the large barn an old farmer who had helped the Maquis smiled toothlessly as he related what he had witnessed in the village square. “They were running all over frantically, insisting that the mayor find their sheep. But the mayor and the townspeople said nothing. They just went back to their homes. It was wonderful. The Gestapo officer grew red in the face and turned his outrage on the Milice captain next to him, yelling in German. The captain didn’t understand but was still terrified.”

A week later Max tracked down the Sauverins. “The chief says if you want to return to Le Tronc he’ll have the truck take you. The driver needs to go on his regular run anyway.”

Alex peered at Max doubtfully. “Regular run?”

“Potatoes and carrots go down to the village. Wood and chestnuts come back.”

“I’m sure the Guins could use us,” André said tentatively.

Alex nodded. He and André had bonded with the men of the camp but it would be good to get back to Le Tronc.

Léon got the brothers planting turnips, beets, and beans right away. After they had put in several hours of backbreaking work, he suggested to André the time had come to see his family and pointed southward across the valley.

“When it gets dark tonight you can walk over if you’re up to it. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two. The path is uneven so it might be best to climb up to the ridge and then go down the other path. That way you’ll be out in the open a shorter time—if anyone’s watching.”

“When will I be able to see my family?” Alex demanded.

“Not yet. But that time too will come.”

“I’m afraid to see Denise,” André confessed. “I smell bad and I haven’t shaved.”

“Don’t worry,” Léon said dismissively. “We’ll get you all cleaned up for the missus. Besides, after so much time you could stink like a pig as long as she can see your face.”

As the sun began to set, André cleaned up and shaved as best he could. His whiskers mostly came off but his cheeks were still stippled by uneven stubble. Overjoyed to remove the shirt he had worn for almost two weeks, he put on the best of the last two remaining from Brussels which though wrinkled were not stained with dried sweat. He also shook out and donned his finest coat. Unfortunately he thought it best to keep on his rough trousers—a pair manufactured for the rigors of outdoor existence. They might survive a mountain hike.

“I’m off,” he told Alex, who sat watching. Should he offer a word of consolation? No.
Better to leave Alex to his own devices,
he thought, shutting the barn door behind him.

The moon was out, not shining down fiercely enough to reveal André but providing enough light for him to find his way. Still, as he reached the high road at the crest of the mountain and sought the trail that led to Le Salson, he tripped on a root projecting from the side of the road and fell hard, scraping his hand against gravel as he slapped and grasped to keep from falling the long way down. After working his way to his knees and then to his feet, he rubbed his hands together, pressed his sore hand against his pants, and hurried on.

Léon had told him the Bastide house was the fourth building after the path widened. As he approached an outbuilding between two other structures he grew confused. Finally he came to a house that might have been the fourth; at least it looked lived in.

In the moonlight shining more brightly in the open, the house’s stoop struck André as clean and welcoming. An ancient pot filled with dried branches and the first wildflowers of the season rested on a great stone set beside the door. It looked like Denise’s handiwork.

No light escaped through the small cracks between and around the latched shutters. André firmed his resolve and knocked gently, then again with greater force. He pressed his ear to the door and heard grumbling and a shuffling toward the door.

“What is it?” a strange voice called fearfully. “Who’s there?”

“André Sauverin.”

He heard the strange voice again, another, and then one he knew.

“André?”

“Yes!”

The bolt slid back and Denise stepped through the doorway into his arms. André squeezed and held her tight, pressing his lips to hers in a long, lingering kiss. Then he held her at arm’s length. How wonderful to see and feel her!

“Oh, my dear,” Denise breathed. “Come in.”

She guided him into the large front room where he greeted Irene Bastide warmly and was introduced to Ernestine Roux. With tears in their eyes these women quickly, kindly, made themselves scarce so that André and Denise could sit on the couch talking privately, holding each other’s hands tightly.

Denise spoke with great pride of their children: how well they were developing and how extraordinarily helpful, thoughtful, and brave they were being. Then she asked excitedly, “Should I wake them for you?”

“I’d hate to disturb their sleep.”

“But they’d be so thrilled to see you!”

“All the more reason not to. It’s better for now that they not know I’ve been here or that I’m staying relatively nearby. Secrecy is important for us all—and quite a few others.”

“I understand. But I hope it won’t always be this way.”

André sank into himself. He hadn’t thought through how hard this would be.

“The children are always asking where you are,” Denise said. “I tell them you’re all right, nothing more.” She squeezed his hand more tightly. “But come quietly and look at them. We won’t use a light—just the lantern which we’ll leave outside the door.”

Upstairs their daughters slept in the big bed as if to protect one another. In the drawer where Cristian dreamed, the boy’s sweet face was turned to one side atop his pillow. André hardly recognized his littlest one. Dark hair now covered his son’s head entirely. André could hardly believe how large he had grown even though he was still small enough to fit in a drawer. It was almost as hard for André to stand there without kissing and caressing Cristian as to realize he would soon have to leave.

Meantime the Bastides had slipped into the great room to add a bit of wood to the evening’s fire. It gave the room a lovely warmth and provided a dancing, guttering light to illuminate and animate their faces.

“I can’t stay much longer,” André said regretfully, returning with Denise. Then he looked deeply and lovingly at his spouse again before addressing the older women. “I’m just happy to see my wife and children doing so well thanks to your consideration and care.”

“We could do no less,” Ernestine said.

“And your children are so wonderful,” Irene enthused. “Especially little Cristian. He’s such a darling and so proud to be walking!”

“I’ve missed so much,” André said sorrowfully.

“We’re most fortunate to be here,” Denise affirmed. “Irene and Ernestine really look out for us. And I feel we’re well-hidden.”

“I hope so,” André said, concerned. Then he pulled Denise close again. “Now I have to go,” he said softly.

“I know,” Denise replied equally softly. “But you can come again?”

“Next week perhaps. It depends. We might be busier then.”

Denise accompanied André to the door. Standing out on the stoop again he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately.

Breaking away he gazed into Denise’s beautiful eyes. A faint smile played across his lips. Then he disappeared into the dark.