12.
LEAVING NANCY ALONE IN the house at the weekends was the thing that saddened Fabienne the most. Having the kittens to play with was some compensation, but she knew Nancy was terribly lonely. They all were in their different ways, but loneliness was the least of their problems and something that she hoped would resolve itself after the war. Fabienne, like everyone else, had to follow instructions and avoid drawing attention to herself, and that meant serving the Neumanns every day. Since Müller watched her closely, grabbing time to take care of her other duties was becoming more problematic.
A light frost had settled overnight again, and there was still a chill in the air as she crossed the yard to the house. Spring had threatened to arrive, bringing a few days of warmth, and then disappeared again. Snowdrops had come and gone unnoticed, and the early tree blossom had shivered from the trees all too quickly by mid-March. A grey mist reigned for most of the day, illustrating that this year was proving more punishing than previous years, and that meant they were low on both wood and food. Too many elderly people in town had been lost to either influenza or pneumonia since the turn of 1944. Could life get any harder? Fabienne prayed not, but time would determine their fates.
She had cut wood from trees in the forest during the previous summer, storing the logs in the cow shed to dry them and to keep them hidden. But that supply had depleted rapidly and now the cow shed was empty and there were only a few small pieces left in the woodshed next to the house. She would have to stray further into the forest to find the right logs to burn, and that took time, which Müller made sure she didn’t have, and they would also be too damp to burn well. If the cold weather continued into April, she would have to consider cutting down fences and breaking up furniture to feed the stove. The last resort would be to steal wood from the Neumann’s supply. Doing that, given Müller’s vigilance, would not be easy, and the cost if she were caught would be too great.
Maybe it was because her clothes were thinner that she felt the chill more easily. Her shoes had long since stopped protecting her feet, but she’d long since stopped caring too. She wasn’t the only one to suffer, there were others in more vulnerable positions than her, and it was this call to serve those less fortunate that drove her to continue to fight with everything she had for the liberation of France. Their next mission though would be bigger than anything they’d done before, and wondering how to get almost two hundred and fifty people to safety had kept her awake the past few nights. Hopefully, at the meeting with her colleagues this evening, they would come up with a plan. In the meantime, she had work to do and Hauptmann Müller to avoid.
She entered the house through the back door into the kitchen and inhaled the intoxicating aroma of fresh coffee.
Frau Neumann poured a little milk into a cup.
“Guten morgen, Frau Neumann.”
“Would you like a coffee?” Frau Neumann asked.
Fabienne checked herself before responding. Was this a trick? She would die for a decent coffee. Just the smell made her pine. She glanced through to the dining room to the foyer beyond. There was no sign of Müller or the nanny. But still, caution stopped her from accepting the offer.
“Hauptmann Müller has gone to collect rations. He will not be back until this afternoon.”
Fabienne raised her eyebrows and breathed a sigh. Thank God he would be out of their way.
“I realise you will feel you should refuse.” Frau Neumann smiled.
“It has been a long time since I had real coffee.” She couldn’t say no, though she should.
Frau Neumann added some water to the kettle and set it on the stove. “I’m sure you’ve earned it, and it’s so damned cold. Is it always this cold in spring?”
Fabienne laughed. “It can be. The climate here can be unpredictable; cold nights are common, though usually it warms up during the day. This year is the worst I remember it being since I was Nancy’s age.”
“Berlin gets cold, but this feels different.”
“The war doesn’t help. The lack of food and wood, and aged clothing. There is little to protect us anymore,” Fabienne said.
Frau Neumann nodded. She took cups from the cupboard and made the drinks. “Do you take milk? I’m afraid we’re out of sugar, though that’s a small sacrifice to make.”
“Black, thank you.” Fabienne’s mouth watered in anticipation. She took a sip, and it was hard to swallow past the guilt. The caffeine hit came quickly, and in her elation she finished the drink swiftly. Only when she put the cup on the surface did she realise Frau Neumann was watching her keenly. Her heart raced and her mind insisted she’d been deceived. If that was so, then she would now pay the consequences.
“How’s your grandmother?” Frau Neumann asked.
Fabienne was taken aback by the question. Still, her heart raced. “She is getting older, the hours are long, and the work is very hard. And Hauptmann—”
“I am aware of Hauptmann Müller.”
Fabienne doubted she knew the full story, but it wasn’t her place to tell, and she wanted to savour the uplifting effect of the precious coffee rather than dredge up the cruelty he inflicted on them.
Frau Neumann studied her. “Maybe you should stop working at the dairy?”
Fabienne’s stomach fizzed from the caffeine-heightened anxiety that hit her. She needed to remain calm and collected, or Frau Neumann might suspect she was up to something.
Frau Neumann clasped her hands together. “Then you can be at the house earlier to help your grandmother.”
That would be a natural conclusion for someone in her position, but Mamie wouldn’t want that, and it would mess up Fabienne’s Resistance activities. “Mamie is proud. She would be offended if I suggested that she needed my help and she would feel worthless. I think that would affect her more.”
Frau Neumann nodded. She sipped her coffee, tapping her index finger on the side of the cup.
The silence was thick with tension. Fabienne wanted to know what Frau Neumann was thinking and whether she was setting her up for a fall.
“The kommandant is hosting important guests for dinner on Good Friday at nine p.m.”
Fabienne noted that Frau Neumann hadn’t referenced herself. The event was the same evening as the blowing of the bridge. That could make things awkward. “We will make sure the food is prepared to the highest standard. Is there anything special you would like us to cook?”
“I don’t know what rations we’ll have. Hauptmann Müller will find out what’s available and let me know. But I’d like you to be here to plate the food. He and Nanny will serve, but they can’t be seen managing the kitchen or coordinating the meal. You understand?”
Fabienne’s stomach tightened. She would have to leave the house at some point during the evening, and to do that she was going to either need a very solid excuse or simply disappear and face the consequences afterwards.
“I might be able to find some wild mushrooms if that pleases you. For a soup.” Fabienne was always looking for a legitimate opportunity to get out of the house. It wouldn’t help her on the night, but it might give her a credit for when she needed one.
“That would be nice, providing they’re not poisonous.” Frau Neumann’s eyes sparkled with her smile.
“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Fabienne said. As she smiled, she knew she was blushing.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to.” Frau Neumann finished her coffee, and Fabienne got the impression she didn’t want to leave the kitchen. “These important men who are coming, they think like Hauptmann Müller.”
Fabienne nodded. The kommandant’s wife was not only trying to warn her, but she was also making it clear that she was not like these men. Frau Neumann had taken a risk in giving Fabienne this information. A small risk, but nonetheless she had given away that she wanted to protect Fabienne, and that she did not agree with the way the officers treated them. “Then we must be sure to feed them well,” she said.
Frau Neumann broke eye contact. “I hope your grandmother can find some time to rest.”
Fabienne stepped towards her, reached out to touch her, then pulled back quickly. “Please, if you agree, send her back to the house now. I can manage the bedrooms and meal preparations today. And her other granddaughter, my cousin Nancy, is alone in the cottage at the weekends. It is very hard on her. She is just ten years old.” Fabienne had blurted the words without thought, and as she waited in the silence that followed, her heart drummed a heavy beat.
“It’s very hard on the children,” Frau Neumann said. “I was their age during the previous war.”
Fabienne sensed she wanted to say more. She was German, but she was also lonely and so was Astrid. “It must be horrendous to go through it all a second time,” Fabienne said.
“My grandfather died in that war.”
“My parents were killed at the beginning of this one, as were Nancy’s.” She felt her tone hardening. Frau Neumann’s loss could not compare to theirs.
“I’m sorry.” Frau Neumann stared at her.
Fabienne held her gaze. “Everyone loses.”
Frau Neumann lowered her head. “Astrid has seen things that have shocked me. I was more protected as a child. It is far worse for her here.”
“As it is for my cousin, Nancy.” The edge to Fabienne’s tone was sharp now. How many child prisoners had been utterly devastated by what they had been exposed to? Astrid would still have a life after the war, which is more than could be said for so many others. She clamped her jaw tight to stop herself from overstepping the mark.
Frau Neumann sighed. “For all the children,” she said. “It’s worse than anything we could ever imagine.” She gave Fabienne a rueful smile. “I will send your grandmother home and let you get to work.”
Fabienne sighed with relief as Frau Neumann turned away from her. “Thank you,” she whispered as the kommandant’s wife left the kitchen.
***
The hours had passed quickly working at the house. As Fabienne sat at the kitchen table in the cottage that evening, Mamie seemed a little brighter for having rested.
“How was it?” Mamie asked.
Fabienne drew down on her cigarette. “Better for Müller’s absence.” She didn’t want to burden Mamie with the conversation she’d had with Frau Neumann. Even though the woman was sympathetic, it didn’t mean she would defend them in the face of her husband or the captain. Frau Neumann had to tread carefully too, though Fabienne believed she would do her best to make their lives as pleasant as possible. “She is hosting a dinner on Good Friday, and we are expected to manage the kitchen. Müller and the nanny will serve the guests.”
“That’s inconvenient,” Mamie said.
“Yes. I must be at the post office by ten-thirty. The train is due at the station at eleven forty-five.”
“I can manage the kitchen. We will come up with something.”
Fabienne stood, pocketed the packet of Gauloises from the table, and headed to the door. “I’ve got deliveries to make, and then a meeting. I’ll be back late.”
Mamie squeezed her arm. “Be safe.”
Fabienne kissed her cheek. “I’ll be fine.”
Having delivered the parcels of cheese to the church for onward distribution, she headed to the bistro bar. Two Wehrmacht soldiers were sitting at a table playing cards and drinking coffee. Three Frenchmen stood at the bar complaining intensely about the fact that the World Cup football had been cancelled the previous year. Their debate moved on to whether the tournament would go ahead as planned in three years’ time. They were of two minds whether the war would be over by then. Fabienne couldn’t bear the thought that it might not be.
The Resistance had to try harder; they all had to do more.
A group of French policemen were sitting around a table drinking brandy. She turned her back to them and waited until they resumed their conversation before slipping a small parcel of cheese across the counter to Jean-Paul. He gave her a large shot of brandy.
She sipped the drink. The soldiers left the bar, and the mood lifted a little.
She made her way through to a back room. The lighting was subdued, and the small space was filled with tobacco smoke. She greeted the six commanders with a nod of her head and took centre stage. The men quieted. “We are to blow up the bridge this side of the river on Friday the seventh of April, at eleven forty-five.”
“We will only have a small number of explosives,” Louis Bertrand said.
Fabienne nodded. “Enough to cause damage to have the train stopped?”
Bertrand blew out a long breath. “We will make it work.”
“Why? It’s a major supply route and rations will be reduced again if the trains can’t get through,” a man said. “We will all die of starvation.”
The men echoed their agreement.
Fabienne had similar concerns, but they had no choice. “Two hundred and thirty-six Jews are being transported to Germany. Women and children are being sent to the work camps. Rumours are that they are being executed there.” She looked at each man in turn to silence any further challenge. “We will blow up the bridge before the train reaches Windheisen Station. Word will get through that the bridge has been damaged and they will stop the train at the station. Here, we will board it and free the prisoners.”
“And kill the guards,” Bertrand said.
It would be difficult to do the job without German casualties, but for every soldier that they killed, more innocent French people would be murdered in retribution. Bertrand worked with a heavy hand. He had nothing to lose because all his family were dead. That made him a great fighter, but it also made him more reckless.
“The station will not be manned. There will be two guards at the front, the centre and the rear of the train, and one with the driver. We should aim to disable the guards if we can. Tie them up, throw them in one of the wagons. Do whatever we can to minimise reprisals.”
“You’re being too soft,” Bertrand said. “We have to shoot them before they shoot us.”
Fabienne clenched her teeth. His disregard for the innocent victims who would suffer curdled her blood. It wasn’t easy striking a balance, and if they could kill every German this side of the border in one hit, she would be the first to jump at the chance. But they had to be more strategic. They would have enough problems helping the Jewish prisoners escape, and they would all suffer in one way or another because of the disruption to supply routes. Worse still, if they got caught, they too would be executed.
She stared directly at Bertrand. “Are you willing to take responsibility for the people they murder because you killed a German?” she asked. He lowered his head.
She looked at each man in the room as she spoke. “And if they shoot your wife, your mother, your children in response? If we have a chance to liberate the prisoners without killing the guards, we will do so. We cannot afford to be reckless.”
The men nodded. All except Bertrand.
She understood the anger that burned inside him, she felt the same way about the loss of her parents and aunt and uncle, and about the death of people she’d once called friends, but as leaders in the Resistance they had to consider the bigger picture. Their actions would help secure the liberation of France, and when that day came, she wanted as many people as possible to be there to celebrate. “Bertrand, you will take the bridge,” she said. “I’ll take the assault at the station.”
She indicated for two men to work with Bertrand. The others would handle the train with her. “My team will meet outside the post office at ten-forty. From there, we will make our way along the track and hide in the shadows. We will approach the train from the non-station side. Each of you must bring as many armed men as you can.”
“What is the plan to get these people to safety?” a man asked.
“We have to come up with one,” she said.
Bertrand’s eyes widened. “We have no way of moving that many people at the same time. It would be impossible.”
The same thoughts had troubled Fabienne. “I know. We have to direct them to head south across the fields and farm roads, but not all in the same direction at the same time. We need to get word to the farmers to open their barns and to our colleagues in the villages to provide water and as much food as they can spare.” She hated that it was the best they could do. Moving people using the farm trucks across fields would speed up their escape, but moving so many people by road was fraught with difficulties. Let alone with papers identifying them as Jewish.
“It’s suicide,” a man said.
Fabienne stared at him. “It’s the only chance they have, so let’s start talking to our friends. We will save as many as we can.”
The smoke was the only thing that moved in the silence that fell inside the room.
Eventually, she looked towards Bertrand. “The bridge needs to be down by eleven forty-five, d’accord?”
“Je sais.” Bertrand nodded, acknowledged his team, and left the room.
She walked to her van and started home, her thoughts consumed by the layout of the station and the best positions for taking down the guards without having to shoot them, while knowing Bertrand was right. She was being ideological to think she could minimise reprisals. It would be what it would be.
A mile outside of town, she was brought to a stop by a German military police patrol. She wound down the window, reached for her documents in the glove compartment, and handed them to a guard she didn’t recognise.
He studied the papers by torchlight. “What are you doing breaking curfew, Fraulein Brun?” He shone the torch into her face, and she turned away. Fuck. It didn’t matter that it was only a few minutes beyond ten p.m. She could be arrested – or worst still, shot on the spot – depending on the mind of the guard.
“I was making deliveries, Herr Oberleutnant.” She kept her head down.
“It’s very late for that.” He studied her papers again.
“I had a flat tyre and had to change it. My apologies, Oberleutnant.”
“She got a flat tyre,” he said to the others, and laughed. “You expect me to believe you? You see, we have a theory that people out late at night are involved in illegal activities. The curfew prevents these people from operating. Are you one of these people, Fraulein?” He gripped the handle of his pistol, though kept the weapon holstered at his side.
Her heart thundered. “I own the dairy farm, Herr Oberleutnant. I was taking cheese to the distribution centre for your men – and then on the way back, the tyre problem. Working in the dark, alone, as a woman. It is not easy.” The storage warehouses would be closed now. Still, she hoped he wouldn’t try to corroborate her story.
“Fraulein Brun, I think you know that we own everything now.” He grinned, revealing a gold molar tooth. “Now open the back doors.”
She cut the engine and got out of the van. She was shoved forward by the butt of a rifle jabbed hard into her back. She stumbled, pain coursing up her spine, and opened the rear doors. The pallets and churns hadn’t shifted so the trap door was still hidden. She held her breath as he shone a torch around the space, praying he wouldn’t move anything.
“What’s in those?” He flashed the light at the churns.
“They are empty, Oberleutnant. They get filled again tomorrow.”
He indicated for the soldier to get into the van. “Check inside.” He waited for the soldier to confirm.
“I work for Kommandant Neumann and his wife, Herr Oberleutnant. I cook for their guests. I should have taken more care with my timings today.”
He stepped away at the mention of his kommandant’s name, as she had hoped he would, and studied her papers once more before throwing them in her direction. “You’re lucky, tonight, Fraulein Brun. I’m in a good mood.”
“Yes, Herr Oberleutnant. Thank you.”
He indicated for the soldier to get out of the van.
She closed the doors, got into the driver’s seat, and restarted the engine.
“Go straight home.”
“Yes, Oberleutnant.” She drove away slowly.
Her heart was still thundering when she turned towards the cottage and parked outside. She slumped forward and rested her head against the steering wheel. Her hands trembled and she wondered if she might be sick. She got out of the van and started towards the front door, then spotted something on the step. Cautiously, she moved closer until she could make out the tortoise shell-coloured fur nestled in a tight ball. She clicked her fingers to attract the kitten’s attention. It didn’t respond. She went to it, lifted its lifeless body, and scanned the house across the yard. The red tip of a lit cigarette. Hauptmann Müller retreated into the alley.
Putain de salaud.
What type of man would break a child’s heart for pleasure?