Love in the Shadows

20.

FABIENNE WAS CHIPPING AT a new candle that Mamie had picked up from the church when there was an unexpected tap on the back door of the cottage. She quickly cleared the table, hiding the candle in the cutlery drawer, and lit a cigarette. The knock came again, more urgent this time.

Johanna stood outside in a dress and heeled shoes that would be more fitting at a dinner party. The woman she was trying to hold upright slumped heavily, head on her chest, but she was sure it was the Jewish prisoner who had given her the infant, Jacob.

“Putain!” Fabienne stepped outside, dropped the cigarette, and tucked her arm around the woman’s waist.

They half carried, half dragged her through the kitchen and into the living room and lay her on the couch.

“Mon dieu,” Fabienne said. “Putain, putain, putain!” She paced the room, scratching her head. What the fuck was she going to do with a sick escaped prisoner? She couldn’t take her to the usual hideout in the woods; in her state, she wouldn’t make it through another night. Putain.

Mamie came into the room. “What on earth?” Her eyes widened as she glanced from one woman to the other and settled her gaze on Johanna.

“We need as many blankets as we can spare. Take them from my bed,” Fabienne said.

Mamie left the room.

Johanna shivered and rubbed her arms. “It’s cold in here.”

Fabienne took off her coat and wrapped it around the pregnant woman. “We are out of wood,” she said. “With the injury, I haven’t been able to forage and I’m trying to preserve the furniture. Besides, it’s not freezing anymore.” She smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Johanna shook her head – whether in disbelief or disgust, Fabienne couldn’t tell. “We have enough to spare. I’ll go and fill a basket.”

Fabienne caught her arm as she turned away. “You are taking a big risk. If your husband finds out, you…”

Johanna glanced towards the woman on the couch. “I know what I’m doing, Fabienne. He has gone to his room. The next I’ll see him will be tomorrow evening.”

Fabienne sighed and let her go. She worried that Johanna wasn’t truly aware of what she was getting herself into, and more importantly for all concerned, whether she could carry it off. If she faltered, she would get them killed.

Mamie arrived with four blankets and a pillow. “This is all we have.”

Fabienne took them. “It will do.”

Mamie glanced around. “Where’s Frau Neumann?”

“She has gone to get wood so we can fire up the stove.” She laid the blankets over the woman.

Mamie set the pillow under the woman’s head. She felt her brow. “She’s so cold.”

“She is one of the prisoners, Mamie. I tried to help her. God knows how she found her way here. She must have been wandering around for the past three days.”

“There were reports of another twenty-six being caught today,” Mamie said. “They were executed at the side of the road.” Her eyes watered as she spoke. “That makes a hundred and eighty-three so far.”

With that number dead, and the thirty French men and women they had murdered in retribution for the German soldiers, could they consider the mission a success? “That means more than sixty women and children still have a chance. You know what will happen to them if they are sent to the camps. They are being gassed.”

It was impossible to know how many prisoners had been on the train. Their information had said two-hundred and thirty-six, but she was sure there had been closer to three hundred. They had been rammed into the cattle-cars more tightly than cows heading to the slaughterhouse. It was inhumane beyond imagination.

The woman on the couch was paler than she had been that night, the rings under her eyes darker, her cheeks sunken into deep hollows. It was a miracle she was still alive, though for how long?

The back door opened, and Johanna entered the kitchen.

“I’ll get the stove going,” Fabienne said.

“Is it the woman from the train?” Johanna asked as Fabienne started the fire.

“Yes.” Fabienne filled the kettle and put it on the stove, along with a large flat stone. “A drink?” She pulled a bottle of brandy from the cupboard and three glasses and poured before Johanna answered. She handed her a glass and took another through to Mamie. She returned, drank hers and refilled her glass. “We are in great danger.” She lit a cigarette and offered one to Johanna.

Johanna opened out Fabienne’s hand and touched the inside of her fingers, studied the healing wounds. “I was worried. How’s your arm?” She let Fabienne go and took a cigarette.

The tenderness of her touch melted something inside Fabienne. She had to resist these feelings that obscured the truth. Life was hard enough without the complications that came with loving someone you had a high chance of losing one way or another. She would be stupid to think any differently. “I’ll be back to work at the house tomorrow,” she said.

The unspoken message that passed between them spoke of a different future. A dream.

Fabienne shook her head. “We can’t—”

“How can I help?” Johanna said, cutting her off sharply. She drank the brandy and drew down hard on the cigarette. Her teeth chattered. She moved closer to the stove. “I mean it.”

Fabienne held her gaze. “Do you have any idea what you are getting into?”

Johanna held out her glass, and Fabienne refilled it. “Would you have left her there to die?”

Fabienne took a smoke and exhaled slowly. “That’s different.”

“Why? Because I’m German, Fabienne?” Johanna gritted her teeth.

Fabienne shook her head. There were French people doing the Germans’ dirty work too. It wasn’t that; it was… She didn’t know what it was. Fabienne was used to saving people; Johanna was na?ve. “You could have told your husband, and she would have been shot. You came here, and if she survives the night, we will do our best to get her to safety.”

Johanna held her hands close to the surface of the stove. “God, I feel so fucking inadequate.”

Johanna swearing for the first time drew a smile from Fabienne. The kettle started to hum. Fabienne took a pot from the cupboard and made acorn coffee.

“How will you get her to safety? There are patrols everywhere.”

Fabienne finished her brandy and poured them both another. “She made it here. God knows how. She deserves another chance. Only this time she won’t have to run all the way.” She handed Johanna the glass, kept hold of it until Johanna looked at her. “There are some things it’s best you don’t know at this stage,” she said softly.

Johanna took the glass and turned away. “You sound like my husband.”

Fabienne took Johanna by the arm and turned her gently. “I am not anything like your husband.” She touched Johanna’s cheek, her heart racing with longing, and an ache nestled deep inside her. She had to protect Johanna in the same way she would Mamie and Nancy. “The less you know, the less you can tell the German soldiers when they torture you for being a traitor.”

Johanna gasped, stared at her wide-eyed.

“I don’t want that to happen to you.” Fabienne returned to the pot of coffee, poured a cup, and added a little milk. She took the warm stone from the stove and wrapped it in a cloth and took both things through to the living room. “How is she doing?”

Mamie had a grave look in her eyes. “She will be lucky if she makes it.”

Fabienne handed her the stone, and Mamie tucked it under the covers against the woman’s distended belly. “Is the baby still—”

“Yes. She looks about seven months gone, maybe more. It’s hard to tell, she’s so thin.”

Fabienne touched the woman’s stomach and prayed. The last thing they needed was for her to give birth here, though moving her wasn’t going to be a simple task either. “I brought coffee in case we can get some down her.” She set the cup on the low table and returned to the kitchen.

Johanna, leaning against the stove, seemed to study her. She took a deep breath and spoke quickly as if revealing a secret that would get her into trouble. “Gerhard says they know about the Resistance activities.”

Fabienne nodded. “Starving people tend to talk more readily.” She looked towards the living room. It was critical that no one found out about the prisoner, but she didn’t need to remind Johanna of that.

Johanna sipped her drink. “I want to do more to help, Fabienne. Just tell me what.”

Fabienne held her gaze as she went to the sink. She had to prepare soup for when the woman was ready to eat something. “You’ve helped this woman tonight. You need to not get yourself killed.” Johanna moved quickly across the small space and positioned herself between Fabienne and the sink. Her breath was warm, her mouth so close to Fabienne’s.

“Don’t push me away,” Johanna whispered. She leaned her forehead against Fabienne’s. “Please.”

Her last word was barely audible, yet Fabienne heard it as if she’d shouted it from the church steeple. She didn’t back off, though she knew she should. She lifted her head until their lips touched. A fleeting contact that left no doubt in her mind or body. Coming to her senses quickly, she backed away, sought the ingredients, and set them on the kitchen side. Two small carrots and an onion. “It’s all we have,” she said.

“I’ll go and get some more,” Johanna said.

The cold air coming in from outside as Johanna left was more noticeable against the new warmth in the kitchen, but this wasn’t what caused Fabienne to tremble as she put a pan of water on to heat and cut up the vegetables.

The water was simmering when Johanna returned with a small joint of beef and a handful of potatoes. “It’s all I could find,” she said. She stood close to the stove.

“It’s more than she’s had in a long while.” Fabienne was sure the woman hadn’t eaten for days, maybe more than a week.

She couldn’t look at Johanna, though she wanted to acknowledge what had passed between them was more than the whisper of a kiss. She added the hock to the pan, cut up the potatoes and dropped them in. “You need to go home, Johanna.”

“I want to—”

“You’ve done more than enough.” Fabienne shook her head. “Please, now, go home and go to bed. Astrid needs her mother. I’ll come to work at the house tomorrow.”

Johanna’s disappointment was evident in the quiver in her lip and the sheen that lightened her eyes. “My husband is sending a new guard to watch over us while Müller is sick.”

Fabienne sighed. “Müller is ill?” Mamie had given her the good news, but she couldn’t reveal that, no matter what she felt for Johanna. “Let’s hope the new one isn’t worse.”

Johanna rubbed her eyes. “Is that possible?”

Fabienne held her gaze, felt her sadness, and half-smiled.

A tear slipped onto Johanna’s cheek, and she wiped it away.

They both knew worse was possible.

Johanna left and Fabienne went through to the living room, the warmth of their connection numbed by the chilling reality.

“She managed a sip,” Mamie said. She glanced towards the kitchen, sending an unspoken question that needed an answer. “Johanna, I heard—”

“Yes, her name is Johanna. This is a good sign.”

Mamie frowned.

An explanation would have to wait until Fabienne was sure of what was happening between her and Johanna and what role Johanna would play moving forwards. Being on first-name terms meant that Johanna trusted her and liked her. The same rules applied to Mamie as to everyone. The less she knew the better.

“She has done the right thing,” Fabienne said.

Mamie smiled. “Something smells good.”

“There will be soup for us tomorrow. You go to bed. I’ll look after her.” Fabienne kissed Mamie on the cheek. She sat as close to the woman on the couch as she could and rubbed her legs gently, praying for a second miracle.