27.
JOHANNA KNEW GERHARD HAD brought bad news home, even before he spoke.
He’d come through the door quietly, dismissed Schmidt with a flick of his hand, and done something he’d never done before. He shut the living room door.
Something had happened to Ralf.
She gasped as he steadied his gaze on her, and the sound of his voice met her ears in a warbled, unintelligible noise, as though she was at the bottom of the sea, drowning. His face showed more expression than she’d seen in the previous seven months. The air left her lungs, and she couldn’t replace it. She clasped her throat and thought she had screamed out loud, but Gerhard just stared at her in the deafening silence.
Her legs felt weak, unable to carry her, and the air became stuffy. The floor moved quickly towards her. There was a thud and pain, and nothing.
“Johanna. Johanna.”
Air, a breeze, against her cheeks. Why did her head hurt? It all came flooding back to her, rolling over her once again, crushing her with the hurt without giving pause for her to breathe. It was his voice, not Fabienne’s. His rough hands shaking her to her senses when she needed Fabienne’s tender, nurturing caress. She opened her eyes and slowly got to her feet, then filled with rage she rained punches down on him with all her might.
“You fucking killed him.”
He protected his face with his raised arms, turned away, allowed her to hit him though her swipes were pathetic. So much effort for so little in return. Eventually her energy dried up altogether and she slumped back to the floor, sobbing and screaming so hard it was as if her own life depended on it. “You killed my baby boy.”
She didn’t know how long she’d sat on the floor, rocking, staring into the void. Gerhard hadn’t moved from the spot. He stared down at her, his features tight from his own form of grief. Silent and distant.
He stepped towards her.
“Leave me alone,” she said.
“Johanna, please.”
She was trembling, anger surging in waves. “How did you think it would end, Gerhard? Medals, flags and glory. You’re a fucking idiot. How could you be taken in by this, this…” What word summed up the destruction, the hate, the devastation, the evil, and the utter blindness that had captivated them all, like a disease. She thumped her head, annoyed with herself for not stopping Gerhard when she should have done, for being weak. “This ludicrous fanaticism.”
He went to the table and poured himself a drink, gulped it down, poured another and drank that too. He set the glass down on the table too firmly, breaking it, cutting his hand. He watched the blood dripping, wrapped his handkerchief around the wound, and picked up a new glass. He filled it and drank until it was empty. “Does it ever occur to you that I do not like this war any more than you do?”
“You killed my son, Gerhard. But do you know what is worse?”
He looked to where she was sat, though he avoided making eye contact.
“I should have been stronger. I should have stopped you from turning him away from me.” She started to cry as she thought about her little boy with his blond curls and beaming smile. He had been excited to leave them, na?ve and innocent. She hoped he hadn’t suffered. “Get away. I never want to see you again.”
He walked into the kitchen and returned with a new bottle of wine, picked up the glass from the table, opened the door and went up the stairs.
Johanna stood up; her head spun, and she felt nauseous. She went out through the kitchen doorway and crossed the yard, taking deep gulps of air. She stood outside the back door of the cottage, hand raised, fist clenched, her heart breaking into pieces, drawing her down. Her arm dropped to her side and her head fell to her chest. She landed on her knees and sobbed.
The door opened.
“Frau Neumann, what has happened?”
Frau Tussaud glanced towards the house, then opened the door fully and reached down to help her up. “Come in, quickly. What on earth is going on? Does your husband know you’re here?”
Johanna shook her head.
Frau Tussaud led her to the table, and Johanna slumped in a chair. “Is Fabienne here?”
Frau Tussaud hovered next to her. “Yes, she’s just taken some food to Linette. She’ll be down in a moment. Can I get you something to drink, perhaps?” She stirred a pot on the stove and took a bottle of brandy from the cupboard.
Johanna shook her head. “I need to talk to Fabienne.”
Frau Tussaud poured herself a drink, watching Johanna closely.
When Fabienne entered the kitchen after what felt like an eternity, Johanna stood too quickly. Her head spun and she dropped back into the chair. “He’s dead,” she said.
Fabienne came to her and stroked her cheek. “Look at me. Who is dead, Johanna?”
Johanna said her son’s name on a sob and continued to cry. Fabienne held her, stroked her hair, helped her to stand and led her through to the living room, and helped her to sit on the couch. Then she sat next to her, put her arm around her shoulders and drew Johanna to lean against her. She kissed the top of Johanna’s head.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.”
Johanna closed her eyes, calmed a little by the comfort. The rage quieted, and the sadness burrowed deep into her soul. She had always known she would never see Ralf again. She’d denied it, of course: hoped, as any mother would. But deep down, she’d known when he’d stepped on the train heading for the Hitler Youth that she’d lost more than her baby boy. She closed her eyes and all she could see were his smiling, blue eyes and cheeky grin, chasing around the park, climbing the tree in her mother’s back garden, spilling lemonade down his best shirt, fidgeting in church when everyone else around them was still. He loved to run, and he ran like the wind. He’d won medals for cross country and had been the Hitler Youth fifteen-hundred metres champion every year from the age of thirteen. He had been gifted. The perfect candidate to serve in the 12th Panzer Division. And his talents had cost him his life.
She sighed and eased away from Fabienne. “I’m sorry to have burdened you,” she said.
Fabienne took her hand, shaking her head. “You didn’t. Stay a while.”
Tears flood Johanna’s cheeks. She wiped at them, but they kept coming.
Fabienne tugged her close, held her tightly. “It’s okay, Johanna. Let it out.”
Again, she felt the kisses on the top of her head, Fabienne’s strong, comforting embrace. The sobs eased and Fabienne’s hold relaxed.
“Would you like a brandy?”
Johanna nodded. “To numb the pain.”
Fabienne went to the kitchen.
Mamie stroked her granddaughter’s arm in a way that said she understood how Johanna felt. “I’ll put some cheese and bread on a plate for her, though I doubt she’ll be able to stomach much. Try and get her to eat something. She needs to keep her strength up.”
Fabienne returned to the couch with their drinks. No words could console Johanna, only time would ease the agony, and there wasn’t the time to grieve properly now. That sounded callous, but they had to focus on the rescue mission, and the distraction Fabienne knew from bitter experience would help. If only in the short-term.
“Let’s go over the plan for tomorrow again,” Fabienne said.
Johanna sipped her drink.
“Tomorrow we will move the racking in the cellar and unlock the door to the cave. The children will arrive from the tunnel between nine-forty and ten p.m. We need to keep the door to the cellar locked. Only you will have the key.”
Johanna nodded, though appeared understandably vacant.
Fabienne turned Johanna gently to look at her, caressed her face, and spoke softly. “What did I say?”
Johanna pressed her cheek against Fabienne’s hand, and closed her eyes. “I will have the key.”
Fabienne stroked her cheek. “Good. They will stay in the cellar overnight and then we’ll move them in pairs using the milk van. We make two trips a day. Any more than that and we run the risk of getting stopped. I will move the children through the tunnel to the mill. From there, we make our way back here where the van will be parked outside as usual. It is the long way around, but if I change my routine, or if anyone spots children coming out of your house, it will look odd. Hauptmann Schmidt might notice a change in my routines, and he is quick to search when he thinks something is wrong. Sixteen children. How many trips, Johanna?”
“Eight,” Johanna said.
“Good. How many days is that?”
“Four.”
“Right. Good.”
Johanna opened her eyes and kissed the palm of Fabienne’s hand, her gaze locked on Fabienne. The intimacy they shared was about more than lust. The depth of it was profound, touching every cell in her. It warmed her; it fuelled her. And the understanding that passed between them, which words could not express, bound their souls. They were meant to be together. Fabienne stroked Johanna’s hand, leaned forward, and kissed her tenderly.
Mamie came in and placed a plate of food on the low table. She left without speaking.
Fabienne smiled softly and kissed Johanna again. “I love you,” she whispered. It would be small consolation, she knew, and the timing was all wrong. But Fabienne had to say it now in case they didn’t both make it to the end of next week.
Johanna’s lips curled up a fraction and then the smile slid from her face, stolen by inconsolable grief. She took a deep breath and blew out hard, as if pumping herself up. “I’d better get back,” she said.
“Eat something first.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Fabienne nodded. “I know. But you need the energy.” She refrained from saying that sixteen children needed her. Johanna only needed one child, and she could never bring him back.
Johanna took a bite of cheese and bread and chewed slowly.
Fabienne sipped her drink. She was about to say how well baby Bénédicte was doing, and stopped herself in time.
Johanna squeezed the chunk of bread. “I would kill Gerhard if I thought it might help.”
Fabienne sensed her anger rising. She had been through the same fluctuations in mood after her parents died. It would take a while for Johanna’s emotions to settle, or for her to manage the turmoil. Fabienne had to hope Johanna could hold it together for the sake of the mission. “That won’t help us,” she said. “At least, not tonight.”
Fabienne made sure Johanna ate, then watched her cross the yard, enter the house; the slither of light appearing through the shuttered bedroom window. Fabienne followed, entered the house through the kitchen door and crept up the stairs. She opened Johanna’s door and slipped into the bedroom, locking it behind her.
Johanna sat up sharply, put her hand to her chest, and gasped. “What are you doing here? You scared me.”
Fabienne went to her bed, drew her into her arms and kissed her. “I didn’t think you would want to be alone tonight.”
“If we are caught…”
Fabienne put her fingertip to Johanna’s lips. There had been enough talk of death, and every action came with increasing risk these days. But Fabienne hadn’t wanted Johanna to be alone, and she was confident that no one would suspect she was here. “I locked the door. I will climb out of the window if anyone wants to come in. And I will leave before sunrise.” She stroked Johanna’s cheek. “Do you want me to go?”
Johanna shook her head. She fell back against the pillow, and Fabienne tucked the covers up around her.
Fabienne lay next to her on top of the bed, put her arm around Johanna’s waist and spooned her. She kissed Johanna’s head, inhaled the scent of her. “I love you,” she whispered. It was the second time she’d said the words this evening, only this time Johanna sighed and held Fabienne’s arm close to her as if clinging to a comforter.
Fabienne lay awake, tuned in to the sounds inside the house, listening for anything that indicated a problem might be heading their way. Silence endured until Johanna fell into a deep sleep and relaxed her hold.
Fabienne fell asleep and woke with a start, her heart pounding. The house was quiet, it was still dark outside, and it was early enough that the kommandant wouldn’t be heading out to work, and before Nanny or Schmidt stirred.
She slipped away from Johanna, unlocked the door, and checked along the corridor. She walked with her head held high. If anyone spotted her, she would say she had started work early to catch up with the spring cleaning. If she wasn’t in Johanna’s room, she couldn’t be accused of anything.
As she approached the cottage, she heard the first chirps of birdsong. It was going to be a long day before the children arrived. Mamie would have questions about Johanna that Fabienne didn’t want to answer. In truth, she didn’t know how to respond. She was in love with a German woman who would be obliged to return to Germany after the war.
What more was there to say?