6.
RETRIEVING THE AIRMEN FROM the barn had gone smoothly but from there on in there was a higher risk of being stopped by the German soldiers who monitored curfew. Fabienne had a permit that covered her for her dairy duties at this time of day, but if they decided to search the truck and discovered the airmen, they would be executed before sunrise.
The drone from the vehicles on the road had slowed overnight, but that just meant the distant crackle of gunfire when it came seemed closer. In the early days of the war, she used to hear the less-threatening pop of a shotgun: those brave enough to flout the rules of curfew to hunt for boars. Drawing the night guards’ attention towards the woods didn’t help her to move freely though, and she was glad that no one had been boar hunting in many months. Even though the French people were starving, it was no longer worth the risk of being caught.
She watched the house as she opened the rear doors of the milk van. It didn’t look as if anyone was up, but it was hard to tell for sure with the shuttered windows. Certainly, Frau Neumann’s room remained shrouded in darkness. But the kommandant’s schedule varied, and he might leave the house at any time of day or night.
She checked again from window to window for any signs of movement before calling the airmen forward from the side of the cottage where she’d left them waiting. She climbed into the back of the truck, moved the pallets towards the rear of the van, and opened the trap door to reveal the hidden space beneath. She signalled for the two men to get inside.
“You’re going to be in there for two hours, maybe longer. Be patient. We must go to the dairy and make deliveries first. Keep still and stay silent, okay?”
Both men nodded.
They squeezed into the narrow space, lay on their side facing each other, and Fabienne closed the hatch above them. She positioned the flat pallets directly over the trap door and then put the two empty churns she always carried on top of them. She was sure it would be coffin-like for the men, but they had made it through the tunnels and were so close to freedom it wouldn’t matter, and it would be less frightening together than alone.
She assessed how the back of the van looked if a guard checked, as she always did. They would see a supply vehicle heading to the dairy with empty churns. She had to pray that they wouldn’t be bothered to move the pallets. She was known by most of the guards at the dairy and she could easily prevent them from searching too thoroughly. They were Wehrmacht conscripts, some of them French men, unlike the soldiers of the SS Division or the Gestapo patrolling the streets, who didn’t need a reason to execute innocent people.
She drove slowly along the road. The cluster of lights up ahead meant only one thing. A checkpoint. Her heart thundered in her chest as she approached, praying the airmen would stay quiet. She wound down the window. The soldier at the captain’s side directed his rifle at her head.
“Guten morgen, Herr Hauptmann.”
“Papers,” the captain said.
She handed over her Ausweis and the authorisation to work.
He held his torch to them, handed them back, and waved her on.
She drove slowly, keeping the window open for air, curbing her desire to get away as quickly as possible. As she approached the main entrance of the dairy and spotted the familiar face of the guard, she breathed a deep sigh of relief.
“Guten morgen, Herr Weber. How are things this morning?”
“Guten morgen, Fraulein Brun. We had some trouble with the milk production again. I think the cows do not like the weather. Let us hope the rain stays away today.” He smiled and told her to proceed.
“This is not good. I’ll check with the production manager.” The reason for the problem with the cows was down to the concerted efforts of the workforce, not the beasts themselves. She looked towards the sky. “The weather is changing. Do you like autumn, Herr Weber?” Their conversation was always about the weather because it was something they could agree on, something that the war couldn’t influence, but this morning it helped her to gather herself after the checkpoint.
He smiled. “The autumn colours are very pretty. They remind me of my homeland.” His clean-shaven cheeks flushed deeply.
“Where are you from?”
“Hannover. It’s in the north. It gets very cold there in winter.”
Fabienne smiled. “Well, we’ll have snow by December, I believe.” She could sense the two men in hiding feeling the strain of her lengthy conversation, but she had to behave as she normally would, or she might ignite the guard’s curiosity. And no matter how familiar they could be, they were still the enemy and not to be underestimated. “The cows are not too keen on the snow.”
He laughed.
She drove towards the loading bay and reversed the truck to the opening. She climbed out and approached the two guards assigned to monitoring the despatch of produce. “Guten morgen, meine Herren. What is this I hear about the cows not performing their duties today?”
“Yes, Fraulein Brun. Production’s down by two churns this past month. The kommandant won’t be happy to discover this on his first weeks here. We have reduced the supply to the town, so as not to inconvenience the scheduled deliveries to our barracks.”
“Why are you telling her all this?” the new guard at his side said. He glared at Fabienne.
She addressed him while the French workers loaded the van. “Now I know what is expected, I too will make sure that the deliveries are correct, Herr Obersturmführer.”
“You talk too much,” he said to his friendlier colleague. “The kommandant will have whoever is responsible shot.”
Fabienne raised her eyebrows. This arrogant putain de Boche was barely out of nappies. “Well, mein Herr, if he has the cows shot for not producing milk, he will be left with nothing for his men. Unfortunately for the kommandant, the cows do not take into account that there is a war going on. Maybe he would like to supervise the milking process himself.”
The guard reached for his holstered pistol.
Fabienne stood taller and maintained eye contact. The French men continued to load the truck as if nothing untoward was going on.
The more familiar of the two guards stepped towards her, in front of his colleague. “You will speak to the manager, Fraulein Brun.”
The second guard continued to glare at her.
“I will do that immediately, Herr. May I go?”
He nodded.
Fabienne started towards the production office. At least the men loading the truck had not been properly monitored. Maurice Perez was waiting for her, standing behind his desk. She closed the door behind her, glancing in the direction of the guards. “Taking advantage of the kommandant’s early days is catching up with us.”
“We must continue syphoning off as much as we can. Our people are starving, and the winter will be even harder this year than last.”
“We need an explanation for the shortfall. I doubt there’s one of them that has any idea about farming. I’ll tell them we suspect mastitis as a consequence of an infection due to the poor quality of the feed. We will get the vet in to confirm our suspicions and request new grain. It will give us a few weeks, at least.”
“The churns have been redirected to the cheese factory. But they have reduced the supply for rationing.”
“Yes, he told me.” Fabienne pulled a packet of Gauloises from her pocket, offered one to Maurice, and drew down as she lit the end. She inhaled the smoke deeply.
“Don’t worry, Fabienne. They are idle and too trusting.”
“One of them is.” She looked towards the guards. “The new one is more intense. He has a German sense of humour.”
“Herr Obersturmführer Schmidt. None at all, you mean. I noticed. He will fall in line with the others soon enough.”
She inhaled deeply and blew out a long plume of smoke. “Just be careful, my friend.”
They smoked in companionable silence.
“The kommandant’s wife has instructed us to work at the house,” Fabienne said. “I will not be as free as I have been.”
Maurice nodded. “Is she hot?”
Fabienne shook her head, though Frau Neumann wasn’t an unattractive woman. She had spiked Fabienne’s curiosity and that hadn’t happened in a long time. “Shame on you. Madame Perez would not be happy to know you have an eye for Aryan women.”
He hiked up his trousers by the waistband. “These urges, Fabienne. They don’t follow the rules of war.” He laughed and started coughing.
She took another smoke, shaking her head, glad that his loyalty to his job was greater than his adherence to his marriage vows. She understood the power of those urges though, and in her experience, they were heightened by the feeling that life could end at any time. Not that she was easily able to find an outlet for her needs. Seeking out women like her had been challenging enough before the war. Now, getting close to anyone could prove fatal.
“I’ll go and give the guards the good news about the cows.” She took another long draw as she left his office and stubbed out the butt on the floor as she walked across the warehouse.
Now there was the not-so-insignificant matter of making the deliveries to tend to.
Then she had to rush back to the house to help Mamie.
She couldn’t stop her thoughts drifting to Frau Neumann as she drove. What frame of mind would the kommandant’s wife wake up in after her first evening here? Would she continue to be as amenable with them as she had, or would she be tainted by her husband’s attitude and make them suffer as a result? Fabienne needed to do whatever she could to keep Frau Neumann’s spirits up, but what would that take?
***
Johanna had been sitting at the table for the best part of an hour, agonising over her concerns about being here, when Nanny brought Astrid down for breakfast. She rose quickly from her seat and held her daughter tightly. The sadness in Astrid’s eyes reflected her own.
“Astrid is noncompliant this morning,” Nanny said. “Perhaps a word is needed, Frau Neumann.”
Johanna forced herself to smile. “Thank you, Hilda. Let’s see how breakfast goes.”
“Of course, Frau Neumann.” Nanny did up the top button on Astrid’s dress and left the dining room.
Astrid undid the button and pulled the collar from her throat as if it was choking her.
Johanna took her daughter’s small, soft hands and massaged them gently, holding her gaze, then she stroked her cheek. God, how she wanted to tell her that she understood how horrid it all was, that she felt the same way. “Did you not sleep well, my darling?” She toyed with her daughter’s hair more for her own comfort than Astrid’s who pulled away from her.
“Mutter, I don’t like it here. I want to go home.”
Johanna tugged her to her chest and held her, kissed the top of her head. “I know it’s different, that’s all,” she whispered. “Your father needs us here.”
Astrid pulled back. “Vater doesn’t love me. He doesn’t want me here.”
Johanna’s heart sank. “Astrid, that’s not true. He loves you very much.” She spoke the words, even though she’d seen no evidence of his love for either of them. She couldn’t openly agree with her daughter, no matter what she believed, because that would just cause a bigger rift between them. She didn’t want that for Astrid. Maybe Johanna was delusional to think Gerhard might come to his senses but since they were living here now, she had to try to keep the peace.
Astrid shook her head. “I want to go home. I want to live with Oma.”
Johanna sighed. “We can’t live with your grandmother. She has had to move out of her house and doesn’t have space for us.”
Astrid started to sob, and Johanna felt her heart break again. She held her daughter tightly. “Everything will be fine, my darling,” she whispered. She let her go and with a tremble in her fingers brushed the tears away. “You must be hungry. Here, sit next to me. Have some bread and jam.”
Astrid shook her head, her body jerking from the sobs. Johanna spread a fine layer of jam on a thin slice of bread and set it in front of her. She sat and drank her coffee while Astrid picked at the food.
“Perhaps we can take a walk around the garden after your morning lessons. I’ll push you on the swing.”
Astrid didn’t smile.
Johanna would have coped better if it had just been her suffering, but she hated her husband even more than she had the previous evening for the misery he’d inflicted on their daughter. Worse than that, his apparent intolerance of them both made her blood run cold.