A Portion of Chapter 1
June 13, 1940
Pierre opened the shutters of the kitchen window and welcomed another warm summer day. The morning sun shone in a cloudless blue sky over St. Jean de la Ruelle, the French village where he lived, close to the town of Orléans. He could hear birds high in the trees chirping and chickens from a nearby farm clucking.
“I like our home and our backyard, and I am sure we’ll be safe here,” Pierre murmured.
Mama, who was buttering the heel of a baguette for his younger brother Albert, sighed. “But we can’t forget that France is at war against Germany.”
How could Pierre forget? Weeks earlier, before leaving for the front with his air force squadron, Papa had urged him to help Mama take care of his brother and two little sisters in his absence. The responsibility weighed on him like a heavy coat, but he had promised to do his best and planned to do just that, even though it seemed like a big order for someone who just celebrated his tenth birthday.
The doorbell pulled him out of his reverie. He stepped into the hall and saw silhouettes through the front door’s opaque glass pane.
Mama let in their four closest neighbors. Monsieur Chazon, his sad face long, took off his cap, flattened his graying hair, and cleared his throat before announcing, “The war situation has worsened. The Germans are approaching.”
Despite the rising heat, Madame Chazon shivered. “For the past two weeks we have seen refugees from the north pass by, fleeing the enemy. I never thought we’d have to join the exodus,” she said.
Pierre could tell that Monsieur Boulard, the farmer from across the street, was there only for moral support. He stood awkwardly next to his wife who dabbed her eyes with a plaid handkerchief.
Mama led the group to the kitchen where they sat around the table. Pierre wanted to stay with them, but Mama dismissed him and Albert. “Go play in the backyard while we talk.”
Reluctantly, Pierre left the room. Once outside, he stood under the linden tree where he had a clear view of the kitchen through the wide-open window. He observed the adults sitting around the table, their hands clasped on the checkered oilcloth. They whispered, perhaps to avoid waking up his sisters, baby Céline and four-year-old Yvonne who shared the nursery next to the kitchen.
Mama had moved the vase full of white lilies from the table to the buffet, and leaned forward in her seat. She looked somber as she listened to Monsieur Chazon. Pierre feared she had received bad news about his father.
Albert nudged Pierre. “Mama told us to play. Come on!” He kicked a ball to the far end of the garden and chased it.
Pierre watched his brother run and retrieve the ball from the red currant bushes. How he wished he could act as carefree as Albert. But he was the oldest child and his parents expected him to be more serious.
Today, he and Albert wore the same outfits, plaid shirts, blue shorts, and sandals, but the resemblance between them stopped there. Six-year-old Albert had wavy black hair that fell into his eyes and a ready smile with two front teeth missing. He liked to climb trees, rode his bike at reckless speeds, and his scratched knees always needed a dab of Mercurochrome.
In contrast, Pierre liked his straight brown hair combed back smooth. More cautious by nature, he tried to curb his brother’s quest for daring feats. He did not always succeed, like the time Albert climbed on the roof of their two-story home, slipped on the wet slate and almost lost his footing.
Mama often told Albert he was going to give her premature gray hair.
“Come and play with me!” Albert begged again.
Not wanting to leave his observation post, Pierre ignored him. Soon he heard chairs scraping on the tiled kitchen floor. The meeting was over. The neighbors stood up, said goodbye, and walked out, heads bowed.
A few minutes later, Mama called out, “Come on in boys! Fast!”
Pierre ran ahead of Albert and froze in the doorway when he noticed the big suitcase, reserved for family vacations, wide open on the table. How could it be? He had school tomorrow. “Where are we going?” he asked.
His mother gazed through the window, apparently lost in her thoughts before answering. “We must leave our home as soon as possible and go south. Everyone around here is fleeing before the German army arrives.” |
