Le Chambon-sur-Lignon
August 9, 1942
The next morning, a man dressed in a work uniform was waiting for them at the door of the theater beside an idling, old Renault van. Before they left, Perrot came up and put his hands on their shoulders. “Be patient, my boys. You’ll be hearing from us soon. We’ll do everything we can to get you to your parents in South America.”
Vipond was there as well. He knelt down with difficulty to be level with Moses. “You’re a brave dreamer, Moses. Don’t ever forget that you’ll always be able to accomplish what you put your mind to.”
He slowly got back to his feet and met Jacob’s eyes. “Take care of your brother. Don’t make any rash decisions. Trust us and be patient. Sometimes, we have to wait a long time for the best things in life.”
Jacob smiled, knowing he was right. Vipond kissed their cheeks several times and swallowed back his tears. “May God watch over you,” he said, then put his hand over his mouth.
Vipond and Perrot walked the boys to the car. Jacob crawled into the front seat and Moses into the back. The old van was rusty but still had patches of its original gray paint. The driver remained silent as he shifted into gear and headed east. It would take them a few hours to reach Le Chambon-sur-Lignon from Valence. The roads were in poor shape, full of curves and drop-offs. In winter, the route they traveled would be nearly impassible. The people of the region were used to being isolated, and they spent summers storing the firewood and food they would need for their long winters.
The van driver was a hard, unexpressive local. He was fulfilling his duty but showed neither satisfaction nor displeasure regarding his task. After centuries of persecution and living isolated in a harsh, poor land, the Protestants of the region had developed a very thick protective layer. It was not easy to get through to them, to fit in and become one of them. But once they accepted an outsider, that small group of minimalists would put their lives on the line for what they considered just or for those who were persecuted outcasts.
The landscape slowly changed. The forests scattered around Valence grew into giant green waves that washed over everything. It looked like the van was charting its own course through the vegetation growing on either side of the road. The undergrowth was so thick and the trees so robust that little light got through. The sunny August day felt more like a late fall afternoon.
They went through very few towns, saw only a handful of farms, and counted on one hand the number of houses surrounded by clearings in the monotonous green blanket. Some time before reaching Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, the first meadows started opening up the countryside and allowed them a bit more perspective. Cows grazed indifferently as the noisy vehicle momentarily altered the encompassing peace that reigned in the valley region.
They went through Saint-Agrève, which seemed completely deserted even though it was near lunchtime. Dense forests reclaimed the landscape until, just beyond a tight curve, the first houses began to appear. They were spread out at first, granite structures with white shutters, then fell into rows that led to the main streets of the village where the buildings were somewhat taller, with stores on the ground floors. Unlike Saint-Agrève, the streets here were bustling. The well-dressed mixed with peasants selling their wares, and restaurants served food both inside and out on flower-filled terraces.
People seemed to walk unhurriedly and smiling while banners boasting the colors of France waved overhead as if it were a national holiday. For the first time in their entire journey, the driver addressed the boys. “Tomorrow, the Vichy’s minister of youth, Georges Lamirand, and the prefect, Robert Bach, will be coming to visit. It seems the old marshal doesn’t dare venture beyond Le Puy-en-Velay. He visited the Black Madonna and hightailed it back to Vichy like the devil himself was after him. We’ve no use for folk like him around here.”
The man’s harsh tone frightened Jacob and Moses a bit, but as he spoke, they realized he was just a simple, down-to-earth peasant worn-out by Pétain’s empty promises.
“I’ll leave you in Pastor Trocmé’s house. He’ll see to you. Take care with your manners. He’s still got some of his mother’s German blood, and he doesn’t put up with insolence.”
The boys’ faces grew serious, startled by the warning, which made the driver chuckle. They drove through town, then down a hill and parked in front of a simple granite church. The driver got out and retrieved the two suitcases Vipond had packed for the boys. Vipond had also included a sizable sum of money, in case things went poorly and they had to escape quickly.
They all three walked toward the church. An inscription above the door read “Aimez-vous les uns les autres”: love one another. A round, unlit stained-glass window and gabled bell tower were the church’s only adornments. Two rounded windows on each side of the dark wooden door completed the simple, inviting look of the place.
The driver went inside, removed his hat, and headed for the pastor’s office. Fearfully, the children followed. The church’s sober exterior was matched by the austere vestibule. They went up a couple stairs and entered a simple office. A small, dark table and bookshelves were the only furniture, while wall hangings of stylized Scripture verses hung on the walls. Piles of pamphlets and New Testaments rested on the table.
Seated at the table was a thin man in a simple, clean, well-pressed suit. They walked in as he read and saw his thinning, blond hair starting to turn gray. When he looked up, his clear, expressive eyes instantly set Jacob and Moses at ease. He smiled, revealing two dimples in his pale cheeks and making his round glasses bob up just a bit. The pastor set his pen down on the table.
“Pastor Trocmé, I’ve brought the boys from Valence, sent by Mr. Perrot and Mr. Vipond,” the driver announced, his hat in his hands. The soft voice he used in the church was quite different from his loud, rough voice in the van.
“Thank you, Marc,” the pastor responded quietly.
The driver left them and Jacob and Moses stood alone before the pastor.
“I can’t say I’m happy to see you. If you’re here, it’s because you’re running from something. Furthermore, I don’t see your parents. I think Mr. Vipond and Mr. Perrot mentioned they were in Argentina. I hope your stay in our humble village will help you forget just a bit about the war and the difficult things you’ve likely had to face. Please, have a seat,” he said.
“Thank you, sir . . . pastor,” Jacob answered, unsure how to address the man.
Trocmé smiled and asked them for some information about themselves, then stood and walked to the windows. It was cloudy, and inside the church it was cold. Trocmé was wearing his jacket and a little red bow tie, which added a splash of color to his somber suit. With his light, smooth gait he walked back toward the boys.
“You know it will be necessary to live separately for a time. We don’t have any families that can take you both. The Arnauds will take care of you, Moses. They have two boys around your age and live about two miles outside of town on a lovely little farm. I’m sure you’ll enjoy living with them. Every day you’ll come into town for school and can see your brother on Saturdays at Boy Scout meetings and on Sundays at church.”
Jacob was very nervous at the thought of separating from his brother. He tried to speak calmly. “Is there no other option? You can tell the family I’ll do anything. I’m strong, and I could help them out however they need.”
“I’m sorry, but it just isn’t possible. You’ll stay in the Maison des Roches. Soon my cousin Daniel will be one of the caretakers there. He’ll be helping us with our school L’École Nouvelle Cévenol. All the other houses are full. Last year, your brother would’ve been able to stay at the Maison d’enfance, but there’s no more room in the boardinghouses. Many people have come our way in recent weeks, fleeing the violence in Paris.”
A young man in an even simpler suit appeared just then. Other than a prominent forelock, his hair was very short. He stood next to Trocmé and smiled at the boys.
“Here we have Jacob and Moses Stein,” Trocmé said.
“Hello, boys. A few days from now we’re having a soccer game. Do you like to play ball?”
“Oh yes!” Moses answered.
“Wonderful. You’ll make a lot of friends here and will learn so much,” the young man said.
Trocmé gestured toward the man. “This is my friend and colleague, Edouard Theis.”
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” Theis said, shaking hands with the boys. Then, turning to Trocmé, he said, “Could we speak for a moment?”
The two men stepped aside and spoke in low voices.
“Regarding Lamirand and Bach’s visit tomorrow, the town council has appointed Pastor Marcel Jeannet to speak. Nobody wants more problems.”
“The politicians are the ones who always cause the problems. At least the marshal isn’t coming. But I think Lamirand is a hard nut to crack,” Trocmé answered.
“Will the youth stay in line?”
“Who can say? People are understandably upset about what’s been happening in Paris.”
“This isn’t the time or place, André. Until now, the prefect has turned a blind eye, but we don’t know for how much longer.”
“You know all the pressures we’ve been dealing with, but we must always speak the truth and demand justice. It’s what we teach the children, so we can’t stop them if they believe it’s necessary to do just that.”
“May God save us all,” Theis said with a short intake of breath, followed by a smile.
“No one is guaranteed a future. Every action has a consequence. But so does inaction.”
The young man clamped a hand on Trocmé’s shoulder, gave a nod to the boys, and left the office as quietly as he had entered. Trocmé turned back to the children and smiled again.
“My wife, Magda, has lunch waiting for us. I presume you are hungry? Let’s go to my house. Mr. Arnaud will be by in a bit to pick up Moses, and one of the caretakers will come by this afternoon for you, Jacob.”
They walked through the chapel, which was wider than the boys had imagined. Imposingly tall Ionic columns atop wide pedestals supported a barrel vault. Dark wooden pews lined each side of the central aisle, which led up to a raised platform. The back wall was paneled in dark wood, and jutting out from it was the main pulpit, covered with a curious overhanging roof. The great stones lining the floor absorbed the sound of their footsteps as they walked down the center aisle toward the back door. A narrow walk connected the chapel with the parsonage.
Magda was in the kitchen with an older woman. Several children were reading and playing in the living room, taking advantage of what light the cloudy day let through.
“These are my children—Nelly, Jean-Pierre, Jacques, and Daniel,” the pastor explained. Except for the girl, all of them were younger than Moses.
The children greeted them with an unenthusiastic “Hello.” They were used to the daily carousel of newcomers.
Just then a thin, darker-complexioned woman with a long braid of hair came out of the kitchen. “Hello there, you must be Jacob and Moses, right?” she said.
The boys were impressed that she knew their names. The woman looked tired. Dark circles made her otherwise large eyes look smaller than they really were.
“I’ll be going now,” said the other woman.
“Thank you so much for everything,” Magda said to her, smiling.
The family sat down at the table and began eating in silence. After a while, and to Jacob’s great surprise, Moses timidly raised his hand.
“Sir, there’s something I don’t understand,” Moses said.
Trocmé smiled. “What’s that?”
“Everyone calls you ‘Pasture.’ Do you raise cows or sheep?”
The whole table erupted in giggles, especially the Trocmé children. Moses scrunched his eyes up and hung his head.
“They call me ‘Pastor’ because I’m like a shepherd for people, and I lead them to safe pasture in God’s good earth. It’s a very good question, Moses.”
Jean-Pierre looked at the new boy sitting beside him and showed him some marbles in his pocket. It did not go unnoticed by his mother.
“What’s that? You know very well: No toys at the table!”
“Mother, it’s just some marbles.”
“But they’re filthy from having been on the floor, I daresay.”
“Yes, Mother.” Then the child returned to his soup.
Just as they finished eating, they heard a car drive up, and Trocmé got to his feet. They all gathered at the door of the house. A van even older and more beat-up than the one that had brought Jacob and Moses was idling right in front of the door. A dark-complexioned man with dark eyes and a wrinkled face greeted Trocmé.
“This is Mr. Arnaud. Moses, we’ll see you on Saturday,” he said, trying to calm the boy. Moses had run to Jacob and was clinging to him in tears.
Jacob wrestled to master himself and, hoping to soothe his brother, said, “It’s all right. You can go with him. You’ll be fine.”
“Don’t leave me, please!” Moses begged.
“I’m never going to leave you. Even if the world caves in all around us, I’m not leaving you, brother.” They hugged and kissed each other’s cheeks. It was the first time they had ever been truly separated in their lives. Jacob had existed before his brother was born but could remember nothing of import that did not involve Moses. All they had was each other. When the small figure of his brother drew away and entered the vehicle, Jacob felt a ripping sensation in his heart. He forced the tears back and waved goodbye. Moments later, the van was gone.
Trocmé put his hand on Jacob’s shoulder. Jacob allowed himself to be embraced, and all the pent-up tears came gushing forth.
“You’ll see him in just a few days. He’ll be all right. You’ve been living in hell for several weeks, but you’re here now, and nothing bad will happen to you. I give you my word.”
The sincerity of André Trocmé’s words calmed Jacob. There was something in the man’s eyes, a depth of goodness Jacob had never seen before. His soul was hovering just beyond the pupils.
Jacob thought about Anna and what she had said. For her, Le Chambon-sur-Lignon was much more than an out-of-the-way French village. It was a secret mountain, the last place in Europe where people could carry on as people—the last place human beings could live together in harmony.