One look outside next morning and they knew no one would be going anywhere. It had snowed heavily, with drifts high against the walls. The children rushed to play outside, but not before Flora wrapped them up against the cold. Kit was about to dig his way downstairs towards the cave.
‘We can’t send the man away in this… He will freeze or fall into a ravine. Bring him into the warmth,’ Flora ordered.
‘The kids will see he’s not Père Noel,’ Kit argued.
‘I can fix that,’ Flora replied.
Here was one of their British men, a stranger in a hostile land. The poor guy had made it this far and she was not going to fail him at the last hurdle. First, she sent him into the back store to freshen up, while she searched out some of Kit’s clothes. Luckily, they were about the same height, though Gower was much thinner. He came back looking brighter and ready to wolf down a plate of what passed for porridge. It was made from ground chestnuts and stale bread, soaked in water and sweetened with the thick grape juice that Lise had brought up, after the wine harvest.
‘Don’t speak English in front of the children, only when we are in private. Just smile when I’m talking to them, as if you understand, and nod. They must still believe you are Father Christmas, come in secret.’
Carlotta rushed in, with soaking mittens. ‘Who’s that man?’
Marisa was quick to reply. ‘Don’t you know? It’s Père Noel come to bring us toys but they got buried in the snow. Now he has nothing to give us and is very sad.’
Kit looked at his wife, shaking his head. Only a child could make up such an explanation.
‘Listen,’ Flora said, gathering the children together. ‘Poor Père Noel is too tired to go on his journey, so we must take very good care of him for a few more days. He has far to go so when the path is clearer, we will show him the way. Now he must rest, so try to be quiet.’
‘Will he tell us a story?’ Alphonse asked.
‘He lives far away in the north, so his French is not good, but he will listen to all your stories.’
‘Can he tell my momma where I am?’ Joseph tugged at Gower’s sleeve. ‘She lives in Berlin.’
‘I’m sure he will do his best, but he is our secret visitor. No one else must know or they will be jealous that he hasn’t visited them.’
How can I be telling such lies? she thought. Gower’s presence spelt danger to them all. At least the storm had covered his tracks and no one would come visiting, but come New Year Seb and his family and maybe Jean-Baptiste might return. Their visitor must be gone by then.
In the evening, the three of them sat by the stove and the captain told them his extraordinary story of escape from the debacle at Dunkirk.
‘We were lined up as prisoners, to be shipped to Germany. I was in a queue, when suddenly a hand pulled me behind a wall. An old woman standing in the crowd yanked me to safety and shoved an old coat over my uniform and a tattered beret on my head. I was hurried away to a house, where they hid me and then, at night, I was passed along. The kindness they showed can never be repaid, but one day I will return to thank them all. I found there was a group of us. We were given dungarees and papers and we worked in the fields all summer. After months of working, we were sent south and that’s where that Scottish padre, Reverend Tuskie, hid us near the Seamen’s Mission. There’s a fine group of patriots down there, feeding us and bringing things, while we waited for instructions to proceed down the coast to Perpignan. That’s where it went wrong for me.’
‘How?’ Flora was thrilled by this news of escape committees organising routes to freedom.
‘I was separated from the others and got on the wrong train. It took me into the hills here. The guard guessed I was British, but didn’t give me away. He sent me to a priest, an old man who knew there were English hiding in the mountains. He gave me directions to find some hotel for people wanting to cross over. I walked and walked by night and slept in barns by day. No one turned me away when I asked for bread or milk.’
‘So, you have been seen in the area. Word always gets around,’ Kit said, worried by his story. ‘You may have to double back again. The peaks are too dangerous now for a man without a guide. You can stay here but keep away from the children. I daren’t risk their safety, not all of them are French.’ He gave Gower a meaningful look.
‘I see,’ Gower replied. ‘I must say you have saved my life. Let me make myself useful in any way I can.’
‘Don’t worry, there’s plenty to do indoors and out, but first, are you any good with a wireless?’
‘Take me to it,’ Gower laughed. He settled down and took the old set to pieces while Joseph and Alphonse watched every move.
Kit took the girls down to feed the last of their hens with scraps while Flora attacked the mending basket. How rough the children were on their threadbare clothing. They wore warm coats and mittens in the house, to save fuel. How she longed to throw open the shutters to feel the summer heat on her skin and smell the aromas of the garrigue. Now there was an extra person to feed. It would take a miracle to eke out their meagre rations. The children must have any extras. The adults would go without, for a while. Harbouring an enemy soldier was a dire offence. Locals must be protected. As for Kit and Flora, they were only looking after one of their own.
The following morning Kit composed a cryptic letter to Sam O’Keeffe. It was brief but subtle in case it should fall into the wrong hands.
Thanks for the parcel. It was most unexpected, delivered on Christmas Eve. I’m afraid the size was incorrect so I will be returning the item by train to Béziers when the weather improves. Be sure to be at the station to collect. I would hate it to go astray in these uncertain times.
Christophe
With any luck, Sam would grasp the message and make sure Gower was handed into safe keeping. It was the best he could do. Involving his old friend would suggest to Sam that Kit and Flora were willing to take risks. Where would that end?
Putting the soldier on a train required a travel permit and papers, so he prayed Gower’s were valid enough. How to get him there unseen was another matter. This problem kept Kit wide awake all night. Once again it was Flora who came up with a workable idea.
‘When the weather lifts, we can take Gower down to the village and make it known he brought a parcel from the Children’s Aid charity, but then got snowed in. Now he needs to get back to his base in Béziers. The organisation is Swiss but his French is poor. What do you think?’ she said, leaning over to kiss Kit.
‘Brilliant, and if Seb or Lise ask why the children mention a Père Noel, we can say it’s his nickname. Jean knows we were expecting a parcel.’
That night they listened to the newly mended wireless and realised they were about to miss New Year. ‘Come on, it’s Hogmanay,’ Flora shouted. ‘Gower must go outside and find a log, wait until our clock strikes midnight and then bring it in.’
‘I’ll freeze,’ he protested.
‘No, you won’t. You will be our first-footer, first to cross over the door and bring in the New Year and good luck. Heaven knows, we need it!’
Kit shoved him out of the door, laughing as they waited for the chimes of the clock on the wall. As soon as Gower came back inside, the men toasted in 1942 by shaking hands and kissing Flora on the cheek. There was only grape juice to drink. Flora and Kit burst out laughing at the look on Gower’s face.
‘Come on, let’s go the whole hog,’ Kit said, linking arms with them to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne’. ‘Where will we all be this time next year?’