It was late January when winter lost its iron grip. Kit made snowshoes to strap on his leaky boots and ventured down to the village to claim their rations. He stopped off at the local bar, where the men gathered over what passed for coffee, to let it be known they had sheltered a visitor who needed transport back to civilisation. There was a chance a delivery driver might stop off on his route, but no one offered.
As luck would have it, he bumped into Father Xavier, the local priest, scurrying down the street. Kit took the opportunity to sound him out.
‘Leave it with me,’ the priest offered. ‘I may need a lift myself, because there is an old priest, near Prades, who needs a sick visit. I’ll send word with Sebastien. I must say you’ve sorted out that young man, and set such an example to a fatherless boy. He even attends mass with his mother. Lise sings your praises.’
It was time to post his letter, hoping that Sam would be able to organise Gower’s safe passage. He was sure his friend knew all the local escape routes.
*
Three days later, the priest sent word. Their visitor was to call at the presbytery. Flora went with Gower to make sure he didn’t get waylaid, or arouse suspicion. Gower wasn’t eager to be sent back in the opposite direction.
‘All this way and for nothing,’ he moaned.
‘We’re taking no chances. Better to be late than end up a prisoner again,’ she snapped.
‘I’m sorry, Flora. I owe you both so much… just nervous. The priest will suss me out, once I open my mouth.’
‘If he guesses, I don’t think he’ll betray us. Say nothing, except you lost your way in the snow and you don’t want to put anyone in danger.’
There was a strange three-wheeled contraption waiting by the church. Gower was squeezed in through an opening in the back. Flora waved him off. She had instructions to telegraph Consuela, to say the parcel was on its way to them. There was time to visit Lise, who was busy unravelling an old jumper. Flora held out her arms to be the wool winder.
‘You had a visitor, Seb tells me.’ She raised her eyebrow knowingly. ‘Stupid man, trying to make a crossing in such weather.’
‘You know, then?’ Flora confessed. ‘Does everyone in the village know?’
‘Father Xavier and perhaps Jean-Baptiste. Seb, of course, but you know the old saying: tell three people and it’s no longer a secret…’
‘What could we do? It was Christmas Eve, so we let him sleep in the stable. The children were convinced he was Father Christmas.’ It was a relief to share all this with a friend.
‘Be careful, Fleur, it is thin ice you are treading… We know it’s going on. There are folk with generous hearts, but you have children in your house. Not everyone is as sympathetic as my Sandrine in the mairie. Some have their eye on promotion in the future and support Vichy.’
‘It won’t be happening again. We are off the beaten track. There will be no more travellers,’ Flora replied.
‘Don’t you believe it. Our shepherds know every gully and path over these mountains. Who can resist the offer of riches in return for acting as guides? There are rumours that men pay hundreds to cross into safety. It will be hard to refuse such a chance. It is a dangerous time.’
Flora tried to change the subject; Lise had unnerved her. ‘Do come and visit us soon. The children love to see you, especially Marisa. She now thinks Sandrine is a heroine from her story book, so pretty and kind.’
‘When are you going to find them homes? Surely they are well enough now, after months in the fresh air? I have a cousin who might take two little girls.’ Lise always had good suggestions.
‘We think it best they stick together, until the warmer weather. I must admit, it’s hard to keep them clothed and fed. We are waiting for more books and pencils. Kit is diligent and has them reading. We give singing lessons and there are plenty of chores and playtime but really they ought to be in school, learning to mix. There may be more children coming from the camps on the coast, but we can’t house them until this lot find homes.’
‘You will need help, then. I can ask in the village for a young girl to cook or clean.’
‘No, Lise, thank you, not yet. The children who come to us aren’t all French or Spanish orphans.’
Lise dropped her wool. ‘You mean to tell me you shelter children of… Jews? They have false names and cards?’
Flora nodded. ‘They have a right to life and freedom. What have they done wrong but be born into a different faith? Our Saviour was a Jew, wasn’t he?’ Flora’s cheeks flushed, knowing she was taking a risk in divulging this secret to her friend. ‘When they are stronger, they’ll be guided to safety, too. That’s why they are brought to us.’
There was a pause while Lise gathered her wool. She bent her head. ‘Does my daughter know what you are doing?’
‘That’s not for me to say, she is being very helpful…’ Flora sensed she was indeed on thin ice now.
‘I don’t want Sandrine in danger because of your scheme. Is it not enough that her papa died of wounds in the Great War and that her fiancé is a prisoner? How could you ask her to get involved?’ Suddenly the atmosphere in the room had turned chilly.
‘Lise, I’m sorry. I thought you knew. Without Sandrine’s help, we would get no extra rations, or papers for any of them.’ Flora could see she was outstaying her welcome and rose to leave. ‘You are upset by all of this.’
‘Upset… I am furious. All this going on behind my back, my family put in danger by a bunch of foreigners. I have no words to say to you.’
‘You’ve made yourself clear. I’ll trouble you no further. I apologise for the position I have put you in and understand how this must make our friendship difficult. How can I ever thank you for all your kindness to us over the years and your companionship? I realise that when trust is gone, friendship soon follows, but I shall miss you.’ Flora fled through the door, blinded by tears of frustration and sadness. Had she lost a dear friend by assuming Lise approved of their little colony? Now there would be trouble between mother and daughter, because she had opened her big mouth. Flora knew what it was like to have tensions in a family. She recalled arguments with Vera back in Scotland, the agony of keeping her secret, being blamed for not returning home when the war started. Climbing back to the farmhouse, she felt drained of all feeling. Something she held precious had been lost that morning and it was her own fault.
*
Kit sensed a change the minute she came through the door. Flora pulled off her scarf and flung it on the table. ‘That’s that, then,’ she announced.
‘Did Gower not get off? Oh, don’t tell me he’s got arrested, or did he refuse to go?’
‘What, Gower? No, he’s gone. It’s not that.’ Flora flopped down in the chair and out it all came. ‘It’s Lise, she hadn’t twigged how much Sandrine is helping us and now she’s distraught for her daughter’s safety. She blames us… Oh, Kit, when will this ever end?’ Flora bent her head and wept.
What could he say? They had chosen to stay, against advice. Everything on the surface seemed safe enough, but Gower’s arrival had brought home how easily it could go wrong. Now there was a risk of exposure down in the village. There was nothing he could do to make things right between Flora and Lise. What mother doesn’t want to protect her child? Sandrine had chosen to keep silent, to protect her family. This bloody war was dividing not only countries, but also families and friendships. He just prayed Lise Quintana wouldn’t make a formal complaint to the authorities. That would put their hidden children in danger. Only time would tell.