Kit had no qualms about holing up his boys in the children’s house. Most of them were little more than kids themselves. Their recent skirmishes over in the Ariège area had given them a taste of hand-to-hand battle and the inevitable sequel of wounds and septic limbs, fever and death. He dressed them as best he could, but to see the eyes of a dying boy glaze over, sickened him. They were like lambs to the slaughter, innocent and no match for trained soldiers, armed only with courage. Retreating to the safety of this farmhouse was a relief all round, but he was leading them into danger, nonetheless.
Only Maurice Tessier knew of his return to the area. Rumours hinted that change might be coming at long last. Life was still harsh, with searches, arrests, executions and curfews, but there was no sign of anyone returning to the farmhouse.
Living on scant rations, poaching, snaring, boiling up whatever they could find, made them edgy and quarrelsome, with fights breaking out over little snide comments. Fuel was low and they chopped down anything they could, including precious furniture hidden in the barn, to feed the fire. Clothes were patched and threadbare from scrabbling and sliding down rocks, which tore them to shreds. Clogs and boots were stuffed with straw or paper, anything to keep out the rain. Raoul spoke for all of them when he snapped, ‘We’re hungry and bored here. We ought to be down in the valley, showing our faces. We live like cowards up here. Better we beg help down in the village than die of starvation, Bruce. This is not what we joined up for.’
Kit nodded. ‘I know, but you left home because you didn’t want to serve the enemy as slave labourers. I just want to keep you safe, so you can return to your families. We have to have faith that the day will come when you will be free to do that openly. Going down into the street now is risky. I rarely come back empty-handed. I can make out I’m just travelling through. No one will betray me.’
‘Are you sure… What if…’ Raoul hesitated and Kit patted him on the arm. ‘If I disappear, you are the pack leader. You do what you must. Spring is coming. We can move on then.’
‘When the war is won, will you go back to Scotland?’
‘Only if my wife is with me. There’s nothing waiting for me there.’
‘But you always sing the old song when we march… “You’ll take the high road and I’ll take the low road but I’ll be in Scotland afore you”,’ the boy mimicked.
Kit smiled, surprised, not being aware of doing any such thing. ‘Enough of this sentimental talk,’ he said, pulling out the tattered map of the area. ‘You need to study this and avoid any cart tracks and mountain trails. Always stick to the higher trees. The holm oaks will give you cover. Circle round the house to look for new signs of disturbance. There’s always a chance someone has spotted smoke. Hide in the scrub and always put someone on watch in the tree hide.’
They still did not realise this was his home. Personal details were unsafe and so he bit his lip when they were careless with crockery, or damaged what was left of his life with Flora. The laddies were thoughtless, needing to let off steam, but when they broke the bedstead, his temper flared.
‘Get off there! Someone may come back and find it wrecked enough… How would you feel if your maman had nowhere to sleep?’ That had sobered them up for a while. Now it was time to visit his few safe contacts in Montze for news. Was there anyone left, willing to open their door to him? Only one way to find out.
*
‘Now what are these?’ One by one, Flora held up pictures of a bus, a car, a bicycle, horse and buggy. Today, she was taking her pupils through modes of transport. Her class consisted of many nationalities; all of them children eager to learn English, with the prospect of being shipped across to America one day. Once the exercise and recitals were over, they were allowed to draw and colour in their favourite vehicle.
She could not believe her good fortune in finding this modest position with the Joint Committee, preparing their orphans and adults for the big journey ahead.
‘Anything that helps them assimilate when they arrive will be to their benefit,’ said Mr Seguerra at the interview. Christy was placed in their makeshift nursery while she was at work. Being reunited with Juliette and toddler Francine was a wonderful bonus. Juliette and the other mothers took turns to help in the nursery. With their help and that of the consulate wives, she had been able to kit out and clothe her baby.
‘He’s growing fast,’ Juliette said, sharing luncheon with her friend, admiring the baby’s tufts of red hair with a smile. ‘Just like his father… any news of him?’
Flora shook her head. ‘And Tomas?’
‘I pray he’s crossed over to his cousins in New York, as we planned, but there’s nothing official yet and I’m trying not to lose hope.’ Juliette sighed, grabbing Flora’s arm. ‘Surely this cursed war will end? It can’t be long and then you can return home.’
‘I’ve sent letters to Lise and Sandrine in Montze, just in case they have news of Kit, but how do I know letters aren’t read or censored? As soon as it’s safe, I’m returning by rail with my new passport, but I hear things are chaotic, so we’ll have to stay on longer than I’d wish. Everyone has been so kind and helpful and weren’t we lucky, when we made our crossing? I hear tales from other refugees at the consulate, of nightmare journeys, arrests and possessions confiscated to search for valuables.’
‘But that horrible Paul, may he rot in hell!’ Juliette swore. ‘He took our wedding rings.’
‘But not your stash. How can I ever thank you? Dear God, you deserve to find Tomas waiting for you over there!’
In this refuge Flora was finding friendship and distraction, helping to pass the time. Every day she waited for the post but nothing came. Flora didn’t like to think how long Juliette had been separated from her husband. She told herself no news was good news, for both of them. The liberation of all of France was surely not far off. The consul still wanted her to be repatriated through Gibraltar, but she had stood firm.
That night, with a large glass of wine by her side, Flora began to write the long overdue letter to her family in Scotland. For almost a year now, she had come home to her little apartment, tired, ready for the nightly routine, baby’s feed and bath, supper to cook, too tired even to find pen and paper. This was always her excuse, especially if Christy niggled and wouldn’t settle in his borrowed crib. Tonight, there was no excuse. Her son was asleep and the evening stretched ahead. It was time now to reveal her true story.
Dear Pa and all,
Forgive me for my silence and causing you such anxiety over these past years. There’s so much to tell you as to why I have remained illegally in France and am now a temporary resident in Spain.
One of the reasons is that this story is not mine alone to tell and goes back long before this present war, but to the one we hoped would end all conflicts, to a time when I was invalided out from nursing, to be sent to the Côte d’Azur… What a strange time that was, living in such luxurious convalescence by the sea.
There is no logic to what happened then, other than, war throws us together in strange circumstances. What we least expect can spin our lives out of control. Living all these years with love’s lies has not been easy. The future is uncertain, so I owe you an account of my current situation. There’s no way I can return home without you knowing how things stand with myself, my husband and the child born from our love. Everything you read here is as honest as I can recall, after all this time. It’s an account of both separations and loss, bitterness and now hope. If none of this preamble is making sense, do please read on…
Out it all poured. From her first meeting with Kit, to the reason why she was so eager to return to France, their reunion and blessing, the children’s house, the mountain crossing into Spain and the birth of their son. Nothing was held back. How Pa would respond, she had no idea but the thought that he had another grandson might soften the shock of her confession. It was midnight before cramp in her wrist forced her to complete the letter. A weight was lifted from her shoulders. Letters to her old chum, Maudie, and Sam O’Keeffe would follow. With luck, they would be sent through the diplomatic bag, to save time. This was highly unlawful, but just one more act of kindness shown to her by the consul’s office. How could she ever repay them?