THE small but ancient church where the reverend André Trocmé preached his Sunday sermons lay dark and quiet in the middle of the peaceful French night. The light of a third quarter moon painted the still countryside silver and black, and nearly every home had extinguished their candles and gaslights. Even the electric lights in the town square had been darkened shortly after sunset. To all appearances, the night would pass quietly and without incident.
Marie Gilbert woke with a start at the sound. She could hear the pounding on the front door from up in her room. She rushed out of bed urgently. Without turning on the lamp, she threw off her nightgown and quickly slipped her dress over her head. As she buttoned the top button, her bedroom door flew open and her brother — Edward — ran inside, going straight to the window and looking out into the back garden.
"Go!" their father ordered from the doorway. "Don't look back."
"Papa!" Marie cried as Edward put an arm over her shoulders and guided her to the window. "Come with us."
Her father adjusted his coat and buttoned it at the waist. He spoke directly to her brother, his tone ignoring her pleas completely. "Take her to Switzerland. Don't look back."
He straightened her bed and flipped her pillow over in case the authorities felt it. He didn't want to risk them detecting her body heat. He picked her nightgown up off of the floor and shoved it into the top drawer of her bureau before he left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Edward looked out the window again. Marie felt her stomach knot in fear. "Edward, how can we leave him?"
"Because he said we must," he answered almost impatiently before he pushed the window open and looked all around. The cool evening breeze filled the room and made Marie shiver. Whispering now he asked, "Can you make it to the tree limb?"
Marie looked at the branch that nearly brushed her window, remembering all the times as children they had jumped from her window to the limb. The last time their father had caught them, he'd threatened to have the tree cut down if they ever did it again. "I haven't in years. I'm a grown woman now. I don't know —"
Edward held out his hand. "No time to waste. We'll go through the trees until we're in the Philipe's yard. Ready?"
Marie took a deep breath, and slipped a leg over the window sill. She looked down into the yard two stories below. Without hesitation — well, maybe with a little bit of hesitation — she reached her hands out and leapt forward.
The trees on the estates had occupied this land far longer than the houses they presently shaded, so long that their stout branches actually entwined. Marie and Edward moved as carefully and quietly as possible through the branches. In the dark, whiplike twigs scratched at her face and pulled at her hair, but she kept silent. Hearing a ruckus below, she paused just at the fence line and looked below and behind her, seeing the Vichy police officers and the Nazi Security Forces haul her father out of their home.
Biting back a cry, she met Edward's eyes. His face looked grim, but he didn't say a word. He just pressed his lips together and gave a harsh shake of his head, silently urging her onward.
They didn't climb down out of the trees until they arrived on the far side of the Philipe's yard. Marie rubbed her burning palms against the sides of her dress. Silently, they dashed across the grass and over the fence into the garden of Edward's friend, Andre. In the far back corner, next to the stone fence, Edward knelt at the ground and removed a stone from the bottom of the pillar. He reached inside and pulled out a packet, quickly opening it and inspecting the contents.
"Here, take this," he said, handing her identification papers and a small cloth bag. They identified her as Andre's sister, Muriel, despite Muriel's age being closer to 30 than Marie's own 20. Inside the bag she found a blonde wig to cover her brown curls. With the wig on, the picture would match well enough, and at a glance the papers looked good.
"Do I call you Andre now?" she asked as he quickly pasted a mustache onto his clean shaven face.
"Yes, for now." He counted a stack of francs and shoved them into his jacket pocket. "I have a car waiting in Tence. We'll drive to Firminy then take the train to Geneva from there. Hopefully, it will be far enough away that they won't look for us."
They tried to leave no trace. Over fences, under cattle gates, and through the wilderness, they ran and hid until they reached Tence. There in a barn on a farm on the outskirts of town, they recovered the car Edward had secured. The keys lay under the third nest from the right in the chicken coup. They pushed the car out of the barn and down the lane before starting the engine.
As they drove along the dark roads, Marie thought of her father. Tears burned in her eyes as she considered what might happen to him. But, she knew it was all in God's hands.
Their family had worked with many families in their town, sheltering Jewish children from the Germans. It wasn't something that brought her any shame, or that she wished she hadn't done. Rather, it was something she wished she hadn't had to do. The evil treatment of the Jews ate at her soul — and she felt proud that she could play some small part in saving some lives.
Still, they all knew the risk. Edward had spent months planning escape routes, hiding identification papers, storing money, securing a vehicle in case something like this happened. He knew one day the Nazis would come for them.
"He should have come with us," she said, leaning her head against the window.
Edward remained silent until Marie started to feel unsure whether he even intended to speak. Finally he said, "You know we only escaped because he didn't."
"I'm just glad we didn't have any children in the house last night," she said, weary. She blinked against her burning eyes. "Now it's all just accusation without any substantial proof."
"God is good. Maybe they won't detain him since no children were there." He gestured with his chin. "There should be a canteen in the back seat."
"I just worry about who else might have been arrested," Marie said. She rolled her head on her neck then gasped. "Do I have any terrible scratches on my face? I don't want to stand out at the train station."
Edward looked away from the road long enough to look at her face. "Nothing terrible," he said.
"Thanks." Reaching behind her, she grabbed the canteen. "Where will we go?"
"London." Edward reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "With Papa being English, maybe we can stay there."
"I'd rather be where he is."
"Of course you would. But, you must put that aside for now." Putting both hands back on the wheel, he said, "We both must."
