Outskirts of Lyon
August 30, 1942
When the buses from Vénissieux had stopped at the train station on August 29, Gertrude Krauss had hidden under her seat. She stayed there undetected as the gendarmes shuttled the rest of the refugees off and into the train cars. There she remained curled up until the buses returned to their garage on the outskirts of Lyon. After a long time of stillness and quiet, Gertrude crept toward the empty driver’s seat and tried to open the door. It would not budge. She managed to get a window open enough to force herself through. She fell hard against the ground and twisted her left wrist. But she hopped up immediately, her senses on heightened alert. She found herself in a hangar where the buses of a local business were kept.
She groped toward an exit and slipped out to a deserted street. It was still dark out, though the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. She walked for hours with no particular direction and in constant fear of being caught by the police. She wanted to get as far away from the buses as possible, in case her absence had been detected by the gendarmes overseeing the deportation.
She did not know where to go. She was hungry and hot, and her head was aching with all of the stress. She started at each little noise. Eventually she remembered a woman from Amitié Chrétienne who had talked with her once. Mrs. Langlade was a kind housewife who had a small vegetable and fruit stand at the downtown market. Gertrude headed that way. She had to ask for directions several times and then wait for the market to open. Once she was inside, she searched for the woman’s stand.
When Gertrude emerged from behind a nearby stand, Mrs. Langlade recognized her right away. She immediately threw her shawl over Gertrude’s head and shoulders and led her away from the market.
“What’s happened?” she asked, walking quickly.
Gertrude dissolved into tears. She had escaped, but she was the only one from her family not on the train to Germany. After sketching the details of her improbable flight, Gertrude concluded, “But I have nowhere to go.”
“Don’t worry, my dear. Come with me.”
After walking half an hour, they reached the doors of a convent. Mrs. Langlade knocked, and a nun soon greeted them with, “May the Lord bless you. How can I be of service?”
“We need to talk to the mother superior,” Mrs. Langlade said.
“Sister Margot is in a meeting at the moment.”
Mrs. Langlade nodded and leaned closer. “I’m with Amitié Chrétienne. This girl needs sanctuary. Will you allow us in?”
The young nun opened the door and led them to the cloisters, down a long hall, and to the waiting room outside the mother superior’s office. A few minutes later, a small, pudgy woman emerged with a wide smile.
“Merciful Lord! Please, come in.”
Inside the office, Mrs. Langlade explained the situation.
The mother superior turned to Gertrude. “We’ll shelter you here in the convent, where you can pass as a novice. Do you know anything about Catholicism?”
Gertrude shook her head.
“Never fear, we’ll teach you so you won’t stick out. From now on you’ll be the novice Ana. Don’t tell anyone where you’re from or why you’re here—not a soul. I trust my sisters, but there are others who come in and out of the convent. One never knows who’s a spy for the government or the Nazis.”
Gertrude nodded and teared up again. She could barely get out her question: “Why are you going to all this trouble for me?”
“Sometimes people think they’re doing good when all they’re doing is padding their selfish lives. The banalizing of goodness is what’s destroying the world. Doing what’s right is always harder than doing what’s wrong. It’s far easier to hate than it is to love, and causing damage is simpler than healing. But we’re here to do what’s right and good. Helping you is, without question, the right thing to do.”
As she hugged Mrs. Langlade goodbye, Gertrude said, “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.” Gertrude knew that Mrs. Langlade’s actions would not go down in history; they would never be remembered by anyone else or commemorated in a book. But for Gertrude, Mrs. Langlade had made the difference between dying and living. It was the greatest miracle on earth that someone would risk her life for a stranger. Gertrude vowed to try to do the same. She did not want the banalizing of goodness to successfully replace the power of a generous heart.