The black car had pulled to a halt in front of the convent door. The driver jumped out and going round to the passenger door, opened it smartly. A German officer stepped out. He was about thirty-five, tall and darkly good-looking, his uniform immaculate. He stood for a moment beside the car, his hand resting on the door, surveying the countryside spread below him before turning round to look up at the convent building. Mother Marie-Pierre watched him from a window, wondering what he was going to want and how she would deal with him. She saw him look at the door as if he expected it to open, but when it did not, he spoke to the driver, who still hovered at his side, and the man ran up the steps to pull heavily on the iron bell. The bell clanged loudly in the hall, and Sister Celestine, now back at her usual place in the portress’s office by the front door, looked up anxiously at Mother Marie-Pierre who still stood, concealed, beside the window. Reverend Mother could see the fear in the little nun’s eyes as they flickered back to the door.
“Go ahead, Sister,” Mother Marie-Pierre said, trying to quell the stab of fear she herself felt as she descended the stairs. “Let them in and show them into the parlour. Then come and fetch me. I’ll be in my office.” As she turned and went back along the corridor, she heard Sister Celestine open the grille in the great front door.
It was only moments later that there was a quiet knock on the office door. Mother Marie-Pierre rose from her prie-dieu and settled herself behind her desk before ringing the bell in answer to the knock. When the door opened, not only was Sister Celestine outside, but also the tall German officer.
“Mother…” began the little nun nervously, but the German swept past her and interrupted, in passable French.
“Good morning, Reverend Mother. I am Major Horst Thielen, Commanding Officer of the occupying force in St Croix.”
Mother Marie-Pierre got to her feet, and still standing behind her desk replied coolly, “Good morning, Major. If you had cared to wait, I would have come to meet you in the parlour.”
“I did not care to wait,” the major said, crossing the room uninvited and staring down into the little garden below.
Mother Marie-Pierre smiled reassuringly at Sister Celestine, who stood white-faced behind the major. “Thank you, Sister. Please would you ask Sister Clothilde to bring some coffee to us here.” She turned her attention back to the major as Sister Celestine scuttled away. “You will have a cup of coffee, Major?”
“Thank you.” The major did not smile but looked round the room, taking in its sparse furnishings; the desk, the prie-dieu with the crucifix above it. The only signs of comfort were the two armchairs that flanked the fireplace.
“Please, do sit down and tell me how I can help you.” Mother Marie-Pierre pointed to one of the chairs. She had decided that calm politeness was the best approach, as if this visitor were no more or less important than any other she might receive. She did not know why he had come, and she felt she must proceed with caution. She resented the cool assurance with which he had come striding into her office, but she had no intention of antagonising a man who might well have the power of life and death over them all. Neither would she show fear, however. She would revert to her earliest training as Miss Sarah Hurst and treat him with the cool civility one accorded to those to whom one would rather not have been introduced.
“We have just arrived in the village, Reverend Mother,” he said. “I am making myself acquainted with the surrounding area.” As he spoke, she looked at him. Good-looking, she supposed, with dark eyes, and a straight nose above a rather thin-lipped mouth; a cruel mouth she decided, and then gave herself a mental shake. How could she possibly know if he were cruel or not, simply from his mouth? Or was it his eyes, not the warm velvety brown of a generous man, but the cold, coal-black eyes of a hunter.
He was still speaking. “I understand that you run a hospital here.”
Mother Marie-Pierre jerked her mind back to what he was saying and managed a nod. “Yes, Major, we have a small hospital here for the local people. Just two wards.”
“And that you have an orphanage.”
He obviously did his homework before coming here, Mother Marie-Pierre thought. “Not really an orphanage, not as it used to be…” She almost added “after the war…” but bit the words back just in time. “Yes, we do still look after some children,” she agreed, “but only six at present.” She called, “Come in,” with some relief in response to a knock at the door.
Sister Clothilde, one of the novices, came into the room carrying a tray with a pot of coffee on it, and a tiny jug of milk. She set it down on the table and, with a nervous bob of her head, left the room.
Mother Marie-Pierre took time pouring the coffee, and then handed the major a cup. “I’m afraid we have no sugar, and only a little milk. We do have a cow, but we keep her milk for the children.”
The major accepted his coffee, but turned down the milk. He took a sip and regretted having any at all. It was bitter and there were certainly no coffee beans in its make-up. He put the cup down beside him. “Does the convent have a home farm?” he asked.
Mother Marie-Pierre shook her head. “No, not really. We grow our own vegetables as best we can, and we have a cow that is kept with Monsieur Danot’s herd. He sends over our milk each day, but there is little enough of it.” Mother Marie-Pierre decided not to mention the few hens that scratched about in the yard behind the kitchen and were Sister Marie-Marc’s pride and joy. She had no illusions as to what would happen to them if the Germans decided they needed eggs or a bird for the pot. The cow would have to take her chance with the rest of Monsieur Danot’s herd.
“I should like to see your convent and your hospital,” Major Thielen said, abandoning the coffee after a second cautious mouthful. It was not a request, but a demand, and he set down his cup and got to his feet. “Perhaps you’d be kind enough to show me round.”
Mother Marie-Pierre put down her own cup and stood up. “Of course, Major, but you do realise that though this is a religious community, it is a working one.”
She took him first to the hospital. All the beds were full, for despite the passage of time since the raid on the refugees, several of the badly injured were still being cared for and there were always patients from the surrounding area. She introduced him to Sister Eloise, who greeted him briskly and then excused herself, apparently entirely unimpressed by the German uniform.
“Yes, please carry on with what you’re doing, Sister,” said Mother Marie-Pierre, glad that the elderly but efficient sister had shown no fear of their unwanted visitor. “I will show the major round.”
They walked into the first ward, where ten beds were lined up, five on each side. It was clear that many of the patients were recovering from wounds rather than illnesses. Several were still heavily bandaged, and there had been more than one amputation. Major Thielen looked round the room. Two nuns were busy preparing to change the dressing for an old man whose right arm ended at the elbow, one sister bustling up the ward with a trolley of bandages, ointments and creams and a bowl of warm water, the other drawing a screen round the patient’s bed.
“What happened to these?” demanded the major.
“These?” Mother Marie-Pierre also looked round the room, as if seeing the patients for the first time. “Oh, these were refugees. They were bombed on the road.”
“They must have been in a military column,” the major said stiffly.
“If they were, we found no one in uniform,” Mother Marie-Pierre said calmly. There was no accusation in her voice, but the major turned abruptly on his heel and stalked out of the ward.
Mother Marie-Pierre paused a moment to speak with Sister Eloise. “Where is Marthe?” she asked softly.
“I sent her up to the children’s rooms, like you said.”
Mother Marie-Pierre nodded and followed the major outside.
He was staring out across the kitchen garden, where three nuns, their sleeves tucked up to their shoulders, were labouring on a vegetable patch.
“Do you sell your produce in the village?” he asked waving at the rows of potatoes the nuns were digging.
“No, certainly not,” Mother Marie-Pierre replied. “We have barely enough to feed ourselves and those in the hospital.”
The major nodded and continued to watch for a moment or two, as if estimating the yield of the garden, before turning back to the waiting nun. “So, we will go on.”
“The operating theatre and the women’s ward are the other end of the building,” she volunteered, anxious to move away from any area that might encourage the major to return and load his supply lorries. “Would you like to see those?”
“No, I would like to see inside the main building.”
“That is where the sisters live,” Mother Marie-Pierre said quietly.
“And I would like to see their quarters.” Major Thielen had been wrong-footed by the sight of the patients in the ward and their reason for being there. He was determined to wrest the initiative back from this cool-eyed nun.
Mother Marie-Pierre shrugged, as if it were of no great consequence and led the way back indoors. She showed him the kitchen and scullery where Sister Elisabeth and Sister Marie-Marc were preparing the midday meal. She led him through to the refectory where the long tables were already laid up. A single glance was enough for him there and they went on, up the stairs to the dormitory corridor where each sister had her cell.
Without invitation he opened the door of one of these and peered inside. His eyes took in the narrow bed, the locker at its side and the prie-dieu and the crucifix that were its sole furnishings.
“They are all the same,” remarked Reverend Mother quietly. “None of us has more than any other.” She rested her hand on the door of the next room as if to open it, but the major shook his head. These rooms, cold and bleak even in the heat of summer, were not what he was looking for. He stared down the corridor for a moment. Mother Marie-Pierre thought of her aunt, old Sister St Bruno, bedridden in the room at the end and hoped that he had seen enough. It would upset the elderly nun if a man came striding into her room where she was propped up in bed dressed only in a nightgown and shawl. But he appeared to have lost interest in the rest of the rooms on this passage.
“And the chapel?” he asked abruptly. “Where is that?”
“Please, come this way.” Mother Marie-Pierre guided him back through the convent to the chapel. There was no service at this time of day, but she opened the great west door softly and then stood aside. The major stepped in and then came to an abrupt halt, staring in surprise.
The chapel was warm and quiet, the scent of incense lingering heavily in the air, the sanctuary light glowing red in its hanging lamp-holder. The sun shone in through the stained glass in the south wall, casting patterns on the stone floor and striking fire from the ornate gold reredos. It was not this, however, that made the man halt in his tracks, but the sight of a nun, lying prone before the altar, cruciform; her arms outstretched, her legs arrow-straight, her forehead on the stone floor, her face concealed by her hood. He stared at her at length, and then crossing himself backed out of the door.
“What is she doing?” he asked awkwardly, as the reverend mother closed the door behind them.
“Penance,” replied the nun.
He looked startled. “Penance? Penance for what?”
“I have no idea,” answered Mother Marie-Pierre. “That would be between her, her confessor and God.”
“And do you all do that?” The major’s questions had changed character. Now he was asking because he was intrigued.
“There is always someone watching in the chapel,” Mother Marie-Pierre explained. “Our Lord is never alone. The penance is not always the same.” She smiled at him. “You understand, Major. You’re a Catholic yourself.” She had seen him bless himself and knew that it was true. His action had been instinctive and belonged to a man who had learned to cross himself as a child.
The major made no answer to this but said sharply, “Where is your orphanage?”
Mother Marie-Pierre sighed. She had hoped to get away without bringing the major face-to-face with the children, but she knew it would be pointless to refuse and probably dangerous to show reluctance. Reasonable as this German officer seemed to be, he was just that, a German officer.
“They are in the far wing,” she said, “so that they don’t disturb the sisters at their prayers.” She led the way back through the main part of the building and then along yet another passage to a stout door set in the stone wall.
As she opened this, they were greeted by the wails of a baby and the sound of children’s voices. Sister Danielle was sitting at the table encouraging a small girl to eat her lunch, while a young girl of about eighteen was walking up and down the room trying to pacify the crying baby.
Sister Danielle looked up and at once came to her feet. “Mother,” she said, her eyes wide at the sight of the German. “Can we help you?”
“Not at all, Sister,” replied Reverend Mother. “Major Thielen was interested to see the work we do with the orphaned children.” She turned to the major. “We have four other children at present, but they are at their lessons with Sister Marie-Joseph, in the next room.”
At that moment the baby gave a great burp and was sick all over the shoulder of the girl who carried her.
“Marthe, take Anne to the nursery and change her,” ordered Sister Danielle, “put her down for her nap and then get cleaned up yourself.”
The young girl ducked her head, and muttering “Yes, Sister,” hurried from the room, still clutching the baby.
“Who is that?” asked the major as the door closed behind her.
“The girl?” Mother Marie-Pierre smiled. “That is Marthe. She comes in every day from the village. We are trying to train her as a nursery nurse.”
“I would like to see the other children,” the major announced suddenly. “Have them brought in here.”
“They are working with Sister Marie-Joseph…” began Mother Marie-Pierre, but he cut her short with a wave of his hand.
“I will see them now.” He indicated Catherine watching him wide-eyed from the table where Sister Danielle was still trying to get her to finish a bowl of stew. “It must be time for their lunch. They will be glad to finish their lessons early.”
Sister Danielle half got to her feet, but Reverend Mother waved her back. “You finish giving Catherine her lunch, Sister,” she said. “I’ll go and fetch the others.” She opened the door at the far side of the room and disappeared for a few moments.
While he waited Major Thielen looked across at Catherine. “How old is she?” he asked Sister Danielle.
“We think she’s five,” replied the nun, continuing to offer the child a spoonful of stew without looking up at him.
“You don’t know? Where did she come from? What happened to her parents?”
Before Sister Danielle could answer, Mother Marie-Pierre came back into the room with the four children. Paulette came first holding David tightly by the hand, followed by Jean-Pierre and Monique.
“Children,” Mother Marie-Pierre said softly, “this is Major Thielen. Say bonjour.”
In the brief moment outside the room, Reverend Mother had warned the children that there was a German soldier who wanted to meet them. “Just say bonjour to him, and answer politely if he asks you anything.” One look at David told her that he was petrified, all colour had drained from his face and his mouth was open as if in a silent scream. “Paulette, take David’s hand,” instructed the nun. “Be a good boy, David, and hold Paulette’s hand.” She dared not leave David in the other room. The major already knew that there were four more children and she did not want him to wonder why he was only meeting three.
There was a muttered chorus of “Bonjour, Monsieur” from the three other children, but David said nothing, his eyes fixed in obvious terror on the German soldier standing in front of him, then with a wail, he ripped his hand free from Paulette’s grasp and dashed screaming from the room. The three older children stared after him and Catherine, still sitting at the table, began to cry. Sister Marie-Joseph, who had been coming in through the door as David thrust past her, turned at once and followed him out.
Mother Marie-Pierre stepped forward and closed the door firmly behind them and turning said to the startled major, “I’m sorry, Major, but he has just lost his father in this war and is afraid.” She turned back to the three children who were standing rooted to the spot. “Go and wash your hands for lunch,” she directed, “and then Paulette, you can take Catherine out after her nap.”
Sister Danielle, taking this as her cue, gathered up the still weeping Catherine in her arms and swept her out of the room, shooing the older children out ahead of her.
Reverend Mother opened the door that led back into the main part of the convent and stood aside to let the major precede her. He seemed anxious enough to leave the schoolrooms and marched out in front of her. He made no comment about David’s outburst, and Mother Marie-Pierre found herself sending up a heartfelt prayer of thanks that he had not done so. She wanted no awkward questions about David. She had a prepared story of course, but she was not sure it would stand up to real scrutiny.
However, as they left the children’s wing and headed back to the main hall, he asked, “Why are the children not in school?”
“School is over for the summer,” Mother Marie-Pierre replied easily. “They will go back in the autumn, but in the meantime they practise their reading and numbers with Sister Marie-Joseph each day. She was a teacher before she joined us, and it does her good to keep her hand in.” She looked across at her unwelcome visitor and asked, “Is there anything else you wish to see, Major?”
“No, I have seen enough. I must tell you, Reverend Mother, that I am looking for a suitable billet for myself. The men are well accommodated in the village for now, and most of my officers will live at The Manor, but I want something separate.”
“Here?” Mother Marie-Pierre looked at him in undisguised amazement. “In the convent?”
“I was considering it,” he admitted, “but having seen the place I do not think it will suit me. I shall take over the mayor’s house as my headquarters and live there.”
“But the mayor…” began Mother Marie-Pierre, startled at the man’s casual appropriation of someone else’s home.
“Will live somewhere else,” cut in the major. “I understand his son has a farm not far away. He can go there.”
Having made his decision, Major Thielen said, “And now, Reverend Mother, I have taken up too much of your time already. If you will kindly lead me through this rabbit warren back to the front door and my car, I shall leave you for today. I have, as you can imagine, much to do in such a place.”
“I’m sure you have,” murmured Mother Marie-Pierre, adding a little louder, “certainly, Major, if you’ll just follow me.”
The car pulled away and Reverend Mother stared out long after it had disappeared round the corner of the lane. She had found the major’s visit very disturbing and she needed to talk to someone, but her position as Reverend Mother was such that it made it almost impossible to confide in any of the sisters. There was one exception, however, and that was Sister St Bruno, her Aunt Anne. The old nun might be bedridden, but she was still mentally alert, making her physical reliance on others even more of a cross to bear than it would have been for someone less aware. Mother Marie-Pierre made a point of visiting her aunt at some point every day, usually in the recreation hour before compline, but the German major’s visit was too worrying for her to wait for evening. She wanted to discuss things with Aunt Anne now. She slipped into the kitchen to find Sister Elisabeth.
“I will take my meal with Sister St Bruno today,” she told her. “If you will put it all together on a tray I’ll take it up.” Sister Elisabeth did as she was asked and as Mother Marie-Pierre carried the tray to the door, she turned back. “Please ask Sister Marie-Paul if she will preside at lunch for me today.”
Sister St Bruno was sitting up in bed, her Bible lying open on her knees. She looked old and frail, propped up against the pillows, but when she saw who her visitor was her face cracked into a smile and her eyes glowed with pleasure.
“Mother!” she said. “How lovely!”
“I’ve brought up our lunch,” Mother Marie-Pierre said, setting the tray down on the locker by the bed, and plumping up the pillows so that the old lady could sit more comfortably to eat her food. “I thought we could eat together. Sister Marie-Paul will be only too happy to preside in the refectory.”
Sister St Bruno gave a wry smile and set her Bible aside so that she could take the plate that her niece was offering her. As they ate their meal Mother Marie-Pierre told her about Major Thielen’s visit.
“He was perfectly polite… correct, you know. But I felt the whole time that he was weighing up what we had here that he might use. He certainly took in what we’re growing in the vegetable garden,” she went on ruefully. “We don’t grow much to help feed the children and the patients, but I have a feeling his men will soon be up here, taking what little there is.”
“Privilege of an occupying power, Sarah,” Sister St Bruno replied with a sigh. As usual when the two of them were alone together, they ceased for the duration of their privacy to be Reverend Mother and Sister St Bruno, a senior member of the community, and reverted to being Aunt Anne and Sarah. It was Sarah who had insisted on this easy relationship; she loved her mother’s sister and would only allow her to treat her as Mother Superior in the public life of the community. Mother Marie-Pierre had no feelings of guilt about their two relationships; none of the nuns was cut off entirely from her family, the order was not an enclosed one, and Sister St Bruno and Mother Marie-Pierre were the only family that either of them had. Alone, they became Sarah and Aunt Anne, and both enjoyed the ease that was between them.
“The thing is, I need your advice, Aunt Anne. I am concerned about the children.”
“What about them?” asked her aunt when Sarah paused and did not go on. “They’re safe enough, aren’t they?”
Sarah told Aunt Anne about the major’s visit to the schoolroom. “David took one look at him and started to scream. He ran out of the room and I had to leave Sister Marie-Joseph to look after him while I dealt with the other children… and the major of course. I gave some quick explanation that David’s father had been killed in the war and that David was afraid.”
“And did the German accept it?”
Sarah shrugged. “He seemed to. I sent the other children off to get ready for lunch and brought him out of the children’s wing.”
“And he didn’t ask any more about David?”
“No, I thank the Lord,” Sarah said fervently.
“Then the children should be safe enough, wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah sounded anxious. “I’m not so worried about Paulette, Monique and Jean-Pierre, but David and his sisters could be at risk because they’re Jews. There’s no reason for the Germans to know that of course, except that there are other people who know it and secrets like that don’t stay secrets for long.”
“No, I agree with you there,” said her aunt. “But what use has he for any children, Jewish or otherwise? They aren’t old enough to be sent off to these labour camps, are they? They couldn’t work in the German factories, they’re far too young.”
“No, of course they couldn’t.” Sarah looked slightly happier. “But even so I shall keep them out of the way as much as I can, until people have forgotten where they came from. We may see nothing of the Germans up here anyway, but we don’t know how this occupation is going to be, do we? I mean how much the Germans are going to demand things.” She told her aunt about the major’s decision to turn the mayor out of his house so that he could use it himself. “He’s billeted his men around the village, but he is going to have to provide for them somehow.”
“You say he was considering using the convent himself?” asked her aunt.
“So he said, but thank God he realised how impossible that would be. I think if we keep a low profile he probably won’t interfere with us too much… except for allowing his men to forage in our garden.” She smiled ruefully. “I just wanted to discuss it with you really, just to see what you thought.”
“I think we are in the hands of the Lord as always,” replied her aunt with a serene smile. “All you can do, Sarah, is keep faith. You take your problems to Him in prayer and He will help you to make the right decisions if and when the time comes.” She reached for Sarah’s hand and said in a rallying tone, “Come on now, Sarah. At present the children are safe enough, all of them. I think you’re right, too. Our work in the village may change somewhat with the arrival of the German soldiers, but I doubt if they will trouble us much actually in the convent.” She looked across at her niece, adding with a twinkle in her faded eyes, “But it might be wiser if they didn’t find out that you and I are English, don’t you think?”
Sarah stared at her in surprise. “You won’t believe this,” she said slowly, “but that thought hadn’t even crossed my mind! I suppose we are enemy aliens or something.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’ve been here so long I never even think about being English anymore.”
“Nor do I,” agreed her aunt, “but there are several people who are well aware that we are, and not just the sisters.”
“Well, we don’t have to worry about them,” laughed Sarah, “not the sisters. But I suppose there are people in the village who know that I’m English. I doubt if many remember that you are. You’ve been here for over forty years!”
“Maybe,” agreed the old lady placidly, “but we have to face the fact that there are people who are going to want to be on the winning side round here. Little snippets of information may find their way into German intelligence. So, keep your counsel.”