Tuesday, June 6
Peter had planned to stay awake all night in case the Gestapo or German Army came to the farmhouse, but he didn’t make it. He woke when the sun shone through the kitchen window onto his face and found himself spread out on the floor, his right arm stinging with numbness because he had fallen asleep on it. He pulled himself up and frowned as the blood pulsed back into his arm. It, like most of his body, was still tender. He walked quietly toward Genevieve. She was still sleeping. Peter watched her for a few seconds, admiring the contrast between her dark eyelashes and fair skin. He felt an urgency to leave Calais, but he also wanted to give her more time to rest.
There were things to do before they left, so Peter went outside to check on the cows. LeBras had already taken them. Peter was glad for that; he didn’t want to deal with them. He went into the cellar and grabbed as much cheese as he felt two people could easily carry then took it into the house. He glanced at Genevieve’s sleeping form then turned the small radio on, keeping the volume low, to see if there were any additional updates about the campaign in Italy. Peter packed food, spare clothing, and water into two bags as he listened then washed his face, removing the remnants of the beard Jacques had made for him. As he dried his face, he glanced at the kitchen doorway and saw Genevieve watching him.
“Peter, where are we going? I feel like everything is all wrong. Jacques is gone—really gone this time.” She bit her lip and wiped fresh tears from her eyes. “Jacques seemed to think we could get a boat and meet the Royal Navy off the coast. Yesterday I fixed the radio at the Papineaus’ house. I knew all the right passwords, and I was on the correct frequency, but no one would answer. How can we get to England if the Allies won’t respond? It’s like they’ve forgotten all about us.”
Peter was about to suggest they try the large two-way radio under the stairs when something on the smaller radio caught his attention. “Radio Berlin issued a special bulletin this morning, stating that the long-awaited British and American invasion began when paratroops landed along the coast of Normandy. Radio Berlin also reported fighting between German Naval forces and enemy landing craft. Thus far, there has been no Allied confirmation of the attack.”
Genevieve looked at Peter with surprise. “Do you think it’s really started?”
Peter thought for a moment then nodded.
“The real invasion?”
“McDougall said there would only be one.” Peter knew there were things McDougall hadn’t told him, but he was sure McDougall had told him the truth about that. “But with a little luck, maybe the Nazis will think it’s just a feint, that the real invasion will come here instead.”
“Tschirner believed you.”
Peter nodded. If Tschirner believed the lies he’d told in prison, and if Tschirner convinced his superiors to believe them too, then maybe Peter’s mission would be a success after all. He thought of McDougall’s words: “Your mission will be one more piece of evidence tying the Fifteenth Army to Calais, one thread weaving its way through all our other schemes.” Peter thought that if the German Army still anticipated an attack near Calais, they might not rush all their troops to the one just starting in Normandy. His eyes fell on the bags he’d started packing. “I think we should make the nearest front line our new destination.”
“Normandy? It’s more than two hundred kilometers away from here. And we’d be heading into a battle.”
“Maybe Louis can get us a ride. Or help us find Jacques’s contact in Brunembert.”
“Maybe,” Genevieve said quietly.
He could see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. He walked over to her, gently put one arm around her waist, and ran his other hand through her hair. She had been through so much already, but their journey wasn’t yet finished. “Do you still have the false papers Jacques made for you?”
“Yes, two of them.”
Peter gently held her face in his hand and wiped away the tears that had begun to creep down her cheeks again. “Then are you willing to try it? An escape through the front line?”
She thought about it for a minute. She looked down, then at Peter, then down again. “Yes, but I’ve never been to Normandy.”
“Didn’t you tell me you found new places interesting?” Peter said, trying to be cheerful. She nodded but still looked sad and hesitant. “Genevieve, I know the last few days have been horrible for you. I think we should leave soon, but if you need more time, we can wait.”
“No, we can leave now—there are a few things I’d like to bring, but I can be ready in a minute or two.” She paused, looking around the home she would be leaving behind then looking at Peter. “It’s just that I’m not very brave, Peter.”
“Of course you are—I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more courageous than you, Genevieve.”
“No—I was terrified the entire time I was in prison and most of yesterday too. I thought you might die when I saw you in your jail cell. You weren’t breathing, and there was blood everywhere—all over the floor and all over you. It terrified me. And I heard their plans for you afterward, when I was in Tschirner’s office—it was horrible, Peter. I didn’t think there was any way you’d survive what they were going to do to you. And I was horrified of what they might have done to me. And now the invasion has started, and I should be thrilled, but instead I’m scared.” She looked up at Peter. A few faint lines had appeared between her eyebrows and around her lips. Peter couldn’t tell if they were the result of grief or worry.
“Genevieve, what is your definition of courage?”
Genevieve thought for a few seconds. “Doing hard, dangerous things and not being afraid to do them.”
Peter shook his head. “Genevieve, being brave is doing hard, dangerous things despite being afraid to do them. Blowing up boxcars, breaking into prison, standing up to the Gestapo, leaving your home—those are all very courageous things.”
“Not if you’re terrified the entire time.”
Peter pulled her closer to him. “Especially if you are terrified the entire time.”
“But you’re never scared.”
Peter was quiet for a few moments. “No, I am sometimes. I try to hide it, but it’s still there. In prison, I was scared I wouldn’t be strong enough, that I’d give something or someone away. When I was arrested yesterday, I was afraid I would never see you again.” He paused then continued quietly. “And I fear I’m falling in love, and I don’t know what to expect or what it will be like—or how much it might hurt.”
“You think you’re in danger of falling in love?” she asked.
“Yes,” Peter said.
“It’s not supposed to be scary,” she said, smiling for the first time that morning. “After all you’ve been through, surely you’re not going to let love frighten you?”
Peter shrugged, looking away.
“All you’ve been through . . . You’ve been through some awful things, Peter. Will you be all right?” she asked as she gently placed her hand in his. It was her right hand, and Peter could see a small scab on her index finger from Prinz’s knife. He thought about her question for a few moments. Would he heal from this mission? Physically, Peter knew the answer was yes, but mentally and emotionally . . . Jacques hadn’t been his brother, but Peter’s role in the events leading up to his death made losing him just as hard as hearing that Robby’s ship had been destroyed.
Then Peter remembered the feeling of peace he’d had the night before. He smiled and looked into Genevieve’s beautiful brown eyes. Her skin was smooth now, the worry lines gone. If the Lord can forgive me, Peter thought, and if Genevieve can love me, then maybe the future will be blessed after all.
“You know, I think I will be all right,” he said.
She smiled softly. A little uncertain, Peter leaned toward her and gently met her lips with his. She was still smiling when he paused and opened his eyes, so he kissed her again.
Over the radio, the announcer began reading a special bulletin from General Eisenhower’s headquarters, confirming the Allied invasion. But none of that mattered right then. Peter was kissing the woman he loved, and nothing else—not even the fate of the world—could distract him from the beauty and joy of that moment.