Echoes

19

JEAN-YVES PICKED HER UP AT TEN O'CLOCK THE NEXT night. He was driving an old truck and the headlights were turned out, and he had another man with him, a sturdy-looking farm boy with red hair. Jean-Yves introduced Amélie to him, and said his name was Georges.

She had worked hard on the farm all day, and had been a big help to Jean-Yves's aunt. She was grateful for Amadea's assistance, and she and his uncle were already in bed when they left. They asked no questions. They knew the routine. There had been no mention or acknowledgment of what Amadea would be doing that night. They just said goodnight and went upstairs. And a few minutes later, Amadea left in the truck with Jean-Yves. The old couple made no comment to each other when they heard them leave. Amadea had worn dark clothes, as Jean-Yves had told her to. They drove straight over the fields and bumped along, without saying a word.

When they got there, there were two other trucks, which they parked in a clump of trees. There were eight men in all, and Amadea. They said nothing to each other. Jean-Yves handed her a small jar of shoe polish, and she put some on her face. If they got caught, it would give them away, but it was better to black out their faces. And as they heard a drone in the sky, the men began to spread out and then run. Minutes later they took out their flashlights and signaled to the plane. It was only seconds before she saw a parachute come slowly down. There was no man attached to it, just a large bundle, drifting slowly to earth, as they turned out the flashlights and the plane flew on. That was it. When the parachute landed near the trees, they all ran toward it. They unclipped the parachute, and one of the men buried it in the field as quickly as he could. The others took the bundle apart. It was filled with ammunition and guns, and they loaded them into the trucks. Twenty minutes later they had all dispersed, and she and her two companions were heading back to the farmhouse. They had already wiped the shoe polish off their faces.

“That's how it's done” was all Jean-Yves said. He had handed her a rag to wipe her face, and it looked clean again. It had been a remarkably smooth operation, and she had been impressed. They made it look easy, and it went off with the precision of a ballet. But she knew it wasn't always that way. Sometimes accidents happened. And if the Germans caught them, they'd be shot, as an example to the town. It happened all over France, and had happened to his brothers, whom she had prayed for the night before, just as she had promised him she would.

“Do they usually land, or just drop things off?” Amadea asked quietly, wanting to know more about their work and what would be expected of her.

“It depends. Sometimes they parachute men in. If they land, they have to take off again in less than five minutes. It's a lot dicier then.” She could well imagine it would be.

“What do you do with the men?”

“It depends. Sometimes we hide them. Most of the time they take off. They're on missions for the British. It's harder getting them out. Sometimes they get hurt.” It was all he said on the ride back. And Georges said nothing. He was watching Amadea and Jean-Yves. He teased him about her after they left. They had been friends for a long time, and been through a lot together. They trusted each other completely.

“You like her, don't you?”Georges asked him with a grin.

“Don't be stupid. She's a nun,” Jean-Yves growled back at him.

“She is?” Georges looked shocked. “She doesn't look like a nun.”

“That's 'cause she's not wearing the dress. She probably looks like one when she does, and the hat. You know, all that stuff.” Georges nodded, impressed.

“Is she going back?” He thought if she did, it would be too bad. And so did Jean-Yves.

“She says she is,” Jean-Yves said as they drove back to the farm where they lived. They were farmhands on a neighboring farm.

“Maybe you can change her mind.” Georges grinned as they got out, and Jean-Yves didn't comment. He had been wondering the same thing.

The object of their interest was on her knees at that moment, thanking God that their mission had gone well. She had a moment of wondering how proper it was to be thanking God for helping them to bring guns in, which were likely to kill people. But there seemed to be no other choice at the moment, and she hoped He'd understand. She stayed on her knees for a long time that night, examining her conscience, as she had in the convent, and then she went to bed.

She was up before six, and went out to milk the cows, as she had learned to do. She had breakfast ready when her hosts got up. They ate a simple breakfast of fruit and porridge, and fake coffee. But it was a feast compared to what she had eaten for the earlier part of the year. She still thanked God every morning and night for bringing her safely to France. She sat pensively that morning, thinking of the mission she had participated in the night before.

There were two more like it over the next weeks. And three in September where they brought men in. In one case the plane landed. In the other two they parachuted in, and one of the men got hurt. He sprained his ankle badly, and they hid him on the farm. Amadea ministered to him until he was well enough to leave.

It was October before German soldiers came to visit them. They were just checking the farms, and their papers. They looked at Amadea's, and her heart nearly stopped. But they handed them back to her without comment, took some fruit away in baskets, and moved on. It was obvious that Jean-Yves's aunt was badly crippled with arthritis and they needed a girl to help. And her husband was old too. Nothing seemed out of order to them.

She told Jean-Yves about it that night. They were on their way to another mission. They picked up more weapons and ammunition, and some radios that night.

“I was scared to death,” she admitted to him.

“So am I sometimes,” he said honestly. “No one wants to get shot.”

“I'd rather get shot than go back where I was, or worse,” she confessed.

“You're a very brave girl,” he said, looking at her in the moonlight.

He liked working with her, and talking to her. He came by at night sometimes just to talk. He got lonely now that his brothers were gone. She was easy to talk to, and she had a good heart. He liked the rest of her as well, but he never said that to her. He didn't want to offend her, or scare her off. She talked about the convent a lot. It was all she knew now, and she missed it a great deal. He loved her innocence, and her strength at the same time. She was an odd combination of things. She never shirked work or responsibility, and wasn't afraid to take risks. She was as brave as any of the men. The others had commented on it too long since. They respected her, as did he.

She worked on every mission with them through the fall and into the winter. He taught her to use the shortwave radio, and how to load a gun. He taught her to shoot in his uncle's field. She was a surprisingly good shot. She had good reflexes and quick wits. And steady hands. And above all, a kind heart.

Two days before Christmas, she helped him transport four Jewish boys to Lyon. Father Jacques had promised to take them in, and then couldn't. He was afraid to jeopardize the others, so they took them to Jean Moulin, just the two of them, and came back alone. One of the boys had been sick, and she held him in her arms and took care of him.

“You're a wonderful woman, Amélie,” Jean-Yves said as they drove back to Melun. They were stopped by soldiers on the way, and their papers were checked, as the soldier glanced in. “She's my girlfriend,” he said casually, and the soldier nodded.

“Lucky guy.” He smiled. “Merry Christmas.” And waved them on.

“Sale boche,” Jean-Yves said as he drove off, and then he looked at her. “I wish it were true.” She wasn't paying attention, she was thinking of the sick boy and hoped he would recover. He had been hidden in a hand-dug tunnel for three months, and had a fierce case of bronchitis as a result. He was lucky to be alive.

“What?”

“I said I wish it were true that you're my girlfriend.”

“No, you don't.” She looked startled. “Don't be silly.” She sounded like a mother as she spoke, and he grinned and looked like a kid, instead of a man who was risking his life for France constantly.

“Yes, I do. And it's not silly. What's silly is you locking yourself up in a convent for the rest of your life. Now that's silly.”

“No, it's not. It's the life I want.”

“Why? What are you afraid of? What are you hiding from? What's so terrible out here?” He was almost shouting at her, but he had been in love with her for months, and he was frustrated by the way things were. They sounded like two children arguing as they drove along on the way home.

“I'm not hiding from anything. I believe in what I'm doing. I love the convent, and being a nun.” She was almost pouting as she crossed her arms, as though slipping them into her habit. She still missed it and felt naked without it.

“I watched you with those children tonight, especially the sick boy. You need to have babies. That's what women were made for. You can't deny yourself that.”

“Yes, I can. I have other things.”

“Like what? You have nothing in there except sacrifice and loneliness and prayers.”

“I was never lonely in the convent, Jean-Yves,” she said quietly, and then sighed. “Sometimes I am much lonelier out here.” It was true. She missed convent life and her sisters there. The Mother Superior. And her mother and Daphne. She missed a lot of things. But she was grateful to be here.

“I'm lonely too,” he said sadly, as he looked at her. He saw then that there were tears on her cheeks. “Ma pauvre petite,” he said, and pulled over. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you.”

“It's all right.” Suddenly she was crying, and he was holding her. She couldn't stop sobbing. It was worse somehow because of Christmas. It had been the year before too. “I miss them so much…I can't believe they're gone…my sister was so beautiful… and my poor mother wanted to do everything for us. She never thought of herself…I always think of what must have happened to them…I know I'll never see them again…oh Jean-Yves…” She sobbed in his arms for a long time as he held her. It was the first time she had allowed herself to let go. She never let herself think of what must have happened to them. She had heard horror stories of Ravensbrück. It was unthinkable that they were gone forever, but in her heart she knew they were.

“I know…I know…I think those things too…I miss my brothers… We've all lost people we love by now. There's no one left who hasn't lost someone.” And then without thinking, he kissed her and she kissed him back. All those months of standing back and respecting the vows she had taken, the life she said she wanted, the convent she wanted to flee to. He didn't want her to. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, have babies with her, and take care of her. All they had left now was each other. Everyone else they had ever loved was gone. Both of them. They were like two survivors alone in a lifeboat adrift in a stormy sea, and suddenly they were clinging to each other.

Amadea had no idea what was happening to her, but she was overwhelmed by such waves of desperation and passion, beyond reason, that they couldn't stop kissing and holding on to each other. And before either of them could stop it or control it or even think about it, he was making love to her in the truck, and it was all she wanted. It was as though she had instantly become someone else, someone other than the woman she had been for all these years. Wars did strange things and transformed people. Just as it had her. All her vows were forgotten, her sisters there, the convent, even her love for God. All she wanted and needed at that exact moment was Jean-Yves, and he needed her just as badly. They had both been through too much, lost too much, had been brave too many times for too many people, survived too many terrors while putting on a brave face. All their walls had come tumbling down that night, and he held her afterward, sobbing into her long blond hair and holding her, and all she wanted to do was comfort him. He was the child she had never had and never would, the only man she had ever wanted or loved. She had reproached herself for it a hundred times as she prayed in her room, and now all she wanted was to be his. They looked at each other like two lost children afterward, and he looked at her, terrified.

“Do you hate me?” He hadn't taken her by force, she had wanted him, and welcomed him. They had wanted each other, and needed each other more than they ever knew. They had simply been through too much, and whether or not they acknowledged it, the toll it had taken on both of them was huge.

“No. I could never hate you. I love you, Jean-Yves,” she said quietly. In some part of her, she understood what they'd been through, and forgave them both.

“I love you too. Oh God, how I love you. What are we going to do?” He knew how strongly she felt about her vocation, but it seemed wrong to him, it always had. She was too beautiful and loving a woman to hide in a convent for the rest of her life. But it was the life she'd said she wanted since they met.

“Do we have to decide that right now? I'm not sure if I've committed a terrible sin, or if this is what was meant to be. Maybe this is what God has in mind for me. Let's just see what happens, and pray about it for a while,” she said sensibly as he held her close to him. She had no idea where God would lead her, but she knew she had to explore this new path for now. It felt oddly right to her.

“If anything ever happens to you, Amélie, I'll die.”

“No, you won't. I'll just wait for you in Heaven, and we'll have a wonderful time when you arrive.” There were tears in her eyes, but she was so happy with him. She had never been as happy in her life. It was different than her love for the convent, but there was a definite sense of joy to this new life that she loved. For the first time in her life, she felt frivolous and young. For once, life didn't seem quite so serious, the tragedies all around them not quite as acute. This was what they both needed to counter the realities of their lives, at least for now.

“God, how I love you,” he said with a broad grin, as they sorted themselves out, suddenly giggling like schoolchildren, and he started the truck up again. He wanted to ask her to marry him, but he didn't want to ask for too much too soon. She had made a big step that night. And maybe she was right, if it was meant to be, the rest would come. All in good time. They didn't have to decide everything in one night. If he had anything to say about it, she was going to be his wife, and the mother of his children. He just hoped that God agreed, and that Amadea would be willing to give up her dreams of returning to the convent now. But it was way too soon. She was still stunned by what they'd done, and so was he.

They talked quietly on the way home, and he kissed her and held her before she got out. “I love you. Don't forget that. Tonight was just the beginning. It wasn't a mistake,” he said earnestly, “or a sin. I'll start going to church again regularly,” he promised, and she smiled. He hadn't been since his brothers died. He was still too upset at God.

“Maybe that's why He sent me to you, to get you back to church.” Whatever the reason, she looked as happy as he did, in spite of the shock of what they'd just done. Much to her own amazement, she didn't feel wrong about it, she felt happy, and in love. She knew too that it would take a long time to sort this out. It was one of the aftershocks of war.

As she lay in her bed that night, thinking of him, much to her own amazement, she didn't have a crisis of conscience, or even regret it. Oddly enough, it seemed right to her. She wondered if this was what God had in mind for her after all. She was still thinking about it when she drifted off to sleep. And when she woke up the next morning, he had dropped flowers off to her on his way to work. He had come by his un-cle's farm and left a tiny bouquet of winter flowers outside the barn with a note, “I love you. J-Y.” She tucked the note in her pocket with a smile, and went in to milk the cows that were waiting for her. She felt like a woman for the first time in her life. It was an unfamiliar sensation to her in every way. She was suddenly experiencing all she had denied herself, and had planned to deny forever. Her life had turned around entirely, and it was impossible to know which path was right, the enticing one she had just embarked on with Jean-Yves, or the one that had meant so much to her for so many years before. All she knew, and could hope, was that in time the answers would come, and the mystery would unfold.