Hiding Edith (15 page)

Edith remained on the farm throughout the summer of 1944. During that time with the Merleau family, she was happy and well taken care of. Most important, she was safe. Then, in September, Germaine arrived to take her back to Moissac.

“Shatta and Bouli have returned to the house,” Germaine said. “We are trying to bring back all the children as well.”

Edith said a tearful goodbye to Tante Marie, Oncle Albert, Marianne, and Martin. They had become family at a time when she had so desperately needed their nurturing and care.

The house in Moissac looked unchanged; but everything felt different. Edith was twelve now, and had had a lifetime of experience, good and bad, since she had been there last.

“Hello, my dear.” Shatta and Bouli came out to greet Edith and gave her warm hug.

“We’re so happy you’ve returned safely,” said Bouli.

“Go inside,” continued Shatta. “Get settled and we’ll talk later.”

A group of unfamiliar counselors were checking off children’s names as they arrived. “What is your name?” one asked, flipping through the lists of names.

“Edith Serv … No, wait.” Edith paused. “Schwalb. I’m Edith Schwalb. That’s who I am,” she declared. In that moment, she reclaimed her name and the identity that she had been forced to hide.

“Schwalb,” the counselor repeated. “We have another Schwalb. There he is.” Gaston was standing behind Edith, smiling shyly.

“Gaston!” screamed Edith. She twirled him in a circle, hugging him and shouting his name over and over. Finally, she stepped back to look at him. Gaston had grown much taller, but he was painfully thin and his eyes looked sadder than she remembered. She could not even begin to imagine what his life had been like. Perhaps, in the months to come, she and Gaston would be able to sit together and share their stories. Perhaps they could begin to understand what the
war had done to each of them. But that would wait. For now, all that mattered was that he had survived.

Over the next few weeks, all the children who had lived in the house in Moissac trickled back, every one alive and safe. They were joyfully reunited, but their eyes held the painful truth of what they had been through.

Edith hadn’t dared to hope that she would ever see Sarah again; but one morning, Sarah appeared at the dormitory door.

Edith hugged her friend tightly. “Your hair has grown back,” she said finally.

Sarah nodded, reaching up self-consciously to touch her head. She was still so quiet. It would take a long time for her to break out of her shell — to begin to talk and share her story. The end of the war had brought freedom for everyone. But there were still some, like Sarah, who remained imprisoned in sadness and despair. All Edith could do was to be there for her friend — a shoulder to cry on and a compassionate listening ear.

One day in late September, Edith was sitting on the front steps. The early signs of fall were everywhere. Leaves were beginning to turn yellow, and the air had a freshness that heralded cooler weather. But the flowers in the field were still in full bloom, and the birds flew overhead.

People were walking by on the streets of Moissac, going about their business almost as if the war hadn’t happened: mothers walked hand in hand with their children; shopkeepers tended their stores; cars had reappeared on the streets.

In the distance, Edith could see two women carrying small suitcases striding up the road toward the house. At the end of the walkway, they turned up the path to the front steps.

Edith looked hard at the taller woman. She recognized that walk, knew that face!

She flew off the steps and into Mutti’s arms.

A plaque in Moissac dedicated to Shatta and Bouli Simon for the work they did protecting Jewish children during the war.

”Look, it hasn’t changed at all!”

Once again, Edith and Gaston were in front of the three-storey gray stone house in Moissac. The number 18 still gleamed in the morning light. The window shutters, with their crisscross designs, were flung open to let the sunlight shine through the windows, just as it used to. Across the road, a cool breeze drifted in from the river. Edith took a deep breath, thinking back over the year that had passed since the war had ended.

Her reunion with Mutti and Therese had been the happiest moment of her life. Together with Gaston, they returned to live in a small apartment in Beaumont-de-Lomagne. Edith went back to the local school, even further behind in her studies. Still, her life was happy, complete except for one piece — Papa.

For weeks, Edith and her family begged for news of him from the trickle of Jews returning from the concentration camps. She stared at these people, haunted and wasted-looking, and she felt guilty. How could she have complained about her conditions
in Ste-Foy-la-Grande when these prisoners had suffered so much? She turned away from their skeletal bodies and prayed that among those returning, someone would bring news of her father. Then, one day, one of Edith’s cousins walked into the apartment. He had been imprisoned along with Papa, and brought the news that the family had been dreading.

After their arrests, he said, he and Papa had been taken to the concentration camp at Auschwitz. American soldiers liberating the camp at the end of the war generously overfed the prisoners. After years of being starved, Papa was one of many prisoners whose bodies could not handle the food, and he died the next day.

Edith was shattered by the news. She had held on to the hope that her father would return to his family, to her. But now he was gone, and all Edith had was the memory of this strong and loving man.

At the news, Mutti seemed to grow old in front of Edith’s eyes. This strong, beautiful woman, who had fought so hard to protect her family throughout the war, was worn out and disheartened; and as time passed, Edith could see that caring for three children was too much for Mutti. She had no fight left.

Then, Edith came up with a perfect idea. “Please, Mutti, let me go back to Moissac.” It was so simple, Edith thought. She would go to live in the house in Moissac. After all, it felt like her real home, not Beaumont-de-Lomagne or anywhere else in France. There, in the house, she would not be a burden. She was fourteen now — she
could help look after other children, like the young counselors who cared for her during the war. She had thought it all through. She would take Gaston; Therese would remain to look after Mutti.

Mutti refused. She had just brought her family back together. How could she have them separated again? But Edith was persistent, promising to visit Mutti whenever she could, just as Mutti had promised to visit Edith in Moissac. She begged and pleaded, and in the end, Mutti realized that this was the best decision. It made sense for Edith and Gaston to return to Moissac.

So Edith now stood with Gaston by her side, staring up at the house that was home. “Come on,” she said, squeezing her brother’s hand. “Let’s find Shatta.”

Edith and Gaston entered the house, walked across the hallway, and paused at the office door. She knocked softly.

“Entrez! Come in,” a voice called.

Edith peered inside. There was Shatta, seated behind her big wooden desk. She took one look at Edith and leapt to her feet. “Edith!” she cried. “How wonderful! And Gaston! Look how much you’ve grown!” Gaston squirmed in Shatta’s embrace but was clearly happy to see her and happy to be here. “How long will you stay?” Shatta asked. “You know you are welcome.”

Edith took a deep breath.
This is the third time I have come to this house,
she thought. The first time, she had been unwilling, terrified to be separated from Mutti. The second time, as the war was ending, she had come with Germaine, still uncertain about the future. This
time, Edith felt strong. She had chosen to come to Moissac, chosen to come home.

“I’ll stay as long as I am needed, as long as I can help.”

Edith remained in Moissac until 1949. She was then asked to go to Paris where she became a counselor in a new home, looking after orphaned Jewish children. It was there in 1953 that Edith married Jacques Gelbard, who also worked in this house. Two years later, Edith and Jacques left France for Canada. A year after Edith arrived, she brought Mutti to live with her in Canada and cared for her until her mother’s death years later. Today, Edith lives in Toronto, surrounded by four sons and nine grandchildren. Gaston became a famous chef in Toronto, who once ran for mayor of the city. The Gelbard family has now been active in the Scouting movement for three generations — a tribute to the organization that enabled Edith to survive the war.

Edith in 1949.

Many years after the war – Gaston in his restaurant kitchen.