Hiding Edith (7 page)

Gaston stared at his sister. It was as if someone had turned the light out in his once bright eyes. Edith reached out to brush a curl off of his forehead. “Are you all right?” she asked. Gaston hesitated, and then nodded slightly. “Is there anything you want?” she tried again.

He looked deeply into her eyes. “I want Mutti.” The room filled with the sound of his painful sobbing.

Memories of Mutti had been drifting in and out of Edith’s mind like the soft waves she saw on the river from her dormitory window. Where
was
Mutti, Edith wondered. Was she safe? Did she have enough to eat? A bed to sleep in? Was she afraid?

Edith sighed and reached out to hug Gaston. “I miss her too, Gaston — and Papa and Therese,” she said.

The two children talked softly as the day was ending, but soon it was time for Edith to leave.

“When will you come back, Edith?”

“Tomorrow,” she promised. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“You won’t,” Gaston cried angrily. “You’re just like Mutti and Papa. You’re going to leave and you won’t come back.”

“Gaston, listen to me, I’m not leaving you. Look out your window and you can see my room. I’ll be back tomorrow.” With that, Edith turned and left his room.

Poor Gaston
, thought Edith. His whole life had been filled with uncertainty and change. Gaston did not know what it was like to play in a playground, to slurp ice cream in a café, or to watch Papa playing soccer while the crowd cheered. But maybe it was better not to know what you were missing.

When Edith walked out of Gaston’s house, it was overcast and rainy, as if the sky was weeping for her. Here in Moissac were kind people who looked after her and fed her and made sure her clothes were clean and her homework was done. Shatta and Bouli treated all the children as if they were their own. But Edith still felt lonely. Shatta and Bouli were not her parents. The other children were not her brothers and sisters. They were family only because of their common despair.

As Edith approached her house, the sound of singing interrupted her sad thoughts. “What’s going on?” she asked, as Germaine rushed by carrying pots and candlesticks.

“It’s Shabbat,” her counselor replied. “The sun is about to set, and we’re preparing the house for the Sabbath.”

Edith found Sarah brushing her long, beautiful hair in the dormitory. “Friday night is wonderful here,” Sarah said. “We try to dress up. The cook makes special food, and a rabbi even comes to lead the service. We sing songs, and it’s all so beautiful.”

Edith shook her head in disbelief. In Vienna, her family had celebrated the Sabbath. She had attended synagogue with her father and had loved to listen to the hymns and prayers. But then the family had stopped practicing their religion in order not to draw attention. Now it seemed the children in Moissac could be Jewish and not afraid. It was so confusing! One minute she was fearful and despairing; the next she felt snug in a protective cocoon.

“Come,” cried Sarah, as she tied her hair back with a bright red ribbon. “We’ll pick some flowers for the tables.”

The field behind the house was full of early spring flowers. The fragrance of wild anemones — purple, red, and blue — filled the early evening air. Edith inhaled deeply. Anemones were Mutti’s favorite flowers; finding them was like finding a piece of Mutti herself.

Edith and Sarah brought armfuls of flowers into the dining room, where girls were polishing candlesticks and laying down white tablecloths and special dishes. They finished arranging flowers in pots and vases on every table just as the rest of the children entered to take their seats.

“Shabbat Shalom,” whispered Sarah. “I wish you peace on this Sabbath.”

“Shabbat Shalom,” replied Edith. “Peace for us all.”

As she had promised, Edith visited Gaston every day, always wearing her bravest face. She never said a word about the raids or the camping trips. She smiled and made him believe that everything would be fine.

“Papa will come home soon, Gaston,” Edith said one day, as they sat together on the front stoop of Gaston’s house. “And when he does, Mutti will bring us home, too. And aren’t we well taken care of? Mutti was very clever sending us here.”

Slowly but surely the fantasy rubbed off on Edith. She realized that if you pretended that things were okay, eventually you began to believe it. Besides, nothing terrible
was
happening. People didn’t call her bad names; in fact, the townspeople were friendly. There were no arrests of Jews in Moissac, no beatings on the street. Even when Shatta and Bouli talked about the war — Jews being arrested in Romania, Yugoslavia, and Greece; more and more concentration camps being built — the events felt far away. Of course there were still difficult times, especially in the quiet of night when the sadness
of being without her parents would creep into Edith’s dreams. But she would force herself to shake off the thoughts and carry on.

That became easier because there was so much to do: chores, school and homework, and choir, which Edith now enjoyed. But camping skills — the knowledge that could save their lives — always came first. After all, the house in Moissac was established on the philosophy of the Scouting movement. “Be prepared,” Shatta had told Edith the day she arrived. The young residents learned how to build a fire and tie knots, to follow a trail and tell time by the sun. And every day the children exercised to build their muscles and endurance.

“Scouts must be strong, alert, and knowledgeable,” Bouli explained one day, as he led Edith and the others on a hike. “Stay together,” he commanded as he walked quickly up a steep hill. “Push those legs. Breathe that fresh air.” Edith struggled to keep up, overwhelmed by memories of her escape from Vienna through the forests. Her legs throbbed, just as they had during that long flight. And this time, Papa was not there to carry her.

Yet, with each passing day, Edith’s body felt stronger and her pain lessened. She was developing her leg muscles, and a healthy glow had appeared on her cheeks.

One warm spring afternoon, during a short break in their hike, Bouli invited the children to gather around him. The sun was still high in the sky, its bright rays beating down on the heads of the young hikers. Edith sat down, picked up a small flower, and absently pulled off the petals.

One is for Mutti,
Two is for me,
Three is for Papa
and my family
.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Sarah. “You look a million miles away.”

Edith felt far away. She hadn’t thought of this silly poem since family picnics in the countryside around Vienna; and now the association triggered an intense longing for her family. She never knew what would set off these yearnings, and they cropped up quite unexpectedly — while eating breakfast, or walking to school or even dusting her room. Edith shook her head, trying to shake the aching away. “It’s okay, Sarah. I’m back now.”

Bouli called for everyone’s attention and then began to talk. “Children, what is the purpose of Scouting?”

“To learn new skills.”

“To do your best at all times.”

“To be strong.”

Bouli nodded. “Those are all important ideas. What else?”

“To help people,” Eric called out.

“Exactly!” said Bouli.
“Service to others
— that is the true purpose of the Scouting movement. Helping the people around you. Now, where do we see examples of this in our lives?”

“You and Shatta are helping all of us by keeping us here,” said Sarah.

“The people in town help us,” another child responded, “by keeping the secret that we are Jews.”

“Very good!” said Bouli. “The people of Moissac, by staying silent, by keeping the secret of our Judaism, protect us. Even though it is dangerous. Even though they must risk their lives to keep us safe. They are the perfect example of service and the courage to do what is right, even in the face of danger.”

Doing what was right. Edith let this message sink in. That’s why the people of Moissac were helping the Jewish children. Not because they were being paid, like the farmer who had taken Mutti’s pearl necklace, or like the Belgian prison guards whom Mutti had bribed to release Papa; but simply because it was right.

“Come here,” Sarah called, breaking into Edith’s thoughts. “I’m going to teach you a double half-hitch. It’s the knot that’s used to tie down a tent.” Edith took a deep breath, moved over to sit next to Sarah, and stared down at a pile of ropes. “Pretend this branch is a tent stake,” said Sarah. “Hold the end of the rope in your right hand. Now loop it around the branch twice, cross it over to make an X. Then push the end of the rope through that hole at the end of the X, and pull tight.” Edith followed Sarah’s movements closely.

“That’s it!” exclaimed Sarah. “You’re a natural.”

Edith practiced again and again. By the end of the afternoon, she could quickly and efficiently lash pieces of wood together and join ropes of different thickness. She had also learned how to roll a sleeping bag into a compact bundle. To her amazement, Edith
was good at these skills, and enjoyed learning. Every now and then, her mind wandered to thoughts of roundups and raids by the Nazi soldiers. She could not quite believe she would ever really need to put these new skills to use. But she didn’t want to think about that.

By the time the camping session ended, Edith was tired but satisfied. She followed Bouli down the hill and back into the house. She flopped down on her bed, thinking she had only a few minutes to clean up before supper.

Just then, Eve entered the room, silently pulled her suitcase from under her bed, and began packing.

“Going on vacation?” asked Sarah playfully. “That’s why you weren’t on the hike?”

Eve looked up. “I’m leaving.” Her voice was low and somber. The smile instantly left Sarah’s face.

“Leaving?” asked Sarah. “Where are you going?”

“My parents have come to get me. They’ve decided I’ll be safer with them. We’re going to Switzerland. We’ve got relatives there. We’re going to go across France and over the mountains.”

Leaving? No one had ever left the house. Edith had never thought it possible. All her pleasure in the hike disappeared. If only Mutti would come for her! That would be the greatest gift of all — to be reunited with her parents.

No one spoke, but all the girls gazed enviously at Eve.

Eve closed her suitcase. “I’ll miss all of you,” she said, hugging the girls one by one.

Edith followed her downstairs, where Shatta stood with a man and woman. The man took the small suitcase from Eve and shook hands with Shatta.

“Merci, Madame Simon. Thank you for taking care of our daughter.”

“Please, monsieur,” begged Shatta. “Don’t take the child. This is the safest place for her.”

“She’s safest with us,” the woman replied. “What could be safer than being with your family?”

Edith crouched on the stairs as Shatta’s voice became more urgent. “We all know that France has become as dangerous as the rest of Europe for Jews. We are protected here by the people of this town. This is not the case outside of Moissac.”

Eve’s father shook his head, and the three left the house. Shatta walked toward her office, hunched and exhausted. It unnerved Edith to see Shatta — always so strong and confident in front of the children — look defeated.

Edith needed to talk to someone, but she was not sure that Sarah would be able to make sense of this. Noise from the bookbindery shop at the back of the main floor gave Edith an idea. Eric would be the perfect person to talk to. He was smart and realistic.

“Hello.” Eric smiled as Edith approached.

“Hi, Eric.” Edith looked down at the pile of papers, scissors, and thick thread in front of him. “What’s all this?”

“You see that man over there?” Eric pointed toward an older man at the other end of the room, surrounded by young people.
“He’s one of the best bookbinders in France, and he comes to teach us. I’ve been training with him for a few months now, and I’m getting pretty good.”

“Show me,” Edith said. It would be a good distraction from her confusion about Eve.

“First, you have to fold a large sheet to look like this.” Eric picked up a pile of papers from his workbench. “Then, the sections are sewn into the cover, one at a time. You sew the whole book with a single thread, so you have to make sure it’s long enough.” He wove a thick needle in and out of a pile of pages, pulling tightly with each even stitch. “If we’re lucky we get leather for the covers, but this thick cardboard works pretty well. Here’s the first book I made here.”

Eric reached under the table and proudly pulled out a small rectangular album. It had a deep brown cover with black paper pages. Edith bent to look at the perfectly spaced stitches that he had sewn. The book was filled with photographs, many of Moissac and its children. “I took the pictures and developed them myself,” added Eric proudly.

Edith flipped through the pages. “Who’s this?” she asked, pointing to a photo of a young couple with three small children.

“My parents. My brother and sister. And that’s me,” he said, indicating the youngest child. The picture was taken in Poland. That’s where I was born. But I grew up in Germany. We escaped in 1939.”