In This Hospitable Land (10 page)

“Shouldn’t we keep going straight?” Geneviève asked, pointing out a sign indicating the direction of the French capital. “Lilla lives south of Paris in the Loire Valley.”

“I think we need to stay to the west,” André explained. “It would be too easy to get delayed or lost in the confusion of the big city. And if what we heard yesterday about panic there is true…” André trailed off, focusing on merging onto the highway west. “This road seems better able to handle the traffic anyway.”

Their progress continued and their pace picked up a bit. But as the hours passed and road signs became scarce Louis asked, wearily and warily, “Where are we?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” André admitted.

Concentrated quiet followed. The sun cast varying shadows on the road that ran straight for some distance and then twisted alongside a meandering stream, passing through a village of neat, orderly houses lining narrow sidewalks on either side—one house after another with little variation, shutters open to reveal white lace curtains framing clear, clean glass windows. At night the shutters would be closed tight securing each family within its own domain.

In the center of a village an imposing church stood back from the road, its single spire reaching toward the sky as high as the faith and money of villagers of times past had allowed. Leaning forward to point out this landmark Geneviève accidentally brushed against little Philippe, who pushed back and inadvertently hit his sister in the process.

“Ouch!” Katie squealed.

“Stop it!” Alex yelled.

“But he started it!” Katie whined.

“Now you’re pushing me!” Ida complained, giving her female cousin a little shove.

“I’m warning you,” Alex growled threateningly. “All of you!”

“Shouldn’t we stop to let the children get some exercise?” Denise asked diplomatically.

“That might be best, dear,” Geneviève added, trying to appease her husband.

“We need to keep going,” André cautioned, “to get far from the Germans as quickly as we possibly can.”

The market town’s houses abruptly came to an end. The fields again began spreading out into the distance.

Then Katie said, shamefaced, “I need to go pee-pee.”

Exasperated, Alex demanded, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Papy. Badly.”

“I’ll find a place,” André sighed. “She’s probably not the only one in need.”

Short as their roadside stop was, it was long enough for the road to become congested.

“Anyone mind if I turn on the radio?” Alex asked.

Without waiting he turned on the news. The previous day’s rumors about the German breakthrough at Sedan, a few hours northeast of Paris, were true. Thousands of civilians were fleeing west and south, clogging highways and stranding Allied military transports, turning them into easy targets for Luftwaffe attacks.

They traveled on as the sun began to sink into the western horizon over the famous cathedral spires of the nearby city of Rouen.

“Maybe we should stop there for the night?” Louis suggested tentatively.

“Alex,” Geneviève piped up, “didn’t we spend a lovely time near here one night at that little inn along the river?”

“It’s not very far,” he said. “Les Andelys. A little east and upstream of Rouen.”

“Why not just stay in the city?” tired Louis asked a little grumpily.

“You and Mother will really like this place,” Alex replied, “especially after last night.”

“Let’s just hope they’re open,” André cautioned.

“And that you can find it again,” Denise added.

They turned off the main road, striking out in a very different direction than the rest of the refugees they could see. Shortly they were all alone on a very small road. Only a few lights showed in the twilight.

“It’s set in a garden,” Alex said searching. “Right beside the Seine…”

“There it is!” Geneviève cried out joyfully.

The little inn—a half-timbered building with brickwork at the entrance, constructed in the Norman style typical of the area’s architecture—seemed perfect: a centuries-old structure that had been altered only enough to accede to the most pressing modern demands. Geneviève and Alex remarked on the warmth the place had retained. Everyone was charmed by the gardens surrounding the main building, with walkways set among flowers, bushes, and a few trees. A pergola here and benches there enhanced the lovely, isolated setting.

The burly innkeeper, recognizing Alex and Geneviève, effusively welcomed the Sauverins. For the few minutes it took him to check them in the war seemed mercifully distant.

After a fine and filling family-style meal in a cozy dining room, the Sauverins settled down in adjoining rooms. It was wonderfully comfortable and Louis was especially grateful for the soft mattress complete with fluffy pillows. He felt full, content, and secure.

During the night he was awakened by the sound of bombs exploding. Tiptoeing to the window he pulled back the shade. A nightmare landscape of bright flickering fires burned in and around Rouen. Hypnotized, Louis watched helplessly as flames licked at the uneven towers of the cathedral.

Dreadful. Horrendous. How glad he was not to be there.

As dawn broke, smoke hung over Rouen. The city was altered dramatically, the tall spires of its many churches and towers shortened to jagged stumps. Other buildings were reduced to unsteady walls without roofs to support.

The heartsick Sauverins sat in the inn’s small breakfast room joylessly eating croissants.

“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” Katie whined. “Will I still get presents?”

“Tomorrow is tomorrow,” her mother said sadly.

“Drink your milk,” her father ordered.

A radio crackled in the kitchen. The innkeeper brought a fresh pot of coffee and news.

“Yesterday the Germans broke through the Dyle Line,” he said.

The Dyle Line had been constructed between Antwerp and Namur after the Great War to protect the eastern border of Brussels. Without it the Belgian capital was defenseless.

“And today the Belgian government removed itself to Ostend,” the innkeeper continued grimly. “Also the French-Belgian border has been closed.”

“It was only open for a day,” André breathed.

“Lucky we made it through,” Alex said, sounding more glum than grateful.

“We’d better be going,” Denise said.

Silently, hurriedly, the Sauverins finished up, settled the bill and checked out of Les Andelys. Squeezing themselves back into their big Buick they started south, having no idea what road conditions or how much refugee-bearing traffic they might meet.

“You think your friend will still have us?” Denise asked Geneviève. “You never answered her telegram.”

“I didn’t have a chance. But I’m sure it’s all right. Lilla is a very good friend.”

“She’d better be!” Alex groaned.

André, driving again, peeked furtively at Alex and asked, “Do you think there’s another way to go? I can’t help thinking it would be faster and safer to stay off the main road.”

“There ought to be a country road close by, along the Eure,” Alex said. Finding a narrow road running parallel to the river, André turned onto it.

Its quiet was a relief. The road wound up and down undulating hills higher than any they had seen since entering France. The sight of woods of chestnut and oak trees covering land too steep to cultivate and streams that ran down little valleys into the river coursing steadily toward the Seine and the sea some two hundred kilometers west were a soothing contrast to the turmoil of war. Sweet-smelling fertile fields cleared of rocks in an earlier age bordered the river. The grasses were deep and wildflowers grew in pockets of abundance undisturbed by the numerous brown-and-white-speckled cows browsing the profusion of green shoots—source of the fat-rich milk that gave a unique savor to the soft, flavorful cheeses the Sauverins had sampled at breakfast.

“Look,” Louis said hoarsely after a while, weakly pointing through a line of trees to a far road. “Flames.”

“That must be the main refugee route,” André guessed. “But what…”

A fighter plane marked with the dreaded German cross swooped low. Flying just above the traffic to the west, it began firing machine gun rounds. Then more fighters zoomed into view shooting bursts at the highway below.

“Watch out!” Alex shouted.

A German fighter plane dead ahead lined up along the Sauverins’ road, aiming straight at them. As it flew toward the Buick and dropped low, André swerved violently off of the road onto the grass shoulder. The big car and trailer bounced bone-jarringly under a row of trees, jostling the Sauverins against one another while André struggled fiercely to retain control as the trailer, dancing behind, jerked one way and the other.

The fighter plane disappeared into the distance. Shaking, André slowed the car to a stop. All the children cried.

“That was close,” Alex said angrily.

André’s voice quavered with shock. “I guess one car isn’t worth that many bullets.”