The Sisters of St. Croix (17 page)

“We’ll go to my office,” said the nun, leading the way, and with a leaden heart, Marthe followed.

Once in the privacy of the office, Mother Marie-Pierre turned to the white-faced girl. It was heartbreaking to have to tell this girl, little more than a child herself, of the events down in the village square. For a short moment she looked at her, wondering what words to use to break the news, but Marthe didn’t wait to be told.

“They’ve gone, haven’t they?” she asked quietly. “Are they dead?”

“No, of course not…” began Mother Marie-Pierre, but Marthe continued almost as if she hadn’t heard. “We heard the guns, you see. Shooting. Lots of shooting. I thought…”

Mother Marie-Pierre took the girl’s hands in her own. They were icy cold and the nun chafed them gently as she spoke.

“There was shooting,” she agreed, “but not at your family. They were put on a lorry to go to Germany to work in a factory there.” No need to describe the dreadful conditions that they must be facing in that overcrowded lorry, no need to tell this brave girl that they were being treated worse than cattle on the way to the abattoir.

“Your mother gave Margot to me to look after until they come home again,” she went on. “She knows you are safely here with us and that you’ll look after Margot for her.” No need to explain how her mother had put her own life at risk to save young Margot’s. Let Marthe think that the Germans had had no use for such a young child and had allowed the nun to take her. “She sent you her love. They all did.” Not aloud, Mother Marie-Pierre thought as she stretched the truth for the third time that day, but she had no trouble with that, she had no doubt that the love had been sent.

Marthe’s face was rigid with her determination not to cry. Mother Marie-Pierre could see the tears brimming in her eyes, but the young girl would not let them fall. It was as if, before her eyes, Mother Marie-Pierre saw the girl’s childhood fall away, sloughed off like a snakeskin, and the cloak of adulthood envelop her.

“They’ve gone,” she said flatly. “Margot and I have only each other now.”

“Certainly for now you must look after each other,” Reverend Mother agreed gently, “but there is no reason to think that your family won’t return at the end of the war.”

“Isn’t there?” Marthe looked pityingly at the nun. “You don’t understand, do you, Mother? We are Jews. There will be no Jews left at the end of this war. Jews in Germany have been disappearing for years. Now it is our turn.” She gave a sharp and bitter laugh. “You think we shall be safe here in the convent? Margot and I will be safe nowhere round here where it is known that we are Jews. Before long someone will send the Germans here, you’ll see. They’ll come for me and for Margot and probably for those Leon children as well, and you won’t be able to stop them. We shall be loaded onto a lorry, just like Maman, Papa and the others… and we shall disappear. There will be no end to the war for us.” She had spoken with steely control, but as she uttered these last words her voice broke in a sob.

Mother Marie-Pierre moved to gather her into her arms, but Marthe pulled away and spoke, almost fiercely. “No, Mother, I’m not a child like Margot, to be comforted with a hug and soothing words. I know what we are facing, and I know that you won’t be able to protect us when the time comes.” She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and went on, “I must go back to Margot, now. She’ll be frightened here with no one she knows. Thank you for bringing her to me.” Her voice was so unemotional and polite she might have been thanking the reverend mother for having her to tea.

Mother Marie-Pierre stood aside. “Yes, go back and find her. I will consider what we do next. You’re safe for the time being, I think, but it may not be for long and we must make plans.” She smiled at the young girl. “May God give you courage, Marthe.”

Marthe, who had reached the door, turned back and looked the reverend mother in the eye. “There is no God, Mother. Not yours, not mine.” And with that she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Some minutes later Mother Marie-Pierre joined the rest of her community in the recreation room. There was a buzz of conversation, but it died away as she entered, and the nuns all turned their eyes expectantly on their superior.

“Sisters,” Mother Marie-Pierre began, “today the Germans have started rounding up people from the village and shipping them off to Germany. They say they are to work for the German war effort in their factories, and maybe they are. However, they are taking whole families including young children, who can be of little use in the factories. The families they are taking are those of Jewish extraction. We have all heard rumours of camps where the Jews are being held, and whether we believe these or not, the fact remains that Marthe Lenoir’s family have all been loaded into a lorry today and taken away. Her mother managed to get the youngest daughter, Margot, to my care before they left, but from what I have heard in the village”—she did not mention the attitude of the curé as most of the nuns would bow to his authority and accept his line of thinking—”it will only be a matter of time before someone tells the Germans they are here.”

Sister Marie-Paul raised a hand and Mother Marie-Pierre nodded to her to speak. “Mother, surely their presence here will endanger the whole convent community.”

There were murmurs of assent to this, but Mother Marie-Pierre cut through them. “So, what do you suggest we do, Sister? Simply hand two innocent young girls over to Colonel Hoch?” she asked sharply.

“No, Mother, of course not,” Sister Marie-Paul said hastily. “I was merely going to suggest that we should find a family to take care of them until their own people return from Germany.”

“Will that not put the foster family at the same risk you are saying we shouldn’t take?” the reverend mother asked evenly. There was no accusation in her voice, but the other nun flushed. “We run an orphanage, Sister, and to all intents and purposes these children are orphans. They are our responsibility and we must not shirk it.

“Please, sisters, discuss this among yourselves, and if anyone can come up with a way to protect the children that have been confided to our care, then come to me so that we can consider it. In the meantime, please carry on as normal, and remember the families who have been carried off in your prayers, particularly Marthe and Margot’s.”

As she left the room, there was another buzz of excited conversation. Never before could the nuns remember having been asked to discuss something among themselves. Usually decisions were taken by the senior members of the community, Reverend Mother, Sister Marie-Paul as Novice Mistress, Sister Eloise as Matron, and handed down from on high to be implemented without argument. This new reverend mother ruled the convent in a very different way from her predecessors, and that in itself was worth discussion.

Mother Marie-Pierre left them to their amazement and went upstairs to talk things through with Sister St Bruno. She had the germ of an idea, but needed to consider it carefully with someone whom she could trust implicitly.

Sister St Bruno was dozing in her bed, her missal open upside down on her lap, her head tilted sideways on the pillow and her spectacles askew on her nose, but at the sound of the door opening she jerked awake.

Mother Marie-Pierre smiled across at her apologetically. “Sorry to wake you, Aunt Anne,” she said as she came into the room, “but I need to talk to you urgently.”

“I wasn’t asleep, Sarah,” replied her aunt, “just resting my eyes.”

Sarah laughed. “Good, then I haven’t disturbed you.” She drew the little, upright visitor’s chair to the bedside and sat down, her face instantly serious. “Aunt, we’ve got a problem and I need to talk it through with you.”

Her aunt settled her glasses more comfortably on her nose and looked gravely at her niece. “What has happened?”

“The Germans have started taking people from the village,” replied Sarah. “Ostensibly to work in their factories in Germany, but they have taken whole families, not just the able-bodied who would be of use to their workforce. The families they have taken are Jews, and among them are Marthe’s family.”

Her aunt stared at her in horror. “All of them?” she queried in disbelief. “Even the children?”

“All except Marthe, who was here overnight in the hospital, and little Margot, the youngest.” Sarah described how Marthe had been brought to her in great distress that morning, and then went on to tell what had happened when she had gone down to the village to investigate. Aunt Anne listened without interruption as Sarah described the events of the day, finally telling of the meeting she had called in the recreation room.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “Several of our sisters think we shouldn’t keep the children because we endanger the whole convent.”

“Sister Marie-Paul spoke for them?” It was hardly a question, more of a statement.

Sarah shrugged. “She certainly spoke out,” she agreed. “No one else did, but I had the feeling that there were others who think as she does. Our primary work is the hospital and they think that we shouldn’t get involved in anything that might bring German wrath down on our heads.”

“It makes sense, I suppose,” sighed Aunt Anne.

Sarah stared at her in horror. “But what about the children?” she exploded. “Aunt, I can’t believe you said that!”

Her aunt reached out a hand to her. “Sarah, I said it made sense, I didn’t say it was right! Of course we must find some way of looking after the children, but you have to face the ugly truth. It won’t be long before the Germans know that we have them here and that they are Jews. There will be people ready enough to inform if they think it will be to their advantage… and those same people will probably also tell their new masters that you are English. That is something else to be considered.”

“That doesn’t put the convent at risk,” pointed out Sarah briskly, “only me.”

Her aunt inclined her head in acquiescence. “And me,” she added softly.

Sarah was immediately contrite. “Oh, Aunt Anne, of course, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” soothed her aunt. “I am of no consequence. I’m over seventy and bedridden with arthritis. There is little more I can do in the Lord’s service, I am more than ready when my time comes. Much more important is what we are going to do about these children. I assume we have to consider the three Leon children as well as Marthe and Margot.”

“Certainly we do,” Sarah agreed, “and I have asked all the sisters to try and think of something that we can do to ensure their safety.”

“Was it wise to make it a topic for discussion?” wondered the old lady. “Who knows who may be listening?”

“I haven’t ever revealed to the community at large that the Leon children are Jews,” Sarah said. “Only those who are concerned with their day-to-day care know the truth, but in a community such as ours I am sure there are whispers about them. However, my instruction referred to Marthe and Margot.” She closed her eyes, massaging her forehead as if to ease away her cares. “I have
got
an idea,” she said, “but it will need careful planning and should be kept as secret as possible.”

“Go on.”

“Well, if Marthe was right and they are rounding up all the Jews, the children won’t be safe anywhere where it is known that they
are
Jews.”

Aunt Anne nodded her agreement. “So?”

“So, we need to move them to somewhere where no one knows who or what they are. It’s no good fostering them out to local families as Sister Marie-Paul is suggesting, we have to get them right away from here.”

“So where will you send them?”

“I shan’t send them, I shall take them myself. I shall take them to Mother Magdalene. No one in the Paris house need know why they’ve come. We can say we needed extra room to expand the hospital. No one need know how they came to be with us in the first place, they can simply be cared for there as orphans of the war. Let’s face it there are going to be enough of those.”

“But how will you get them to Paris?” asked her aunt.

“I shall take them on the train,” replied Sarah. “If we are stopped I shall say that we are devoting ourselves to hospital work now and that the orphans are being moved to the mother house where there is more room for them.”

“It might work,” conceded the old nun, “but what about Marthe? She is clearly too old to be an orphan in need of care.”

“I’ve thought about her,” Sarah said, “and I think that if we put her in a novice’s habit she could travel with us to help look after the children. I doubt if anyone will question a young nun who is travelling with her reverend mother.”

Sister St Bruno considered for a moment. “What about papers? You will have none for the children… or for Marthe for that matter. She can’t use her own.”

“Well,” Sarah said, “it’s only Margot that we haven’t got papers for. Our own children have them of course and I managed to get new ones for the Leon children as they were orphaned in the air strike and any papers they had were never found. Of course they aren’t registered as Jews now, even if they were before.”

“And Margot?”

Sarah shrugged. “I hope if I’m stopped that I should be able to talk my way out of any trouble by saying she has been so recently orphaned that we haven’t had a chance to replace her papers. Mother Magdalene will have to sort those out when we get to Paris. I certainly can’t risk applying for those here!”

“Marthe?”

“Marthe will have to take her chances. She will have to travel without any, but I think it is most unlikely that they will bother to ask for them from a nun travelling with her superior. I will have my own, of course.” She paused. “What do you think?”

Her aunt shook her head. “It’s very risky,” she answered. “It could work if you are bold enough to carry it out, but if you are caught…” Her voice trailed away.

“I know, then we shall all be lost. But I can think of no other way of protecting those children. We have to get them away from here, and the quicker the better.”

“Then I suggest that the fewer people who know of this plan the better,” said Aunt Anne. “If you are going through with this, you have to minimise the risks. Do you need a permit from the Germans to travel to Paris on the train?”