Pierre’s vigor had faded in comparison to his journey from Reims to Paris. The days on the road, as well as his struggles since the Germans invaded France, had taken a toll on him. He’d lost a significant amount of weight. His jacket sagged over his bony shoulders and, due to his slim waist, he’d cut an extra hole in his leather belt to hold up his trousers. His feet shuffled lower to the ground, and his hunched back was more pronounced. Although Pierre’s condition was frail, his optimism did not wane. He was thoughtful and caring, he never complained, and he was reluctant to rest, as if he were fighting a duel against time to save his granddaughter.
Jimmie wished that he could find a vacant dwelling and convince Pierre to rest for a few days, even though it might risk that the advancing German Army would bear down upon them. You can’t keep this up, he’d thought, helping Pierre to sit on the ground for a water break. Jimmie knew that his duty was to find a way to return to England, get healthy, and return to the air war. But for now, he felt that his purpose and responsibility was to protect Pierre, Aline, Lucette, and Ruth—the woman who had stolen his heart.
He’d never met a woman like Ruth. She’s beautiful, brave, and kind, he often thought walking beside her. They hadn’t had time or the opportunity to develop their relationship, but he cared deeply about her, and he sensed that she felt the same way about him. For the first time in his life, his heart felt unguarded and fully capable of giving and receiving affection. He imagined—although cautiously, considering the casualty rate of fighter pilots—what it would be like to create a life with her. He visualized waking up each morning, nestled in each other’s arms. More than ever, he was determined to fight for Europe’s freedom, not solely for his country and people, but so that he and Ruth could have a chance of a future together.
Ruth, walking beside Jimmie, leaned in and lowered her voice. “Any thoughts on how to convince Pierre to take a break?”
“Perhaps.” Jimmie thought for a moment. He turned and, while walking backward, said, “Pierre, how about we stop early for the night.”
“Non,” he said, shuffling along between Lucette and Aline. “If my angina acts up, I’ll rest a bit, but for now I want to keep walking.”
“A little break might be good,” Lucette said.
Pierre shook his head. “I don’t want to slow us down.”
“I’m sorry, my words weren’t clear,” Jimmie said. “I was thinking that an early start to find a place to rest for the night might give us a chance to find shelter. It would be nice if Aline could sleep someplace indoors.”
Pierre glanced at Aline, lugging her backpack. “Oui, it would.”
“Got enough in you for another kilometer?” Jimmie asked.
“Two,” Pierre said.
“Very well—two it is.” He turned and quickened his pace to rejoin Ruth.
Ruth looked at him and mouthed, “Thank you.”
He gave a subtle nod.
They exited the town, walked for what they estimated to be two kilometers, and left the mass of refugees by crossing a barren pasture. At the top of a hill, they spotted a remote building that looked to have a church steeple, so they slogged for twenty minutes to reach what turned out to be a small village. Although there were refugees passing through the area, it was less congested than the towns along the main road. They located the church and discovered several nuns who were providing bread, water, and shelter to refuge seekers. Although they were offered nourishment, they’d arrived too late to claim a place inside. The chapel’s floor and pews were lined with people, many of whom suffered from exhaustion and dehydration.
“I’m sorry,” said an elderly nun with dainty, age-spotted hands. “There’s no more room in the chapel, but you’re welcome to use the washroom and rest in the church cemetery.”
Jimmie, feeling a mix of gratefulness and disappointment, led the group outside and into a cemetery behind the church. Amongst ancient, crooked headstones, dozens of refugees were resting on blankets and bundles of clothing.
“I’m worried that if we continue to walk,” Ruth said, “we’ll exhaust ourselves by trying to find someplace inside. I’m thinking that almost everywhere will be overcrowded. How about we stay here for the night?”
“I agree,” Jimmie said.
Lucette and Aline nodded.
As they searched for a spot to hunker down, Pierre removed his beret, ran a hand over his thin hair, and walked around the side of the church.
“Where’s he going?” Lucette asked.
“I’m not sure,” Aline said, slipping off her backpack. “Maybe the washroom.”
Lucette nodded and put down a bag with supplies.
A few minutes later, Pierre appeared at a rear door of the church with the elderly nun, who motioned for their group to come inside. They gathered their things, entered the church, and were led to a small room which appeared to be a sacristy, given a row of wall-mounted hooks with vestments, a bookcase, and shelves with sacred items and vessels. The air was hot and smelled faintly of old wood and beeswax.
“Merci,” Pierre said to the nun.
The woman nodded and left, closing the door behind her.
Aline’s eyes widened as she gazed over the tiny but private space.
Lucette put down her bag and looked at Pierre. “What did you do?”
“I begged her to allow my granddaughter to sleep inside.” Pierre slipped his hands into his pockets. He approached Lucette, reached behind her left ear, and magically produced a shiny coin. “And I told her I’d gladly make an offering to the church.”
Ruth raised her brow. “You’re joking.”
“Non,” Pierre said, slipping his trick coin into his pocket. “It made her smile, and she told me she would make an exception by giving us this space until morning.”
Jimmie chuckled, perhaps for the first time in many days.
“I think I impressed her with my magic,” Pierre said.
Lucette smiled. “You do know—that I know—and that nun knows—that your magic is sleight of hand.”
“Non,” Pierre said, raising his chin. “It’s magic.”
Aline grinned.
“Well,” Ruth said, “your trick certainly charmed her into finding a room for us. I would call that a magical feat.”
Pierre beamed with pride.