Shadows of Yesterday

Chapter 18

“Halt!” the German commanded as he burst through Lucien’s door, his machine g*n drawn and ready.

Lucien raised his hands, heart racing, eyes wide. He tried to pretend he wasn’t afraid, but his body trembled. He thought he would welcome death, the escape he had wanted for eighteen months, or at least not fear it. But as soon as it stared at him, he realized he wasn’t as brave as he thought he was.

Two soldiers crossed the threshold while the third kept his g*n ready. Lucien was surprised by their youth, boys trying to be men. But he realized boys could kill, too. Especially if trained to do so. One soldier walked to the back of the cottage and checked the kitchen. He stood at the threshold, rifle poised, scanning the room. He went to the bedroom, walking through the open door. Bureau drawers opened and slammed shut, followed by closet doors. He came out a few seconds later, glanced in the bathroom, and started toward the spare room.

The door opened just as he reached it. Camille stepped out. “Die Engländer sind weg,” she said, pointing to the west. “The English are gone.”

. “Die Engländer sind weg” “”The soldier’s eyes widened, but he seemed to relax when she spoke German. He glanced at the soldiers by the door, as if no longer threatened by what he might find.

Camille stayed in the entrance. The door was ajar, but closed enough so they couldn’t see in. She blocked their way, studying them as they studied her.

The leader walked forward, his boots thumping the floor. He stood in front of Camille, so close they almost touched. “Wann sind die Soldaten gegangen?” he asked. “When did the soldiers leave?”

. “Wann sind die Soldaten gegangen”“Zwanzig minuten,” she said, not moving. “Twenty minutes.”

Zwanzig minutenThe German backed away, but slowly lowered his rifle until the barrel pointed at her breast. “Gehen,” he directed. “Move.”

GehenShe stepped aside, but slowly, her gaze locked on his, showing no fear.

The German went through the doorway, took another step, and paused, listening. A few seconds later, he took another step. His finger stayed on the trigger, ready to fire.

“What do you want?” Lucien asked trying to distract him.

The second soldier swung his rifle, the butt hitting Lucien on the side of his head. His vision clouded and he fell to the floor, the room spinning in a kaleidoscope of faces and colors. He almost fainted, the pain overwhelming. He touched his head, a warm sticky fluid oozing through his fingers.

“Tu uns nicht weh,” Camille said, moving toward him. “Don’t hurt us.”

“Tu uns nicht weh”“”The second soldier stood in her way, poking his rifle.

She stopped, turning to watch the soldier who entered the spare room, sensing he was the leader. “Bitte lass uns in Ruhe,” she said. “Please leave us alone.”

Bitte lass uns in Ruhe” .The soldier stepped farther into the room. He scanned the walls, the furniture, along the floor. Then he turned, nodding to the others. They abruptly crossed the parlor and left, leaving the front door open.

Lucien struggled to his knees, holding his head, the pain sharp.

“Are you all right?’ Camille asked, rushing to his side.

He blinked, trying to clear his vision. “I think so,” he mumbled, the room still spinning. He rose, his legs wobbly, but managed to stand. He took a minute to steady himself, staggered to the door, and looked out.

The Germans who came in the house had mingled with their comrades. Most of the column had passed, but the remainder would stop for the night. Not for long, though. The Allies were trapped, either in a pocket near Tournai or all across Belgium, he couldn’t say for sure.

“Where is he?” Lucien asked softly, his head pounding, eyes trained on the enemy.

“I hid him,” Camille replied.

He was trying to think clearly, but it was difficult. He wondered who this woman was, who appeared from nowhere and stood defiant in the enemy’s face. “Where?”

“I’ll tell you when they leave.”

“They won’t be gone until morning,” he said. He looked far up the road, the refugees in the distance, split by the Germans on the road.

“Wait until they move away from the house.”

“Where did you learn to speak German?” It was one of a dozen questions he wanted to ask.

“Where did you learn to speak English?” she asked in perfect English, much better than his.

He glanced down the road, at first not replying. “They’re stopping,” he said. “They’ll camp in the field overnight. They stole eggs from my chickens.”

She went to the window and peered out. “They’re away from the house, closer to the stream.”

He closed the door, some of the molding splintered where the German had kicked it in. His head throbbed, matching his pulse. He took a few more steps, felt dizzy and plopped in an armchair.

Camille came over and lightly touched his head. “It’s bruised badly. Swollen, but the bleeding stopped.”

Lucien looked at her, seeing so much more than a local woman who had spent her life in the Belgian towns along the French border. He wasn’t sure who she was, or where she came from, but she was different—in a dangerous way. And he didn’t know why. First, he had to worry about the Englishman.

“Where is he?” he demanded, still unable to think clearly.