The Last of the Stanfields(77)

“I have no choice. I’m on a mission, and I have to get my map with all the local weapon caches. I promised your father I would watch over you if anything ever happened to him, and I’m going to keep that promise. Hanna, look at me. I won’t leave you, I swear I won’t. You have to trust me. I will come back—it’ll be a half hour, at most. Until then, you sit and try to gather your strength. We have a long road ahead of us. Most of all, stay absolutely silent.”

Hanna had no choice but to let him go. Robert started the trek back up to the lodge. Once inside, he went to his bedroom and changed into fresh clothes, then went to check the kitchen. All the jars of preserves had been shattered, save one that had rolled under the table. Robert stuffed the jar into a large satchel he found hanging on a nail near the fireplace. Then he climbed down the ladder into the cellar and the darkness swallowed him.



They pedaled until the break of dawn, when Hanna was too exhausted to go further. Robert wasn’t faring much better himself. In the distance, through the hazy mist of sunlight glimmering on the plain, they could just discern the outline of a house with a barn beside it. Robert steered the tandem onto the dirt driveway toward the farm, where he hoped they could rest for a few hours and, with a little luck, find food and drink.



Hanna awoke after noon, opening her eyes to see a farmer with a rifle pointed straight at Robert.

“Who are you?” the farmer barked. “Talk. Now.”

As Robert rose cautiously to his feet, Hanna spoke for him. “We’re not thieves, and we’re not here to hurt you. Lower your weapon, I beg of you.”

“First, tell me what you’re doing in my barn.”

“We were traveling through the night, and we needed rest,” Hanna continued.

“And what’s with your friend? Can’t he speak? He hasn’t said a single word.”

“Why should he, if I tell you all you need to know?”

“If you’re traveling at night, it means you’re on the run. He’s a foreigner, is that it?”

“No,” Hanna assured him. “He can’t talk. He’s mute.”

“Ah. Well, maybe I can give his ass a nice little kick and we’ll see how mute he is! This fool has had his face pounded into mush. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out why and who you two are. I don’t want trouble. Not with soldiers, not with partisans. So, gather up your things and get out of here.”

“Get out? With my face all pounded into mush?” Robert asked. “We can’t travel in broad daylight, it’s far too dangerous. Let us stay in here until nightfall, then we’ll be on our way.”

“American or English?” asked the farmer.

“Foreigner, like you said. That’s good enough. And you won’t have any trouble with the Resistance as long as you don’t make any trouble with the Resistance.”

“Ha! He’s got balls, your boyfriend,” the farmer told Hanna.

“All we’re asking is for you to let us stay a few hours,” she said. “Pretend you didn’t see us. Is that so much to ask?”

“Listen. I’m the one holding the gun, so I’ll call the shots. First, no one’s going to come threaten me on my own land. If you wanted something to eat or drink, all you had to do was ask. Politely.” The farmer lowered his weapon and sized the two up for a moment. “You don’t look too dangerous. My wife’s prepared lunch and you can join us. But first, go and wash at the well. You’re both a total mess.”

The water at the pump was so frigid that it stung Robert’s wounds and even reopened the gash on his chin. Hanna took a rag from her pocket and put pressure on the cut to stop the bleeding. Robert winced as she pressed on it. “Come on, toughen up,” she said.

The farmer and his wife offered both of them clean clothes. Hanna looked like a perfect tomboy in a pair of baggy trousers and a man’s shirt. The farmers acted friendly and cordial as the four ate lunch, watching as Robert swallowed down all his stew without any prompting, but noticing Hanna had hardly touched her plate.

“Eat!” the farmer insisted. “Even if you’re not hungry, you’ve got to eat. Where are you two headed anyway?”

“For the Spanish border,” replied Robert.

“Well, you won’t get far on that silly bicycle.”

“What’s it like on the roads around here?”

“Quite busy as of late. Between the ones who’re fleeing east, those heading northwest to fight with the Allied Forces, and people like you heading due south . . . a whole lot of folks, you see.”

“Wait . . . what’s this about the Allied Forces?” asked Robert, stunned.

“Well, I’ll be damned, have you been living under a rock? Four days ago, they started landing in droves on the beaches of Normandy. It’s all over the radio. The Germans aren’t giving in, but with the English already at Bayeux and Canadian troops advancing toward Caen, some say this infernal war will soon come to an end.”

Upon hearing the news, Robert leapt straight out of his chair and hugged the farmer. Hanna, meanwhile, remained planted in her seat, her eyes welling up with tears. Robert knelt before her and took her hand.

“They were so close to the end, only to die,” she lamented. “Papa will never get to see France liberated.”