The Room on Rue Amélie(31)

Thomas looked around him, taking in the surroundings. The place was sparsely furnished, but it looked homey and warm.

“Claude?” A woman emerged from the back of the home wearing a housecoat. She was young—perhaps in her early twenties—and pretty. In the candlelight, Thomas could finally see the face of the man who’d brought him home too, and he was surprised to realize that he was not much older than Thomas himself.

“Henriette, I have brought a guest,” the man said. “Do we have any food for him?”

“Yes, of course,” she murmured, studying Thomas for a few seconds before hurrying out of the room.

“That is my wife, Henriette,” the man said, turning back to Thomas. “I am called Claude. And you are?”

“Thomas.” He paused, considered giving his last name, and decided against it. “And thank you. You and your wife are very kind to help me.”

Claude shrugged. “It is what anyone would do.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Anyone with a conscience,” Claude amended.

Thomas nodded. “How did you find me?”

“I was in the field when I saw you stumble toward the stream. When you sat down and did not move, I thought perhaps you were dead. But I had to wait until after dark to check, because it is impossible to tell when the German patrols are out. The lazy bastards turn in early, though. You can find them in town getting drunk on our best wine.”

“Where are we?” Thomas asked.

Claude raised an eyebrow. “Near Ayette. Where are you coming from?”

“Arras. I think. My plane went down this morning in a dogfight.”

“Ah, so they will be looking for you. All the better to have brought you in for the night. You covered quite a distance in a day, though. Especially with that injury.” He gestured to Thomas’s ankle. “Henriette can wrap it, although I do not know how much it will help.”

“Thank you.”

Claude nodded. “Now, why are you in such a rush to get to Paris? It is crawling with Nazis, you know.”

Thomas hesitated. Claude seemed friendly enough, but what if he was a Nazi plant, fishing for information? “It seems my best bet of hooking up with an escape line.”

“Yes. Yes, it does. We have seen only a few of you fellows around here, and all we can do is help you move on without getting caught.”

“There have been others?”

“Yes. A fellow named Kenneth about six months ago. Went down near Arras, like you. And about four months ago, a man named Michael. Leg was so badly injured that you could see the bone. Henriette cleaned and set it. Nazis snooping around, since his plane did not go down far from here. But he made it to Paris, at least.”

“How do you know?”

“My father drove him.”

Thomas looked up in surprise. There was someone here giving rides to pilots? That would certainly make the next few days easier. But then Claude shook his head.

“My father died last month. Heart attack. I think that risking his life for that pilot cleansed his soul at the end, though.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Now enough of that. Let us get you fed and dressed so you can sleep.” Claude smiled. “You do not think you will go wandering into Paris dressed like that, do you? You might as well be waving a British flag.”



AFTER THOMAS HAD EATEN A surprisingly delicious potato soup prepared by Henriette, who then wrapped his ankle, Claude showed him to the barn, where there was a trapdoor in the floor beneath an empty stall.

“We used to have six horses,” Claude explained, his expression darkening. “The Nazis requisitioned them all.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas said.

“As am I. Sorry for all of us.” He handed Thomas a small stack of clothing—a shirt and some pants, it appeared, with a pair of scuffed shoes. “These were my father’s. He was a tall man, so they should fit you well enough. Now get some sleep, and put these on in the morning. I will come get you at first light.”

He opened the trapdoor and gestured down into the darkness. It smelled musty and stale, but Thomas realized that it was probably the best place on the property to hide.

“Not that we expect anyone to come looking,” Claude said, “but if anyone arrives, they will not see the door. We will cover it with a few bales of hay for the night.”

Thomas climbed down into the cellar, the bundle of clothes tucked under one arm, and within five minutes, he was fast asleep on the cold, hard floor.

In what felt like no time at all, light poured into the cellar, waking him. Thomas blinked into the sudden brightness and saw Claude’s face in the opening overhead. “Hope you slept well, friend,” he said. “Now put those clothes on, and fast. It is just past dawn, and you need to get into the woods before the Nazis are awake.”

Thomas dressed quickly, and even though the clothes were a bit tight—he had to leave the pants half-undone and he couldn’t fasten the top two buttons on his shirt—the shoes fit surprisingly well. He climbed the ladder, clutching his flight suit and boots. “I’ll take these with me and bury them,” he told Claude. “I don’t want you to get caught with them.”

Claude nodded and handed Thomas a small parcel. “Here is a bit of bread and cheese and a jug of water to get you through until you reach Paris.”