“Give Jacob my love,” she said softly, and took off a minute later, musing about the extraordinary quirks of destiny that had led her to be there in time to see Jacob escape, and be able to help him the night before. Everything Simon had told her about their organization, the town of Le Chambon sur Lignon, and Pastor Trocmé had amazed her. It was good to know that there were people like that in the world. She smiled as she rode back to the château. And even seeing soldiers on the way didn’t faze her. She had nothing to hide now. She wondered when she’d hear from Simon or his colleagues at the OSE again, or if she ever would.
—
The next weeks were relentlessly depressing and hard. It was their first Christmas without her father and brother, and her mother’s health was deteriorating visibly. Agathe kept herself sedated most of the time, which left Gaëlle totally alone. Christmas was bleak, and she spent part of it tending to her father’s and brother’s graves. She was on her way back one day when she had the feeling that someone was following her, and she was afraid it was one of the German soldiers. She pedaled faster, and a few minutes later a man stepped onto the road and blocked her path. She was frightened the moment she saw him. He looked angry, had a shock of dark hair and a beard, and looked menacing. Before she could turn back or run or speed away, he said the words “Simon sent me, from the OSE,” and then she realized why he was there. “We have another delivery for you. A nine-year-old girl. We need to get her to St. Chef quickly. Will you do it?” Gaëlle didn’t hesitate and agreed.
“Where is she?” she asked.
“She’s at a farm nearby, but she can’t stay. They had trouble yesterday.” She wondered if the farm was on her father’s land, but she didn’t ask.
“There’s a shed near the cemetery, with a cellar and a trapdoor,” Gaëlle explained, feeling a rush of adrenaline, knowing what lay ahead.
“If I get her there, can you move her tomorrow?” he asked, and Gaëlle nodded. The town he had mentioned was three hours away, and a nine-year-old was too big to hide in a basket. She was thinking quickly about how to do it.
“Will your farmer lend me his tractor?” Gaëlle asked him.
“I don’t know. I think so. I’ll ask him.” He looked startled by what she’d said. “You’re going to travel three hours by tractor?” She nodded, and he smiled. No one had tried that before, but sometimes the most obvious escapes were the smoothest and worked best.
“Leave it next to the orchard,” Gaëlle said to him.
“I’ll have her at the shed sometime tonight,” he promised.
“I’ll pick her up early in the morning. And tell them to dress her in work clothes,” Gaëlle told him, and a moment later they both got on their bikes, and rode off in opposite directions. Gaëlle had all night to think about the plan, and worry if her idea was too bold.
She rode to the shed just before dawn the next morning, and found a little girl in overalls and a heavy sweater, shivering in the cellar under a blanket Gaëlle had left after Jacob had been there, and Gaëlle was relieved to see that she had pale blond hair. It would be easy to claim they were sisters if they looked something alike, and Gaëlle noticed immediately that she was a pretty little girl. Her name was Isabelle, and Gaëlle explained the plan to her after introducing herself. They were two farm girls, sisters, helping their father. Their brother was in Paris and could no longer help on the farm. “How does that sound to you?” she asked the child, who had lively eyes and looked scared.
“I don’t know anything about farms. We live in the city,” she said nervously. Her whole family had been deported, and she’d been at a friend’s when they were taken away. Friends in a nearby town had been hiding her in their basement for the last five months, but felt they could no longer take the risk. They were afraid the authorities were on to them, or would be soon. And the OSE wanted to get her to Le Chambon and out of harm’s way as soon as they could.
“Don’t worry, they won’t ask us to plow a field for them,” Gaëlle reassured her, and they took off on the tractor a few minutes later. Isabelle said very little on the trip.
The ride on the tractor was uncomfortable, and they passed groups of soldiers three different times, and each time they glanced at the two girls, dismissed them as farm girls from the neighborhood without checking their papers, and never suspected that the tractor was a ruse. They waved them on their way each time. Gaëlle was stunned by how easy it had been when they reached the safe house in St. Chef, and Isabelle thanked her politely and disappeared inside. The man she had met on the road the day before was waiting for her when they arrived.
“Everything went smoothly?” he questioned her.
“Perfectly.” Gaëlle smiled at him. “If you ever want to do something illegal, do it on a tractor, no one pays any attention,” particularly since they were two young girls, and were the portrait of innocence, and neither of them looked Jewish. They looked Aryan to the Germans.
“I’ll have to remember that,” he laughed at her, and then grew serious again. “We have another package for you. In a few days, not yet, he’s sick.”
“How sick?” Gaëlle looked worried. She wasn’t a nurse, but she wasn’t experienced at this either, so maybe it didn’t make a difference.
“We thought he had pneumonia, which would have been serious, but the doctor says it’s just bronchitis. We want to give it a few days. We’ll let you know when he’s ready.” Gaëlle agreed and set out on the long journey home on the tractor a few minutes later. She arrived at the shed just before nightfall, left the tractor where she had found it, and rode her bicycle back to the château. She went to her room upstairs as soon as she got there, and lay on her bed, exhausted. It had been a long stressful day, worrying about getting caught, and traveling for six hours on a tractor, but everything had gone well.