Chapter 25

June, 1940: I shivered in the cold night air as I crawled and wiggled away from the Cadre Noir. When away from the school, I stood and listened before hurrying to the river, now quiet in the night. Only an occasional stir and shift of the water from the wind or river otter.

The villagers were wrong about the Gypsies. They were artisans, entertainers, and healers. They were happy and carefree people.

Chaton waited by a tree, wearing a thin blouse and the flounced skirt I liked. The moonlight highlighted her hair with ribbons of gold.

“Come! The music is about to start, and we have a pig on the spit.” She took my hand and guided me into the center of the encampment before I could think further about where they had found a pig in the time of rationing.

We sat on a log by the fire. Chaton’s father sat nearby, watching us through the glow of the fire.

“Tell me about the war?” he asked.

I sat up straighter and grimaced. “We are a country divided after signing an agreement with Germany to surrender. They still invaded.”

“Baah!” Chaton’s father said, spitting a wad of tobacco into the fire. “The French are a spineless bunch.”

“The French Third Republic fights on,” I responded, thinking of my father.

“And what have they done?” Chaton’s father said, poking a stick at the fire, making it spark and glow.

I chewed on my lip. “My father is off fighting with the French, the resistance.”

Chaton’s father’s face softened some. “Good. Your father is a brave man.”

Now it was my turn to poke at the fire and watch the sparks snap and dance in the air. “Yes. Yes, he is.”

“Will the Germans get to us?”

“Not here, not in Montreuil-Bellay,” I said, reassuring Chaton’s father.

“Bah!” The man spit into the fire again. “Many wars fought on French soil.” He motioned with his head in the direction of the Cadre Noir. “Have you learned nothing in that fancy school of yours?”

We had learned some military history, the majority of our time spent riding horses in straight rows, making our mounts rear at precisely the right time to show their precision, and little else. But horses were useless against the Germans’ tanks and machinery.

“Papa!” Chaton scolded. “He’s our guest.”

“Chaton, my sweet child. War is coming. Things are going to get bad. We’ll need to move on.”

I sat up straighter, hoping I looked confident and brave. I didn’t want the Gypsies to leave the area.

“No, Papa, I like it here. Please, can we stay?”

“The war will soon be here,” her father said.

“No!” Chaton cried.

I shifted uneasily on the log, feeling it jab into my hip. I felt the same way as Chaton’s father. Germany had overtaken Belgium, Netherlands, and Luxembourg. Soon, they would be in France.