Chapter 6

Nick sat with Emily before football practice started. “Want to go to the library later?” he asked.

Emily raised her brows into a V. “After football practice? Um…” She looked at her phone. “I don’t think so.” She shrugged apologetically. “I’ve got homework, and it’s my night to cook dinner.”

In Search on his phone, he typed in “Cadre Noir” and frowned at the picture of a gigantic building on the screen.

She frowned at his phone. “What are you looking at?”

“A school in France.”

“Oh?” She leaned closer. “Is that part of your research?”

“Umm.” Nick rubbed his chin as he read the descriptions: Black Cadre, French Military Riding Academy, and Equestrian Display team. He wasn’t sure how the three-sided building with at least four stories played into their research, yet Coach had indicated it was. Nick thought the school looked like a fancy apartment complex. “I think so. A battle.”

“What exactly are you researching?” She moved her animal print sneakers with purple and white striped socks impatiently.

“Gypsies and this battle.” This school was important. Then he read, “The school’s cadets held off the German’s elite Panzer division for three days.”

“Wow! That’s impressive,” Emily said.

“Where’d you find that topic?” She frowned. She also had Coach Sullivan and the same research project. “I don’t remember Coach telling us about that.”

“Cat.”

“Oh?” She rolled her eyes. “Gotta run. Talk to you later!” They kissed briefly, she hopped off the bleachers, and he went to the locker room to change.

Later when football practice finished, Nick walked the short distance from the high school to the Laketon Library. It was still light out, although just barely, and yellow leaves swirled on the sidewalks. Even in mid-September, the trees were preparing for winter. Nick gave an involuntary shiver.

He sent a text telling his mother he had stopped at the library, before pulling out his wallet, checking to see if he had his school ID in case he wanted books or Internet access. Even though he guessed Cat was crazy in some ways, he wanted to know more about this Saumur place and the colonel.

Once there, he asked the librarian, “Do you have books on World War II?”

“Do we ever!” she said with a shake of her head. “We have a whole section on that subject.” The librarian motioned. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Yes, how about France and World War II?”

“Let’s take a look,” the librarian said and showed Nick to the history section. There were several books written by and about the French in the war. Nick selected two that looked interesting.

“Anything else?” the librarian asked.

Nick indicated he was good before flipping to the back of the books and running his finger down S listings, looking for Saumur. As he perused the books, he fumbled in his backpack for his emergency stash of jerky and chewed thoughtfully as he read.

He next read about Colonel Michon, the school superintendent responsible for leading students in a revolt against the Germans.

The colonel was legendary in the area because he took a stand against Hitler’s Panzer tanks when they invaded the Saumur region. But the article said nothing about camps or Romas. Were the internees and the battle linked in some way?

He finished his jerky and searched for another in his pack, his appetite never fully satisfied.

A sign over the computers said they had access to the Michigan State and University of Michigan research banks. Something Nick wouldn’t be able to access at home. He hoped to attend the University of Michigan when he graduated. He needed to keep his high grades and football form.

Nick sat at an assigned computer and searched for Saumur. Before the computer had finished the search, images of grapevines in neat rows flashed across his mind. France was known for their wine, he reasoned. He lifted his nose and smelled the perfume of overripe grapes, overly sweet and ready to burst. His imagination had taken over, adding sensory details, or maybe it was the air freshener the library used.

There were many pages about Saumur, a wine-growing region, but nothing about an internment camp.

He next searched for “Saumur World War II” and “Saumur internment camp” and the epic battle led by Colonel Michon.

He continued scrolling down, looking for anything that would help him, until he came to a site about France’s interned Gypsies. He rubbed his chin. The internet referred to them as Gypsies, so why was Cat so touchy about it?

He shrugged and began to read. The information started with a black-white-and-gray picture of a group of prisoners. Nick squinted at the image. One of the men looked familiar. Was the man someone famous? Maybe he just reminded Nick of someone he knew? His knuckles smarted, and he had the urge to suck at them to ease the discomfort. He must have done something during practice.

More images in his head of barbed wire with prisoners pressed so close against the fence, it etched their skin. Sunken faces and eyes begging, begging for release, begging for food. Where were all these images coming from?

Nick sat back when his stomach gurgled, not a hungry sound but an upset feeling. He looked at the clock. It was well past dinner time. Was this the feeling the body had to starvation? A hollowness that echoed with hunger pangs? A headache started behind his eyes, and he rubbed at his forehead before deciding to go home.

He stood, switched off the computer, and gathered up his backpack.

“I hope you found what you were looking for,” the librarian said as Nick walked past her desk.

“I did, thanks.” But he was left with more questions and images of places and things that were unfamiliar, yet they weren’t. He unlocked his car and drove home.

Once at home, he went into the kitchen and pulled leftover pizza from the refrigerator. He unwrapped the foil and wrinkled his nose. Was he hungry? Marginally, so he took a small slice and put the rest back. While he waited for the microwave to reheat his food, he checked his phone for messages. His parents were on their way home from the hospital. Emily had sent him a smiley face, and he grinned and sent a heart back to her.

He paused as the image of a large kitchen used for preparing huge quantities of food flashed across his mind. He mentally compared their kitchen and the one in his head. No, they were nothing alike. One had a large wooden box for holding food and blocks of ice. Their kitchen had a regular refrigerator with an ice maker.

He heard his parents enter the front door. “Nick?”

“In the kitchen.”

He finished his pizza.

“What are you doing, son?” his father asked, coming into the kitchen, taking note of Nick’s empty plate. “Going back for seconds?”

“Nah!”

His father nodded. “Leave anything for me?” he joked.

“Maybe.” He smirked, then sobered when he remembered where his parents had been. “How’s Grandma?”

“Stable but still at Spectrum.”

“Can she have visitors?” Nick could swing by after school and have a quick visit.

“I think so.”

“Good. I’ll go see her,” Nick said, watching his father take most of the remaining pizza and reheat it for dinner.

The next night after football practice, Nick drove to the hospital to see his grandmother. Nick knocked on the door before opening it. “It’s me, Grandma.”

“Nick!”

He stepped cautiously in and looked around at the sterile room with machines that beeped and blinked. They seemed to be connected to Grandma in some fashion.

He pulled up a chair and sat. “How’re you doing?”

“About as expected for my age.”

“You look the same.”

She smiled and reached up to pat her hair. “I must be a fright.”

“No.”

“Let’s talk about you,” she said. “I’m tired of doctors talking about me!”

Nick leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “We’re writing about WWII in World History.” Nick moved his head. “I just wish Grandpa was around to tell me more.”

Grandma pursed her lips as if thinking about what he said. “You might be old enough to read his journal.”

“A journal?” Nick sat up straighter. “Can I see it?”

Grandma smoothed the blanket over her lap. “Of course!” She laughed. “He’d be pleased someone wanted to read it.”

“Did Grandpa fight in France?” What a silly question to ask. “Grandpa told me about D-Day.”

She chuckled. “Oh, yes. D-Day,” she said and, after a pause, added, “Part of the liberation of France.”

“Where’s grandpa’s journal?” He wanted to read it. That might earn them extra points on their paper.

Again Grandma paused, and a look of confusion crossed her face—probably because of her stroke, Nick reasoned. “There’s a box of stuff in the storage closet, I think.”

“Do you mind if I look for it?” he asked, pushing himself out of the chair. He couldn’t wait to read about his grandfather’s adventures during the war. He had heard the stories from Grandpa, but the journal might shed some light on what was happening in France during that time.

“Be my guest. I don’t know why I need all that old stuff anyway. It’s yours, Nick.”

“Thanks!” He took a step toward the door, stopped, and went back to kiss her cheek, promising to come back soon.

Once in the parking lot, he looked at his phone. It was after eight. Should he go to Grandma’s apartment or go home? He texted his parents.

—Going to Grandma’s for Grandpa’s journal.—

His mother replied.

—It’s after 8.—

—For my project.—

—K.—