The Baltimore Bitch

Some of my tension evaporated. I blew out a relieved breath and said, "Thank God you speak English!!" I meekly added, "I obviously don't do so well in French." Then I said hopefully, "Why don't you come out of there and we can talk."

While I said that, I was using my flashlight to hunt up and relight the candle. She hesitated for a few seconds. Then she started to cautiously creep out of the armoire, never taking her eyes off me. It was like she was approaching a coiled rattler.

I got the candle lit and turned to face her. It was the first time I had gotten a good look. She was a waiflike little woman, small, delicate, almost doll-like in her perfection. I could tell from her round hips that she wasn't a child, as I'd first thought. Although her age was still indeterminant.

She was wearing a white linen dress that came down past her knees. It was wrinkled and had dirt and smudges on it. She had evidently been wearing it for a while. She was barefooted.

She was still clearly terrified. Her big brown eyes, in her round, little face, were enormous, like a little doe's about to bolt back into the forest. Her chest, which she had covered by her crossed arms in a protective gesture, was heaving in fright.

I had to say something. I tried to sound as unthreatening as possible as I said, "My name is Jed Sharpe. I was shot down near your village. Can you help me."

Her eyes flashed angrily. She gestured down the length of her frail body and said, in almost accentless English, "How do you think I can help YOU!!"

Now THAT was puzzling. I tried to explain, "I have to find something to wear that doesn't identify me as an American. Are there clothes in that closet that I can borrow?

She reacted like I was going to steal them. So, I added placating, "I'll pay for them."

She turned, gestured dismissively toward the clothing and said bitterly, "Take whatever you want. They won't need them in Drancy." I had no idea what she was talking about and it would be another year before the name "Drancy" and the concentration camps surfaced.

I said, continuing to try to sound courteous and friendly, "I'm going to take a look. Please don't run while I'm doing that. I'm in trouble and I really want to talk." She looked disdainful. It was like whatever was worrying me was nothing compared to the trouble she was in.

Then she seemed to decide. Her face softened, and she said almost kindly, "You can look, while I hold the candle. It must be unsettling to be down here in the middle of it all. Not flying above it." It was the first indication that the ice was beginning to melt.

I hunted through the many simple articles of clothing and found a shirt and pants that more-or-less fit. I even found a floppy old fedora. I left my uniform balled up in the back of the armoire. But I reverently hung up my Beautiful Betty jacket. I wanted to memorialize the life I was leaving behind.

I turned to her and said, "How do I look?" She said with the first hint of a smile, "Like Tom Sawyer trying to masquerade as a Frenchman." That was a very sophisticated and clever thing to say. I said puzzled, "How do you know all these things? Why do you speak English so well?"

She said growing impatient, "I'll explain later. First, I must attend to the children. That was what I was doing when you frightened me up here." She turned abruptly and walked out of the room. I was thinking to myself that this was a very strange woman.

I followed with the candle, stumbling over things as I went. She seemed to be able to see in the dark as she danced along barefooted. Her slim legs and shapely calves looked glorious in the candlelight. She went back to the kitchen and opened a door to what was obviously a pantry. I came up behind her.

She gently took the candle from me and began loading me down with canned goods, jars, and bottles. Then she stuck a couple of baguettes under each of my arms. She took an armload herself and said, "Come." I followed meekly, like the beast of burden that she thought I was.

We walked across what appeared to be a cobblestone farmyard and down to the second largest building on the property, which was a stone house. It was blacked out too. My mystery girl slowly opened the creaking door, marched inside and down a flight of stairs to a small cellar. I followed.

It had been hot outside. But it was cool and earthy down there. The cellar was lit by the same kind of candles I'd seen in the kitchen and there were five children gathered around a little table. They took one look at me shrieked and fled into the darkest reaches of the place.

My new friend said in a teacher's voice, "Silence!! Cet homme ne vous fera pas de mal. Il est chassé aussi." The children stopped screaming and reappeared one by one, staring shyly at me. The woman said to me in English, "They all speak English. That is what we teach them here."

Then she turned to the children and said, "This man can help us. But he doesn't speak French. He only speaks English." They all nodded sympathetically. She added, "So you must all be patient with him." I felt embarrassed. I was the adult and they had to do the translating.

I could see that my new friend was getting closer to her normal self. The presence of the children seemed to inspire that. She said, "It's late and I must feed them. We can introduce ourselves as I do. I will explain our situation later." Then she turned and began making sandwiches from a baguette and the big jar of strawberry jam I had been carrying.

As she worked, she pointed to each child individually, starting with the youngest. "This is Josette, she is five and she is very brave, aren't you Josette?" Josette had fluffy blond curls and blue eyes. She looked up from her sandwich, jam all over her face, gave me a dimpled smile and said gravely, "Oui."

My friend turned to two slightly older girls who were obviously sisters and said, "These are Edith and Charlotte. They are twins and they are eight. They are very good girls who help me with all the chores." The twins were dark haired and scrawny, with long pigtails and skinny legs. Both of them looked at me timidly. I smiled at them and they both lit up with grins.

Then she turned to the two oldest. She said, "This is Madelyn and her sister Natalie. Madelyn is thirteen and Natalie is fifteen. Natalie is my assistant and she and Madelyn help me with the other girls." Both were dark-haired, small statured, and dark eyed. The oldest was clearly budding into womanhood. They gave me wary looks. They were older and they'd learned to be suspicious.

Finally, my new friend said, "My name is Suzanne Milhaud. But everybody calls me Suzy. I am twenty-two and I am the teacher here." That explained the girls and her... but not the situation.

The six of them were clearly hiding and they were all carrying around various levels of anxiety, except Josette, who was very brave. That is, as long as she had unrestricted access to jam. They were all too precious for words.

I like kids and I had a lot of experience with Betty's three little brothers and sisters. So, I lowered myself into a chair to make myself seem less intimidating. I tried to exude empathy as I said, "My name is Jed and I am also twenty-two. I used to be an American flyer. Unfortunately, I had an accident and I don't have an airplane any more. So, maybe we can help each other."

The girls immediately huddled conversing in rapid-fire French. Suzy said, "They are trying to decide whether you are telling the truth, whether they can trust you." Finally, Natalie, who was clearly the leader, stood solemnly in front of me and said, "We believe you. You may join our group." I hadn't felt THAT honored since I was given my pilot's wings.

*****

Once the girls had eaten, they wrapped themselves in blankets, which had clearly been scavenged from next door. Edith and Charlotte fell asleep hugging each other. Josette was cuddling a ratty old teddy bear. Natalie and Madalyn bedded down next to where Suzy slept, like loyal aides-de-camp. Suzy told me the grisly story after the girls had fallen asleep.

We sat on the two largest chairs in the cellar and talked. Her perfect, gamine face with its huge brown eyes glowed in the candle light. Audrey Hepburn popularized that look a few years later. But Suzy invented it.

Her story explained a lot. Her father was an American. That was where the command of English came from. But she grew up in Paris. She was Jewish and her family was very wealthy. In 1942 she had used some of her money to establish a refuge to hide Jewish children.

I said puzzled, Why would Jewish children need to be hidden!!?" She said grimly, "None of you Americans have the slightest idea what the Nazis are doing to Jews in occupied France."

Suzy added grimly, "Even though we thought that Izieu, was out-of-the-way, the local collaborationists told the Nazis about us, and the Gestapo appeared one day. They took every last one of the children and their caregivers up to Drancy for processing to the camps."

I said confused, "What camps?!" She looked at me sympathetically, like I was just too naïve, and said, "They're called "concentration camps." That's where they take the Jews and any other person they want to make disappear."

I had no concept of what she was talking about. Don't judge me. Civilized people simply didn't act like that.

She gestured at the five sleeping angels and said, "When the Nazis came, I was on a field trip with my girls, up on the mountain. So, they missed us. It was brutal. The Gestapo herded the children and staff out into big trucks and drove them away. Everybody was crying and wailing. It was pitiful."

I must have looked appalled. She added with sorrow in her voice, "We hid until we were sure that they'd all gone. Then we came down. We have been living in this cellar ever since, trying to decide what to do." The thought of those five dear little lambs being herded away to some sort of prison wrenched my soul. No wonder Suzy was so frightened when I stumbled on her.

I digested it for a minute. The situation was clear. We were all in deadly danger if the Germans spotted us. I was perhaps a little less imperiled then the girls, since the POW camps sounded more humane than the other kind. But neither of those options were ones that either of us wanted to explore.

I said, "Do you have plans? You have to escape somewhere." She gave me the standard Gaelic shrug that communicated what a bitch life could be.

I gazed at her thinking. Then, I had an inspiration. I said, "Here, look!!" I pulled out the silk map of France that was tucked in my escape kit and I laid it on the table. I said, "Where is Izieu?" She studied the map, brow furrowed and pink tip of her tongue sticking out between her luscious lips. Then she put her finger on a spot on a loop of the Rhone river and said, "Here."

My heart sank. Geographically, we were right in the middle of France and as far to the east as you could get. The escape route for downed pilots was south and west. I might be able to avoid detection, even hitch rides with friendly Frenchmen. But there would be no going to Spain with five children in tow.

I had already made up my mind that it was all-or-nothing. The thought of leaving brave little Josette and her dimples, or the twins and their shy smiles, to the tender mercies of the Gestapo was just intolerable.

Of course, there was also the beauty of my new companion's winsome face, with its huge brown eyes and the thick mop of curly brown hair. Don't get me wrong!! My thoughts were totally non-sexual. I was off women forever. The "Dear John" letter from Betty had ensured that.

It was the courage of Suzy's commitment to the children, not her looks, that sold her to me. She could have easily fled, just abandoned the children, and walked into any town. They were the target. Suzy looked like every other citizen of France. People might have noted her beauty. But they'd have thought nothing of her presence.

However, they'd have immediately noticed Suzy if she were accompanied by a gaggle of unrelated little girls. And you couldn't trust a soul in occupied France. That was the one thing that was certain. So, Suzy had chosen to stay with her little charges, holed up in this cellar, did her best to take care of them and prayed for a miracle. I was that miracle, no matter how pathetically ill-prepared I might be.

It was obvious that we would have to move sooner than later. We were running out of supplies and the Germans were bound to eventually revisit the scene of their crime, just to make sure they hadn't missed anybody. The fact that almost three weeks had passed since the initial event, made the need to move seem even more imperative. They'd be coming.

I'm not Sir Galahad, or any other kind of rescuer of damsels in distress. But unlike Suzy, I had a map, a compass, and a sheaf of French francs. It was sixty miles to Switzerland, while it was five hundred miles to Spain. I knew that I would be interned if I walked into Swiss hands. But it was our only chance.

On the plus side, even if they locked me up, five little girls and their courageous protector would survive. I would make that deal in a heartbeat. I didn't even have to think about it. Of course, I wouldn't explain what the tradeoff was. Suzy probably wouldn't let me do it if I did.

Her captivating brown eyes were luminous in the candle light as she looked at me and said gently, "What do you plan?" I just pointed to the map and said, "We are walking to Geneva, and we are leaving bright and early tomorrow."

I went over to the hotel and rounded up some blankets and a pillow, brought them back and spread them on the floor. I chose a spot at the bottom of the stairs in case we got visitors. Suzy and the girls were asleep on the other side of the cellar. I drifted off almost immediately. I had been awake since 4:30 AM. My last thoughts were, "Was I in an entirely different universe just this morning?"

*****

I had wondered why the girls all wore grubby dresses, when the hotel was full of nice things left behind by the people kidnapped by the Gestapo. I learned why, when I told my little crew that they should go over and equip themselves with everything they needed to travel.

Natalie said dismayed, "But Monsieur Jed!! Those things belong to our friends. We cannot take them.!!" Josette scolded me gravely, "Oui, you should never steal from other girls." Her dimples just killed me.

I laughed and said with the love I was starting to feel for all of them, "We are going to walk a long way and you will need some of their things to get there. But I will leave money. So, your friends can buy nice new things when they return."

Suzy and I both knew that whatever I left behind would never be claimed. But fifty francs was worth the price if it bought a clear conscience for my five upright little companions.

Then it hit me. I looked at Suzy and said, "Is that why you're still wearing the same dress. Are you doing it out of solidarity with them?" She said, "Yes, we are all for one and one for all here," and she smiled at the girls. Needless to say, the Three Musketeers are French.

So, we packed what little things we had. All of the girls had keepsakes wrapped in hankies, mementos of their families. Lockets with pictures. It was heartrending. And of course, Josette had her precious bear.

Our abandoned hotel was up the road a slight distance from the village. It was unlikely anybody would notice the seven of us rummaging around in it. But given the stakes it was better to be safe than sorry. So, I went first and did an extensive recon of the area.

The collaborationists were looking for girls. An itinerant Frenchman poking around the place wouldn't attract any attention. I saw nothing but bees and butterflies stirring in the hot Auvergne morning. I gave the signal and Suzy and the girls hustled across.

They scattered when we got inside the hotel. Suzy took the twins and Josette to their dormitory room to gather their things. Madelyn and Natalie went to the older girls section to outfit each other. I went back to the armoire and got out my jacket.

I wrapped the jacket around the holstered 1911 Colt .45 automatic and extra clip that pilots carry, and stuffed it along with my uniform pants and shirt in a handy pillow case.

I found a stout wooden curtain rod, tied the pillow case to it and set off back downstairs to meet the members of our expedition. I looked like a proper hobo with my tatty French clothing on my back and all my worldly possessions on my shoulder.

They were assembled in the dining room. Suzy had undergone a stunning change. Now she was wearing a tailored pair of chinos and a jaunty neck scarf. It was something that only French women can pull off with elan.

She was tiny, perhaps five-one and a hundred and ten pounds. But I could see that she had long shapely legs, round hips and the front of her heavy chambray shirt was pushed out further than I had anticipated. All-in-all, she was an exquisite China doll.

We weren't quite in the Alps. But the girls were dressed in Alpine hiking clothes, sturdy shoes, shorts, and thick knee socks and long-sleeved shirts. Even more astonishing, they all had little backpacks. I said amazed, "They look like they've done this before."

Suzy smiled fondly at them and said, "All the girls know how to hike and what equipment to bring. We would go into nature as much as we could before the Nazis came. We'd camp overnight in the upland meadows and gather the mountain flowers, edelweiss, even crocuses and primroses when they were in bloom."

She added bitterly, "That was what we were doing on the day the Gestapo arrived."

I looked at them and they were all gazing back at me with anticipation and hope. I was their salvation. It scared the shit out of me. My responsibility for a bomber crew was one thing. The thought of losing one of their precious little lives was in an entirely different cosmos of horror.

Then there was their teacher. I don't suppose it would be strange for me to be attracted to such a beautiful, bold, and strong-minded woman. I couldn't help contrasting my new companion's exotic good-looks, and her strength, with pretty Betty's girl-next-door appearance and self-indulgent spirit.

Betty said it was my fault. It was as if she thought I'd CHOSEN to linger in the middle of a war. So, she had turned to the guy who would give her what she wanted. Maybe Duke had changed. She said he had. But I doubted it.

All I knew was that the love of my life had traded my little diamond for the opportunity to become a smug banker's wife. It broke my heart and utterly destroyed my confidence. How could I have been so totally wrong about Betty's personal integrity?

It made me question what love was all about. It made me think that I would never have a close relationship with a woman again. Of course, when I thought about it - and I'd thought about it a lot - I realized that the only thing Betty and I had in common was proximity.

We were both relatively good-looking kids. But our attraction to each other was one of familiarity and habit more than a sense of mutual respect. There was never a deep-down regard for the other person's wishes, a willingness to face the vicissitudes of life together.

But of course, Betty was just a child, and so was I. We were fully grown physically, and we could do all the things adults could do, including fucking each other. But we hadn't been tempered by life. Neither of us had gone through the trials that build strength of character.

Getting yanked out of my familiar world by the Army had given me plenty of challenges. It also gave me the seasoning to shape a new version of myself; a person who had a better grasp of the essentials, like commitment, honor, and duty. On the other hand, Betty had continued living in the uncomplicated world that she was born into. There were no challenges to face, no tough tests to form her into a stronger, better person.