Sven had to get to Mathieu, he had to go with him. “How is this man going to get us out of Bordeaux? Surely the Germans are patrollingall the roads?” Sven asked as he and Juliette headed for the neighboring property. He didn’t want to criticize the plan, but he needed to know.
Juliette looked at him, a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth despite her serious expression.
“By delivering wine.”
“In,” Madame Bresson hissed as she pushed Mathieu back through the opening and down into the cellar. She took hold of one of the big wine shelves andpulled it out. It was like a false wall, and behind it was another cellar. Not a very big one, but she shoved him inside it, and just before she pushed the shelf back in place, Mathieu saw that the walls were covered in wooden shelves filled with wine bottles.
Seconds later the Nazis came storming in to the cellar on the other side of the false wall. They were yelling in German, and Madame Bresson answered calmly in French.
“There’s no one here. You’re welcome to search.”
They continued to shout at her in German.
Please don’t let them hurt her.
“Who are you looking for?” she asked.
“Your son—is he here?”
Mathieu was able to understand the gist of the German words. Surely the soldiers should be better informed? Maybe they didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“He died in the war.” Madame Bresson sounded furious. “You took his life. You don’t need to look for him here.”
Soon Mathieu heard the sound of boots moving away, then clomping up the cellar steps.
He slowly exhaled. A minute or two later, Madame Bresson pulled out the shelf, then took his arm.
“Come with me.”
They hurried through the house and out into the vineyard. The storm had broken, and rain was pouring down on the dry plains in huge, warm drops.
Madame Bresson ran between the rows of vines, with Mathieu close behind, then took shelter by the wall of one of the barns. As they made their way around the building, she looked around them constantly to make sure no one had spotted them. Mathieu had no idea if the Germans were still close by.
Soon they reached a minor road. She pulled Mathieu behind a tree, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the road.
Before long a small truck appeared and slowly came to a halt.
They emerged from their hiding place as a man jumped out of the driver’s seat. Mathieu recognized him—he was a winemaker from the other side of the village.
“The Germans are waiting for their wine,” he called out through the rain.
“The safest way out of here is via the enemy,” Madame Bresson said firmly, waving Mathieu toward the truck. He opened the door and started to climb in, then looked back at Gerard’s mother.
“Thank you.”
She nodded, gave a cautious smile. “I hope you make it.”
The driver had come around to the back of the vehicle. “Go farther in, behind the curtain,” he said. “There are some others there, we’ve picked up a few people.”
Mathieu made his way between the boxes of wine, right to the back of the truck behind the curtain. He could make out five bodies pressed close together in the gloom. Soon he was able to distinguish faces. A married couple, both teachers, rumored to be communists. He nodded to them; the man patted him on the shoulder. Then Mathieu saw a woman who had worked in the bakery for years; she was of Jewish heritage. He didn’t recognize the fourth person, a young woman sitting with her eyes downcast. And the fifth ... Sven.
It was Sven, curled up between the boxes. He looked up at Mathieu.
“Sven,” Mathieu said.
“Mathieu.”
What he noticed first was how relieved Sven sounded. Then Mathieu saw the tears pouring down his cheeks.
