Slowly, she made her way down the steps. Her stomach cramped in hunger and she looked over towards the shops. Maybe she’d be able to salvage something to eat from what was left of the bakery, which stood apart from the row of shops and didn’t look so badly fire-damaged.
The glass was blackened by the smoke and as she stepped through the doorway, ash covered the floor. The ceiling had collapsed from the fire but amazingly the rafters remained intact. Fitz wasn’t sure how stable it was but she was desperate for some food. Anything, until she made it to Josselin. She looked back at the dog who was waiting on the path outside. He was probably hungry, too. She wondered when he’d last been fed.
The counter was partially damaged by the fire, charred and burnt at one end, but still more or less intact. She could see a wicker basket that had miraculously escaped being burnt, sitting on the shelf alongside the remains of others.
Luck was on her side. Inside the basket were two loaves of bread. Fitz grabbed them and tore off the end to one of them, hungrily stuffing it in her mouth. It didn’t taste great – faintly of smoke, but she didn’t care. She just needed food.
She searched the rest of the bakery but there was no other food and she wondered if the Germans had taken what supplies there had been before setting the shop alight. When she went through to the rear of the shop, it had been totally burnt out and some of the timber was still smouldering.
Back out on the street, she broke several pieces of bread up for the dog, who gulped them down at lightning speed. She had no idea if bread was good for a dog or not. The next thing she needed was water. She walked around the church and found the village water pump. She could have done with a canister of some description to take some water with her, but again that would have aroused suspicion had she been stopped. Instead, she had to pump the water with one hand and catch as much as she could in her hand where she sloshed it into her mouth. It was a thankless task. What she needed was a cup of some description.
She went back to the bakery and amongst the debris in the shopfront found a metal scoop, used for weighing out flour. This proved a much more efficient method and she was able to satisfy her thirst.
‘Are you going to drink now?’ she asked the dog. She filled the scoop and held it out towards the dog who had steadfastly remained out of touching distance from her the whole time.
Of all the things Fitz thought she might be doing on this mission, looking after a dog hadn’t been one of them. The dog looked warily at Fitz and she felt sure he must be thirsty but she still hadn’t managed to gain its trust yet. Propping the scoop up against the stone base of the pump, Fitz took a few steps away.
The dog eyed her and then hurried over to the water, lapping it up immediately. As Fitz stood there, her gaze drifted back to the church and thoughts of all the innocent dead inside. She realised her body was shaking and she was crying. Big uncontrollable sobs erupted from her throat and she once again sank to the ground. She allowed herself to cry for several minutes, but at the back of her mind she knew she couldn’t stay where she was.
If the Germans came back, she needed to be out of here.
She picked up her bag and taking a minute to get her bearings again, she headed down the road towards the town of Josselin. The dog fell into step alongside her, which was an improvement on it following behind by several feet.
As she went down the street, every single house had been burned. The smell of smoke and ash hung heavily in the air as some of the buildings still smouldered. Again, Fitz noticed the silence. She couldn’t begin to imagine the terror of the villagers as the Germans rounded them up. Had they known they were going to their deaths in the church? Had they sought refuge there, even? Only to be killed, slaughtered by a hail of bullets.At least they hadn’t met their deaths by fire. That would be unimaginable.
Fitz paused at the end of the road to look back at the village. She wanted to remember this. If she ever got the chance to come back to France when the war was over, she’d come here and pay her respects to the villagers.
She thought she could hear the sound of a cat mewing. It was soft and floated through the still air. She looked around trying to pinpoint the direction of the noise. It was coming from the house on her left.
Fitz pushed open the gate and walked up the path to the single-storey stone cottage. She had no idea why she was going to look for a cat, as if she was gathering animals for Noah’s ark, but something was drawing her towards the sound.
This house wasn’t as burnt as some of the others and Fitz pushed open the wooden front door, stepping into a severely smoke-damaged room.
She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight in front of her.
She had been expecting to find a cat, but instead there was a child. A little girl of about eight or nine years old, standing in the middle of the room, looking at Fitz. The child’s face was tear-streaked and dirty, her blonde hair was tied back in two plaits. In one hand she clutched a teddy bear. She stared at Fitz.
Chapter 15
Fitz stared back at the little girl for a long moment while she gathered her thoughts. The child was such a sorry sight. ‘Bonjour,’ Fitz said softly, offering a reassuring smile. ‘Ça va?’
The little girl didn’t say anything.
Fitz’s gaze looked beyond the girl. What if this was some sort of trap? Or were there other villagers who had somehow escaped the massacre?
She took a step closer and knelt, so she didn’t seem overbearing to the girl. ‘Comment t’appelles-tu?’
Still the child said nothing. Fitz tried a different approach. Perhaps the child was hungry. ‘Are you hungry?Tu as faim?’ She continued in French as she pulled out the loaf of bread from her bag and tore off a chunk which she held out in front of her. ‘Here, eat,’ encouraged Fitz.
There was a little flicker of alertness in the girl’s eyes before she reached out and grabbed the bread, stuffing it into her mouth. ‘Eat slowly.Lentement,’ said Fitz. ‘You’ll get tummy ache. Are you thirsty?’
Again the girl said nothing, but the eagerness in her eyes told a different story.
Fitz rose and went through into the what was left of the kitchen. There was a cup on the floor, which she picked up and was pleased to see that the china sink, together with the taps, hadn’t been affected by the fire. The water glugged out and Fitz rinsed the cup before filling it with water. She handed the cup to the girl who drank steadily. She had probably been able to get water herself, Fitz concluded, but maybe not food.
Fitz opened the door to what she guessed was the larder, but there was barely anything on the shelves. The floor was covered in flour, smashed eggs and what looked like milk. She wondered if the Germans had destroyed the provisions just for the sake of it and taken anything worth saving.
‘Are you here on your own?’ asked Fitz, turning back to the girl. Still no reply. ‘Have you been hiding?’ The girl looked out towards the back garden. ‘Out there?’ asked Fitz. ‘Can you show me?’
