Krista's Escape Page 2

  She desperately tried to pretend that all was as it should be, while at the back of her mind her thoughts buzzed like angry bees – had her father really promised her to Maurice La Flandre – surely not? She would never agree to such a union. They could not force her to accept him – could they? She had a throbbing headache long before the kitchen workers arrived. She prepared a tray of coffee to be carried up to her parents. She felt exhausted long before her mother came downstairs to take over the kitchen and begin overseeing the preparations for lunch.

  Chapter 2

  “Bonjour, Jean-Luke, Henri, Philippe.” Krista glanced at her three brothers when they entered the café from the auberge stairway. They looked so alike with their wide shoulders and slim hips, encased in their uniform of white shirt and black trousers, wearing highly polished black-leather shoes. They each had black hair and brown eyes, much to the delight of the ladies of the village. She tried to judge their mood before she said anything more. They were bears in the morning.

  The three men grunted in response, strolling over to take a table overlooking the main street of the village. She poured three large thick white cups of coffee and carried them over to the table.

  “Croissant,” Jean-Luke growled when she leaned over his shoulder to place the first cup of coffee in front of him – as the eldest he was always served first.

  “Pain au chocolat.” Henri took a packet of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his white shirt.

  “How did you hurt your hands?” Philippe leaned forward to examine the bruises and nicks both of his brothers sported on their hands.

  “Are you deaf? Get us something to eat!” Jean-Luke waved a dismissive hand towards Krista, ignoring his youngest brother’s question

  “There are no pastries left.” Krista stood and waited for her brothers’ abuse to break over her head. She stared down at them, refusing to cower. They all looked so alike while she, the only girl, was taller than all three and had white hair and blue eyes. A stranger would never believe they were related. She had always felt like the cuckoo in the nest of the Dumas family.

  “What?” Jean-Luke pushed back his chair violently and stood to grab Krista’s wrist. “What do you mean there are no pastries?” He shook her. “We have to be at work in the restaurant soon. We were working till early morning while you snoozed in your bed. The least we deserve is something to eat before we have to get to work!” He was angry with the world this morning. He hated this life of work and sleep for very little money. His parents claimed they were working for a better future for all of them. Well, as far as he was concerned, the future was now.

  “Let her go, Jean-Luke, you are hurting her,” Philippe said. “You are attracting attention.” He pointed to the people walking past the long windows.

  “Ah, you are useless!” Jean-Luke threw Krista’s hand away from him, pushing her almost off her feet. “You have the easiest job of all of us. All you have to do is serve coffee and keep your eyes open while the rest of us sleep. Is even that too much to ask of you?” He pulled his chair close to the table and sat. “Now get us something to eat. It’s almost time for us to open up. We need food to fuel us.”

  “We are here now, so you can run down to the boulangerie and get our order.” Henri puffed on his cigarette, his eyelids half-mast because of the smoke.

  “You don’t think I thought about that already?” Krista hated the way her two eldest brothers looked at her. It made her flesh crawl. “I had young Hervé run down to the boulangerie when I saw we were running out of pastries. He said the shutters are closed and the Coutrille family are packing.”

  “What?” Philippe glared at his brothers.

  “Yes, indeed, what?” Krista bent to glare at them. “What have you and your bully boys done to the Coutrille family?” She sniffed her disgust. “I had Maurice La Flandre in here this morning before the streets were aired. He was strutting and claiming his family had taken over the boulangerie. Would you know anything about that – brothers?”

  “Hold your tongue, girl!” Henri viciously smashed his cigarette-butt into the big green ashtray on the table.

  “Too many people are holding their tongues as far as I’m concerned!” Krista said.

  Henri lit another cigarette and blew smoke in her face.

  Krista glanced at the two men entering the café. “I’ll be with you in just a moment!” She turned back to her brothers. “I have nothing to serve the customers. I hope you have something to say to our parents when they come down. The boulangerie is a vital part of the life of this village, you idiots!” She turned away to serve her two customers.

  The men bought cigarettes and left, glaring in the direction of the Dumas men.

  “More coffee!” Henri snapped his fingers in Krista’s direction.

  Philippe pushed back his chair, preparing to stand.

  “Where do you think you are going?” Jean-Luke gripped Philippe’s arm, stopping his movement.

  “Away from you two!” Philippe used the side of his hand to break his brother’s hold and practically ran from the café.

  “Leave him be!” Henri barked when it looked as if Jean-Luke would follow him. “Coffee!” He snapped his fingers again.

  “Baking is a skill it takes years to learn.” Krista poured coffee into the two large cups sitting in front of her brothers. “What will the restaurant do without the bread and cakes the Coutrille family supply? Did you even think about that?”

  It made her sick to think she was related to these two bullies. What had they done to her friend and her family?

  “Kris … Kris!” came a whisper.

  “Philippe?” Krista was polishing the marble top of the counter, wondering what was happening behind the closed door that led from the café into the auberge. She could hear the hissing of voices as her parents demanded to know what was going on. She wished she could be a part of that conversation.

  “Kris … don’t turn around …”

  She glanced over her shoulder to find him almost hidden behind the slightly open door of the stockroom that held the supplies for the café-bar-tabac. He must have come in the back way, using the stockroom door – the one she opened to allow her suppliers to carry their goods in from the street. Where had he got the key from?

  “Kris, I have no time to talk and you have no time to listen.”

  “Where have you been? The parents are furious.”

  He had been missing for hours. The restaurant was in an uproar, trying to meet the demands of their customers. The chef was roaring that he could not be expected to produce both desserts and meals. The luscious gateaux served in the dining room came from the boulangerie. She continued to pass the cloth over the counter, feeling vaguely ridiculous to be whispering over her shoulder to the almost invisible man. The café had been practically deserted today, the streets of the village almost silent. She had never seen its like.

  “Jean-Luke and Henri have joined Hitler’s supporters.” He didn’t try to hide his horror – a horror he prayed she shared. If he was wrong, he would be putting himself in grave danger. It was not safe to voice an opinion against Hitler and his bully boys in these troubled times.

  “Noooo!” Krista protested even as her stomach churned at the thought of what was happening in their village. “They couldn’t be that stupid.”

  Metz, situated as it was on the border, had seen first-hand what was happening with their German neighbours. People on the German side no longer passed the time of day with each other – instead they shoved their arms in the air and shouted Heil Hitler. It was terrifying.

  “My brothers were part of the crowd that attacked the Coutrille family,” Philippe said through gritted teeth. “I am ashamed of them.” His voice broke and it was a minute before he continued. “Kris, what they did to that family … to Mr Coutrille … to Hanna …”

  “They didn’t …” she couldn’t bear to put the terrible thought into words. Had her friend been raped?

  “No.” His voice broke again. “They
beat her up. She is covered in bruises and shaking like a leaf, but they did not …”

  “How can we be related to people who would do such a thing?”

  “Hitler will not be stopped, Kris.” Philippe ignored her question. He had no answers to give her – all he wanted was to get away. He had been creeping around the auberge like a shadow. He had learned a great deal from watching Krista steal around the place for years, trying not to attract attention to herself. He’d felt sorry for her but was grateful for those lessons today. “The man is insane and no one seems to care what he and his followers do or say. I will not be a part of a world that is ruled by that man!”

  “What will you do? Where will you go? Our parents will be lost without you.”

  “Our parents …” He closed his eyes briefly. He had almost forgotten the reason he’d stopped to speak with her. “I have written you a letter.” He reached into the pocket of his rough tweed trousers and pulled out an envelope. “I have no time to hold your hand while you read it.” He slid the missive across the floor to her.

  She bent to pick it up and shoved it into the pocket of her apron. “You must read it when you are alone,” he said, “and have time to study it and think about what I have written down. I must leave.” He had stayed longer than he meant to in order to write the letter.

  “How will you go?”

  “I am going to walk out of the village. I will hitch a ride into Belgium and make my way from there to England.”

  “England …”

  “Krista … think … this part of the world will be under Hitler’s boot before too long. I will not be here to see it.”

  “Do you have any money?” She tried not to think about the long difficult journey ahead of him. She understood why he felt he must leave. The world they lived in had become a frightening place. Since Hitler’s march into Austria earlier in the year, it was as if a dark cloud hovered over everyone.

  “Some – the parents are not generous.” He didn’t care. He would walk to the coast and beg to work his way across the sea to England if he had to.

  She shoved open the door of the storeroom and went in. She looked at the packed bag at his feet.

  “How did you get in here?” she asked.

  “I picked the lock – you’ll have to lock it again when I leave.”

  “Keep an eye out.” She removed her white apron before she dropped to her knees and crawled, using her toes and elbows to push herself under a shelving unit holding cheese, ham and general supplies. She would not normally expose one of her hiding places. She had been storing her tips in several out-of-the-way areas for years. Her parents were quick to remove any cash she might have on her person. The auberge guests sometimes tipped her in foreign currency which she kept in a hole in the floor under this unit.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I have some Belgian francs – enough for a train, I think.” She grunted as she fought to pull up a loose section of flooring. “I have English money too.” She accepted tips in all denominations. She hid them under the floorboards – saving against a rainy day. She pushed the flooring back into place before carefully crawling backwards.

  “I have wondered what you did with the generous tips I’ve seen you receive.” Philippe almost laughed. Wouldn’t his brothers love to know of this hidden cache? They had tried for years to catch her out in what they said were her thieving ways.

  “Put the Belgian francs in your right pocket and the English coins in your left.” She held two clenched fists out towards him. “I don’t know how much is there but it will help you on your travels. I hope there will be enough to take the train when you reach Belgium.”

  She waited until he took the money from her before turning her back, opening the buttons on her blouse and pulling it off. She was glad she kept a change of blouse at hand in case of an accident. She couldn’t wear a soiled white blouse without her parents questioning her.

  “Thank you, little mother.” Phillippe waited until her clean blouse was buttoned before he pulled her close and closed his eyes as he hugged her tight. Would he ever see his family again? He couldn’t think about that now. He had done all of his thinking. He had to get away. “Do not tell anyone I have gone. You know nothing. Keep my secret, little sister.” He kissed her twice on each cheek in the way of family and with a last exchange of glances he stepped towards the door leading to the outside. “Come, lock the door behind me.”

  Krista bit back a sob as she watched her favourite brother leave. She locked the door at his back. She checked her uniform, smoothed her hair and glanced around the room before stepping back into the café and pulling the door closed at her back. She took a deep breath, wondering what else this day was going to bring.

  She took a large safety pin from a drawer and pinned the envelope her brother had given her into place, not wanting it to fall out of the deep pocket of her apron. She would read the letter as soon as she was guaranteed some time alone. She wondered what was so important that Philippe had spent some of his precious time writing it down for her.

  “Krista – do you have any bread?”

  Emilie Dumas, her tightly controlled bosom leading the way, marched into the café. She was dressed all in black, her greying hair pulled back so tightly into a bun that Krista winced to see it. She did not offer her daughter a smile of greeting. She never did – all of her love and affection seemed to be reserved for her sons.

  “No, Mama.” What was the point in explaining about the boulangerie yet again? Her mother surely knew what was going on – her sons did not keep secrets from their mother. She would not allow it.

  “Go to the kitchen and get something to eat. Then go to your room. I will have Hélène keep an eye on the café.”

  “But, Mama –”

  “Do as I tell you.” Emilie was not in the mood to take cheek from anyone. Those stupid sons of hers! Had they even given a thought to the business before they attacked the Coutrille family? No. It was that simple. They followed the crowd, never thinking for themselves. And where was Philippe when she needed him? Why had she been given such a burden? Then there was this great gawk of a girl staring at her out of injured blue eyes. What was to become of her? Emilie felt very hard done by and wished she could slap some sense into the men of her family. She hadn’t time to do that. She had a business to run.

  “Mama –”

  “Krista, I have no time for theatrics – do as I tell you – get something to eat and go to your room.” She smoothed the lush fabric of her dress with lily-white hands. “I will send for you when matters have been discussed. Now away with you!” She waved her hand towards the door leading from the café into the auberge.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Chapter 3

  “Go to your room like a naughty infant!” Krista pulled open the wooden door to the outdoor laundry building with one hand while ripping at the straps that held her long apron in place with the other. She was angry and frightened – not a good mood to be in. “Well, I won’t be sent to my room.”

  She closed the door to the laundry room behind her. There were enough cracks in the door and window fittings to allow plenty of air and natural light inside. No need for extra illumination. The long building was deserted. The laundry women would be taking lunch in the room behind the kitchen set aside to allow the staff to eat in privacy. She pushed her way carefully through the rows of damp white sheets hanging from the ceiling, waiting to be ironed.

  The crackle and rattle of money in her apron pocket startled her. Goodness, she thought, in all of the fuss I forgot to leave the morning takings with Mama. She will be furious. The takings were low this morning. I suppose I’ll get blamed for that too. Still, I did sell several crates of the house wine. That should be good news for her.

  The café-bar-tabac stocked wine for the villagers to purchase. They made good profit on the house wine and sales of that seemed to please her mama.

  She removed the money from her apron along with the letter Philippe had given her
. She laid everything out carefully on top of one of the closed straw baskets. The deep baskets with leather straps were shaped like chests and were carried around the auberge to distribute fresh laundry. When she was sure she’d removed everything from the pocket she threw the apron into one of the tall wide straw baskets sitting around the floor.

  Her mother was adamant that they all keep their clothing clean. They should at all times be wearing one outfit, have one clean and one in the laundry. She seemed to chant that at least ninety times a day, or so it seemed to Krista. The demands for clean laundry for the auberge itself seemed to be never-ending. She was glad she wasn’t the one who had to stand all day over boiling copper kettles.

  She was about to shove the money and envelope into the pockets of the skirt she wore when she noticed her clean uniform hanging on a nail, ready for her to take to her room. Without thought she removed her uniform, confident she would not be disturbed – midday was after all sacred – people would be eating at this time. She wasn’t hungry. She put the clothes she removed into the appropriate baskets and quickly dressed. She put the envelope from Philippe into one of the deep pockets of her fresh skirt, pinning them in place. The money she folded into a clean white handkerchief before putting it into her skirt pocket. She pushed one of the closed baskets towards the window that overlooked the street and dropped down onto it with a sigh. She needed to think. So much in her world was changing.

  The auberge sat on a large corner lot. The café opened onto the main street and one of the side streets, rue d’Eglise, allowing easy flow for customers in both directions. The side street was convenient for deliveries. The laundry building overlooked the side street. Madame Dumas had threatened to have the window nailed shut whenever she found her staff hanging out of it, chatting with friends and neighbours. Krista was glad she hadn’t. She pushed up the bottom of the sash window, thankful for the fresh air that blew inside.