The Girl in the Blue Beret - Bobbie Ann Mason [43]
“I traveled to Paris three times in two weeks to deliver these maps. They were taken to fields where couriers in small planes from England came for them. This was very gratifying to me. All of it was for bombing by your bombardiers!”
“Pierre was very brave,” said Gisèle. Pierre squeezed her hand.
“After Paris, I went into combat again with the Chauny organization, and our task was to prevent the boches from crossing the bridges. After setting the charges, I intended to reassemble my group, who had the weapons we had distributed. But when I set out alone on the Soissons road, I found myself facing maybe a hundred enemy soldiers! I was—how is it said?—shaking in my boots, but I did not reveal this. The lieutenant was only ten meters away. He called to me, and he lifted his rifle and aimed at me. ‘Raus!’ he said. Mon Dieu! But then someone interrupted him and he forgot about me. More and more the boches were disorganized. And so my life was spared!” Pierre smiled broadly.
“You were a lucky man!” said Marshall.
“I returned with my men to town, but we could do nothing there, for we were watched. Then two hours later the bridges blew up, and in the confusion we managed to get our weapons out of hiding—just in time to see the avant-garde libérateurs of Patton’s army! The rest of our work was to guide their way through town and to do away with the isolated boche, and to watch the roads to let our Allies make their triumphal advance toward Belgium.”
Marshall listened intently, “the isolated boche” echoing in his mind. “I want to say something,” he said, lifting his glass. He paused, trying to find words, knowing they were inadequate. “Thank you, Gisèle, for providing so well for me. Thanks to your son, too, for helping me with my French. Thank you, Pierre, all of you, for risking your lives. I propose a toast to you, my second family. Merci beaucoup.”
Marshall was amazed at himself. He had never offered a toast in his life until this moment. He felt warm from the wine, strangely happy, and slightly askew.
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, Nicolas returned, bringing his wife.
“Angeline wished to meet you, Marshall, so I went home and retrieved her,” he said. Angeline spontaneously gave Marshall a two-cheek kiss. She was sturdy and neat, with a fluffy blue scarf arranged over her blouse.
Pierre leaned toward Marshall. “My son and his wife have no son. I do not have grandsons to carry my name, but perhaps there is no need.” He lifted his glass. “Again, to your Albert.”
Angeline brushed her hand against Nicolas’s shoulder. “Don’t forget, Nicolas,” she said.
“Ah oui.” Nicolas opened a large shopping bag he had brought. “Do you recall, Marshall, that you gave your aviateur jacket to me?”
“Yes. I was afraid to keep it.” The Alberts had supplied him with warm civilian garments, and Marshall, who was fond of Nicolas, had given him the flying jacket.
Nicolas pulled the Bugs Bunny jacket from the bag. “Voilà!”
Speechless, Marshall held his old flying jacket. He caressed the worn leather and ran his hand inside the pockets.
“I wanted to preserve it for you if you ever came back,” Nicolas said.
“Nicolas displayed this jacket when we first met,” Angeline said, smiling. “He was very proud of it!”
“I was the envy of all my classmates after the war concluded and we could spill our secrets.”
The leather was cracked now. Bugs Bunny still looked sarcastic, his foot on the bomb and the carrot dangling from his hand. “Eh, what’s up, Doc?” Marshall said in the best Bugs voice he could manage, and everyone laughed.
AFTER GISÈLE HAD SEATED everyone in the small, overfurnished front room, Pierre said to Marshall, “Nicolas can help you find some of those persons who helped to shelter you before you arrived to us.”
Marshall had told Pierre and Gisèle about some of the nameless people he remembered, and now he told about the family in Paris who had hidden