The Beekeeper's Promise (Page 41)

The soldiers mounting guard moved the group towards the truck. They dropped the tailgate and lifted the children in first, leaving the adults to scramble up as best they could. Eliane recognised the two little boys who’d offered her the fish in exchange for a jar of honey for their mother’s birthday. A thin, careworn woman who seemed to be the boys’ mother was there, too, as well as the baker and his wife, Monsieur and Madame Fournier. Monsieur Fournier was so crippled by his arthritis these days that it took the efforts of both of the guards to heave him on to the back of the lorry.

No one spoke as they sat on the slatted wooden benches that ran along each side of the truck, but Eliane reached for Blanche and held her tight on her lap before smiling reassuringly at the two boys.

The guards tied the canvas in place over the back of the truck, shutting them in, and then the engine turned over and they pulled away.

Under cover of the sound of the vehicle, Eliane spoke to the children, keeping her voice as calm and cheerful as she could.

‘Does anyone know where we’re going? No? Well, I can tell you, we’ve been chosen to go on a big adventure. We’re going to travel on a train, but on a special car right at the front.’

‘In front of the engine, even?’ asked the elder of the two brothers.

She nodded. ‘In front of the engine. It will be cold and noisy, I’m sure, but exciting too because most people don’t ever get the opportunity to travel on that special car. It won’t be scary, because all of us grown-ups will be there with you.’ She glanced around at the rest of the group, whose faces were pale with fear in the gloom, and smiled at them, encouraging them to follow her lead.

Madame Fournier, who sat holding her husband’s hand, took her cue from Eliane. ‘That’s right, we’ll stick together. It’ll be a bit like going on a ride at the funfair – or like the rollercoaster in Paris. Have you seen pictures of that?’

Monsieur Fournier chuckled. ‘Oh là-là, everyone in Coulliac will be so jealous that we got picked to go on this adventure and they didn’t!’

The others nodded, summoning up watery smiles for the sake of the children.

The younger of the two brothers reached for his mother’s hand. ‘Don’t be afraid, Maman. Even if the sound of the train is very loud, we’ll be there to look after you.’

The woman surreptitiously wiped away a tear with the frayed cuff of her coat and bent to kiss the top of his head. ‘With both my brave sons by my side, how could I ever be scared?’

The truck jolted and swayed. Monsieur Fournier managed to ease the canvas cover apart just a little. ‘Looks like we’re on the road to Bergerac,’ he said.

Eventually, after slowing and swaying as it navigated the narrow streets of the town, the lorry stopped. The soldiers pulled back the canvas and let down the tailgate to allow the group to clamber down. One of the guards stood with them, his gun at the ready to prevent anyone trying to make a run for it, and the other disappeared into the station building.

A few local people hurried past, casting surreptitious glances at the huddled group of women, children and a stooped old man, wondering what crime – real, imagined or fabricated – had resulted in their being assembled in front of Bergerac station at this time on the eve of la Toussaint. Fear and guilt, in equal measure, accompanied the locals back to their homes, where, just as the people of Coulliac had done, they too bolted their doors and closed their shutters: here, they’d already witnessed too many deportations, too many people being herded like animals into trains of cattle cars, too much fear and despair.

The guards shepherded the group through the doorway and out on to the platform beyond. As they waited, the cold edge of the wind cut like a knife through their inadequate coats and jackets and they shivered with a mixture of chill and fear. Eliane took the paper-wrapped parcel of sandwiches from her pocket and shared them round, making sure everyone had a scrap or two.

‘Give my share to the children,’ Madame Fournier demurred.

Eliane shook her head, insisting. ‘Non, madame. Please eat. It’s little enough, but we are all going to need strength for this journey.’ She turned to the children, trying to distract them from the cold and the nervous anticipation that was now mounting as they stood waiting for the train. ‘Do any of you know how my bees made this honey for our sandwiches?’

The younger of the two brothers put up his hand, as if answering a question in class at school. ‘They ate it from the flowers and then they pooed it into the honeycomb.’

‘Eugh! That doesn’t sound very appetising.’ His mother looked askance at her crust of bread.

Eliane laughed. ‘Almost right, but not exactly. They do collect nectar from flowers by sucking it up with their tongues; but they store it in a special stomach called their honey-stomach, which is separate from the one they use for digesting food. When they have a stomach-full they fly back to the hive. Then they pass the runny nectar, using their tongues, from one bee to the next and they all chew it to make it into sticky honey. It’s food for all the bees in the hive really, but luckily they are very generous and they make extra honey, which we can collect and spread on our bread.’

‘Sounds like they’re really good at working together,’ said Madame Fournier.

‘They are. Just as we will be on the train. One bee on its own isn’t very strong, but when they stick together and become a community they are strong enough to survive the harshest winter and a fearsome enough force to scare away the most determined predators.’

Just then, borne on the wind that blustered along the tracks, they heard the distant rumble of the approaching train. Eliane picked Blanche up and held her tight. ‘Ready for our big adventure, ma princesse?’ Blanche smiled and nodded, but Eliane could feel the little girl’s body shivering with a mixture of cold and fear.

A sudden image of Mathieu’s face flashed into Eliane’s mind. Was he out there, somewhere, protecting the railway? Had he watched this very train go past and been satisfied that he was doing his job well, seeing another transport safely through, little knowing that he was sending it onwards to where she and Blanche waited? Would he have cared if he’d known who the shivering, helpless passengers were who were about to embark on this terrifying journey?

Bile rose in her throat at the thought. And yet, she found herself wishing that he was there; longing for his reassuring touch, his strong, silent presence that would keep them all safe. She shook her head, trying to clear it of these confusing feelings. Focus, she told herself. Mathieu can’t help you now. You’ve got to stay strong and get through this.

As the train pulled alongside the platform, armed soldiers appeared from the station buildings, stubbing out cigarettes and pulling on greatcoats. Instinctively, the group of civilians huddled a little closer together. They watched in silence as the train pulled up to the platform and then, from a siding, an open flatcar was manoeuvred into position in front of the engine. A handrail had been added to the front of the car, but it was otherwise open-sided.

‘Allez-y!’ One of the soldiers gestured with his rifle that they should climb up the ramp that had been positioned beside the car. ‘And don’t even think about trying to jump off. I’ll be travelling with the driver and I have orders to shoot anyone who tries to escape.’

‘Let’s organise ourselves a bit,’ said Madame Fournier. ‘If some of the larger adults stand with their backs against the handrail and we put the children on the inside that will shield them from the worst of the wind.’ She reversed so that her ample behind was wedged against the rail and her husband came to stand beside her, taking the hands of the two little boys to steady them on the ride.

Eliane stood in the centre at the front, her back to the tracks that stretched ahead of the train through the hills and the woods and across the wide bridges spanning the rivers between them and Bordeaux, some two hours distant. She held Blanche tight and wrapped the sides of her coat around the little girl to protect her from the chill of the wind and try to make her feel a little safer. In the gathering dusk, the scarlet headscarf stood out like a lantern on the prow of a ship.

With a slamming of carriage doors the soldiers boarded the train, and then the sound of the idling engine began to grow louder and more purposeful. With a hiss, the brakes were released and then, with slow menace, the train began to move.

‘Hold on tight,’ Madame Fournier called to the children. ‘Courage, mes enfants! Our adventure begins!’

Gustave drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as he sat in the queue at a roadblock on the bridge at Port Sainte-Foy. It appeared to be no more than a routine delay – the soldiers were simply checking papers and then waving people across – but some drivers seemed to take an inordinate length of time to locate their paperwork. Gustave ground his teeth and muttered, ‘Come on; you’ve had ten minutes sitting here to get everything ready.’ His own papers were on the passenger seat, waiting to be presented.

When his turn came, the soldier scrutinised the documents and gave Gustave a long, hard look. ‘Reason for your journey at this time of day?’ he barked.

‘Final delivery of flour to the bakers over there. They’ve run out and need some urgently for la Toussaint tomorrow.’ The soldier checked the back of the truck and, finding only a couple of sacks of flour, nodded abruptly and waved him across.