The Life That I Have

Chapter 34

The all-clear sounded just as the cries of a newborn baby rang through the small room. Anya sobbed with relief as the elderly nun handed her the small, wailing bundle.

  "A little girl," the nun said, smiling.

  Anya looked lovingly down at the little face, sleeping now.

  "Have you any ideas of a name?"

  "Umm... I think Harlean. It was Jean Harlow's real name," Anya said, half laughing, half crying. How she wanted Rudi to be there at that moment.

  "Would you like me to telephone anyone? Any family?"

  Anya thought for a moment. She had promised Mary and Constance, Alexander's wife and daughter, that she would let them know when the baby was born.

  "What time is it?" She asked.

  The nun looked at the clock on the mantelpiece.

  "Just after eight o'clock."

  "Then, please can you ring a Mrs Cooper and tell her. The number is on the dresser."

  The nun smiled and left the room for the telephone, which was down the hall.

  Anya held Harlean close to her. If only the war would end.

Constance looked around the office nervously.  The queue had gotten smaller, and soon it would be her turn.

  She felt uncomfortable in her brother's clothes. Her dead brother's clothes... She had pulled her long brown hair into a bun and concealed it under a cap. She shuddered. But she was doing this for him, and her father. She would show those Nazis. By the end of the war she would be an RAF hero. Then she would tell everyone that she was a girl.

  "Go on."

  Constance snapped back to earth and stepped forward.

  "Name?"

  "Roger Franklyn," she said without faltering.

  "Age?"

  "Twenty."

  The soldier looked up.

  "I'm sorry lad, we can't take you."

  Constance started.

  "Why not?"

  "For one thing, you're too young. You're the youngest twenty year old I've ever seen." He paused and raised his eyebrows. "You know the other."

  He watched amused as Constance began to get desperate.

  "Please!" she begged.

  He grinned.

  "Sorry. Go on home to your Ma, lass."

  "No! No, no, no, no, no! No!' Constance shouted, angered by the man's amusement.

  He only chuckled at her outburst.

  "Go on home, lass."

  Constance stormed out of the town hall, tearing off the cap and letting all her hair tumble around her shoulders.

  She leaned against the outer brick wall of the town hall. It was not like Constance to cry, but at that moment a small tear was trickling down her cheek.

  A moment later, a soldier who had witnessed the whole scene came over to her.

  "You were really brave in there," he said. "It was a good try." Constance ignored him. "Why don't you try joining the WAAF or the ATS if you want to do your bit?"

  She looked up, anger flaming in her eyes.

  "And not even be able to fire a gun? I know what it's like there. I'm neither a coward nor a fool."

  "Look, you wouldn't want to go out there. You can't imagine what it's like out there."

  "Oh– because I'm a woman?" Constance said icily. "I know what happens out there. My father crash-landed in France, and no-one knows where he is, and could be dead for all I know! My brother was killed at Dunkirk. He was nineteen. And now I'm told I can't get my revenge because I'm a girl."

  "But being in the ATS or WAAF is better than nothing," the soldier said.

  "But I'm not even old enough to join those!" Constance wailed.

  "Change the date on your papers! That's what my sister did! Come on, I'll help you!"

Jean-Marc watched as the Maquis filed into the hall, proudly. He almost felt as though this was what he was born for. At last he was doing something worthwhile.

  "My friends of the Maquis," he began his speech. "In this time, we have done so much to help France dispose of that nuisance called the Nazis. And we have done so much–"

  A gunshot rang through the hall. Someone screamed as Jean-Marc gasped, and fell heavily to the ground.

  Denise ignored all the confusion and ran up to where Jean-Marc had been standing. Dominique was already crouching beside him. Denise didn't need to try his pulse– but she did anyway. She shook her head.

  Laurent, who had been helping the others restrain the gunman took off his cap solemnly. People turned from the gunman to the crumpled heap that had been Jean-Marc.

  Their leader was dead.

  The gunman was taken out and shot.

  Gilles watched, his arm in a sling, grimly as Jean-Marc was carried out. Marilyne came over and stood beside him.

  "What happens now?" she asked quietly.

  "This might be the end of the Maquis," he replied.

  "What? Why?"

   "How do you suppose we are going to select a new leader? Think about it?"

  Marilyne was silent for a minute.

  "I'm sorry about your arm," she said at last.

  "It's alright."

  She suddenly began to cry.

  "No, no it isn't. I was going to kill you! Don't you realize that?"

  "You wouldn't have killed me. You're too bad a shot."

  Marilyne gave a small laugh, but Gilles remained serious.

  "I wouldn't be surprised if this destroys us," he repeated.