Memories of You

Chapter Thirty-One - Baker's Dozen

Thank you everyone for your reads, likes, PMs, follows, and comments. I love hearing that everyone is enjoying the story so far. Hope everyone had a great New Year and hope that this year is better than last.

I can't thank Depecher and BarbaraK2U so so so much. You guys are beyond amazing and I can't thank enough for making sure everything is perfect.

Tris' POV

Sneaking through several combat zones in France was truly terrifying. I constantly recited my cover story in my head just to keep myself from panicking. The story is that my mother and father were killed in the bombing of Orléans earlier this year, and my aunt and uncle agreed to take me in once the authorities were able to contact them. While awaiting their reply, I spent three months in an orphanage, since I'm supposed to be only fifteen years old. My aunt and uncle have a young daughter whom I've only met once; she was just an infant at the time. Their home was recently freed from the German forces, but it sits dangerously close to the front and could be retaken.

I continued to silently recite this story to myself as my guard and guide helped us get through to the rendezvous point. It was incredibly scary having to wait or run under the cover of darkness while bombs and guns were going off in the distance, and scarier still wondering if one of us was going to be killed before morning.

We spent nearly three weeks traversing the shattered countryside of France, backtracking when the roads appeared dangerous or being forced to hunker down while gunfire was exchanged close by. I kept thinking of all the times when I was young and thought about how much I wanted to see the world, and I nearly laughed at the absurdity of my childhood dreams. Huddled in a French Resistance fighter's barn, listening to guns and bombs going off down the road, wasn't exactly the kind of world travel I'd had in mind all those years ago.

When we finally reached our destination, we had to wait there three days before I could finally be introduced to a man named Lucien Gagnon, who would be posing as my uncle. He's tall with dark hair and grey eyes, has the strong arms of a baker, and seems to have a good nature about him despite the darkness that surrounds us.

Once everything was loaded into his truck, including several weeks' worth of supplies, I settled into the front of the cab, nearly dropping from exhaustion. I so badly wanted to sleep, but knew I needed to pay attention to the route just in case something happened and I needed to flee.

While we had been able to rest during the three days we spent waiting in the wooded area, I constantly felt on high alert and hardly ever slept. I worried that I wouldn't be woken in time for my rendezvous, or that my contact would show up early and I would miss meeting up with him; I was even afraid that I would be left for dead in the woods without a second thought. My lack of sleep allowed my imagination to run wild with all kinds of improbable scenarios.

When we finally arrived in Lucien's small town in the late afternoon, I just wanted a shower and a bed. A large part of me didn't care who my "aunt" was or about all the courtesies I needed to extend to this woman for allowing me to stay with her and Lucien. However, I knew it was necessary for me to introduce myself and keep all American interactions with the French as pleasant as possible. These people may have to protect me someday, and I wouldn't want them hesitating or second-guessing over whether they should save me just because I was so foolish as to be rude to them on the very first day.

Lucien begins unloading his truck, grabbing a huge sack of flour and hoisting it onto his shoulder as if it weighed only a few pounds. I grab my small valise and then grab the first thing I can reach in the cab of the truck, which turns out to be a large bag of carrots.