Books By Bigelow

That evening, after Katie cleared the table and straightened the kitchen, she finally sat down beside the old woman on the sofa. She announced quietly, “Grandmother, I’ve given it very careful consideration.”
    “And?”
    “And I can’t do what you say that you want me to.”
    “Katie, you must leave!” Her grandmother's tone implored her to listen, her expression becoming increasingly distressed.
    Sitting her straightest and tallest, Katie placed her hand on the thin shoulder. “I’m not leaving, Grandmother; my place is here. I want to be here, and I will stay right here, with you.”
    “I cannot allow this,” the old woman cried. “I will not be responsible for keeping you here.”
    “Grandmother,” she laid her other hand on the woman's other shoulder and looked into the brown eyes. “You can’t make that decision for me. It’s my life and my decision to make.”
    “It is a mistake! You are too young to make such a choice for yourself.”
    Katie smiled sadly. “But I’ve lived a lot in these few years, Grandmother, and I’ve had to make a lot of serious decisions in the past twelve months or so. This is just the latest in a long line. Now, please, let’s not talk about me leaving anymore.”
    The old woman regarded her intently, finally shook her head in defeat and warned, “I hope that you will not regret later what you choose now, child.”

     They did not discuss it again until the black day they received the dreaded news. Soldiers of the Third Reich would next occupy Bellemontaigne. Jeanne Cadieux was sick with fear—not for herself, but for Katie. She lived in the hope that being an insignificant village of no known strategic importance, Bellemontaigne might somehow escape the scourge of occupation by the invasion forces.When that hope died, she considered divulging the reason for the villagers' obvious antipathy toward her. She finally decided that it would not help anything and might only add to the girl's fright. No, she would keep the story to herself. There was no need to involve Katie more than she was by her mere presence in the house. Memories were so long in such cases, but someday they would forget; it would no longer matter to the later generations. One day it would no longer affect Katie as it had since her arrival.
     With the German advance into the village, Katie and her grandmother stayed inside, behind a locked door. Katie stood motionless and watched through the fragile shield of a lace panel, overtaken by revulsion and horror as troop trucks and equipment rumbled through the undefended streets.
Jeanne Cadieux observed Katie’s expression as it blossomed into unspeakable fear. Her heart twisted painfully with pangs of guilt and remorse. She should have found a way to compel Katie to return to America. She should have tried harder, should have said or done anything necessary to drive the child away and spare her from this.
    The day was cloudy and overcast. A dismal gray sky mirrored the emotion that pervaded the village, seeped through each hedge, into each house, and chilled the blood that coursed through the veins of several hundred inhabitants. Although they remained in the house, Katie could hear faint music, a march that she assumed came from the village square. She detected the muffled sound of vehicles and far-off voices. Airplanes flew low overhead in an ominous display of force and made the old house shudder.
    “If only you had listened—” the old woman cried, with anguish in her face and voice.
    Katie approached her with a small, bittersweet smile. She placed both arms around the thin frame and spoke quietly. “My choice, remember?” The old woman bowed her head, shaking it. It served no point to say anything more.
   
   The Kommandant informed the congregated villagers that they must house the higher-ranking officers in private homes. One aged woman who stood among the jaded throng formed a plan while listening to Capt. Johann Brinker. He demanded to know which houses were best suited. She spoke up immediately, calling, “Old Jeanne Cadieux, she has a good house with plenty of room.” The woman hoped to be spared and reasoned that Jeanne Cadieux deserved to have the Nazis in her house—she did not.
   The SS Kommandant listened as the woman directed them to the Cadieux home. When he instructed an officer to inspect the address and if it were suitable to take it, the old woman suffered only the faintest twinge of conscience. Perhaps the young American girl did not deserve, after all, to have the Nazis in her house. Oh well, rationalized the woman, “the sins of the fathers--" and stifled her conscience.
    The Kommandant made a mental note of the informant. The woman obviously must not be trusted; however, she could possibly be useful at some point in the future.