A Troubled Peace by L. M. Elliott Read Free Book Online

that poor Billy was dead. His family could use a few good words about him whenever, maybe even more so after the war ended and American boys who had survived came home in droves.
    Henry’s hands began to shake. Would Billy’s family believe him when he told them how hard he’d tried to bring Billy home? Should he have done more? Instantly, he was on the storm-wracked mountaintop, struggling to drag a bleeding Billy away from the German patrol.
    â€œHurry, Billy, they’re coming!”
    â€œHeir entlang!” Rat-tat-tat-tat .
    â€œI’m hit, Hank. Oh, God. Hank, help me!”
    â€œI’ll pull you, Billy. Hang on to me.”
    â€œHeir entlang!”
    â€œLet go of me, Hank. Leave me. I’m dying.”
    â€œNo. We’re both going home, Billy. I can carry you. Put your arm around my neck.”
    â€œHank, go on. You can’t help me now. Get home to that pretty girl of yours.”
    Remembering the sight of Billy’s brown eyes going glassy, Henry covered his face and whispered, “She doesn’t want me, Billy. Maybe you should have lived instead of me.”
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    â€œPardon, monsieur?”
    Henry snapped back to the train. He cleared his throat, coughed, and waved his hand as if he had simply choked on something. He tried to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible and focused on the French dialogue around him to keep his mind clear of memories.
    His understanding of the language was improved a bit from having spent so many months last year with the maquis . But it was still pretty bare-boned. As before, Henry caught a few words here, a phrase there. It was like working a cryptogram or trying to find the hidden meaning inan acrostic poem. At least this time, he wasn’t having to assess whether the person in front of him was going to save him or sell him. What a nightmare it had been last year to catch the words Allemand for German, soldat for soldier, frontière for border, and argent for money and wonder whether the speaker planned to gather money to bribe German soldiers to get Henry across the border safely, or to lure Henry to the border and turn him over for a good price to the Nazis waiting there. That was precisely what happened to him in the Pyrenees, and what had happened to Billy.
    Henry shuddered. This trip was already bringing back all sorts of things he had managed to bury. If anything, the flashbacks were becoming more frequent. Maybe exposing himself to all this wasn’t such a great idea after all.
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    One of the train travelers clutched a long baguette. His friend asked how much the bread had cost. The answer made the questioner curse and speculate that pretty soon he’d have to sell his house to feed his family.
    â€œAu moins t’as toujours ta maison, mon ami.”
    The man nodded. “Oui, c’est vrai.” At least his house, unlike his friend’s, was still standing.
    â€œLes américains donnent des oranges aux prisonniers allemands.”
    â€œDes oranges!” Grimly, the man joked that for one ofthe oranges the American army was feeding the German POWs he would give up not only his house but also his entire village. His son’s muscles ached, and he was weak, his teeth were loose. He worried about scurvy. His son needed oranges to prevent the disease—more than a Nazi murderer.
    It took a moment for Henry to piece together what the men were saying. When he translated why they resented American troops feeding German POWs well, Henry felt his face burn with embarrassment. He turned to the window to avoid being recognized as an American. What a tragedy, he thought, that the United States treating POWs decently would make the French bitter. But far worse was the fact French children were suffering so from lack of food. Hunger was clearly the next enemy facing U.S. troops.
    Henry kept his gaze out the window as the train ran along the wide, wild currents of the Rhône. It passed a dozen