Authors: Gilbert Morris
As the train moved along, there was an air of relaxation in the compartment. Outside there were men dying in battle and farmhouses being blown up—all sorts of terrible things—but for this moment, at this time, all was well.
“You know,” Tyler said, “I have a friend who used to say no matter how bad things were, he was all right today. I like that philosophy. Right now we’ve got something to eat. We’re safe on this train. I’m not going to worry about tomorrow.”
“That’s what Jesus said. ‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself,’“ Jolie said.
“Who is Jesus?” Yolande asked as she stood up and planted herself in front of Jolie. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“Yes, He is a friend of mine, but not like you think.”
“Why not? I know what a friend is,” Yolande said. “You’re my friend.”
“My people have been hurt by Christians,” Rochelle put in.
“That’s true,” Jolie said carefully. “Terrible things have been done in the name of religion, but Jesus wasn’t responsible for that. He said we were to love our enemies.”
“Even the Germans?” Damien asked with astonishment.
“That’s what He said. And, of course, He loved everybody.”
“Where is He,” Yolande asked, “this Jesus friend of yours?”
Jolie felt a strange compulsion. She knew the two older children had come in contact with the gospel at the orphanage, but Yolande had no concept of what it all meant. Jolie told the children about Jesus’ purpose in coming to earth as a baby and explained how He grew into a good man who loved everyone.
Rochelle readjusted the baby in her lap as Marie stretched. “Once a man who came to the orphanage said that Jesus was like the lambs that the Hebrew forefathers killed at Passover. I never understood that, mademoiselle.”
“I remember that passage.” Jolie rummaged through her bag until she found her Bible and then flipped through the pages. “Here it is. ‘Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.’ It’s John one, verse twenty-nine.”
“But I still don’t understand what that means—the Lamb of God,” Rochelle said.
“Well, the people of those days knew that when someone sinned, he had to sacrifice an animal—like a pigeon, a goat, or a lamb—to pay for the sin, to have the sin washed away. You’ve probably read about sacrifices in the Torah, Rochelle.”
“Yes, I remember Papa reading to us about that.”
“And all through the history of your people, one of the things they did for Passover was to kill a lamb, and to them it meant that God was looking out for them. I don’t suppose they understood it, but they did it.”
“I remember it said they took the blood of the lamb,”
Rochelle said, cuddling Marie closer, “and put it over the doors of their houses. When the angel of death came, he would pass over and not kill them. That’s why they call it the Passover.”
“That’s right. So when John the Baptist saw Jesus, he said, ‘Behold the Lamb of God.’ What he was saying is that God sent Jesus to shed His blood so that we wouldn’t have to die. Every lamb that was ever killed by your people, Rochelle, was pointing forward to the time when the blood of one man would be shed for all the world. And that man was Jesus.”
Tyler was listening attentively as Jolie continued to talk about Jesus, although he was trying to appear uninterested. Tyler knew everything she was saying was true. Growing up with missionary parents, he had heard the gospel presented in many different ways. He had fully embraced his faith as a child, but somewhere along the way he had focused on having fun above all else. Even now, he knew he was missing out on that connection he had once had with his Lord.
Jesus,
he prayed, for the first time in years,
can you forgive me? Have I strayed too far?
The train began to slow down, and Tyler said, “It looks like we’re going to stop here. I wonder what town this is.”
“There’s a sign,” Damien said. “It says La Charité.”
“There doesn’t seem to be anybody waiting to get on,” Jolie said as the train came to a stop.
Soon a man in uniform came through the car, announcing, “End of the line. This train will go no farther.”
“Not again! It’s supposed to go to Paris,” Jolie cried out.
“I’m sorry, mademoiselle. There is no way we can go any farther.”
“But we must get to the coast.”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry. I cannot say more.”
“Well, this is another mess,” Tyler said angrily. “But there’s no sense in staying here. Come along.” He stood and gathered the suitcases.
“Let me carry the baby.” Jolie took Marie, who had been sleeping but now awoke and began to cry.
When they were all situated on the platform, Damien asked, “We’re not going to stay here, are we, Monsieur Winslow?”
“No, we need to continue on our way, but I’m not sure how. Jolie, why don’t you give the baby a bottle while I go check the schedule, and then we’ll know better what we’re up against.”
He returned moments later. “There’s no assurance that another train will come, I’m afraid, but the man said we can catch a bus that will get us to St. Malo.”
“St. Malo? I hadn’t thought of going that far west.” She thought for a moment. “But it actually might work better than Le Havre, because it’s so close to the Channel Islands.”
“Which might make it easier for a small boat to get across the Channel,” Tyler supplied, “if it had a place to refuel and rest.”
“Right.” Jolie nodded. “Where do we catch the bus?”
“It stops at a shop in the middle of town. He told me how to get there.”
With Tyler carrying the two suitcases, Rochelle carrying the baby, and Yolande alternating between riding on Jolie’s back and walking, they finally made it to the store. Tyler went inside and asked the proprietor when the bus would be coming.
“Should be here in an hour if it comes.”
“Aren’t they running regularly?”
The man gave him a sour look. “Is anything running regularly these days?”
Tyler shrugged.
“Do you want tickets?”
“Yes. Two adults and three children. Three children plus a baby, that is.”
Tyler paid for the tickets and went back outside. “It’ll be about an hour, he says. Let’s hope the bus service is working better than the trains.”
Fortunately, in less than an hour, a rather ancient-looking bus pulled up to the curb.
“Look at all those people,” Yolande exclaimed.
“You and the children get on,” Tyler told Jolie, “and I’ll take care of the luggage.” The driver helped Tyler tie the suitcases on top of the bus along with the luggage that was already up there, and then he got on the bus. The four children, the baby now asleep in Rochelle’s lap, were squeezed into a seat built for two, and Jolie was standing in the aisle.
“Well, it beats walking,” Tyler said as he stood next to Jolie.
The bus pulled out with a groan and a clash of gears, and Tyler muttered, “I hope this wreck can make it to St. Malo.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
An Ancient Bus
The bus was a hot box filled with irritable people. Everyone was agitated and upset, and some of them had brought some of their luggage with them, including enormous packages.
From time to time the bus would stop and let off one or two people, and after the second stop, both Jolie and Tyler found seats. The bus kicked up swirls of dust as the heavy vehicle plowed on. The road was lined with vehicles of every kind imaginable, all headed in the same direction. Old battered cars that Americans would have retired years before, trucks of various sizes, and all sorts of carts pulled by horses or donkeys traveled the same road. Traffic wasn’t limited to vehicles, however. The bus passed a number of people traveling on foot, some pushing carts or baby carriages piled high with assorted belongings. It seemed as though the whole countryside was in flight.
They passed through a town without stopping, and ten minutes later the bus driver surrendered to the pleas and demands of many passengers who needed a rest stop. When the bus pulled over to the side, everyone immediately started filing off.
The area was thick with trees and bushes on both sides. By some unspoken arrangement, the women went off into the bushes on the right side of the road while the men went on the left.
Ten minutes later Tyler was walking back and forth to
stretch his legs. He walked over to the bus driver and asked, “What’s the next town?”
“It’s a little village called Briare, but we won’t stop there.”
Even as the bus driver spoke, they heard the drone of distant planes in the sky. Looking up, Tyler saw three dots in the sky. At once he ran to Rochelle, grabbed the baby, and yelled, “Quick, get back into the trees!”
“What is it?” Jolie asked as she grabbed Yolande’s hand and followed him.
“Planes. I don’t know if they’re ours or theirs.”
Although a few of the other passengers on the bus followed his lead, most of them just looked at him quizzically. “Come on. Run!” He herded the children along and soon they were in the shelter of the towering trees. They lay under a huge tree, huddled close together, arms over their heads.
Noise from the aircraft grew louder. Suddenly a crackle filled the air, and dust swirled up in tiny dots along the road. He heard the sound of metal on metal as bullets struck the bus, and an old man screamed and fell to the ground.
“Enemy planes! Get out of the road!” Tyler yelled, but it was too late for some. The second plane followed the first, and small objects fell toward the earth. The first bomb struck about fifty yards from the bus, but the next one came in closer. A third fell on the far side of the road, and a number of people were caught in the explosion. The third plane dropped no bombs but strafed the area with machine-gun fire. Tyler looked up through the trees and caught a glimpse of the pilot, who was laughing as he shot over the bus.
As the planes left the area, Tyler handed the baby back to Rochelle and moved out onto the road so he could see what was happening. Jolie followed him, telling him she was going to see what she could do for anybody who was wounded. People were running in every direction as the machine-gun fire caught people who hadn’t reacted quickly enough. He heard another bomb explode, and then the planes disappeared from sight.
“They’re gone,” he said with relief, but then he looked over and saw the bus driver, who had taken cover in the trees but now was staring at the bus.
“Looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?” he said as he got closer and saw that water was pouring out of the engine.
“It’s all ruined. Look.” The man waved his hand helplessly. “The radiator, it’s gone.”
“What’ll we do now?”
“We will walk. Briare is that way, maybe five kilometers.”
****
The sun was going down by the time the small group reached Briare. Jolie had done what she could to help the wounded. Miraculously only one person was killed. A number of people had minor injuries, and one young man had taken a bullet in the leg, which Jolie had treated as well as she could. The man had managed to limp into town with the aid of a strong man on each side.
The town was full of survivors, many of whom looked dazed and disconcerted, and there was an air of uncertainty about the whole town. “Wait here,” Tyler told Jolie, “and I’ll go see if I can find us a place to stay.”
Tyler soon discovered Briare was only a small village and had no hotel at all. He was getting desperate to find someplace to stay when a woman overheard him.
“You can stay at our place,” she offered. “It’s about a kilometer outside of town.”
“Merci beaucoup, madame. That is awfully kind of you.”
“Our wagon is parked just down the street. Is your family nearby?”
“Well, madame, they’re not really my family, and they’re not far at all.” He sketchily explained the circumstances, and the woman stared at him.
“That is a strange situation. And you are going home to England?”
“No, actually, I’m an American.”
“That is even stranger. Come, we must hurry, and later, when we get you settled, you can help me better understand your story.”
****
Pierre Duvivier was a soft-spoken man who received them with kindness. When he listened to his wife’s explanation, he motioned toward the radio and said, “Our leaders have surrendered.”
Both Tyler and Jolie stared at him. “Surrendered? So soon?” Jolie whispered.
“Yes. It just came over the radio.”
The news seemed to take the heart out of Jolie, and Tyler saw it at once. He said nothing but sat down and talked with Pierre Duvivier as the women got the children settled for the night.
Finally Madame Duvivier emerged from the bedroom. “These are not your children, you say?” She sat down across from her husband and Jolie at the rough table in the kitchen. It was warm and outside the crickets were beginning to sing. It seemed very quiet and peaceful, but Tyler could not forget the bullets striking and the bombs falling.
“No, the three older ones are orphans that were at the orphanage I worked at in Ambert.” She went on to explain how the baby was added to the mix.
“And you, monsieur, what are you doing in our country?” she asked Tyler.
“Believe it or not, I came to learn how to paint. I would like to be an artist. But . . . well, I got caught up in this war.”
“And you will take these children to England?”
“Or to America. I’ll find a place for them,” he said, “even if I have to take them to Africa.”
“ To Africa! Why would you take them there?” Pierre asked with surprise.
“My parents are there, and I have other relatives there as
well. They are all missionaries. If nothing else works, I’ll take the children there.”
The Duviviers were obviously puzzled by the whole situation. Pierre shook his head. “I cannot help much, but I can tell you one thing. There will be no more buses. The drivers will be afraid to travel.”
“Then we’ll have to walk,” Jolie said tightly.
“No, no, no, you cannot walk all the way to the coast. I have an extra wagon. It is old but sound, and I have an extra horse. You will take them and go with these children.”
“That’s so kind of you,” Jolie said with relief. “We will gladly pay you for their use.”