Odette's Secrets Read Online Free PDF Page B

and go to my mother’s bed.
    I collapse onto her rumpled sheets,
    soak in her smell.
    Then I see the photograph of my father.
    I can’t take Charlotte, but Papa can go in my schoolbag.
    I take out my blue sweater
    and wrap it around his photograph.
    â€œThere!” I whisper to Charlotte.
    I shove the sweater inside my schoolbag and buckle it.
    â€œNow I’m ready to go.”
    I sit Charlotte down on my pillow and smooth her hair.
    â€œYou must be brave,
chérie.
    It’s only for a little while.”
    I kiss her cheek.
    I open the door and listen.
    Silence.
    Sunbeams stretch down from the skylight,
    warming the hallway.
    Even so, my spine prickles
    as I tiptoe down the creaking stairs.

My Escape
    Monsieur Henri takes my small hand in his large one.
    He pushes open the heavy wooden door
    leading into the rue d’Angoulême.
    Two tall soldiers loom like giants
    right outside our apartment building.
    They’re carrying guns.
    Monsieur Henri’s grip on my hand tightens.
    Trucks still rumble along the street.
    â€œLook at your feet,” Monsieur Henri says softly,
    when the soldiers are far enough away.
    â€œIf anyone calls your name, don’t answer.”
    I can’t breathe.
    I can’t think beyond my feet.
    One step at a time, I push the pavement away.
    It sticks to my feet.
    In slow motion,
    Monsieur Henri and I pass the convent,
    the pharmacy, and the chain factory.
    People leaf through their newspapers as always
    at the Café de la Baleine.
    Rolls of cheery oilcloth greet customers,
    as they do every day,
    at the hardware store.
    The smell of fresh bread fills the morning air,
    as it does every morning,
    at the bakery.
    But this is not
every
morning.
    It’s the most terrible morning of my life.
    I clutch the big hand of Monsieur Henri.
    I force my feet onward,
    up the hill to the arched
Métro
station.
    At the sight of it, the spell on my feet breaks.
    I run for the stairs, away from the street,
    into the safer darkness.
    Monsieur Henri snatches me back.
    â€œDon’t rush,” he whispers. “Act natural.”
    When the
Métro
train pulls into the station,
    I head for the last car, the one for Jews.
    But Monsieur Henri leads me to another.
    We sit down side by side.
    â€œWhat a fine, well-behaved granddaughter you have,”
    says a gray-haired woman.
    Her black-feathered hat frightens me.
    Monsieur Henri, my new grandfather, nods at her silently.
    I am frozen.
    I sit like a statue.
    I stare straight ahead.
    When the
Métro
train pulls into the big railway station,
    the Gare du Nord,
    Monsieur Henri takes my hand in his.
    He steers me out the sliding doors.
    The big station is full of people, all in a rush.
    Will Paulette, Cécile, and Suzanne be there?
    Yes, three little Jewish girls in starless summer dresses
    wait under the big clock, just as we planned.
    A lady holds the hand of the littlest one.
    â€œ
Au revoir, ma petite
,” Monsieur Henri says to me.
    â€œ
Au revoir, Monsieur Henri
,” I reply.
    I swallow hard.
    He’s leaving me now.
    Don’t cry, Odette.
    Stay calm, his eyes tell me.
    But his voice says,
    â€œMind this lady.
    And obey the mama and papa in your country family.”
    Then Monsieur Henri pats me on the head
    and disappears into the crowd.
    Holding hands, the other little girls and I
    climb up onto the train.
    Paulette and Cécile are big girls, like me.
    Suzanne is the smallest of our group, only two.
    We wait and wait for the train to leave.
    We watch other travelers say good-bye
    to their loved ones.
    No one says good-bye to us.
    Suzanne, Cécile, Paulette, and I try not to cry.
    But when at last the locomotive pulls out of the station
    and the whistle wails mournfully,
    little Suzanne does too.
    The lady we are with puts an arm around her.
    â€œWhere are we going?” I ask the lady.
    â€œTo the Vendée,” she tells me.
    I’ve never heard of this place.
    â€œIs it far away?”