there’s some food in there.”
“Let’s just go.” Sarah peered fearfully about. “We’ll get into trouble.”
“It’ll just take a second.”
Edith plugged her nose, reached into the garbage, and pulled out a bunch of rotting carrots.
Then the two girls ran toward the outhouses in the yard. Safely inside, Edith examined her find, carefully cleaning away the muck and breaking off the bits of carrot that were too moldy to eat.
“It’s not farm food, but it’s better than nothing.” Edith grinned.
She handed half her prize to Sarah, who smiled gratefully. The girls sat down to eat.
The cook was sloppy to throw away food that can be eaten,
thought Edith. If the director had known, she would have been furious. But the cook’s carelessness proved Edith and Sarah’s salvation. Rotting carrots had never tasted so good. It wasn’t a feast, but it filled some of the empty corners of Edith’s stomach. The girls finished eating just as the church bells began ringing. They had lost all track of time.
They ran into the house just as the director was coming out of her office. “Where have you been?” she demanded.
“Just for a walk in the yard, madame,” Edith replied, breathing hard.
Madame Picot eyed the girls suspiciously. “Well, join the others,” she said finally. “It’s time for church.”
Edith and Sarah fell into line behind the director, and marched off toward the church.
CHAPTER 20
Prayers to God
When the girls were told that they would have to attend weekly church services, Edith was terrified. It was one thing to
tell
people she was Catholic, but how could she
act
Catholic. Others would expect her to know the rituals of the Church, and the Latin service. Surely someone would notice her ignorance, and her real identity would be revealed.
But she had no choice. She watched the girls around her and copied every movement — kneeling when they kneeled, folding her hands in front of her, bowing her head, and crossing herself in perfect rhythm. She learned the appropriate French responses, and muttered an inaudible chant when Latin was required. Before long, the charade became familiar and easy.
The grandeur of the church in Ste-Foy-la-Grande never ceased to amaze Edith. It was an enormous, gray stone building with two high steeples and a large cross above the door. The rich dark wood of the pews shone; and the sun filtered through the colorful stained-glass windows high above, casting bright, multicolored light the length ofthe aisles. The statue of the Virgin Mary seemed to smile down at Edith, reaching out as if to offer the protection and caring that she longed for. There may have been a war raging, but here, in this place of worship, there was only peace and serenity.
Edith walked confidently to the rows of pews and bowed her head. She slid across the pew next to Sarah and knelt on the narrow kneeler in front of her. Then she made the sign of the cross, just as she had watched the others do. With the first two fingers of her right hand, she touched her forehead, the middle of her chest, then her left then right shoulder. Finally, she folded her hands and closed her eyes.
God, you don’t mind, that I’m pretending to be Catholic, do you?
Edith asked silently. She knew that God was God, no matter where you were or how you prayed. The God in the church was the same God that she knew, and she prayed under her breath.
“Keep Mutti and Papa safe. Watch over Gaston and Therese, and all the children of Moissac. Look after Shatta, Bouli, and Germaine and Henri. Sarah is so sad. Please protect her and help her smile again. And, God,” she whispered, “I’m trying to be brave, but I’m really scared to be here. Please help me, too.”
Edith opened her eyes and gazed at the statue of the Virgin Mary — at her gentle eyes and outstretched arms. She had a sudden urge to throw herself into those mothering arms. The priest was chanting and the congregation responded, reminding Edith of the
“Let’s just go.” Sarah peered fearfully about. “We’ll get into trouble.”
“It’ll just take a second.”
Edith plugged her nose, reached into the garbage, and pulled out a bunch of rotting carrots.
Then the two girls ran toward the outhouses in the yard. Safely inside, Edith examined her find, carefully cleaning away the muck and breaking off the bits of carrot that were too moldy to eat.
“It’s not farm food, but it’s better than nothing.” Edith grinned.
She handed half her prize to Sarah, who smiled gratefully. The girls sat down to eat.
The cook was sloppy to throw away food that can be eaten,
thought Edith. If the director had known, she would have been furious. But the cook’s carelessness proved Edith and Sarah’s salvation. Rotting carrots had never tasted so good. It wasn’t a feast, but it filled some of the empty corners of Edith’s stomach. The girls finished eating just as the church bells began ringing. They had lost all track of time.
They ran into the house just as the director was coming out of her office. “Where have you been?” she demanded.
“Just for a walk in the yard, madame,” Edith replied, breathing hard.
Madame Picot eyed the girls suspiciously. “Well, join the others,” she said finally. “It’s time for church.”
Edith and Sarah fell into line behind the director, and marched off toward the church.
CHAPTER 20
Prayers to God
When the girls were told that they would have to attend weekly church services, Edith was terrified. It was one thing to
tell
people she was Catholic, but how could she
act
Catholic. Others would expect her to know the rituals of the Church, and the Latin service. Surely someone would notice her ignorance, and her real identity would be revealed.
But she had no choice. She watched the girls around her and copied every movement — kneeling when they kneeled, folding her hands in front of her, bowing her head, and crossing herself in perfect rhythm. She learned the appropriate French responses, and muttered an inaudible chant when Latin was required. Before long, the charade became familiar and easy.
The grandeur of the church in Ste-Foy-la-Grande never ceased to amaze Edith. It was an enormous, gray stone building with two high steeples and a large cross above the door. The rich dark wood of the pews shone; and the sun filtered through the colorful stained-glass windows high above, casting bright, multicolored light the length ofthe aisles. The statue of the Virgin Mary seemed to smile down at Edith, reaching out as if to offer the protection and caring that she longed for. There may have been a war raging, but here, in this place of worship, there was only peace and serenity.
Edith walked confidently to the rows of pews and bowed her head. She slid across the pew next to Sarah and knelt on the narrow kneeler in front of her. Then she made the sign of the cross, just as she had watched the others do. With the first two fingers of her right hand, she touched her forehead, the middle of her chest, then her left then right shoulder. Finally, she folded her hands and closed her eyes.
God, you don’t mind, that I’m pretending to be Catholic, do you?
Edith asked silently. She knew that God was God, no matter where you were or how you prayed. The God in the church was the same God that she knew, and she prayed under her breath.
“Keep Mutti and Papa safe. Watch over Gaston and Therese, and all the children of Moissac. Look after Shatta, Bouli, and Germaine and Henri. Sarah is so sad. Please protect her and help her smile again. And, God,” she whispered, “I’m trying to be brave, but I’m really scared to be here. Please help me, too.”
Edith opened her eyes and gazed at the statue of the Virgin Mary — at her gentle eyes and outstretched arms. She had a sudden urge to throw herself into those mothering arms. The priest was chanting and the congregation responded, reminding Edith of the
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