OCTOBER 1944 - Liberated Dijon

Emile carried the last tray of afternoon baguettes to the front, where Claire was arranging another batch on the back shelves. She had been working at the boulangerie since she came out of hiding after the liberation of the city. His assistant had wanted to join the Free French, and his wife wanted to return to her own kitchen in the back rooms of the shop. Four children demanded a lot of attention.

"This should be enough, don't you think?" he asked the girl.

"Yes, I think so," Claire replied. "This week, we have had only a few loaves left each day."

Emile had expected business to drop off after the occupying army left. Custom was already leveling out, and it seemed that the shop would provide a decent living pendant ce temps, until the war should end.

"Marie said to tell you, she was able to get some fresh cream for you, as well as a small block of Comté cheese."

"What a treat! Please thank her for me," she replied. " Her friend's wife had been very good to her.

A few minutes later, Marie herself entered from the side door. She liked the composed young woman her husband had brought in. She had known her only by name before the liberation, and had been shocked to learn of her secret activities. To spend the best of your teenage years underground! She had thought the girl was living with relatives in Vichy France.

Marie said, " I have put your cream in the icebox, and your ration card is in your basket." She thought Claire looked a bit tired. "I can watch the shop if you'd like to go home early."

"Oh no, thank you, Marie. I enjoy being busy, and don't have much to do at home anyway. "

Marie knew the girl was insistent that she earn her small pay. She also insisted on living in her own apartment, despite the offer of a room in the back. Such independence!

They talked idly until the pre-dinner customers kept them both busy. At one point during the rush, Marie noticed Claire pressing a hand to her side, and watched her more thoughtfully after that. The full skirt and apron hid her figure. Mon Dieu, she thought, could it be?

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After dinner, when the children had gone to their rooms, Marie turned to her husband.

"Emile, do you think that Claire could be pregnant?"

He looked up in surprise. "What? Is she?"

"I can't be sure, but it looks so to me. Is it possible?"

Emile considered, then answered slowly, "I suppose it is. I know so little of her life beyond our work together."

"And who could the father be?" she demanded.

"I really have no idea," he said thoughtfully. "Certainly none of the Jacques. She's like a sister to us. But I never saw much of her outside of les affaires." This was his phrase for resistance activity. "And she kept very much to herself."

"Perhaps you can ask her, and offer our help," Marie suggested. "She is so young and so alone."

"Ma mie, I think not, " he replied firmly. "I think it's not my business."

"Then I think it will be my business. Women's business," she answered, just as firmly.

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A few days later, Marie managed to find the right time to broach the question.

"Claire, please forgive me if I intrude," she said one afternoon. "Might you be pregnant?"

Claire nodded. "Yes, I am."

"When are you due?"

"It will come in late February," she said calmly.

"Are you pleased?" Marie asked.

"I am very happy." Claire's sudden smile made it clear that it was true.

"Then I'm happy for you too." Marie paused and asked carefully, "Have you… does the father know?"

Claire shook her head, still smiling.

"Will you tell him?"

"Perhaps, after the war." Claire's smile faded a little.

"He is a soldier, then? A Maquis?" Marie couldn't help but ask.

"An American commando. He says he will return after the war ends. "

Marie nodded in sympathy. She dared asked no more, at least right now. Suddenly feeling motherly herself, she said "Well, you are alone then. Please know, ma cher amie, that I am here to help you in any way I can. I have had four children myself, and I know what it is all about."

"Thank you, Marie," Claire said softly. "This is… this is still very new to me."

"You won't be able to hide it much longer, you know."

"I know." Claire looked down at the big white apron and smiled again. "It is only that I don't know how to announce that I will soon be an unwed mother."

Marie smiled back. "I'll give you some of my old maternity clothes, they will fit you soon enough. And soon enough people will comprehend."

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That evening in their bedroom, Marie told Emile what she had learned.

"Might you have met this man?"

Emile thought for a moment. "This spring? There was an American unit here a few weeks before the invasion."

"Can you think which one it might be?"

"I don't know, Marie!" he exclaimed. "I tell you, Claire keeps things to herself."

Marie looked at him steadily. Eventually, he said, "I suppose it might have been the young dark one. I saw them holding hands on Le Jour de la Libération."

"But that was only three weeks ago!" she exclaimed.

"The Americans were just passing through. But they stayed here for several days last May. "

Marie thought it over. She asked hesitantly, "You said the dark one. Do you mean, a Negro?"

"No, no. Just sombre. More Spanish-looking, maybe Gypsy, " he mused. "Ah, they called him Chief. Perhaps a red Indian."

"What was he like?"

"Quieter than the others," he replied. "Less brash, perhaps."

Marie prompted, "You said young. How old?"

"It's hard to say, maybe twenty-five, more or less.

Marie considered all this. "That's a good age for her, she is not yet twenty…. Claire says he promised to come back to see her. Do you think he might?"

Emile sighed and shook his head. "How can I say? These men were a very tough group, Marie, and it's wartime. It may have been just a diversion for him."

But he was holding her hand, Marie thought. There is hope for her yet.

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Over the next few months, Claire's pregnancy grew obvious. She seemed to be content, even happy, with her life.

To Marie's surprise, very few people seemed to disapprove, or to show much curiosity. Four years of Nazi occupation had taught them to let each manage one's own business. Not many even knew of Claire's resistance work. She had simply re-appeared when the Germans left, and no one needed to know more. The war not over yet.

When she was asked about her situation, Claire responded simply and proudly, "Son père est un commando américain. "

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DECEMBER 1944 - North of London

It was Christmas Eve and Garrison had insisted they all go to an RAF party at the nearby air base. Even with the recent and unexpected German offensive, the Brits were determined to carry on with the holiday season. After all, they were now facing their sixth year of war. Life must go on.

Chief had been slipping into the maps room on a regular basis. The battle lines they were beginning to call the Bulge were still more than a hundred miles from Dijon, and the arrows seemed to be moving north and west rather than south. Since their brief encounter a few months ago, he had managed to tuck Claire into a special corner of his thoughts. She was safe still, and they would see each other again.

Driving up to the officers mess building, Casino spotted a gray bus with QAIMNS lettered on the side.

"Fantastic," he exclaimed. "The nurses did come to the party! I sure hope they're in their civvies. " The English nurses' old-fashioned uniforms reminded him forcibly of white nuns' habits.

As they entered the bravely-decorated hall, Casino saw that the women were all wearing their best, if slightly shabby, evening attire. The Gorillas were warmly greeted by a number of women. They had all spent some time in the hospital, and most of the nurses harbored a soft spot for this odd group of irregulars.

Garrison, in full uniform, toured the room to make official greetings to the brass. The Gorillas felt no such obligation and decamped to a small table near one of the bars. Several young nurses joined them, sharing the Yule punch (without the egg, of course, they were solemnly advised.) Otherwise, the Brits had gone all-out on refreshments and liquor.

Actor was off dancing with a stunning blonde, and Goniff had been claimed by the Nurse Matron. That rather forbidding title was belied by the daring purple dinner dress seemingly pasted to her body. Nurses Brannon and Randall (Shelly and Norma tonight, if you please,) stayed chatting with Casino and trying to draw Chief out of his usual quiet mode.

After two airmen invited the women to dance, Casino turned to Chief, still nursing his second beer.

"Nurse Norma is rather taken with you," he commented. "She's been making eyes at you ever since Brussels. Just crook a finger and she'll be yours."

"Maybe," Chief replied casually. "But then I'd have to listen to her yack at me all night."

Casino looked him over. "Should I tell her you prefer French?"

Chief frowned dangerously. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Casino smiled and laid a friendly hand on Chief's shoulder. "Easy, man…. I just think you're still sweet on our friend Suzette."

Chief put on his blankest expression and said nothing. Casino chuckled as he went off to the bar for a refill.

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FEBRUARY 1945 - Liberated Dijon

Claire lay back against the pillows with the baby nestled against her. Marie had just left, having stayed with her as long as the midwife allowed, then anxiously sipping tea until the child was born.

Claire pulled back the blanket again, gazing fondly at her child. Her son. Memories of the ordeal were already fading.

"Light of my life," she whispered to him. His brown eyes were solemn, if unfocused, below the surprisingly dark eyebrows. He looked so much like his father. She reminded herself again that he must still be alive, he was so clever . But if he could not return to see her, she would have a part of him forever.

"Jean-Luc," she tested the name. It would have been Lucille for a girl. She traced the small bow mouth with a finger, but he did not smile.

"René,"she decided. "René Patrice. You are my beloved son."