Read A Troubled Peace for Free Online Page A

framework of government intact.”
    The owner was growing agitated. “This is not what I fought for! We must overturn everything and start a new republic free of Hitler’s puppets, free of corruption, free of class prejudice and hate for Jews….”
    His wife had inched toward him, understanding not the meaning but the tone of his English words. Gently she took his hand. He stopped. “Pardon, monsieur. One hardship follows another.” He rubbed his face clear of anger and sat down at the table, drawing his wife to a chair as well.
    â€œEat”—he motioned to Henry—“and tell me of HarryTruman. Roosevelt’s courage led the world. Can this man do the same?”
    â€œTo be completely honest, I don’t know much about him,” Henry admitted. “I think Mr. Truman was a senator from Missouri before becoming vice president. But don’t worry. The war will be over soon, monsieur. Our boys are closing in on Berlin now. The Nazis can’t hold out much longer. Back home they’re saying the war in Europe will be over in a month. That’ll just leave the Japanese.”
    â€œYes, perhaps, Dieu soit loué, ” the owner crossed himself. Then he frowned, puzzled. Clearly the question just came to him. “Why are you here?”
    Hearing his host’s sincerity, his rage and disappointment, Henry realized that in France people would understand his pain and confusion better than anyone could back home, where the worst day-to-day complaints had been about rationing or having to use blackout curtains to hide city lights from German U-boats cruising the East Coast. Henry let his story tumble out: of being shot down and saved by the ancient teacher, of coming in and out of Switzerland, of the elegant Madame Gaulloise connecting him to the ratline escape route, of Pierre and his mother’s arrest, of Henry’s betrayal at the Spanish border, of the Gestapo, Claudette, the old German sergeant who ultimately released him, and his surprise homecoming.
    Henry leaned toward the man. “The maquis in theMorvan told me the Nazis hit the Vercors hard after I left Pierre. Bombed it because of their resistance. I just want to make sure the boy is all right.” Henry pulled up short, realizing how naïve he sounded. As if he could walk up to Pierre’s house, knock on the door, and find him there, safe and sound. Look at Marseille, its devastation. Embarrassed, Henry sat back in his chair.
    For a long moment, the Frenchman gazed at Henry. “You are not like the other Americans now in Marseille. The ones we see drink too much, shout too much, and whistle at our innocents, as if they were all cabaret girls. You will stay here tonight. Tomorrow I will put you on a train to Lyon. It will stop in Valence. You climb the mountains from there.” He paused, muttering to himself more than to Henry. “ Il me faut quelque chose pour soudoyer le chef de train .”
    A bribe for the conductor?
    Henry reached into his bag and pulled out one of the two Camel cigarette cartons the ship captain had given him. “Will this do?”
    â€œOui,” the Frenchman laughed, clapping his hands. But then he sobered and added, “It is a good thing that God sent you to me, monsieur . If you had pulled that out to show most people in Marseille, you would be lying on the ground now, a large bump on your head.”

C HAPTER S EVEN
    H enry flattened himself against a windowpane, trying to create space between himself and the other men crammed into the passageway of the train car. He knew he smelled horrible. His blond hair was dark with grease. He hadn’t properly washed since sailing out of Baltimore. The restaurateur had apologized, but coal was in such short supply, he had just enough to heat hot water for baths every third day. That morning was not the day.
    He also couldn’t prepare much of a breakfast for Henry. “One egg can cost thirty