A Pocket Full of Seeds by Marilyn Sachs Page A

station house. But the soldiers never looked our way at all.
    The train was due in a few minutes. Papa and I walked up and down the station platform while we waited.
    “As soon as I can,” Papa said, “I’ll get word to you, and if I consider it safe then the three of you will come.”
    “Yes, Papa.”
    “And Nicole, Maman will have a lot to do while I’m gone, and I want you to promise that you will help her, and do everything she asks.”
    “I promise, Papa.”
    He put his free hand on my shoulder and said, “You’re a good girl, Nicole, and you’re really growing up.”
    “I’m thirteen, Papa.”
    “Yes, I know, but even for thirteen you are extremely capable, and very mature.”
    I didn’t say anything. What can you say when you hear something like that?
    “I don’t feel so bad about leaving when I know Maman has you to depend on.”
    I remained silent.
    “And Nicole ... ”
    “Yes, Papa?”
    “Nicole ... just in case you don’t hear from me .. . ”
    “But we will, Papa. You won’t have any trouble getting a letter to us. M. Bonnet and the Simons wrote letters, and so did many of the others who went.”
    “Yes, of course I won’t have any trouble,” Papa said, “but just in case ... ”
    I waited.
    “Just in case ... ”
    “We will come looking for you, Papa. Don’t worry I And we will find you.”
    “No!” said Papa. “If you don’t hear from me, I don’t want you to come. I want you to ... ”
    “To what, Papa?”
    “I don’t know,” my father said. We could hear the train approaching, and the other passengers came out onto the platform. The two German soldiers walked in our direction. One of them was combing his long, blond hair with a black pocket comb. They passed us, and Papa said, “Why am I going? How can I go? What kind of a man am I to go away and leave my family here?”
    “Papa,” I urged, “it will only be for a short time.”
    “No,” said Papa. “Look at Henri Bonnet. No!” He put his suitcase down on the ground. “I’m not going. It doesn’t make sense. And besides, we’re making it all much worse than it really is. All those crazy stories! Who can believe them?”
    He turned to look at the two German soldiers who were about to board the train. “A few more months and it will be over. You heard the BBC broadcast the other night. The Allies are already in Italy. For a few more months, why should I go? Nothing will happen in our town.”
    “Papa,” I said, “Maman will be disappointed.”
    But he stood there, and I stood next to him. After a while, the train pulled out of the station, and he picked up his suitcase and said, “Let’s go home.”
    Maman cried when she saw him, but she kissed him, and hugged him, and she kissed me, and I kissed her, and Jacqueline kissed Papa, and then we were all kissing and nobody really felt sorry that my father hadn’t gone.
    After that, Maman never spoke about going to Switzerland.
     
    November 1943
     
    That last night the Rostens came to say goodbye. Earlier in the day, Maman handed me one of the last of her stock of sweaters, and two pairs of cotton stockings, and told me to take them out to the Blanchards.
    They had a farm about ten kilometers outside of Aix-les-Bains, ordinarily a short, pleasant ride on my bicycle. But on that day, there was a wind blowing against my face all the way there, and I had to pedal hard to make progress. I was out of breath when I arrived, and Mme. Blanchard gave me a glass of water, and told me to rest a few minutes before biking back.
    She was pleased with the sweater. She asked me to tell Maman that if she had any gloves or hats, she could use some of them, too.
    Then she went off and after a while came back with a chicken and a bag with four or five potatoes. She helped me put the food in my bicycle bag and cover it with the old school books I always carried just in case I was stopped.
    I was about to leave when Mme. Blanchard hesitated, and said, “Just a minute, Nicole." She