Marianne sank down behind the hedges with one hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t cry out. She was shattered by what she saw, but knew it would do no good to run into the fray and be beaten herself, perhaps raped and murdered in a failed attempt to help her father. Still, her inaction stung. She pinched herself, hard, until her nails drew blood.

When the trucks pulled away they’d left very little behind, only Bluebell, who’d wandered into the woods, and the beehives teeming with bees, and of course, her father, lying prone, bloodied and broken. She ran to help him up, then brought him to the house, and escorted him up to bed, nearly carrying his full weight. She saw to his wounds with a damp cloth, then nursed him with herbal remedies, nettle tea and a poultice composed of mint and leaves of rosemary. Marianne should have cleaned the blood from her dress with salt, but she was too agitated about her father’s condition to do so.

For three days she thought her father would die, but she dared not go to the village for help, fearing the Germans would be there. When finally her father could speak he said, “Are you my daughter?” She said she was and he then said, “You have saved me,” and he wept. They never discussed this exchange afterward. He was a tough old gentleman who didn’t wish to take help from anyone.

Marianne realized she must find a doctor to see to his broken leg or he wouldn’t walk again. There was a physician on the other side of the mountain who her father said was a decent fellow, often seeing patients for free. She went to the neighboring farm and used the telephone, thanking her neighbor, Monsieur Cazales, a taciturn farmer who was too polite to ask why she had blood on her dress.

The doctor came to set Marianne’s father’s broken leg. He had a dusty Renault that managed to take the rutted road quite nicely. He was tall, and well dressed, and he asked only medical questions. Marianne’s father allowed himself to be examined, although he suggested that the doctor be quick about it. The leg was promptly and simply set against a splint. Marianne’s father cursed while the procedure was taking place, then thanked the doctor for his efforts.

The doctor left some pain pills, which the farmer would not take as a matter of principle, and he recommended that the old man stay off his feet for three weeks, then use crutches, continuing to keep the weight off his leg for another three.

As Marianne walked the doctor out, they blinked in the bright sunlight.

“They could come back,” the doctor said.

“We’ll have faith that they won’t,” Marianne responded.

They agreed on that and shook hands.