The sign of the cross?

What's that?

Madame Raffin touches her forehead, her heart, and each shoulder, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,"

she says.

We copy her.

Is this praying?

I've never prayed before.

Madame shows us how to kneel and put our hands together with our fingers pointing up.

"Our Father, who art in heaven," we say after her, the whole prayer, over and over.

Then, "Hail Mary, full of grace," again and again.

I'm not sure what these words mean.

Madame Raffin says that's not important, not right now.

We just need to remember these words.

That way people will think we're Christians.

At last Madame Raffin is satisfied that we know the prayers by heart, that we won't make a mistake.

She takes our hands and squeezes them for courage.

"Never forget that you are Christians," she says.

"Your fathers are French soldiers taken prisoner.

Your mothers have jobs in Paris.

They sent you to live in my house so that you'll be well fed and safe."

We promise.

I know it will be easy for me.

I am used to keeping secrets.

Madame Raffin opens the door.

Mmm ... soup.

Odette and her foster family in Chavagnes-en-Paillers. Clockwise, from top left: Cecile Popowicz, Jacques Raffin, Paulette Klaper, Suzanne Klaper, Jean Raffin, and Odette, 1942

A New Life.

For the rest of July and all of August, we listen hard and speak little.

We watch everything.

We learn how to act just like all the other village children.

Two brothers belong to our new family.

Jacques and Jean are the Raffins' sons and our teachers.

At first, Cecile, Paulette, Suzanne, and I feel shy with them.

But the boys aren't shy.

They show us how to hold the pigeons.

They tell us scary stories about a ghost who lives at the bottom of the well.

We play hide-and-seek together in the garden.

They tease us and teach us riddles.

I've never had brothers and sisters before ... it's fun.

Madame Raffin asks us to pick green beans and tomatoes.

All summer long we twist vegetables from their stems.

She takes us mushroom picking in the forest too.

Sometimes Monsieur Raffin takes us fishing.

He teaches us the names of all the glittering fish we scoop up in his net.

We have so many good things to eat, I almost forget what it felt like to be hungry in Paris, to sleep with my fists screwed up tight under my stomach to make it feel full.

We don't have many toys, but the grandfather of our house carves us whistles from reeds.

He shows us how to make toy pots and pans from acorns too.

Best of all, we can go anywhere we like in our new village.

We can do anything anyone else can do.

No one knows that we're Jews.

I climb trees and walk along the tops of stone fences.

If I fall and tear my dress, the grandmother in my new family mends it for me.

She would never think of sewing a yellow star on my dress.

I wonder if she's ever even seen one.

Monsieur and Madame Raffin, Jacques, Jean, and the grandparents, Cecile, Paulette, and Suzanne ...

these are the people in my new family.

When September comes, Madame Raffin takes Cecile, Paulette, and me to school.

Suzanne wants to come too, but she is only two.

All the big girls in the village go to the convent school, Madame Raffin explains.

"These children have been in a bombing,"

she tells the nun in charge.

"They may act strangely for a while.

Take no notice."

But no one seems to think we act strangely.

By now, we behave just like all the other village children.

Someday I'll tell Mama that she was right, that I do feel safe here with my new family in the Vendee.

I wonder what she would say if she knew that once in a while, when I swing in the garden and look up at the sky, I almost forget who I really am....

The photograph of Odette's father that she kept throughout the war.

Twilight.

Children in the Vendee go to bed at twilight.

Twilight is not day or night.

It is the time between.

Cecile and I share one small room and a bed.

Every night Madame Raffin kisses us good night.

As soon as she closes the door, Cecile and I go to the open window.

Cecile always sits on the left. I always sit on the right.

"Look," Cecile says, gazing outside.

The sky is turning a deeper and deeper blue.

"Everything is so beautiful. And we're alive."

We thank God for our day.

"Tonight," Cecile always says, "a bomb could fall and we could die.

Let's say good-bye to our parents."

So far I have not heard of any bombs falling in the Vendee, but Cecile cannot forget the ones in Paris.

To make her feel better, I go along with what Cecile tells me to do.

I imagine my mother's face.

It floats in the air just outside my window.

I tell her everything I have done that day, even the bad things.

I ask her to forgive me.

She does.

Then it's my father's turn.

My father's face is always the one in the photograph Madame Raffin put on our mantelpiece.

Papa never smiles.

I can't feel his rough cheek or hear his voice.

I can't see the brown or shine of his eyes.