“Will you be ready soon?” Trocmé asked, somewhat nervous. It was almost time, and it looked like there was a lot left to get done.
Magda nodded, a pin in her mouth. She was fixing Moses’s wool vest in their living room while the boy kept his eyes trained on her. Noting the child’s intense stare, she asked out the side of her mouth, “You okay?”
Moses’s face crumpled, and he began to cry. Magda hugged him tightly and, in the process, accidentally poked him with the pin. Moses squawked and backed away.
“Oh, dear me, I’m so sorry!” she said, amused despite the circumstances. Moses smiled for a moment, but the expression soon morphed back into crying. “Moses, honey, what is it?” Magda pressed.
“I miss my mother.”
It broke Magda’s heart. Sometimes she caught herself forgetting that many of the church’s children did not have parents in the village. She knew most of them would never see their parents again. The Germans were emptying the detention camps in France, taking the Jews north. Magda had no earthly idea what became of them, but the war was increasingly bloody, and the Allies were bombing German cities nearly daily. Even André was worried about his German relatives. He had no way of knowing how they were. Magda was conscious of the fact that the conflict grew harsher and harsher, and she did not know how much longer Le Chambon would be spared direct attack.
“I’m sure you’ll see her again one day soon. At least you know where she is. When winter’s over, you can go to Argentina.”
Moses closed his eyes and pretended that the woman hugging him was his mother. He needed her kisses, needed to feel like he was the most important person in the world for someone again.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, wiping his tears as he walked away.
Moses headed for the chapel. The pews were packed, but the first few rows had been reserved for the children. He wiggled in beside Jacob and waited for the ceremony to begin.
The music started, and Trocmé walked out with a black robe, a white collar, and a stole. Theis and some of the deacons followed. The congregation stood as the leaders took their positions.
“My friends, brothers, and sisters, it’s a pleasure to begin this beautiful Christmas feast. Many think that in times like ours we have little to celebrate. People all over the world have nothing to eat; others suffer illness or injury in hospitals or are living out the consequences of war. But today we want to celebrate peace and love toward all mankind,” Trocmé began as the children’s chorus approached the podium.
The congregation listened as the angelic voices of the children’s choir sang several Christmas carols. Fathers smiled and mothers mouthed the words along with the children. Everyone had worked hard on the service, and as the voices floated up the church walls, the snow outside resumed falling to remind the world it was still winter. The lights on the tree and the walls trembled in the wind that found its way under the doors and through the cracks. The cold of the past few weeks had put the villagers’ hearts in dormancy, but for a moment in the Christmas service, peace reigned once again in the soul of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. The community that had suffered so much now sought to heal its wounds by candlelight, at the foot of the immense fir tree presiding over the stacks of presents while the music assuaged their grieving, terrified hearts.
When the children finished their repertoire, Trocmé took an accordion from a nearby chair and led the congregation in a song. When they were finished, Jacob’s eyes were cloudy with tears. Moses and Anna were each holding one of his hands, and they stayed that way as Trocmé led the congregation in two more songs.
They all sat. Trocmé set the accordion down, cleared his throat, opened an ancient Bible on the pulpit, and began to speak.
“A couple of years ago, most of you who are with us in Le Chambon-sur-Lignon today would never have imagined you would be celebrating Christmas with us. Back then, we were complete strangers to you. We walked entirely different paths of life, and many of you lived in foreign countries or faraway lands. But today we are all gathered in the shadow of this great Christmas tree. We are looking out at life with uncertainty about what the next year will hold—our hearts cowering in fear, ignorant