h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Chapter 1 -July 1940

Danielle.

Danielle stood still and tried to make sense of what was happening. After travelling many days, with her father and cousins, she wasn’t sure if they had finally stopped. All she knew was that she was standing in a square somewhere in south-west France. The navy blue dress she was wearing had been clean when she set out, but was now filthy. Her hair, under a battered hat, was unwashed and matted, but still glinted red and gold in the sunlight. There was a brick-built church behind her but chaos unfolded outside it.
The square was full of people and cars, horses, carts and luggage. Nearby, a young woman sat on the cobbles, with a crying baby in her lap. An older woman in a stained dress crouched beside her, an arm round her shoulder. A group of women and children sat on a pile of luggage, eating something that might have been sausages from paper wrappings. A couple of swarthy men unloaded luggage from a lorry and piled it on the ground, while a man in a suit argued with them and gesticulated. A crowd of people, jostling for somewhere to sit, flowed up the church steps as far as the door.
As Danielle looked round, she spotted her father a few yards away, engaged in earnest conversation with a short, plump woman in a black dress and black headscarf. Nearby, a dark haired, broad shouldered young man, wearing the coarse cotton trousers and shirt of a farmer, stood by a horse and cart. She had lost sight of her uncle, aunt and cousins in the crowd. They were probably involved in a similar conversation. They needed somewhere safe to stay. However, the best accommodation would go to those with most money. Like that woman in a silk dress who had just stepped out of a Citroen car. Danielle felt as if she had become luggage herself, to be argued over and deposited somewhere. But what would become of her and those she loved?

Michel

Michel Lacombe stopped at the top of the ridge and looked down at the farm. After the devastation he’d seen in Northern France he was relieved to see it standing as solid as ever - a right angle of limestone blocks that shone white in the sun. He wondered if he could slip back into the familiar rhythms of life on the farm, which he’d found suffocating in the past. He’d been changed by things he’d seen and done, as the army had been pushed back in disarray and dejection. The defeat would rankle in his mind forever, and it wouldn’t help if his brother Henri was rude about it. At least his mother would be unreservedly glad to see him back. With quick movements, he shouldered his kitbag, adjusted his beret and continued down the rutted track.
As he neared the farm, the grass in the pasture was bright with purple knapweed and orange butterflies. He felt he understood better now Henri's tendency to see the place as the centre of the world. Maybe the valley would be enough for a man who lacked his restlessness. As Michel walked past the orchards, he saw the peaches glowing yellow. They would need picking. After that, it would be time to harvest the wheat standing in the further fields and last would be the plums, which were still green. The cream-coloured cows were lying under trees, twitching their ears and a few ducks splashed at the edge of the pond.
Michel turned into the farm yard and saw Henri walking towards the door of the house, carrying a dead duck. Although Michel felt he had changed forever, Henri looked exactly as he remembered – weather beaten and broad shouldered, with a shock of dark brown hair, dark eyes and eyebrows that nearly met in the middle. “Henri,”cried Michel, hurrying forward. “It's good to see you again.”
A slow smile spread across Henri's face. He laid the duck on the stone surrounds of the well, crossed the yard and folded Michel in an embrace that squashed the air out of his lungs. “Welcome back. We've missed you.”
“I'm glad to be here.”
“You look more like a salesman than a farmer.” Henri said, having looked his brother up and down.
Michel smiled at this description of his cheap black suit. “Demob issue. I’ll change as soon as I can.”
“You won’t want to be associated with the army. Not after that rout.”
“It wasn’t our fault. We didn’t have the equipment, or decent leaders.” He suspected the defeat would rankle in his mind like a wound for ever. His friend Antoine had been killed, although his cousin Mathieu had come home. He didn’t want to talk about it. “How's Maman?”
“She's all right. She's got some help.”
“Not just the cousins?”
“We've got some refugees staying. A Jewish man and his pretty daughter.” Henri gave a smile that was almost a leer.
“Refugees?”
“They're paying. You know what Maman's like.”
Michel nodded. A life of making do on little had given his mother a sharp eye for any scheme that made money. “I must go and reassure her I'm still in one piece.”
He opened the door of the house and stepped into the kitchen. The wooden shutters were closed, making the room dark after the bright light outside. He stared at the vision that met him. A young woman stood at the stone sink peeling potatoes. She was slim, with bronze curls, held back with a ribbon and, when she turned towards him, she had clear blue eyes. He dropped his kitbag on the floor. “Hello. I'm Michel. I wasn't expecting to see you here.”
She dried her hands and approached him. “I'm Danielle Schneider. My father and I left Strasbourg and came south. Your mother let us stay here.” There was a twang that sounded German in her voice.
Michel held his hand out and enfolded Danielle's fingers. “So you're refugees?”
She nodded. “I'm grateful to Madame Lacombe. We had a difficult journey.”
“I can believe that.” Michel thought of the long retreat from northern France. On the march, they had travelled past crowds of ordinary people fleeing. The few cars were packed, and many other people were walking, carrying a few possessions on their backs. There were farmers with carts loaded high with furniture and men pushing wheelbarrows with little children sitting in them. Saddest were the children standing confused by the roadside. From time to time, German planes flew over, making their characteristic whining noise. People dived for cover behind walls and in ditches, as bursts of fire raked the land.
He shook himself back into the present. “Well, I'm glad Maman took you in. You're welcome.”
Michel knew he ought to find his mother but he was reluctant to leave Danielle. Besides, he had walked a long way from the station and was glad of a rest. He pulled up a chair by the table, sat down, took a Gauloise cigarette out of his pocket and was about to light it, when he hesitated and wondered whether this girl would object.
“Do you mind if I smoke?”
“My father says it’s bad for your health, but I don’t mind.”
He lit a cigarette. “I'm glad to get away from the fighting, anyway.”
“Henri told me you'd been at the front.”
He nodded and looked down at the oak table, following the pattern of knots with a finger. He didn't want to think of some of the things he'd seen.
“I can get some coffee if you'd like.”
“That would be nice.”
Michel watched, as Danielle put a kettle on the range to boil, then brought a coffee pot and two cups across to the table.
“Madame Lacombe and Henri have been very kind.”
Michel wondered about this description of his brother. Henri wasn't a cruel man but he had a coarseness that came from spending more time with cows than people. He must have been smitten with Danielle's beauty. Michel wondered what Henri would have to offer a girl like her. True, he was steady, dependable and didn’t drink too much, but he couldn’t be called imaginative or sensitive.
Almost without intending to, Michel considered his own advantages over his brother. He had always resented Henri's assumption of superiority. When they were young Henri was stronger, a faster runner and more knowledgeable, because he was four years older. Michel was proud that he'd done better at school, and had seen real war, whilst Henri had only done national service. That gave him a knowledge of the world his brother lacked.
“You must find this place very provincial.”
“It's better than many places we've seen on the way.”
“It must have been hard for you to leave home.”
She sat down opposite him and poured the coffee. “It was but I'm more worried about my father. He was a pharmacist, but he lost all his stock and he can't start again.”
“I'll do anything I can to help.”
She smiled “Thank you.”
For a few minutes, they sat together, while Michel looked at her. It was difficult to describe exactly the colour of her hair. When the light touched it, sparks of russet and gold blended with nut brown. She wore a plain blue dress with a white collar, where a scent of lavender lingered. Her face was delicate, with high cheekbones and eyes of sky blue.
The door flew open and Irène Lacombe hurried in. Michel rose and folded her into his arms. He had towered over her since his teens, but now she seemed thinner than before and there were grey streaks in her hair.
“May God be praised, you’re back,” she said, with tears in her eyes.

They grow peaches? Now I'm thinking of South Carolina climate.

Also, I smell romance. And I'm wondering if the Lacombes are going to have a son who grows up to greet the mother ship. Sorry: we just watched 'Close Encounters' again. Is that a common name in that area?

Great start!

Oh oh, love triangle looms! Good start.

Thanks Dmitri, FWR.

Good start. I like the amount of detail. How will this end... Eager to read more.

I like this very much!

Thank you!

Good start, as everyone said. I really like the descriptions of the place.

Peaches grow up North, too. Zone 6 anyway, and with a little care, Zone 5 as well. (Native plums will grow in Zone 4. I will shut up about that. )

I was born too late to experience the excitement of the war period. Not many people are left who remember it--they'd be at least eighty.

Good story. I look forward to the next chapters.

Thanks for your kind comments.

I love the attention to detail - specificity is, I suspect, all, for historical fiction and Vichy France is a great era to explore, underexplored by the French..

I suspect the French are still ashamed of their failure to fight back.

I thought they fought valiantly, but were outmaneuvered.

I think they did, Paul. That would have been a hard army to stop.

I reserve my criticism for whatever genius cemented the gun emplacements on the Maginot Line.