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on_holy_groundDarius moved the stone from the floor only in the dead of night, when the city was for the most part still, and the patrols made by the German soldiers were far less frequent. He would pass down what food and supplies he had managed to gather for those who had come to him for help, and he told them any news of their families that he had managed to uncover. There was never enough of either the supplies or the information, but they took what he had gratefully, and waited as patiently as they could for a way out of the occupied city.
Every once in a while, instead of the meager supplies being passed down into the hole, he would instead bring them out of the small cell that served as their temporary home. He would lead them to the courtyard where someone else would be waiting to lead them outside the city, and then on to someplace else where they would hide once again until the chance came for them to continue on their journey away from the Nazi’s, and the almost certainty of the concentration camps. He would then pray for their safety and watch as they moved away from St, Julien’s and into the surrounding darkness.
And as he watched them walk away, he was reminded of another time when he had helped those being persecuted in much the same way. Only then it had not been another country that had caused the kind of panic that made good people afraid for their families and their lives. It had not been another country that had made those same good people willing to incriminate and turn over their friends and neighbors, rather than risking almost certain torture and death themselves.
It had been the church itself, in the time of the witch trials.
Every once in a while, instead of the meager supplies being passed down into the hole, he would instead bring them out of the small cell that served as their temporary home. He would lead them to the courtyard where someone else would be waiting to lead them outside the city, and then on to someplace else where they would hide once again until the chance came for them to continue on their journey away from the Nazi’s, and the almost certainty of the concentration camps. He would then pray for their safety and watch as they moved away from St, Julien’s and into the surrounding darkness.
And as he watched them walk away, he was reminded of another time when he had helped those being persecuted in much the same way. Only then it had not been another country that had caused the kind of panic that made good people afraid for their families and their lives. It had not been another country that had made those same good people willing to incriminate and turn over their friends and neighbors, rather than risking almost certain torture and death themselves.
It had been the church itself, in the time of the witch trials.
