Olivia: She’s dying to see you.
Olivia: She wants to go to the beach if that’s okay with you.
Relief spreads through my chest, its warmth a welcome touch against the cold frustration that’s been settling there lately.
Nova always makes my day brighter. More manageable. She makes it easier to smile, especially when my days have been hell like they’ve been this week.
Me: Happy to do that. See you after dinner.
Smiling, I hit Send.
51
ANGELIQUE
May 1944
France
A weekafter I received the message from Henri to let me know that Anna and I would be leaving France, I bundle her in a blanket and prepare for one of the most difficult journeys of my life.
I glance at the bed where Johann last held me. If he were still alive, I doubt I would have left France. But he’s gone, and Anna and I cannot remain in this country any longer.
I leave everything I own in Lise’s flat. At the earliest opportunity, she will rid the place of all signs I lived here.
We head downstairs, and I load into the pram the baby supplies that will last us until Anna and I leave the country. Hopefully that will be tonight, in about thirteen hours. The weather is clear and there are no storms in the forecast. From our perspective, everything is a go.
I lower Anna into the pram and push it through the front entrance of the building that has been my home for the past five months. Lise and I walk in the direction opposite to where we want to end up. Once we’re at the park and positive no one is following us, we begin our long trek to the safe house near the landing zone. The journey there is more than five hours by foot.
The buildings become sparser as we reach the outskirts of Poitiers. Farmland surrounds us, but none of these properties are designated parachute drop sites. They are too close to the town.
The road we walk along is free of vehicles. These days the only vehicles capable of driving in the area are those commandeered by the Germans, as well as their Jeeps, trucks, and tanks. Other than public transportation, bicycles and horse-drawn carriages are the sole mode of transport now used by the French. We see none of them as we make our way to the safe house.
Anna sleeps for much of the journey. When she isn’t sleeping in the pram or when she grows bored of it bumping along the uneven road, I carry her, and Lise pushes the pram. Our progress is slower than we would prefer.
As we walk, I rehearse in my head the story I will tell my sister about what I’ve been doing since I last saw her. A story that involves me temporarily working in Leeds as a secretary. A believable story—perhaps even more so than the truth.
“It isn’t much farther,” I tell Anna. “Say goodbye to France,ma petite. I don’t know when and if we will ever return.” My voice wobbles. The ache that has filled my chest since news of Johann’s death grows, a breath-stealing sadness filling the space.
Lise squeezes my shoulder. I turn my head to her, and catch the understanding in her expression. She knows it’s not easy for me to leave the place where I found my true love. But she also knows there is nothing for me here anymore.
By the time we arrive at the safe house, the sun is low in the sky. The brick building looks much like Jacques’s farmhouse, but the front window on the upper floor is cracked and ivy covers one wall.
My feet and legs and arms ache so much, I can barely plod another step. Lise parks the pram at the side of the house, hiding it from casual view, and we walk to the front door. She knocks.
A moment passes and the door opens an inch, revealing a woman possibly in her late fifties. Madeleine. She nods at Lise in acknowledgment and then turns to me and waits expectantly for me to say the password.
“It’s a beautiful day for flying a kite,” I tell her.
Anna coos in my arms as if she too is saying a secret password. Madeleine’s mouth shifts into a grin, which is missing a few teeth. There are none of the accusations on her face that I have witnessed so many times from other people. No muttered words calling me a French whore.
She opens the door wider and steps aside to let us in. “You must all be tired. Perhaps not you, little one.” She grins again at Anna. “And I bet you’re all hungry. I have some food prepared. I was able to buy rabbit on the black market this morning.”
She leads us to the bathroom so we can wash up, after which she serves us a rabbit stew that tastes heavenly. I eat slowly, savouring each bite.
“Hopefully things will go as scheduled,” Madeleine says as I take another bite of stew. “The plane failed to show during the last two full moons, even though the weather conditions were ideal for parachute drops.”
That is not the news I want to hear, but it’s also not surprising. That happened on more than several occasions when I was the leader of the various reception parties in the Bourgogne region. Or the Lysander would come but then fly past without dropping a single parachute.
