I reopen them to find Johann staring at me like I’m a buried treasure he thought he would never see again.
“It took me awhile to find out where you were taken, and then to get the required signature forged on the necessary documents to get you out.”
“How did you get the forged signature?”
“I cannot tell you. I didn’t even know if it would work. The guards were sloppy and didn’t check the authenticity of the papers.” Johann straightens and kisses my brow. “I need to get you to a doctor so he can reset your hand before it’s too late. Can you trust me? I know it’s not an easy thing I’m asking of you.”
I nod, even though he’s right. Trust is hard to come by in my line of work, even more so when you discover one of your own has turned traitor. But I do trust Johann. I trust him with my life.
He cups the less injured side of my face with his hand and brushes his thumb along my cheek. “I love you, Angelique. Though I am guessing that is not your real name.” He presses his finger to my lips. “Don’t tell me what it is. Not yet.”
He lowers his finger, and I nod. It’s bad enough the Gestapo knows my code name and alias. I don’t need them knowing my real name. If British and American agents are in France, I wouldn’t be surprised if their German counterparts are in England. If they were to learn our real names and locate our families, the outcome would be devastating.
“Thank you for finding me,” I whisper, barely getting the words out. My mouth is dry, my throat sore. He took a great risk searching for me and getting me out of the prison. I cannot thank him enough for what he did.
“I love you and I love our baby.” Johann rests his hand on my flat belly. “I have already lost my father, and I might have lost my mother and sister. I have no intention of losing you too.”
My insides squeeze in a good way, his words adding kindling to the fire of hope burning in me. Hope that burns even brighter with him by my side.
“I love you as well.” I hadn’t expected to ever get to say that to him again. “I love you so much.”
He helps me lie down on the car seat and covers me with the blanket. I manage to make myself somewhat comfortable. Johann starts the engine. The vibration hums through my body.
Exhaustion engulfs me, and I succumb to my fatigue.
* * *
“Angelique.”Johann’s soothing voice intrudes on my nightmare, the name tenderly spoken against my ear. Warm fingers stroke my cheek.
I slowly open my eyes. The blanket no longer covers me, and the sky is a deeper blue.
I push up to sit using my good hand. The excruciating pain in my wounded hand and wrist intensifies, aggravated by the movement. I struggle to catch my breath. “Where are we?”
“There’s someone here who can help you.”
I scan the area outside the car. The place reminds me of Jacques’s vineyard, only instead of vines growing, an orchard stretches in all directions. The nearest neighbour’s house isn’t visible from here.
I don’t recognise the location. I don’t think Johann brought me back to the village. That would be too dangerous.
The brick house in front of us hasn’t been bombed, but a crater is visible a short distance away in the orchard. It doesn’t look recent. The summer grass has found a way to poke through the damaged ground.
Johann guides me to the house, his arm supporting me around my waist.
I hold my injured hand against my body. I’m still woozy from the morning sickness and from being struck in the temple, but it’s an improvement compared to in the prison cell.
Johann doesn’t rush me. He speaks soothing words about the birds in the trees. I know it’s to distract me. I don’t remember him being that fascinated by the birds in Jacques’s vineyard.
The front door opens, revealing a man, his hair light grey, his face heavily lined. He could be in his early sixties. It’s difficult to tell. The war has rapidly aged us all.
He stares at Johann, eyes rounded with fear. “What are you doing here?” There’s a quiet desperation to his tone, his French dialect speaking of a high level of education. His eyes shift to me, and deep groves furrow his brow. “What happened to you?”
Johann doesn’t say anything until we draw closer to the man. “Gestapo tortured her. I was hoping you could help her, Dr. Hubert.” He has the same affection in his tone as he does when he talks about his sister.
The crease between the doctor’s eyes deepens. “Why was the Gestapo torturing you?”
I draw in a long breath, questioning the wisdom of what I’m about to tell him, but at the same time, knowing I don’t have much choice. Not if I am hoping to gain his trust. “I am part of the movement to free France and end the war.”
Surprise crosses his face, widening his eyes even more. I’ve openly admitted this in front of a German soldier. A captain of the Wehrmacht, no less. He may be familiar with Johann, but he clearly doesn’t know everything about the man I love.
