Twenty-Six

Elaine

"You are very lucky, mademoiselle." The doctor lifted his heavy brows, indicating the seriousness of Elaine's situation. He gestured to his open book where a black-and-white sketch revealed the innards of the human torso and tapped the point of his pen against the liver, leaving a small dot of black ink.

"This is where you were struck," he went on. "Thankfully, too low to do any real damage. The bullet missed your heart and lungs, barely skimming over your liver before going straight through. Truly a miracle."

Elaine stared at the drawing, numb.

The doctor's eyes were soft brown and kind. "You are very lucky," he said again.

It might have been funny if the laugh did not stick in her throat with a barely suppressed sob.

Yes, how lucky she was to be spared an immediate death so she could be slowly dismembered by the Gestapo, not only in body but also in soul, her secrets peeled away.

Already they had visited her in the last week, refusing to allow her to speak to a doctor again until she gave the names and addresses of Resistance members. She said nothing as she attempted to will her bandaged injuries into mortal wounds. The nurses had not tolerated such tactics and badgered the Milice until finally the doctor was allowed to come to her bedside, to explain her injuries.

"The other bullets struck you in the calf and at the hip, just missing your bone." He shrugged with a smile. "Lucky, non?"

She swallowed the invective rising in her throat. It burned on its path down, like sour bile. Her focus shifted to the ache of her wounds, testing her weakness against its pain, weighing it to see how much more she might be able to withstand at the hand of her enemy.

Days before the warehouse was attacked, a woman arrested by the Gestapo had thrown herself from the top floor of the building they took her to for interrogation. She knew she would not be able to handle their torture without giving up her comrades, and so she bravely chose death.

Elaine's gaze wandered to the window where a cheerful rose garden mocked her. She had been allowed out the previous day for fresh air and sunshine. The first floor.

How lucky, came the bitter thought.

"There is more," the doctor continued.

Mutely, she turned to face him as he pulled a large brown bundle of cloth from his leather bag and set it on her bed. She frowned and looked up to him once more.

"You have friends who would see you recuperate in a more ideal location." He set his age-spotted hand over the cloth. "I admit, I am a foolish old man." He shrugged his thin shoulders again, his eyes twinkling. "I sometimes forget to lock the door. That is how it is when one gets old."

Elaine's lips parted, but he made a motion for her to hide the bundle. She swept it beneath her hospital sheets, the bulk pressed against her naked leg as she discreetly glanced about to ensure no one had seen. Nurses rushed by in the hall, focused on their tasks.

"As I said, mademoiselle..." The doctor snapped his leather case closed and lifted it by the handle. "You are a very lucky woman."

In this particular case, she was inclined to agree.

Once he left, she slid from her bed to the small bathroom and untied the cloth. Within, she found a pair of glasses, some sandals with soles made from the cutouts of rubber from old tires, a turban, a tube of red lipstick and the brown dress that held it all together, tied like a hobo's sack.

As she wound the turban around her blond hair and smeared the waxy red lipstick over her mouth, she could not help but recall the day she and Nicole had escaped the Nazi officer in the traboule. Suddenly the ache in her heart superseded the bullet wound only a couple centimeters below.

She would continue on with the fight with the Resistance. For Joseph. For Nicole. For Antoine and Manon and Marcel. For all those who sacrificed everything for the chance of freedom.

The hospital gown was a crumpled pile on the floor. She left it where it lay and strode from the room, looking more like a visitor than a patient. She kept her gait slow to avoid calling attention to her limp and strode from the hall leading to the rose garden outside. No one stopped her as she pushed on the door and walked into the heat of the summer sunshine.

Etienne was at her side immediately. He took her arm and guided her down a path to where a white van idled with its gasogene tank jutting awkwardly from its rear, a necessity to turn wood into fuel when only Nazis had access to petrol. Elaine immediately recognized it as the one sometimes used by Marcel to transport large deliveries for their false geological company.

"Marcel?" She quickened her pace, her pulse racing with the hope of seeing him once more. If she had been fortunate with her injury, perhaps the gun had delivered a similar blow to him as well.

But as Etienne caught up to her, he gently shook his head.

"Jean?" she asked, her voice pitching with a note of desperation.

His gaze lowered as he opened the van to reveal a young man with blond hair, someone Elaine had never seen before. Etienne helped her climb into the seat before jumping in beside her and slamming the door closed.

Marcel was dead. Sixteen bullet wounds had seen to that, the last of which being inflicted by his own hand. Finally, after three rounds of arrest, he had made sure they would never capture him again.

Jean was arrested and interrogated. But despite the torture, he did not speak against his fellow comrades. He died by firing squad, refusing the blindfold, opting instead to face the men who would end his life. Where once he had doubted his strength to remain silent, he had now proven himself more than capable, dying a hero.

The automatic printing press that Marcel had painstakingly transported across France and spent months assembling was now destroyed, but the old Minerva had been salvaged. It was on that archaic press that Elaine would eventually return to her work several weeks later in a new location. The warehouse was destroyed by a vengeful Werner, and the operation was forced to move to a narrow, insulated basement without windows and only one door.

As soon as she was able, she went to Nicole's apartment and found the address of the camp where her friend's brother and father were located, resuming the task of sending supplies. It was the least Elaine could do for Nicole and wished there could have been more.

Two months later, the Allied forces surrounded Lyon. Rather than consider a tactful strategy for exit, Klaus Barbie ordered the execution of hundreds of Montluc's inmates. Now backed with the power of the oncoming army, the Resistance rose up against their oppressors and managed to retake the prison before more French blood could be spilled. By August 25th, the tricolor flag flew over Montluc Prison once more. It was a victory Elaine had almost lost hope of ever witnessing.

There were other accounts of the Germans fleeing in those next ten days, abandoning their posts and scattering like vermin when a light was flipped on. They inflicted their extreme cruelty to the very end, even firing upon women and children scavenging after a Nazi infirmary was abandoned on Tête d'Or and left precious commodities like blankets, sugar, and soap scattered in the street. Forty-six were slain that terrible day with over one hundred left wounded.

It was that particular story Elaine was writing the first day of September when Etienne entered through the solitary door and slowly approached, his stare bright. She pushed up to her feet as he stopped before her desk, his hands folded together in front of him.

"Etienne." A million thoughts crowded her mind. But one more than all the rest. "Is it Joseph?"

It was in that knee-jerk reaction, that ready question on her lips and in her heart when she realized she had never truly abandoned the hope he might have somehow survived this terrible war.

Etienne shook his head slowly.

Elaine exhaled a pained breath, hating herself for having hoped for the impossible. After all she had lived through, she was far too much of a realist to entertain such whimsy.

"I went to see Werner," he said.

Her eyes widened. "You should never have put yourself at risk—"

"Nicole never talked." He shook his head. "It was the new girl who told, the one who took her place. It was she who shared the location of the press."

Agony and rage blossomed anew in Elaine's breast. Nicole, so brave and lovely, loyal to the bitter, terrible end.

"For Nicole." Etienne extended his fist over the desk. "And for Joseph." The item he released clattered with a metallic clunk that rattled into place. When he drew his hand away, a silver iron cross lay on the table, smeared with fresh blood.

She sucked in a breath and looked up at him to find his eyes burning into hers.

"The bastard was rushing to clean out his office, preparing to flee." Etienne spoke through gritted teeth, his expression fierce. "I could not allow him to leave—not when he hadn't paid for what he had done."

She went to him and opened her arms. They held one another as their tears fell for the loved ones they could never bring back. For the pain of so much loss.

They had finally won, but the cost had been dear indeed.