Six

Elaine

The following day, Elaine found herself in the company of Josette, Nicole, and Denise once more—this time to deliver the clandestine newsprint. They had already stuffed the papers into benign-looking envelopes with recipients' addresses on them—without the names, of course. While it was generally best to memorize details, some bulk deliveries such as newspapers required at least the location.

Elaine took her sorted stack from the pile on the table and slipped them into the false bottom of her shopping basket, just as she had been shown.

"Josette and Nicole will go together. You come with me," Denise said.

The noonday bells chimed, their cue to leave. Elaine followed the ladies down the stairs. Josette and Nicole melted into the myriad other Frenchwomen strolling the streets of Lyon with their shopping baskets on their arms. Then it was Elaine and Denise's turn, going in the opposite direction. No one would question their baskets, as they were a common sight these days as women remained desperately hopeful they might come across a store with a new shipment of food.

Despite the distribution of ration cards, there was no guarantee those items would be available for sale. More often than not, their allotted rations were impossible to find on any given day, particularly meat. And of the goods that could be found, the prices were exorbitant by comparison to the prewar years, some even soaring as high as four times what it cost previously. The recipes Elaine had been forced to learn were dismal, ones centered around Jerusalem artichokes and rutabagas or trying to stretch a tin of sardines or a single egg as far as possible.

Meager though they may be, the very thought of those meals tugged at the empty place within her that was never filled, and her stomach gave a snarl of complaint.

With the force of her will and regular practice through the duration of the Nazi occupation, Elaine now was able to push aside her hunger. She was even able to set aside her unease at her new task and focus wholly and completely on what needed to be done.

Denise and Elaine worked carefully through Bellecour, a dangerous neighborhood in the heart of Lyon where the Nazis congregated. The Germans lingered in the streets with a comfortable leisure the French themselves could no longer enjoy, sitting in cafés and sipping from porcelain cups filled with precious coffee, milk, and sugar. They marched into the finest hotels, which they draped in swastikas, and they sullied what had once been fine food with the foulness of their gluttony and hatred. Even the beauty of the art in the museums was made ugly by their constant presence.

However, Bellecour was also the area where Elaine had lived in her time before joining the Resistance.

While curiosity and a longing for the normal lured her toward the familiar street, she refrained from temptation and let Denise deliver the newspapers instead.

Elaine had bid farewell to the little apartment over two weeks ago after having spent so many months there resenting the home. It remained locked up, her key nestled behind a loose brick in Etienne's building. Now, after sleeping in various locations and safe houses, she found herself yearning for the simple life she once shared with Joseph.

Suddenly she was glad she had allowed Denise to take the deliveries on her former street. Not only to ensure Elaine wasn't recognized, but also to spare her the pain of being so near home. How she missed the cool, smooth sheets of her own bed, the couch cushions that were worn soft with age, and the way the bathroom held a spice of Joseph's aftershave long after he'd left for the day.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to march down Rue Sala, keeping her gaze purposefully turned from the street placard of Rue du Plat that implored her to turn into its embrace.

Denise regarded her carefully when they met up once more to return to the apartment near the bookstore in Croix-Rousse.

"Our life is not an easy one." Denise adjusted the false bottom of her basket, securing it over the hidden area once more. "That was probably difficult for you, being so near your former home."

"I managed." The aroma of cooking food from restaurants serving the Nazis flavored the air with a savory aroma that made Elaine's mouth water.

It was impossible to smell and not recall the taste. Ham with the edges slightly crisped, the meat tinged black in spots where the heat seared a second too long.

It was impossible to recall the taste and not crave it with every ounce of her longing to sink her teeth into that tender morsel, free of gristle and stringy fat. Just lean, juicy meat.

"You did muster through," Denise replied. "That spirit is why you are a good fit for our group. Nicole is as well."

"And, of course, Josette," Elaine amended, pulling her focus from food she would never have and back to the conversation at hand.

Denise shifted her basket to her other arm and nudged Elaine to the other side of the street. "This is not a life for a woman like Josette."

No sooner had they crossed over the pavement than a group of Nazis strode by where Elaine and Denise had been. Their gray-green uniforms were immaculately pressed, belted at the waist and studded with medals, their hair cropped short beneath caps. Easy conversation flowed between them in their harsh tongue, without worry of retribution or concerns like hunger and cold.

Their carefree nature stoked the ire burning inside her, making it flare brighter. France had flopped on its side like a dog begging for its belly to be scratched, its people practically eager to conspire with the enemy for scraps of food.

The Nazis would face their day of reckoning. They had to.

Boys scuttled beneath the table the Germans had abandoned at the café, picking up the butts of their cigarettes. Their grandfathers likely waited at home for the gifts, eager to rewrap the remaining bits of tobacco. Rumor had it, Hitler detested smoking and ordered his men to forego cigarettes and alcohol, both of which the Nazis consumed in mass quantity regardless. The one order they were apparently willing to defy.

The men's plates had not yet been cleared, most with food decadently left to be thrown away. Bits of potato. Chunks of fat-riddled meat sitting in pools of gravy. Thick slabs of white, soft bread.

A sharp hunger pain stabbed through Elaine. All that was available in bakeries now was brown in color, with an unpleasant texture and a bland taste that usually left the burn of indigestion in its wake.

She should look away as they passed, to avoid tormenting herself with the unfinished feast. The Germans had swept through France like locusts and used their gluttony as another means of oppression. Letting her gaze linger on the food was one more way they won.

But no matter what Elaine told herself, she could not tear her eyes from the plates. Especially not after she caught sight of a greasy smear of butter glistening atop an airy piece of white bread, its crust flaky and half sodden with juices from the meat.

She swallowed, but her mouth continued to water as they walked away from the laden table. At her side, Denise had also gone silent, no doubt plagued with the same infernal ravenous hunger as Elaine.

One intrepid boy cast a cursory glance before swiping the buttered bit of bread. Elaine couldn't blame him. Even she was tempted. Not that it was worth the chance of being arrested or possibly shot.

This was why turning her focus on the Resistance was preferable to sitting home alone where boredom allowed the hunger to gnaw at her. With the café—and the distraction of food—behind them, Elaine could center her attention on more important matters.

Like why Denise had looked at her as she had the previous day when Elaine had mentioned Joseph. Her strange expression had been why Elaine had been eager to join her, but the familiarity of Bellecour had rattled Elaine and then there had been the food the Nazis left behind...

She leaned close to Denise as though sharing a tidbit of gossip for the benefit of anyone watching. "I want to free my husband from Montluc. Will you help me?"

Denise turned to her, slowing her pace but not stopping lest they call attention to themselves. Her expression remained as lugubrious as it had been when Elaine first mentioned Joseph's imprisonment, a somberness Elaine had not forgotten. The memory of it picked at her thoughts every time she lay in the unfamiliar bed of yet another unfamiliar safe house and waited for sleep to claim her.

In truth, it was that look that had prompted Elaine to go to Denise with this request. If anyone could estimate the likelihood of freeing Joseph, it would be Denise.

"Montluc is not a place easily broken out of." Denise glanced about as she spoke. "Do not confuse your bravado for stupidity."

Elaine stiffened at the derisive comment. "What would you do if your husband was in prison?"

"I certainly wouldn't put him further at risk by going to him with a false name and trying to break him out." She lifted a brow and gave a little shake of her head. "You will both end up shot. You are better off leaving his freedom to Gabriel, who has the devil's own luck."

Gabriel. Etienne. No matter what name he went by, she was correct. He had not only emerged from the Great War unscathed, but always managed his way out of scrapes now as well.

Elaine was not so swiftly placated. She stared deep into the other woman's dark brown eyes. "I don't think you would do that."

"No," Denise confirmed. "But I am better trained than you."

Her words stung, but sadly they held truth. Denise possessed a steeliness in her gaze, her time with the Resistance evident in the way her hands never once trembled and how easily she ignored the Nazis walking past.

They climbed a steep set of stairs and the conversation between them dropped with nothing more left to be said.

Elaine's shoulders relaxed as they turned into the Croix-Rousse area of Lyon where pockmarked walls were littered with peeling signs and alleyways held the lingering odor of rubbish. There was less fear of patrolling Germans who seldom deigned to walk through the workmen's district.

When Elaine and Denise entered the apartment, Nicole and Josette were already there, gathering envelopes for the second half of their deliveries.

"Bonjour,"Nicole called cheerfully. "We have this last bit and we are finished." Her gaze lingered on Elaine for only a moment when she declared, "What if Josette goes with you, Denise. And, Elaine, I'll show you around here."

"I would like to become more familiar with the area," Elaine agreed.

After they refilled their baskets, she allowed Nicole to lead her back down into the streets. The other woman wore an outfit similar to her last with a navy skirt like the day before, this one falling slightly below the knee, which she paired with a blue-and-white-striped shirt that called attention to her slim waist. With her red lips and nails, it was yet another clever application of the French tricolor. This time Elaine was certain the color choice was not by accident.

Of the four of them, Nicole always upheld a fashionable appearance. Denise was utilitarian in her attire with simple dresses and flat-soled shoes. The style was not much different from Josette's who was partial to neutral colors that kept her from standing out, her only adornment a small gold cross that lay on a glittering chain below the hollow of her throat. Elaine's own manner of dress was up to the standards of any housewife, her clothes clean and well-cared for despite the soap shortage, and her hair curled and swept back at the sides.

Nicole strode through the street with confidence, her wooden heels striking the ground with sharp clicks that made Elaine recall the song "Elle avait des semelles de bois" ("She Had Wooden Soles") that Henri Alibert put out after rubber and leather became too hard to find. The catchy tune called out the click-clack sound young women made as they sauntered down cobblestoned streets in their ration-altered footwear.

"You mustn't let Denise bother you." Nicole waved Elaine into an alleyway where they slipped into a covered alcove and discreetly deposited several envelopes into the wall of letterboxes. "She's like that with everyone." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I think that's how it often is with communists."

Elaine's brows rose in surprise. Communists were some of the first groups cleared out by the Germans sent on trains and never seen or heard from again. A shiver slid down Elaine's spine. "Denise is a communist?"

Nicole nodded as if it didn't matter at all. "She's managed to evade the Nazis thus far. It is why she operates underground as we all do."

The openness with which Nicole spoke set a nervous edge to Elaine's newly sharpened skills as a Resistant, and yet such candor was also refreshing after Denise's stifling presence.

"What about you?" Elaine asked as they pushed back out onto the street.

Nicole bit the inside of her lip. "My brother and father both fought for France and were captured by the Bosche. Now they are in work camps in Germany. The sooner this war ends, the sooner they will be free."

"What of the relève?" Elaine recalled the many posters she had seen about a year prior, asking women to labor for the Nazis in order to release the imprisoned French soldiers. For every three women who volunteered to go to Germany, one man would be released back to France.

After Lucie disappeared, Elaine had insulated herself from the idea of ever forming another friendship, not when trusting people was so dangerous. Not when losing a dear friend hurt so terribly. As a result, Elaine knew no one in such a predicament as to need to participate in the relève program until now. In thinking of her own aching loss with Joseph still in prison, she could imagine the enticement would be tempting.

Nicole scoffed, the sound harsh and indelicate. "My sister joined the relève. The Germans promised she would be near her husband, but I doubt that vow was ever honored. Regarding the French soldiers who are returned to France, they are all old and injured. Young, healthy men will not be freed until the war is over and now she is trapped in Germany, working for the Bosche until then."

It was so very like the Nazis to use a woman's love for her family to coerce her into building the very weapons and machinery that would continue to keep them enslaved.

"Here." Nicole handed Elaine a stack of envelopes. "These are all to be delivered up there."

Elaine gazed up, up, up at the winding incline of Montée de la Grande C?te, a narrow street with narrower walkways on either side, shimmering with moisture from a recent rainstorm. The brown buildings stretched up to the sky, and stone-arched windows from an ancient time dotted their bland faces. Elaine hastily slid the pile into the secret bottom of her basket.

By late afternoon, the task was complete, and Elaine descended the steep slanting road, careful to ensure her shoes did not slip on the damp cobblestones. The sheen of sweat on her brow chilled in the cool breeze, a glorious reprieve after her exertions.

Her stomach pinched with hunger and in those moments of quiet reflection, she found her thoughts once more drifting to the plates of food left behind by the Nazis earlier that day. Denise and Josette arrived at nearly the same time as Elaine approached the bookshop. Suddenly, a Nazi officer emerged from a nearby café, his back ramrod straight with authority as he glanced about the street.

Josette gave a little squeak and tripped on the walkway. Though she staggered and her free arm flailed, she was no match for the wet surface slicking the pavement and she careened to the ground.

As her basket struck the cobblestones, its false bottom fell open and an envelope tumbled out.

The German looked toward the commotion, his gaze going sharp.

All at once, Nicole appeared in front of Josette and waved to the Nazi. "Pardon, monsieur."

His expression shifted from one of suspicion to one of interest as he strode confidently toward her. Nicole sashayed closer, blocking Josette and allowing the flustered woman the opportunity to reclaim the spilled envelope and snap the scared rabbit look from her face.

The German did not notice. "Oui, madam? What may I do for you?" he asked in broken French.

"Do you have a light?" Nicole drew a slim silver cigarette case from her handbag.

"Of course." The officer pulled a box of matches from his pocket, the contents giving a delicate rattle.

Nicole opened her case and giggled. "Do you have a cigarette as well? I appear to be out."

The charade was almost laughable if Josette's slip had not put them all in such terrible danger.

Without hesitation, the Nazi presented an orange pack of Sulimas to Nicole. He shook two sticks free, lighting first hers, then his own.

Nicole pursed her red lips and slowly blew out a billow of gray smoke. "Merci, monsieur." After gifting him with a winning smile, she sauntered away, leaving him staring after her.

In the time the exchange took place, Josette managed to collect herself and walked with Denise past the apartment as Elaine crossed the street, keeping her distance so as not to show they were together.

"Ah, Elaine, there you are, ma chérie," Nicole called out, waving her hand as though they were simply friends meeting up with one another.

She took Elaine's arm and led her in the direction Denise and Josette had gone, stopping when they rounded the corner. The street was empty, with most women having returned home after a day of waiting in queues for their rations. It would be Elaine's turn to queue for food tomorrow, a familiar task she was already dreading.

Nicole sucked in a long inhale of the cigarette, her eyes closing in pleasure. But as she exhaled a stream of smoke, she stubbed it out on the bottom of her shoe.

"Such commodities are too valuable to waste," she explained. "I send as much as I can to my brother and father in Germany. My hope is that..." Her lips pressed together as she pulled out her silver case and slid the black-tipped cigarette into the empty container before replacing it in her handbag. "I hope the things I can spare will be enough to get them through this awful war."

"I'm sure it will." Elaine knew nothing of the camps where the soldiers were imprisoned, especially when she had been left ignorant in the months Joseph forbade anything pertaining to the Resistance. But the wounded plea in Nicole's gaze compelled Elaine to offer some reassurance, even such a simple platitude.

Nicole pulled up her sleeve slightly to reveal a small mole just over the crook of her elbow. "My father has the same." She smiled fondly as she gazed at her own arm. "Do you see the heart?"

It was a bit of a stretch to make out a heart in the mole, but when the idea was put in one's mind, the shape became recognizable. Elaine nodded. "I do."

Nicole's smile broadened, and she pulled the sleeve of her sweater lower to cover it once more.

"I can't believe you are still using that tired, out-of-cigarettes trick." Denise shook her head with playful censure and joined them with a downtrodden Josette at her side.

The worried expression on Nicole's face brightened into one of confident victory, like a light switch being flipped on. "It's only tired if it stops working." She patted her purse. "I assure you, it is still quite effective." With a wink toward Elaine, she added, "It works every time."

Denise cast her eyes heavenward as they found the entrance to another doorway and traversed a series of traboules and stairs. Eventually, they returned to the courtyard of Rue d'Algérie. A quick glance in the letterbox revealed a small message addressed to Elaine. She snatched it out, her heart doing a flip. Once in the safety of the apartment, she ripped open the envelope, recognizing Etienne's slanted writing straight away. Unfortunately, the note was not about Joseph as Elaine had hoped.

You will be staying at 21 Rue Lanterne with a "cousin"—second floor, door on the left. I'll send your things.

If he was sending her things, it meant she might remain at the new location longer than a night. Etienne had generously stored Elaine's clothing at his apartment so she could travel from one safe house to another unburdened while more permanent lodging could be found. One small bag of effects and an outfit or two was less cumbersome than trying to haul all her belongings around.

The idea of not having to be on the constant move to a different apartment every evening brought more relief than she had expected. Sleeping in a new place always required a period of adjustment, to grow used to the sounds and scents around her. The perpetual rotation of new beds was enervating and left her mind fogged with exhaustion.

While the long-term place to stay was welcome, she could not help the ungrateful thought that she would have preferred for the missive to be good news about Joseph's release instead.

That evening, she trudged up two flights of stairs to her new accommodation, anticipating a stark room, scarcely furnished with a lumpy bed. As usual.

She rapped softly on the door and tried to ignore the spiced fragrance of cooking food and her growling belly.

"Oui?"a voice called.

"It's your cousin Elaine."

The door swung open to reveal a delicate blond woman in a black dress with a hem that fell to her slender calves. Her lips twitched into a smile that her deep brown eyes did not reflect. "Ah, yes, Elaine. It is so good to see you, cousin. Please do come in."

It was a charade Elaine had played over many times if the safe house was occupied, maintaining a persona of friendship or relation. Though in many cases, the places she stayed were empty, the nights filled with silence and loneliness. Not that her hosts were ones for conversation, but at least having a presence there made the space feel less bleak.

Her current hostess opened the door, displaying a modestly adorned apartment that appeared home enough to make Elaine's chest ache for her own. The aroma of food was stronger inside than it had been in the hall. Sausage, perhaps?

Elaine breathed in discreetly, savoring the scent as if she could fill her belly with smell alone.

Yes, definitely sausage.

"I'm Manon," the woman said. "You will be staying with me for some time, I understand. Please, follow me to your room."

Elaine nodded in thanks and did as instructed. They walked through a living room with a blue velvet couch, heavy matching drapes that most women would have made into a coat by now, and a piano adorned with framed pictures. Manon opened a door to a single, narrow room, the fireplace hearth empty, but the bed layered with a thick, downy blanket. A box lay near the door, likely Elaine's clothing Etienne had sent earlier.

"I will have some supper for you in the kitchen once you are settled," Manon said. "I expect you are hungry."

It wasn't a question. Aside from the Germans, everyone was hungry these days. None of Elaine's previous hosts had been so considerate before, leaving her to eat whatever she managed from the black market or to acquire in the interminable queues.

"I had bread earlier," Elaine lied. The woman's limbs looked frail as bird's bones and her neck was so slender, it seemed almost incapable of holding up her head. Elaine would not take her food.

Manon folded her arms over her chest. "The pope has deemed it is no longer a sin to purchase items on the black market. He knows we are all starving." The corners of her mouth quivered, as if she were trying to offer a smile, but failed. "I have prepared for your stay."

Elaine blinked at such generosity. "I will be there momentarily, thank you."

Manon departed the room, leaving Elaine to settle.

The box did indeed contain Elaine's clothing, the items faded, worn and fewer in number than at the start of the war due to the ration. However, the experience of once more having her belongings tucked into the drawers of an armoire rather than stuffed into a sack like an old peddler was still enormously pleasant.

On her way out of the room, Elaine paused to look at the photos on the piano. A man and woman smiled back at her from most of the pictures while several others were of a baby boy with dimples in each of his cheeks and a swath of dark hair brushed over his round head. A moment passed before Elaine recognized the woman as Manon. Her body was fuller in the images, but more than anything, the difference was in the wide grin that left her eyes sparkling with joy.

In former days, Elaine would have asked after the man and the baby, especially with their absence so apparent in the quiet home. But those were conversations of the past. The less she knew of her hostess, the better.

Elaine straightened and went to the kitchen where Manon had laid out a plate for her with two fat lentil sausages, a few boiled rutabagas, and a narrow slice of bread. It was a veritable feast. Elaine ate everything but the bread—not because she was full, but to tuck away to have delivered to Joseph at the prison the following day. She wasn't sure such parcels made it to him or not, but it was still worth the effort to try.

Her husband weighed on her thoughts constantly now—the worry at how much longer he would be kept at Montluc, the anticipation of seeing him once more. Even as she climbed into the pillowy bed that night and folded the thick blanket over herself, she begrudged her own warm safety as she imagined what he must be enduring.

Denise claimed Elaine didn't have the training to manage a way to liberate Joseph. Unfortunately, she was not wrong, but surely Etienne would. Once Elaine had finished whatever task awaited her the next day, she would reach out to demand he do anything necessary to expedite Joseph's freedom. And she would be there to help.