Eight

Elaine

The sky was overcast with a drizzle too light to require an umbrella, but substantial enough for the chilly dampness to seep into one's bones. An ominous sensation, Elaine's mother used to say with an exaggerated shiver and a laugh. But then, Maman was always cold.

It had been two long years since Elaine last saw her parents. They lived in Combs-la-Ville, a rural area about an hour by automobile from Paris where her father was the town's doctor. Elaine hadn't relished the quiet life there and had always been dazzled by Paris's grandeur. Its lure had been irresistible after she completed her courses at lycée and set off on her own. As their only child, they had not been eager to see her leave, but supported her decision out of love for her.

Based on the last letter she'd received from her parents, the petrol shortage hindered travel between towns, which meant the supplies generated in Combs-la-Ville were likely to remain there. Certainly, food was more abundant in farming communities than in the city.

Elaine could only pray their circumstances remained tolerable. Sending and receiving letters into the occupied zone had become difficult previously, and once the Germans swept through the rest of France, it became truly impossible.

Nicole greeted her outside the apartment, wearing her usual tricolor combination with a shopping basket that held several bundles of rutabagas with the leaves still dangling from their purple-and-white bulbs. Along with those, she added a wrapped loaf of bread from her basket to Elaine's. "We are picking up explosives to bring back into the city," Nicole whispered. "These will cover them to avoid any suspicion."

"Explosives?" Elaine asked in surprise, unable to keep from imagining those precarious objects bouncing about in her basket.

"There was an airdrop last night from Britain," Nicole continued softly as they strolled down the cobblestoned street. "And we're nearly out of what we need."

If one read the newspapers—both clandestine and otherwise—the Resistance running low on explosives seemed entirely possible considering how many random bombs burst through the city. The explosions wounded some Germans and killed even fewer. However, the destruction to factories and transformers was generally significant and created more than a few issues for the Nazis. As a result, Lyon's prefect was constantly extending hours of their curfew for several days as punishment, as if they were wayward children warranting parental censure.

But every occurrence of blasted concrete and twisted metal that stymied Nazi operations was a boon to the Resistance that chipped away at Germany's defenses. Eventually the Nazis would fall.

Now she was an integral part in the gathering of those explosives.

She stood a little taller.

They passed a queue of women in front of the grocer. "I found out more about your husband as well," Nicole said once they were out of earshot.

Elaine's heart squeezed in anticipation, though she couldn't discern if the visceral reaction was one of hope or trepidation. She had left a message for Etienne with Manon asking him to meet with her later that day to insist on helping with Joseph's liberation. The days were growing insufferable with thoughts of her husband trapped in a cell. There had to be something she could do.

"What have you heard?" Elaine asked, breathless with anxiety.

Nicole glanced about as they stopped to wait for the tram that would take them to the outskirts of town. People strolled by, appearing preoccupied in their own concerns and lives, but one never knew who listened. Not only plainclothes Gestapo, but also the Milice—the French secret police—and, of course, collaborators, ready to turn in their fellow Lyonnaise for an extra loaf of bread.

A network of dark tram wires was draped overhead like a web where they bobbed and swayed in the light breeze.

"Pierre assisted with creating identity cards, as you know." Nicole spoke closely as though sharing a bit of titillating gossip. "His knowledge of chemistry was essential in creating stamps as well as removing them from the official documents."

Elaine couldn't help but smile. Yes, that sounded like Joseph.

The act of forging the slant of someone's handwriting to create a new identity card wouldn't have been enough for him. He would have persisted in his endeavors until he could not only remove ink from stamps but replicate necessary inks too.

"From what others say, your husband is very intelligent," Nicole said.

Heat spread over Elaine's cheeks. "It's one of the reasons I fell in love with him."

The tram stopped before them, and they climbed in through the open doorway before sliding into the hardback seats amid the other passengers.

"Neither one of us was looking for a relationship." Elaine's shoulders relaxed with the relief of having a normal conversation where their words didn't have to be discreet. "I was determined to maintain my career as a secretary, and he had the importance of his research at the time. We never even went out to dinner together. We just talked so often that we both accidentally fell in love."

Nicole smiled. "That sounds unconventionally romantic."

"It does, doesn't it?" Elaine chuckled to herself as she relived those precious moments in her mind. "One day I was explaining why I never intended to marry since I was earning my own living, and that's when he asked me to be his wife. He said I could keep my job, and he would sign whatever was necessary for me to obtain a bank account that he would never interfere with. And I said yes."

Joseph's brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her, his pleasure at her agreement to marry him apparent.

"You should take me out to dinner," she teased.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not now." Giddiness tickled through her, making her laugh as she threaded her hand into the warm crook of his elbow. "I mean the way other couples do."

"They do that to get to know one another." He bowed his head toward her, and the light spice of his aftershave left her with a heady sensation. "We already know each other." He studied her then as he did a calculation. "Yes, dinner." The suddenness of an answer fully realized. "I'll make reservations."

It was the first of many wonderful Parisian meals shared together with richly flavored sauces, tender meats, and confections that were as artistic as they were decadent. Meals Elaine could not think of now, not when the twist of hunger in her belly was so sharp.

But Joseph had kept his promise to her, never prying into her bank account. Not even after forbidding her involvement in the Resistance.

"Ah, the rain has cleared," Nicole said beside her, startling Elaine from her reverie. "The weather will be ideal for walking."

If anyone had asked, that was why they had come to the outskirts of Lyon, to take in the scenery together.

The tram slowed to a stop, and they disembarked, arm in arm as they made their way toward the forest. After so long in the bustle of the city, the silence of the woods around them was exquisite and called to attention the unfettered chirp of birds and the tranquil rustle of leaves.

"Have you seen the Maquis before?" Nicole asked.

"I've only ever heard of them." Elaine considered the foliage with a new perspective, half anticipating traps to be laid and men to be standing in the shadows with archaic weapons brandished. "Are they as wild as the Nazis claim?"

Nicole led the way in a pair of flat-soled shoes. "They live out here, but they are not as barbaric as they are made out to be." She pushed a strand of blond hair from her face, frowning. "Many are very young."

Elaine tilted her head to look up at the flecks of golden sunlight glinting through the copse of trees. It would be so easy to close her eyes and pretend like the world was right once more. That Joseph was home waiting for her, that they had enough food in their bellies, that Lucie had never been dragged away by the Nazis, and that they all lived without the constant presence of fear.

"Denise's husband is out here," Nicole said in a quiet voice despite them being alone. "It is why she does not come. She is afraid she will never leave if she sees him."

Elaine nodded in understanding. If she was in Joseph's arms with his familiar comfort embracing her, his gentle voice in her ears, the scent of his aftershave surrounding her, it would be like tearing her soul apart to walk away again.

A figure emerged from between the densely crowded trees, his movements so silent, he was more an apparition than a man. At least until they were directly in front of him. His shirt and trousers were dingy and stained with dirt, both so large, they hung from his lanky frame. The soft fuzz of dark hair showed on the crest of his chin and along his upper lip. Nicole's assessment of the Maquis being very young seemed correct.

These weren't men, but boys. Ones who ought to be planning out their education and doing foolish pranks together. But then, theirs was a world where many had to grow up before their time; where childhood was ephemeral, shadowed by the daily dangers they faced.

The boy grinned at them, oblivious to the harsh odor of his unwashed body, and handed a heavy bag to Nicole that was filled with paper-wrapped parcels. "Gifts for the Bosche." He withdrew something from his pocket. "And a little something for you as well."

Nicole gasped and took the small package from his hand. "Chocolate," she breathed. "You divine man, thank you." Without hesitation, she leaned forward and placed a kiss on his gaunt cheek, leaving a blazing imprint of her red lips.

The young maquisard flushed so thoroughly, the lipstick on his skin all but disappeared.

But Nicole did not appear to notice as she turned her attention to the wrapped bricks of explosives. "Come, Elaine, let's divide these between us to carry back."

They made quick work of the stack, so both of their baskets were weighty with their bounty and concealed beneath the rutabagas and bread.

Nicole nodded to Elaine as they stood once more. "This is Pierre's wife."

The boy's eyes widened from under the overgrown shag of his dark hair. "It's a true honor to meet you. Pierre is a most impressive soldier."

Elaine smiled her thanks, unsure what to say to such a claim.

Joseph an impressive soldier?

The boy backed away, his awed stare still fixed on Elaine before he disappeared into the woods as mysteriously as he'd arrived.

"Pierre also trained the Maquis." Nicole hooked the basket over her arm and picked at her thumbnail where the red varnish had chipped at the edge. "Apparently his aim is perfect, and he knows the best ways to set up explosives."

Elaine said nothing as she tried to wrap her mind around Joseph in the wilds sans his ever-present tweed jacket as he taught men how to fight. The more she learned about the hidden parts of her husband, the greater she longed to see him, to ask questions and hear him share what amazing feats he accomplished with the Resistance.

"Here." Nicole broke the bit of chocolate into two pieces and handed one to Elaine.

In the prewar years, such a morsel would scarcely constitute a bite. But now, it was a veritable sugar feast. Elaine popped the confection into her mouth, letting it rest on her tongue and luxuriously melt, sighing aloud with delight at the rare and unexpected treat.

The two women walked in silence for a spell, chocolate sticky in their mouths, sunlight dappling their path, and their baskets laden with food and explosives.

Elaine swallowed the last remnants of the gift as she considered everything she'd been told about her husband. "How have you found out so much about Pierre?"

Nicole lifted a shoulder in a delicate shrug and stepped around a patch of thick, wet mud. "I asked, as I said I would."

"Is there anything else you've discovered that you haven't told me?"

The other woman pressed her lips together and shook her head. An action done with too much haste.

"What is it?" Elaine asked tightly.

"Nothing." Nicole quickened her steps, as if she could be spared from saying more if she was fast enough.

A shadow fell over them as the sun was blotted out by thick, dark clouds. "Please, Nicole. If someone knew of your brother or father, wouldn't you want to know?"

Nicole slowed somewhat, but kept her focus directed on the unseen trail she followed. "Your husband was arrested by Kommandeur Werner," she said after a long pause.

Elaine stopped walking. She may not know as much as the other Resistants, but she knew the name. All the men under Hauptsturmführer Klaus Barbie were cruel, but Werner was exceptionally so, one who relished in the brutalization of his captives. Stories of his torment had reached even her ears and plucked at the darkest nightmares of her imagination.

If Joseph had indeed been taken by Werner, he would doubtless have been treated without mercy all this time. The chocolate in Elaine's stomach was suddenly too rich.

As pleasant as the break from the city had been, she wanted to be back in Lyon to meet with Etienne. No longer was Joseph's rescue to simply get him free of Montluc and back in her arms, but to spare his life.

The tram seemed to travel slower back to the heart of Lyon than it had out to the outskirts.

Nicole put a hand over Elaine's. "I shouldn't have told you."

"I'm glad you did." Elaine looked at her friend as the familiar scenery of Lyon rolled by at an unnervingly languid pace. "You would want to know too."

"I would," Nicole agreed. "But knowing does not always bring a sense of peace."

Her statement wasn't incorrect. The newfound detail buzzed about in Elaine's brain like an overactive bee as her thoughts darted in all directions. She felt foolish, not only for her blind trust but her willful ignorance. She should have suspected he would not just be locked in a cell, but also subjected to torture.

They exited the tram amid a flurry of other passengers and made their way to Croix-Rousse, traveling in silence as Elaine inwardly berated herself. Perhaps it was the consuming manner of such a distraction that caused her to miss seeing the Nazi officer in the street as she turned around the corner.

An officer in the poorer area of Lyon was never a good sign. Had she noticed him, she would have found an alternate way back to the apartment. But she didn't catch sight of the man in his crisp uniform and polished boots. At least, not until Nicole hissed her name.

By then, it was too late.

"Halt," the man said in a hard voice. "Papers."

Elaine froze in surprise at the abrupt order, her thoughts flying to the pounds of explosives dangling at her side.

Nicole grasped her arm in a moment of quick thinking and jerked her backward, the force nearly wrenching her burden free from her hand. Their feet clacked over the cobblestones as they rounded the corner once more, pushed through a door, and slid into a passageway.

The light was dim as the door closed behind them, and the expanse of a traboule tunnel stretched before them.

Outside, the sharp strike of jackboots indicated the Nazi had not given up his pursuit.

Nicole eased off her wooden-soled shoes and Elaine did likewise. The stone floor underfoot was cold and damp, but it would be the only way to move quietly and hopefully without being caught.

Barefoot with her footwear dangling from one hand and the basket of explosives in the other, Nicole slipped down the passageway with Elaine following behind her. They entered a small courtyard where stairs ran upward and two paths went in opposing directions.

Nicole darted right without hesitation and descended to a lower level. The stone steps were smooth as sea glass and depressed in the center, worn down from decades of use. The women encountered another split with options to climb up to the apartments above, go down to the floor below or continue down the long, narrow hall.

A door banged open in the distance, making them both jump. Crisp footsteps came immediately after; the stark echo was as keen as a threat. Nicole led the way down the passage to where several doors lined either side with a shadowed alcove in the corner. She waved for Elaine to join her as she crouched into the darkness.

Elaine sank down beside her friend. Once she stopped, the racing of her heart caught up with her and left her discreetly dragging in a greedy inhale. The ground was like ice, and damp grit clung to the soles of her feet. She longed to brush at them but didn't dare move.

The traboule was one Elaine hadn't explored before and one clearly important to make note of for future use. It was far more prosaic in its craftsmanship than the one on Rue Saint Jean, utilitarian in its construction with an unsettling stench of stale urine she didn't care to consider at present.

The sharp footsteps continued to echo around them, closer and closer until they stopped just above where the women hid. They shrank back until the chill of the unyielding wall behind them seeped through their jackets, as if they could melt into the stone.

Only an hour before, they had walked a sun-spattered path through the forest, indulging in chocolate and a carefree discussion.

Elaine squeezed her eyes shut as the scrape of a boot heel grinding into the filthy floor screeched in the silence. Finally, after an eternally long moment, the officer strode away at a clipped pace, leaving them with only the thundering of their own racing pulses.

Only when the bang of a door slammed in the distance did the tension in Elaine's shoulders ease somewhat. Nicole rummaged around in her purse and dislodged a long strip of fabric. Without a word, she wrapped it around her head in a fashionable turban.

After tucking the loose end into the secure base, she pulled a second piece of cloth free and reached for Elaine.

"What are you doing?" Elaine said as loudly as she dared.

Nicole coiled the fabric over Elaine's hair with practiced expertise. "Making us look different." She withdrew a tube of lipstick and angled Elaine's face upward to apply the red with little more than a stub of makeup. "Now we won't be recognized."

The lipstick was thick and greasy on Elaine's lips with a strange waxy scent. Together, they hefted their laden baskets and exited the traboule from a different door than they had entered. There, they encountered a gloriously empty street.

Once more in daylight, Elaine could see Nicole was correct. Had the Nazi coincidentally wandered to the exact location they emerged, he wouldn't have found them familiar, not with Nicole's flaxen locks bound within the dark turban. She looked older, more sophisticated.

"You should wear your hair up more often." Nicole tilted her head as she considered Elaine. "And lipstick. Red lipstick."

Elaine's cheeks went hot. "I've never been the fashionable type."

"Why not?" Nicole smirked. "It's the only defense we women are allowed. Men have their guns and their medals. We have our charm and our cosmetics." She let her basket sway in her hand as she began to walk.

The rutabaga greens had long since wilted over the wicker edge and now swept side to side with the motion, like sea grass in the lazy roll of ocean waves.

"I don't have the extensive wardrobe you do," Elaine protested, walking beside the other woman.

"Do you mean my skirts?" Nicole did a little twirl, so the navy skirt belled out around her knees, and winked. "I have one with six different hems that are easily adjusted to alter the length. So, you see, it only appears I possess more clothes."

While the trick was ingenious, Elaine could never imagine herself like Nicole, wearing her confidence like the season's most à la mode accessory, flirting with men for distraction, knowing the effect of her own prowess.

Elaine shook her head at such a possibility. Her own style was more classic than stylish and had suited her in country life as well as in Paris and now in Lyon. "I'm not glamorous. Not like you."

Nicole tossed her a conspiratorial smile. "I had unfortunate features as a youth, ones I grew into with the help of my sister. She was always so chic." Nicole's gaze lit with the memory of happier times. "Odile showed me how to put on my makeup, which fashions suit my figure, how to walk and what to say. Were it not for her, I don't think I ever would have had any confidence."

Elaine couldn't imagine Nicole being anything but lovely and self-assured. "Your sister must be very special to you."

The joy on Nicole's face faded. "She is. I long for her to return soon. As well as my papa and my brother." A hardness glinted in her crystal blue eyes. "Once this war is over and we've defeated the Bosche."

Etienne was in the apartment on Rue d'Algérie along with Denise and Josette when Nicole and Elaine arrived. His brows rose in question when he saw Elaine in her turban with bright red lips.

"A Nazi officer tried to chase us, but we escaped through a traboule." Elaine resisted the urge to swipe the brilliant color from her mouth as she set her basket on the table. The absence of its weight immediately left her arm limp with exhaustion.

He frowned.

"Oh, don't fuss." Nicole waved off his reaction before he could protest. "We made some stylish alterations to ensure we wouldn't be recognized and departed from a different door. There is nothing to fear."

Etienne clenched his jaw. "I need to speak with Elaine."

She nodded, glad for the chance to finally talk to him. "In the kitchen."

He let her lead the way to the opposite side of the apartment where they would be afforded some privacy. His swift appearance to her request surprised her but left her grateful regardless. Especially after what she'd gleaned from Nicole.

She closed the door behind him. "There has to be something we can do for Joseph. This has gone on too long. I want to be involved."

Etienne stared hard at her.

"Don't tell me there isn't anything I can do." Irritation elevated her volume. "We have explosives." She forced herself to quiet her voice as she stated this important information, aware that all walls in France had ears. "We have men and women who are willing to help one another. We have everything at our fingertips, including British support. There has to be something I can do."

Etienne swallowed.

The fuse of Elaine's patience ran short, cut off by all the what-ifs crowding into her mind. What if they didn't get to him in time? What if he died before he could be freed? What if she never saw her husband again?

Her outrage exploded in the slap of her hand on the table with a force that jarred her bones and left her palm tingling. "Say something, and don't you dare tell me to be patient again. I won't accept it. Not again."

"He was removed from prison today." Etienne scrubbed a hand over his hair, mussing what had been neatly slicked back.

Such a statement should have elicited relief, but the haunted expression in his dark eyes made wariness tighten through Elaine like a warning.

"Where did he go?"

Etienne's fingers dragged down his face, distorting his features until his hand dropped. "They said he left with baggage," he murmured.

She shook her head. "With baggage? What does that mean?"

He blinked, as if surprised to see her there. "At Montluc, if you are sent with baggage, it means you are going to a work camp. If you are sent without baggage..."

She lifted her brows for him to finish.

"Death."

The word hung in the air between them, like something alive and agitated and poisonous.

"He is at a work camp?" she repeated with relief. "That is not so bad. I can still send him food, I can—"

"Not where he is going. Elaine, this is a different kind of camp. One meant for those actively defying Germany, not for captured French soldiers."

She froze, her body numb. "What are you saying?"

"We can't help him."

Tears burned her eyes, and the turban on her head was suddenly too tight. Too heavy. She felt ridiculous in the waxy red lipstick and the fashionably wrapped cloth, a painted clown on the receiving end of the worst news of her life.

She had never even written to Joseph to tell him she was sorry, how much she loved him. Tears blurred her vision. Etienne reached for her, but she backed away from his hand.

"You told me to trust you," she said in a harsh whisper.

Hair had fallen into Etienne's face, and he raked it back with a growl of frustration. "I thought we could free him."

Several sheets of paper lay on the counter, and a single, desperate idea came to Elaine. "You need to get a letter to Joseph."

"I don't know that I—"

She spun on Etienne. "You promised you'd get him out. I don't care how you manage it, but you will get this message to him." The first drawer she yanked open did not contain a pen. Nor did the second.

One appeared before her, pinched in Etienne's tapered fingers. "Make it small," he cautioned.

With shaking hands, she tore off a corner of the paper and wrote out the only thing that mattered.

Dearest Joseph,

I'm sorry for everything I said. I love you always.

-Hélène

Those few precious words took up the entire scrap. She folded it in quarters, the edges blurring from tears. With the note held out for Etienne, her gaze locked with his. "Do not let me down."

He nodded, but even as he did so, his worried expression belied his fear that he would once again fail.