The Librarian Spy(9)

It was silly to stand there in her apartment for a photograph with only the blank wall behind her, which was why her lips were lightly lifted at the corners in an unsure smile. Now she understood. Joseph hadn’t taken the photo for a memory; he’d done it to make a false identity card. She only needed Etienne to confirm her suspicions.

Picking up the identity card, she held it toward him. “Did Joseph make this?”

“In case something happened.” Etienne sighed in capitulation. “To protect you. I couldn’t bring it to you until the Bosche released me.”

Her gaze shot back to Etienne’s bruised jaw. To the cut on his brow. He had been beaten. They would do the same to Joseph.

Pain tightened in her chest for her husband whose years as a battle-ready soldier ended long before they had met.

He had been injured by shrapnel in Verdun. He’d talked about it with her only once before, how the bomb had killed most of the men around him with the exception of himself and Etienne. Joseph had been struck in the leg. Evidence of the trauma was still visible where the skin gnarled beside his knee and curled around the back of his calf, leaving him with a slight limp.

Etienne had walked away from that battle unscathed, but then he had always been lucky. Even now, he sat before her while Joseph remained imprisoned.

“Why did they release you, but not him?” she demanded.

A fatigued look deepened the creases of his brow, and his stare drifted despondently into the void. “I am lucky.” His tone was flat as he stubbed out his cigarette.

“When will he be released?”

Etienne shook his head as his attention refocused on her. “We do not imagine he will be held much longer.”

“We,” she repeated. “The Resistance.”

He nodded.

There was a confidence to his words that eased some of the tension from her shoulders. There were people looking out for Joseph. And perhaps she could help.

“I want to join the Resistance,” she said.

“No.”

She stared hard at Etienne, refusing to back down, tired of always being told no by Joseph. All these months of being so eager to throw herself into the effort against their occupiers and all these months he had proclaimed the Resistance to be useless. Instead, he had insisted she remain home, to wait in interminable queues and perform feats of impossibility in the kitchen with their mean food rations.

The inability to do her part against the Nazis now felt like a betrayal. Like she was not good enough to join the men and women in their brave fight.

She would not be told no now, not when her efforts might aid Joseph to freedom sooner.

“I cannot go back to my own name,” she said. “You have also mentioned I cannot remain in my home.”

Etienne’s dark eyes narrowed.

“I want to be part of the Resistance,” she said again. “I want to help Joseph.”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Joseph doesn’t want you involved.”

“I’m well aware,” she said through gritted teeth.

“It is dangerous work.” Etienne rose from the small table, bumping it in his haste. Without looking at her, he turned to the sink to rinse his cup.

“I don’t care,” Hélène countered. “I’ll do anything to end this occupation, to free our soldiers and my own husband. To stop the degradation of our country and the disgusting treatment against the Jews.”

An unexpected smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Joseph said you’d say that.” Still, he tilted his head. “He will never forgive me.”

“I don’t care about that either.”

At that, Etienne gave a mischievous laugh. “My friend was right in all his fears about you, madame. How fortunate for you that I’ve always been one who seeks forgiveness rather than permission.”

She gaped at him. “Do you mean...?”

Etienne extended a hand to her and folded his long, warm fingers against hers. “Elaine Rousseau, welcome to the Resistance.”



THREE


Ava


There were many ways in which one could read. Either tucked into the corner of the sofa with a strong cup of coffee or lying in bed with the book hovering above one’s face—though admittedly this is not done without peril. But there were also unconventional methods, like while cooking dinner or crossing the street—sometimes even while brushing one’s teeth if the story was truly that engrossing.

Apparently, sequestered in the window seat aboard a metal tube barreling far too fast tens of thousands of miles above the earth was yet another way. Thank the stars for Daphne du Maurier and her gripping tale that helped Ava forget about being on an airplane.

At least for the most part.

When the plane was gliding through the sky like a bird in flight on a clear day, it was easy to lose herself in the book spread between her fingers. However, at the slightest jolt and rattle of turbulence, fear caught her in a powerful and vicious hold, reminding her how precariously her life was held aloft by only a few inches of metal. In those terrifying moments, she couldn’t help but imagine her mother and father as their plane spiraled to the earth on that fateful trip home from France. What they might have experienced, what they might have thought in those last, harrowing seconds of their lives.

Much to the disappointment of the man beside her, Ava kept the window shade snapped tightly shut. If the worst happened and the ground began rushing toward them, she did not want to bear witness to that awful event.