“Claustrophobia,” Elise corrected.
“Hush,” Maggie admonished. “Try counting backward from a hundred,” she told Gus.
“What happens when I get to zero?”
“Start again.”
They listened as the BBC announcer came on with the evening’s deliberately obscure messages personnels. “Before our next song, please listen to some personal messages. ‘Mathilde has blond hair,’ ‘There is a fire at the bank,’ ‘All good men will come to a party.’ ‘The dice are on the table.’?” And then, “?‘The night has a thousand eyes…’?”
“That’s it!” Maggie twisted the radio’s dial off. “The night has a thousand eyes” was their cue the rendezvous was on. “It’s tomorrow night!”
“Where are we going?” Gus asked, his face white.
“There’s a field near Amboise, where we flew in. The plane will be there.”
“Amboise,” Elise repeated thoughtfully. “That’s nearly thirty kilometers away. We’ll need to leave as soon as possible.”
—
That night, under the light of the full moon, Elise drove the convent’s hearse through the shadows, the headlights covered with slatted blackout covers. Maggie navigated. She read from a worn Michelin map by the moonlight pouring through the car’s windshield, the heavy black bag at her feet. Sarah and Gus were hidden in wooden coffins in the back. “We’re not being followed,” Maggie said. But she looked back, just to be sure.
“A mercy. But I’m more concerned with roadblocks and checkpoints.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, then both women began to speak at the same time. “You first,” Maggie said.
“No, you.”
“Please.”
Elise took a breath. “I was just going to say that even though I got the parents and you didn’t, we both made our own families, didn’t we? I with the nuns here, and you in England, with your friends. Even in the brief time we’ve been together, I can see the bond you have with Sarah.”
Maggie thought of Sarah and of her friends back home—David and Freddie, Chuck and Griffin, even K. And, yes, John across the ocean in Los Angeles. Elise was right; they were her family now. “Do you ever think of what you’d be doing if there weren’t a war?” she asked her sister.
“We spoke of it lightheartedly before, but I’d like to think maybe I can still be a doctor,” Elise replied seriously. “Go back to university when all this is over. Because I do believe this war will end someday. Somehow.”
“I saw how you were with Gus. You’re obviously a wonderful nurse. You’d make an excellent doctor, if that’s what you want.”
“What do you think you’d be doing?”
“I’d probably still be in graduate school, studying mathematics. Not Princeton, as I’d always wanted—they don’t admit women—but at MIT. Still, when I think of myself there, I see myself as bookish and closed off. Living in a black-and-white world of numbers and theory, not truly alive.” She adjusted her wimple. “Passive.”
“So, in some ways the war has been good for you?”
“War is never good,” Maggie retorted with bitterness. “Never. There’s never a ‘good’ war—but I do think we’re fighting a just war. That said, we don’t get to choose the times we live in, do we?”
Elise rubbed at her nose, then confessed. “That’s why I was so angry with you—so afraid of you. When I saw you kill, I thought you had lost your humanity.”
“I hated it,” said Maggie. “I hated doing it and I still hate that I did it. I’ll remember that young man as long as I live.” Her hand crept to her own bullet scar. “But Elise, I—I had to do what I did. I had to. I’ve made my peace with killing him. And I won’t apologize—” There was a loud explosion. Elise slammed on the brakes and the hearse skidded to a stop.
A muffled voice called from the back. “Did they shoot us?” It was Sarah.
Elise grimaced, reaching for the door handle. “Just a tire.”
“A tire,” Maggie repeated, getting out to take a look in the moonlight. The fun never ends.
Together, Maggie and Elise took the spare off the back of the car, then slid the jack under the axle. “Can you believe,” Elise managed as she worked, “that some men don’t think women can change a tire?”
Maggie stopped and looked up. “For goodness’ sake, keep quiet!” she whispered. “There’s a checkpoint ahead!” A uniformed German soldier was approaching. “Keep working,” she muttered.
“I’ll throw the jack at him if he gets any closer—”
“Keep your voice down, Sister.” Maggie realized after the words were spoken that Elise might think she was trying to force their relationship rather than stay in character as a novice nun. Well, there was nothing to do about it now.
The officer stopped a few feet away from the women. “My goodness! Nuns! What on earth are you doing here this time of night?”
“Flat tire,” Maggie explained easily. “We’re from the convent of the Filles de la Charité, which houses an infirmary for the mentally ill.”
The soldier crossed himself. “I can help you if you’d like.”
“Thank you, sir.” Maggie knew refusal of his offer would only mean more suspicion.
“It’s my pleasure, Sisters,” the German assured them as he rolled the damaged tire off the road and bent to attach the new one. “You know, most of you French women snub us. Won’t let us help with anything.”
“Well, we’re certainly grateful,” Maggie gushed, desperate to mask the fear in her voice. If he finds Sarah and Gus…
“It’s shortsighted of the French not to be kinder to us—not speak to us, not invite us to visit their families. I should very much like to get to know Paris from the inside. Yet these cold Frenchmen hold us at arm’s length—and women, well, they’re even worse!” he complained, tightening the lug nuts on the wheel. “It’s so sad to see Paris under these circumstances. The so-called City of Light is famous for its good living and beautiful women. Wine, women, and song, right? Not for me. At least you have been polite to me, Sisters.” He spun down the jack, and the car settled on its tires.
“Of course,” Elise responded with forced cheer.
“Thank you,” he said, handing the tools back to her. “Oh!” he said, peering in. “Are those…coffins?”
“They are, sir,” Maggie said, heart in her throat. Would he want to search them?
“Alas,” Elise explained, “two of our charges have died, and we’re transporting them back to their home parish.”
He shuddered. “God bless you both.” He came around to the front of the hearse. “I’m a bit lonely here,” he admitted, before saluting smartly.
“Sometimes loneliness can be a good thing,” Maggie said as they climbed back into the hearse.
—
Jacques was waiting for them. In the moonlight and the glow from the hearse’s slatted headlights, Maggie saw his silhouette as he stood in front of a corrugated-metal shed at the end of a makeshift airfield. An RAF Lockheed Hudson was parked in the rough grass.
The air was damp and cool. Maggie’s shoes sank into the spongy earth as she stepped out of the vehicle. Somewhere, an owl called mournfully.
Jacques ran to embrace Maggie. “You made it!”
“It was close,” she admitted. “A little side trip to Avenue Foch.”
He kissed her forehead. “But you made it.” Then he turned to scowl at the hearse. “What’s in there?”
Maggie walked back and swung open the doors. “More passengers.”
The coffins were heavy. Gus was wild-eyed and breathing heavily when he was finally released.
“It’s all right,” Elise comforted him as he flailed and tried to stand.
“You did it!” Maggie said as she handed Sarah the precious bag.
“I thought we were done for at the checkpoint,” Sarah said softly.
Elise nodded. “So did I.”
“Jacques,” said Maggie, “this is my half sister—”
“Sister,” Elise corrected.
“Sister,” Maggie agreed, smiling broadly.