*
Vianne had stood in queues all day, in the oppressive summer heat, and for what—a half a pound of dry cheese and a loaf of terrible bread?
“Can we have some strawberry jam today, Maman? It hides the taste of the bread.”
As they left the shop, Vianne kept Sophie close to her, tucked against her hip as if she were a much younger child. “Maybe just a little, but we can’t go overboard. Remember how terrible the winter was? Another will be coming.”
Vianne saw a group of soldiers coming their way, rifles glinting in the sunshine. They marched past, and tanks followed them, grumbling over the cobblestoned street.
“There is a lot going on out here today,” Sophie said.
Vianne had been thinking the same thing. The road was full of French police; gendarmes were coming into town in droves.
It was a relief to step into Rachel’s quiet, well-tended yard. She looked forward to her visits with Rachel so much. It was really the only time she felt like herself anymore.
At Vianne’s knock, Rachel peered out suspiciously, saw who was at the door, and smiled, opening the door wide, letting sunshine stream into the bare house. “Vianne! Sophie! Come in, come in.”
“Sophie!” Sarah yelled.
The two girls hugged each other as if they’d been apart for weeks instead of days. It had taken a toll on both of them to be separated while Sophie was sick. Sarah took Sophie by the hand and led her out into the front yard, where they sat beneath an apple tree.
Rachel left the door open so that they could hear them. Vianne uncoiled the floral scarf from around her head and stuffed it into the pocket of her skirt. “I brought you something.”
“No, Vianne. We have talked about this,” Rachel said. She was wearing a pair of overalls that she’d made from an old shower curtain. Her summer cardigan—once white and now grayed from too many washings and too much wear—hung from the chair back. From here, Vianne could see two points of the yellow star sewn onto the sweater.
Vianne went to the counter in the kitchen and opened the silverware drawer. There was almost nothing left in it—in the two years of the occupation, they had all lost count of the times the Germans had gone door to door “requisitioning” what they needed. How often had Germans broken into the homes at night, taking whatever they wanted? All of it ended up on trains headed east.
Now most of the drawers and closets and trunks in town were empty. All Rachel had left were a few forks and spoons, and a single bread knife. Vianne took the knife over to the table. Withdrawing the bread and cheese from her basket, she carefully cut both in half and returned her portion to the basket. When she looked up again, Rachel had tears in her eyes. “I want to tell you not to give us that. You need it.”
“You need it, too.”
“I should just rip the damned star off. Then at least I would be allowed to queue up for food when there was still some to be had.” There were constantly new restrictions in place for Jewish people: they could no longer own bicycles and were banned from all public places except between three and four P.M., when they were allowed to shop. By then, there was nothing left.
Before Vianne could answer, she heard a motorcycle out on the road. She recognized the sound of it and went to stand in the open doorway.
Rachel squeezed in beside her. “What is he doing here?”
“I’ll see,” Vianne said.
“I’m coming with you.”
Vianne walked through the orchard, past a hummingbird hovering at the roses, to the gate. Opening it, she stepped through, onto the roadside, let Rachel in behind her. Behind them, the gate made a little click, like the snapping of a bone.
“Mesdames,” Beck said, doffing his military cap, wedging it under his armpit. “I am sorry to disturb your ladies’ time, but I have come to tell you something, Madame Mauriac.” He put the slightest emphasis on you. It made it sound as if they shared secrets.
“Oh? And what is it, Herr Captain?” Vianne asked.
He glanced left to right and then leaned slightly toward Vianne. “Madame de Champlain should not be at home tomorrow morning,” he said quietly.
Vianne thought perhaps he’d translated his intention poorly. “Pardon?”
“Madame de Champlain should not be at home tomorrow,” he repeated.
“My husband and I own this house,” Rachel said. “Why should I leave?”
“It will not matter, this ownership of the house. Not tomorrow.”
“My children—” Rachel started.
Beck finally looked at Rachel. “Your children are of no concern to us. They were born in France. They are not on the list.”
List.
A word that was feared now. Vianne said quietly, “What are you telling us?”
“I am telling you that if she is here tomorrow, she will not be here the day after.”
“But—”
“If she were my friend, I would find a way to hide her for a day.”
“Only for a day?” Vianne asked, studying him closely.
“That is all I came to say, Mesdames, and I should not have done it. I would be … punished if word got out. Please, if you are questioned about this later, do not mention my visit.” He clicked his heels together, pivoted, and walked away.
Rachel looked at Vianne. They had heard rumors of roundups in Paris—women and children being deported—but no one believed it. How could they? The claims were crazy, impossible—tens of thousands of people taken from their homes in the middle of the night by the French police. And all at once? It couldn’t be true. “Do you trust him?”
Vianne considered the question. She surprised herself by saying, “Yes.”
“So what do I do?”
“Take the children to the Free Zone. Tonight.” Vianne couldn’t believe she was thinking it, let alone saying it.
“Last week Madame Durant tried to cross the frontier and she was shot and her children deported.”
Vianne would say the same thing in Rachel’s place. It was one thing for a woman to run by herself; it was another thing to risk your children’s lives. But what if they were risking their lives by staying here?
“You’re right. It’s too dangerous. But I think you should do as Beck advises. Hide. It is only for a day. Then perhaps we’ll know more.”
“Where?”
“Isabelle prepared for this and I thought she was a fool.” She sighed. “There’s a cellar in the barn.”
“You know that if you are caught hiding me—”
“Oui,” Vianne said sharply. She didn’t want to hear it said aloud. Punishable by death. “I know.”