The Nightingale

“Chocolate!”

“Sophie, no,” Vianne said, but Beck was charming her daughter, teasing her as he made the chocolate bar disappear and reappear by sleight of hand. At last, he gave it to Sophie, who squealed and ripped off the paper.

Beck approached Vianne. “You look … sad this morning,” he said quietly.

Vianne didn’t know how to respond.

He smiled and left. Outside, she heard his motorcycle start up and putter away.

“Tha’ was good cho’clate,” Sophie said, smacking her lips.

“You know, it would have been a good idea to have a small piece each night rather than to gobble it all up at once. And I shouldn’t have to mention the virtues of sharing.”

“Tante Isabelle says it’s better to be bold than meek. She says if you jump off a cliff at least you’ll fly before you fall.”

“Ah, yes. That sounds like Isabelle. Perhaps you should ask her about the time she broke her wrist jumping from a tree she shouldn’t have been climbing in the first place. Come on, let’s go to school.”

Outside, they waited at the side of the muddy, icy road for Rachel and the children. Together, they set off on the long, cold walk to school.

“I ran out of coffee four days ago,” Rachel said. “In case you’ve been wondering why I have been such a witch.”

“I’m the one who has been short-tempered lately,” Vianne said. She waited for Rachel to disagree, but Rachel knew her well enough to know when a simple statement wasn’t so simple. “It’s that … I’ve had some things on my mind.”

The list. She’d written down the names weeks ago, and nothing had come of it. Still, worry lingered.

“Antoine? Starvation? Freezing to death?” Rachel smiled. “What small worry has obsessed you this week?”

The school bell pealed.

“Hurry, Maman, we are late,” Sophie said, grabbing her by the arm, dragging her forward.

Vianne let herself be led up the stone steps. She and Sophie and Sarah turned into Vianne’s classroom, which was already filled with students.

“You’re late, Madame Mauriac,” Gilles said with a smile. “That’s one demerit for you.”

Everyone laughed.

Vianne took off her coat and hung it up. “You are very humorous, Gilles, as usual. Let’s see if you’re still smiling after our spelling test.”

This time they groaned and Vianne couldn’t help smiling at their crestfallen faces. They all looked so disheartened; it was difficult, honestly, to feel otherwise in this cold, blacked-out room that didn’t have enough light to dispel the shadows.

“Oh, what the heck, it is a cold morning. Maybe a game of tag is what we need to get our blood running.”

A roar of approval filled the room. Vianne barely had time to grab her coat before she was swept out of the classroom on a tide of laughing children.

They had been outside only a few moments when Vianne heard the grumble of automobiles coming toward the school.

The children didn’t notice—they only noticed aeroplanes these days, it seemed—and went on with their play.

Vianne walked down to the end of the building and peered around the corner.

A black Mercedes-Benz roared up the dirt driveway, its fenders decorated with small swastika flags that flapped in the cold. Behind it was a French police car.

“Children,” Vianne said, rushing back to the courtyard, “come here. Stand by me.”

Two men rounded the corner and came into view. One she had never seen before—he was a tall, elegant, almost effete blond man wearing a long black leather coat and spit-shined boots. An iron cross decorated his stand-up collar. The other man she knew; he had been a policeman in Carriveau for years. Paul Jeauelere. Antoine had often remarked that he had a mean and cowardly streak.

“Madame Mauriac,” the French police officer said with an officious nod.

She didn’t like the look in his eyes. It reminded her of how boys sometimes looked at one another when they were about to bully a weaker child. “Bonjour, Paul.”

“We are here for some of your colleagues. There is nothing to concern you, Madame. You are not on our list.”

List.

“What do you want with my colleagues?” she heard herself asking, but her voice was almost inaudible, even though the children were silent.

“Some teachers will be dismissed today.”

“Dismissed? Why?”

The Nazi agent flicked his pale hand as if he were batting at a fly. “Jews and communists and Freemasons. Others,” he sneered, “who are no longer permitted to teach school or work in civil service or in the judiciary.”

“But—”

The Nazi nodded at the French policeman and the two turned as one and marched into the school.

“Madame Mauriac?” someone said, tugging on her sleeve.

“Maman?” Sophie said, whining. “They can’t do that, can they?”

“’Course they can,” Gilles said. “Damn Nazi bastards.”

Vianne should have disciplined him for his language, but she couldn’t think of anything except the list of names she’d given to Beck.