MARIE thanked her new landlady and warmly wished her a good night. She carefully set her bag on the little bed and then looked all around the room — performing a little inventory. Everything had been carefully prearranged. She had a chair, a bed, a small bedside table, a sewing machine table, two lamps and an electric light. Black out curtains covered the windows. A privacy screen leaned against the wall next to the window, folded up behind the sewing machine table. She had a small cast iron wood or coal burning stove she could use in the wintertime. The stovepipe unpretentiously ran directly up from the stove and out through the roof.
The building was old, perhaps two or three hundred years old. The room was clean and had been painted within the last three or four years. She set the single chair in the center of the room beneath the electric light and stood on it to inspect the hiding place in the ceiling. It was simple but quite well hidden. The electric light shone in the eyes of anyone looking up. She could store her wireless rig in the space with little effort.
Marie went back to the bed and opened the antenna for the wireless machine and set everything up to transmit. Transmitting from her room came with enormous risk, but she had never done it from that location and would make it very quick. She simply had to transmit a quick missive to London from Praetorian about the upcoming mission. She didn't need more than a few seconds. Simple enough to do it without having to pull out the complicated code book.
She dashed out the missive, then waited, getting a response almost immediately. As soon as the last tone sounded in her ear, she disassembled the equipment, boxed it all up neatly, and climbed on a wooden chair to reach the ceiling. Carefully moving the wooden beams out of her way, she slipped the box into the ceiling, then secured the beams again.
She hopped down and set the chair back in its spot. Looking closely at the floor, she inspected it to make sure that the chair hadn't left any scrapes that might give an indication that she'd had the chair in the middle of the room like that, giving a clue to anyone searching her room to look up.
Everything looked in order so she spread new material out on her bed and started pinning the thin paper pattern to the material. She listened to the street sounds coming through her open window to her third floor room and considered how perfectly normal everything sounded. The noises outside could have come from any French village on any regular day. Then she heard the sound of a medium duty military Opel Blitz truck roll by and the harsh German language of the soldiers riding in the back. It made her neck muscles tighten.
How would this all end, this war? Sometimes, she didn't see how it could possibly end. But no war could go on forever. There would be a victor. Only, which side this time?
Marie's father had served in the Great War. That's how he'd met her mother. He'd fallen in love and never returned home to England. If he still lived, he was doing his part to battle the Germans once more. Even though they dragged him out of his home in the middle of the night, if they had released him he would have gone back to his normal anti-Nazi activities. He would have secured Jewish children, hiding them in his home until he could get them out of the country or into other homes with passable identification. The threat of punishment or imprisonment, even death, would never stop her father from doing what he knew was the right thing.
Thinking of her father led her mind to her brother. She whispered a prayer as she worked, praying he was alive and well, wondering where they'd sent him to operate, and in what types of missions he participated. She caught herself praying for his safety, but she knew none of them would be safe until the Nazis were gone for good.
THE pounding on the door surprised Marie and she let out a startled cry. The pounding came again, even louder and more insistent, and the scissors she held in her hand clattered to the table as she covered her heart with her hand. Her mind could not avoid taking her back to the very night she and Edward had fled from their home in the dead of night.
She looked around the little room. She had neatly made her single bed when she first woke. The trifold screen in the corner had no undergarments draped over the top of it. Her sewing machine in the center of the room stood ready. Most importantly, the ceiling beams above the screen were in place and did not look like they had been moved at all.
The visual inspection took place instantly and concluded within seconds. She quickly reminded herself not to answer to Marie Gilbert, but rather Marie Perrin. Since accepting that code name and her mission, nothing in her life was exactly as it appeared.
Running suddenly damp palms over her skirt, she went to the door and opened it. The sight of a German officer, a Second Lieutenant, made her heart freeze in her chest. Had they finally discovered her?
"You are the seamstress, are you not?" he demanded by way of introduction. He stood tall, a couple inches over six feet, and looked young for an officer. He had hair the color of straw and piercing dark blue eyes — the very caricature of an Arian leader in Hitler's army. His French accent sounded different than the accent she had heard from other Germans, though she couldn't place the discrepancy.
Trying not to sound as nervous as she felt, Marie answered, "Yes, Leutnant. I am a seamstress." She looked him up and down. "Perhaps you need a dress?"
He opened his mouth, closed it, then barked a laugh. "A dress? I like that, Fräulein. Very amusing." The smile completely transformed his face and made him look less formidable. Putting a hand over his heart, he gave her a stiff and short bow. "I am Leutnant Leopold Schäfer and I have an emergency."
"What kind of emergency?"
"An unexpected uniform malfunction. It seems I have lost a button." As his face flooded with color, he gestured toward the fly of his trousers.
Looking over his shoulder and seeing he was alone, she said, "Well, I can't sew it on while you're still wearing your pants. Bring them back anytime today. It won't take a minute to mend."
"No time for that. I have my promotion ceremony to Oberleutnant in twenty minutes. I cannot go to that ceremony with a button missing from my fly." He put his hands together like a child begging for a cookie. "Please, Fräulein. I am at your mercy. I beg you to help me. I am a desperate man."
Torn, not wanting to offend a Nazi officer but very much not wanting to help Germany either, she looked around again. "I'm very sorry, Leutnant, but men aren't allowed into my room."
"I am aware. I sought and obtained permission from your landlady before knocking on your door."
Marie raised an eyebrow. "How did you manage that?"
He smirked. "Must you ask?"
Of course. This man was a Nazi officer, a conqueror. He represented the military might of the entire Third Reich, of Adolf Hitler himself. Her landlady was merely a lowly French woman, a commoner. If she didn't want any trouble, she couldn't refuse. Likewise, how could Marie refuse to sew on his button right this very instant?
Fresh anger surged through her heart, but she did not let it show on her face. Instead, she stepped back. "Please come in, Leutnant Schäfer. Leave the door open, if you please."
He raised an eyebrow but pushed the door fully open instead of shutting it behind him as he had automatically begun to do. Marie continued. "There is a dressing screen just there. Remove your trousers and pass them over to me but do not come out from behind the screen in a state of undress."
With the door wide open and the privacy screen in place, she could hope for some decency or humility in this situation. Not that any kind of modesty would protect her from a German officer who might have other intentions. Nonetheless, nearly two decades of social etiquette drilled into her by her father could not go ignored, even in a war zone.
While the German went behind the screen and began to disrobe, Marie looked through her jar of buttons and found a few that should work on his uniform. In a matter of seconds, he flipped his pants over the top of the dressing screen. As she reached for them, she couldn't help but glance up at the ceiling. Almost directly above the German's head, the case containing her wireless lay hidden in the ceiling.
"I am very happy you were in this afternoon," he announced from behind the screen.
"I'm sure you would have been resourceful if I hadn't been," Marie answered, threading a needle with dark gray thread.
"Are you curious to know how I lost a button on my trousers?"
"Dare I ask?" Uninvited images raced through her imagination.
He laughed. "I wish I knew myself. I left my room this morning in a perfect state of dress. Now, right before this important ceremony, I find myself out of uniform."
"One hopes this is the only time you lose your fly button before a military ceremony. I'm not going to be around all the time after all," Marie said, deftly sewing on the button that most closely matched the others on his uniform. He laughed again while she sewed. It took her less than a minute. With small scissors, she snipped the thread and lay the trousers over the screen again. "All done. Here you go, Leutnant."
"Danke," he said enthusiastically.
"Please, don't mention it." She crossed her arms over her chest and waited, listening to the rustle of clothing as he put the trousers back on. When he came from around the screen, he carried his highly polished boots. She gestured toward the chair facing her sewing machine.
"I will be out of your hair in just a moment," he said, sitting down. "I can't be late, after all."
"Of course. After he made the trains run on time, I imagine the Führer looks down on any officers who are less than punctual." Her voice remained very monotone.
He looked up at her sharply, staring at her with very serious eyes for a moment, his jaw set to speak something in anger before he apparently reconsidered and quietly said, "Yes, I imagine he does." He finished fastening his boot strap and stood. "How much do I owe you, Fräulein?"
Marie waved her hand dismissively. "Nothing. I'm happy to help, Leutnant."
"As a matter of principle I insist on paying you for your work."
"I'm afraid I must insist on accepting nothing from you, Leutnant." She walked to the open door and gripped the handle. "Congratulations on your promotion, First Lieutenant. I hope I have not delayed you too long and that you make it to your ceremony on time."
He stopped at the door and looked down at her. "Very well. At least accept my gratitude. Thank you, Fräulein, from the bottom of my heart."
She felt her cheeks flush with color as he rushed from the room. When she was certain he was gone, she shut the door and locked it, pressing a shaking hand to her suddenly nauseated stomach. She stared at the ceiling, where the wireless machine sat hidden.
"Dear God," she prayed in a whisper, thankful for whatever protection He'd just granted her. "Thank You, God. Thank You."
MARIE pushed the headphones tighter against her ears. "Come on," she whispered urgently. After several seconds of silence, she retransmitted the message and waited. A bead of perspiration trickled down her forehead and she closed her eyes and prayed. It was taking so long.
The longer she transmitted, the more time the Germans had to do the arithmetic. They would intercept her signal, intersect her frequency, triangulate the origin from more than one angle, and resect her exact location. The computations could be made within minutes. Say what you wanted about the German Army but no one could criticize their math skills.
The barn was dusty. The debris of four or five generations of farming this land occupied two stalls and livestock occupied three others. The stall she used appeared to be Marcel's hay loft. The hay always made Marie's nose itch. She had been here too long. When she had arrived on her bicycle the roosters were still crowing. It had to be late morning already.
Suddenly, a reply sounded in her ear. "That a girl," she uttered, guessing the identity of the operator on the other end.
Marie wrote as fast as she could then quickly dashed off a confirmation. With nimble fingers, she packed everything up into the bag, hid the equipment in the false bottom, then stacked seamstress supplies on top of everything.
When she stood, her stomach rumbled and she looked at the barn next to her, wondering if Marcel, the owner of the farm, would mind much if she just took an egg or two. Before she could even devise a way to ask him, his wife, Armelle, came around the corner.
"I don't want you here," she said without preamble. "You are placing my husband and me in danger."
"Marcel said .…"
With a wave of her hand, the older, stockier woman cut her off. "I do not care what that man said, Mademoiselle. It was fine when it was another man. We could easily pass him off as a farm hand or a neighbor come by to help. But you have no business here. Do I look like someone wanting a new dress or some socks darned?"
Marie pressed her lips together, and kept from replying that a new dress might make her feel better. She understood the woman's point. "Very well, Madame. After today, I won't come back."
"See that you don't."
Armelle glared at her while she strapped her bag to her bike and got on it. She could feel the stare right in the middle of her shoulder blades as she pedaled down the lane.
NERVES danced in her stomach. She hated confrontation. She hated anger. Suppose the farmer's wife decided to turn her in to the Gestapo. Would they simply show up out of the blue in the dead of night in the company of the Vichy police? Would they pull her out of her bed as they had so many others in her hometown of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon? She had read in the paper that Pastor André Trocmé and Reverend Edouard Theis had both been brought in for questioning but she had no news at all about her father.
How had it all come to this? How had she ended up back in France exactly where her father didn't want her to be? She missed Edward and she very much missed her father. She missed worshipping with the other Virtues. She just wanted to go home. She wanted this war over and the Nazis gone so she could just go back home.
She pedaled along the country road and scooted closer to the road's edge when she heard the sound of a motor behind her. Instead of passing her, though, the vehicle carefully pulled up alongside her.
"Excuse me, Fräulein!"
Startled, she looked over and saw an armored Kübelwagen driven by First Lieutenant Schäfer. Her heart started pounding frantically in her chest and the front tire of her bike wobbled. She hit the brakes and put both feet on the ground, unconsciously laying a hand over her heart. She darted a glance all around, fearfully searching every dark corner and copse for Vichy, German soldiers, or Gestapo lying in wait, but it appeared they were alone on the road. "You startled me, Oberleutnant."
He stopped the Kübelwagen, killing the engine and setting the parking brakes in the same motion. He hopped out and jogged around the front of it to where she stood straddling the bike. He moved in a very precise manner, efficiently and with a total economy of motion. It was as if all of his movements were staged and well scripted in advance or he had rehearsed them for hours before executing them.
"I am so sorry to startle you, Fräulein Perrin." His voice rang out in the cool air, confident and baritone, and a little bit self-satisfied.
A man so precise was bound to notice any mistake. All she could think of was the wireless nestled in the bag strapped to the back of the bike. Her hands went cold and she felt perspiration bead on her upper lip. "How do you know my name, Oberleutnant?"
His smile was handsome, despite his German Army uniform. Marie couldn't believe she even entertained the thought. "I made an inquiry of your landlady. She was generous to give me your name."
What was she supposed to do? Shake his hand? She needed him not to ask her any questions about her recent whereabouts or ask for an explanation of why she might be on this country road just now. Had they triangulated the position of her last broadcast? Was he just a decoy until a larger arrest unit arrived? How did she handle this?
"Well, it's nice to see you again, Oberleutnant," she said, trying to appear calm. "Did you make it to your ceremony on time last week?"
He held his hand out, and she felt inclined to take it. His palm felt warm, his fingers strong. "Yes, thanks to you." He smiled with even white teeth, his eyes crinkling up with laugh lines. "You are very beautiful, Fräulein Perrin."
Despite her circumstance, she felt her cheeks fuse with color. She felt her fingers tighten against his grip. "Oberleutnant Schäfer, I hardly think that is appropriate."
He finally released her hand and bowed stiffly. "You are correct, Fräulein. I apologize."
She gave him a slight nod but suddenly felt afraid that she'd offended him. Him, a German officer. "Thank you. I hope you don't —"
He cut off her panicked apology. "Of course not. I should have kept that thought to myself even though it is a fact."
He stood close enough that she could smell the earthy wool smell of his uniform. Marie felt her eyes lower as her cheeks grew hot. She noticed the mirror-bright shine on his boots before she heard her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Was this fear or something else?
He cleared his throat. "I have been searching for you, Fräulein."
Marie tasted bitter bile in the back of her throat and kept her gaze downcast. Had she gone too far taunting him about Hitler in their first meeting? Had a careless glance revealed the hiding place of her wireless? Had he sent a team of Gestapo to search her quarters while she had been away? Had she transmitted too long and been discovered? She relied upon her training and forced her voice to remain even as she prompted, "You've been searching for me?"
"Yes. I want to ask you. Would you like to go see a show with me?"
Was this some new euphemism for imprisonment and torture? Confused, she raised an eyebrow. "A show?"
"Yes. In a few weeks, Virginia Benoit will be here to perform for our Oberst, our Colonel. Herr Oberst is her biggest fan and we are all invited to see the show … to lift the morale of the troops, you see. Tell me, Fräulein, do you know Virginia Benoit?"
Marie swallowed. Hard. How was she supposed to handle this situation? Never, in all of her training, was this brought up. "Of course I have heard of her," and laughed with her and prayed with her, though she kept that part to herself.
"She is from America, like me," he proclaimed, almost proudly.
She knew his accent had sounded wrong somehow. "American? Why are you here in France, then?"
He gestured in the air. "The call of the Fatherland I'm afraid. My father insisted I return a few years ago."
With wide eyes, she let that digest. "Do you know Virginia Benoit?"
"No." He chuckled, perhaps at her naïveté. "America is enormous. She's from a state called Louisiana in the deep south near the Gulf Coast. I'm from Oregon a few thousand kilometers away on the north of the Pacific coast. Also, I understand the lady is a Negro. Perhaps you've heard that Negros and Arians hardly ever socialize in America. Still, it will be nice to hear an American accent again, I think."
His casual remark establishing his racial beliefs disgusted Marie and she tried very hard to conceal her loathing. She knew with an unshakable faith that God had made all men and all nations of just one blood. Every living person on earth was a son or daughter of Adam and Eve. The bloody Nazi campaign of terror relied on faith in a lie – a form of Darwinism establishing entirely separate races coupled with the notion Friedrich Nietzsche proposed, that some races were inferior while other races were superior. Hitler aimed to create a "master race," a race of supermen, by practicing enforced eugenics that either sterilized or eliminated the races Hitler deemed inferior.
In practically the same breath, Schäfer had mentioned his father. Thoughts of her own father rushed through her mind, and she once more remembered that First Lieutenant Schäfer was her sworn enemy. How had she forgotten that for even half a second? She could not let her thoughts travel too far down that road or else her expression would betray her. She had to lighten the conversation somehow. "I imagine you must feel very homesick at times, Oberleutnant."
"I am homesick." He put a hand to his heart. "It would do me a great deal of good to attend the performance with the most beautiful woman in the village on my arm."
"Oberleutnant Schäfer, I don't think —"
He held up a hand to halt her speech. "Please, don't say no, Fräulein. At least let me have a little hope by telling me you'll consider the offer. Besides, I still owe you for sewing on my button."
She would have to clear any action with headquarters. It was possible that she could collect valuable intelligence by accompanying the junior German officer. It was even possible that Marie, code-named Temperance, could pass intelligence to Virginia Benoit, code-named Hope, in person. Pressing her lips together, desperate to find a way to end this conversation, she nodded. "Very well, Oberleutnant. As you say, I will think about it."
His eyebrow cocked, "You give me your word?"
After perhaps a half second of hesitation, she nodded. "You have my word."
He clicked his heels again. "Wunderbar! I will seek you out in two days' time to learn your final decision." He leaned closer and whispered as if conspiring with her. She could smell his musky aftershave. "I hope you say yes."
Then he took her hand again and kissed the backs of her fingers. She struggled not to snatch her hand back from his grasp before his lips touched her skin. He smiled and said, "I look forward to speaking with you again, Fräulein Perrin."
"Good day, Oberleutnant Schäfer." She stayed put while he got back into his Kübelwagen and drove away. As soon as he was out of sight, Marie let the shaking overwhelm her. Carefully lying her bike on its side, she sat down on the side of the road and wrapped her arms around her knees while tremors shook her entire body. Out of nowhere, she felt very sick and crawled into the grass.
While heaves clutched her body, tears raced down her face. Spent and terrified, she lay back and covered her eyes with her hands. She felt so afraid all the time. What did she think she was doing here?
She silently prayed, desperate for God to reach out to her and physically reassure her that He hadn't abandoned her. Of course, He did not, and she eventually remembered not to test her Creator. In His infinite wisdom, He had given her all the skills and tools she needed to make it through. She simply needed to rely more on Him.
Rolling to her feet, she stumbled to her bike and climbed back on. Her legs felt so weak that she wobbled a bit as she pedaled back to town, but eventually her strength returned.
ABOUT forty minutes later, Marie secured her wireless in the ceiling of her room, rearranged her bag so that an examination wouldn't reveal an empty false bottom, and laid out the fabric she intended to use to make Mrs. Chevalier a dress for her mother-in-law's birthday.
For three months she'd maintained her cover as a seamstress, and each time she took a needle and thread to hand it only further emphasized that she absolutely did not want to be a seamstress for the rest of her life. Chuckling to herself, knowing she complained more about the sewing than she did the code transmitting, she pulled out her scissors and carefully cut the fabric
Marie also did not enjoy the solitude that came with her job. At least Prudence had someone else in whom she could confide on that farm. Here, Marie lived completely alone in the middle of town. She had to maintain her cover at all times and the strain of that had not previously occurred to her during training. She had no one with whom she could talk or laugh.
If it weren't for occasional work measuring an uppity French housewife or German camp follower for a new dress she probably didn't need, she would have almost no human contact at all. It made her think of her father, who made a good living as a solicitor in her home town, but who always, always, pressed that helping others and giving to those in need should come before new dresses or shoes.
Seeing how other people actually spent money, especially with so much want, need, and despair all around them, made her heart ache. But, the work provided her cover, and she felt thankful for it.
The person she did not know how to handle was one Oberleutnant Schäfer and this apparent and exceedingly unwelcome attraction he had for her. Marie knew that this exact type of unwanted attraction on the part of the enemy amounted to one of the main reasons Charlene had met with such resistance from her superiors when forming this team of women.
Marie wondered what Headquarters would say about whether she would accompany him and see Virginia Benoit, code named Hope, perform for the German soldiers. With or without orders, she wondered how one denied a German officer in the Occupied Zone. Doing so would surely just bring her additional unwanted scrutiny.
She just prayed that Schäfer would understand she had absolutely no interest in him whatsoever, whether she was ordered to attend the show with him or not. Also, she prayed that he was actually as kind in his personal life as he came across, because she didn't relish having an angry, rejected Nazi officer peering through her windows.