MARIE rolled her neck on her shoulders and pushed away from her sewing table. She'd spent the earlier part of the day attempting to find a secure location from which to transmit and had pedaled her bike for miles and miles. She'd finally transmitted, received a reply, then had to come all the way back to her room and immediately work on the dress she'd started the week before. Her customer expected it tomorrow. What excuse could she possible give for not having it finished?
"I'm sorry, Madame, but I had to update London on the status of the labor camp being built twenty-three kilometers outside of town. Please give me a few extra days on the dress. I'm very tired from my work as a spy, you see."
She chuckled at the thought of actually saying that out loud as she filled her kettle with water and lit the single burner stove. While she waited for the water to boil, she went to the basin and splashed clean, cold water into the bowl then used that to wash her face. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. For the last week, her work for the resistance grew more and more demanding and the need to maintain a good cover more important than ever.
The loud whistle of the kettle broke her out of her thoughts with a start. Had she just dozed for a few moments while standing up? She poured tea leaves into the pot and covered them with hot water. While it brewed, she extinguished her lights and removed the blackout curtain so that she could open her window. Within minutes, she poured herself a cup, wishing she had even just a little bit of sugar or honey to put in it.
She took her tea to the window and leaned against the frame, enjoying the sounds of the night coming through the open window. A baby cried down the street and the sound of the mother softly singing a lullaby somehow made it her way as well. She could hear the sound of an engine, but without lights she couldn't see it. From somewhere not far away, a woman's laughter floated in with the breeze.
Marie smiled and took a sip of her tea. The world might be at war, she thought to herself, but life still, somehow, went on.
Relaxing for the first time in days, she contemplated turning in for the night and waking very early to finish the dress. The idea appealed to her, but she knew it would be better to finish it now and sleep in than the other way around. Resigned, she turned away from the window to set her cup on the little table by the bed.
She saw the light of the explosion and felt it shake her whole building a half second before she heard the sound. A giant pillar of fire very briefly lit up the sky, casting eerie orange framed shadows all around. When it dimmed, it took a minute for Marie to see clearly again.
She could hear sirens, shouts, engines. Below her window, she heard booted feet, dozens of them, running toward the river where the explosion originated. Marie wondered what was happening. Was it possible that this was merely the precursor to a larger invasion? That France was being liberated? Could the end finally be here?
On the street below, she witnessed chaos as an amphibious Trippel SG-6 Schwimkraftwagen and an Opel Blitz truck, both working without headlights and both loaded down with German troops, ran head-on into each other. Men yelled in harsh German. Engines hissed. The smell of bitter smoke began to creep into the air though Marie could not be certain if it came from the crash below her window or the explosion. Marie felt certain she could still feel the rumble of the explosion somewhere down inside her chest and the fire it had caused began to light the night sky in the horizon.
She stared down at the scene below as an ambulance arrived and medics removed soldiers from the scene on stretchers. Sirens still rang through the night sky. In the distance, toward the river, the faint glow of a fire grew brighter every minute.
However, no British tanks rolled through their town. No airplanes delivering paratroopers arrived in the night sky. Only the sound of men's voices and truck engines broke up the steady wailing of the alarms.
Eventually, she shut her window, replaced the blackout curtain, and turned the lights back on in her room. She looked from the dress at the sewing machine to her bed and decided that despite the lost time as an onlooker to the scene below, she still needed to finish that dress before morning. With a sigh, she finished off her tea, cracked her knuckles, and sat before the machine.
"IT was quite awful, let me tell you," Madame Bardes said, standing on the footstool while Marie knelt on the floor next to her, straight pins held between her lips as she measured the hem. "We were at the party at the dock manager's place and the explosion happened right next to me." She shifted as she put her hands to her face and gasped. "I declare my ears are still ringing!"
Her companion, Marie did not know her name but had nicknamed her Madame Peacock due to her outrageous hat, put a hand to her heart. "I imagine it must have been terrifying, Madame Bardes."
The rather plush home of Madame Bardes sat not too far from the bridge which members of the resistance had destroyed the night before. Some of the debris from the explosion had even landed on her roof and in her courtyard. Marie had found navigating here somewhat challenging this morning since so many Nazi soldiers crowded the area near the bridge.
The three women used Madame Bardes' den for this appointment. Marie had spread her tools out and asked her client to stand atop a low stool while she worked. Once she crouched down to finalize the fittings for the dress, the two women began to speak to one another as if Marie simply were not present.
Madame Bardes was speaking. "… such a loud noise! I was dancing with that Oberst who runs the prison. What is his name? Müller? Oberst Müller. Oui, c'est si. When the explosion happened he stopped right in his tracks and his face turned white as a sheet. I think he thought perhaps we were next to blow up. The more he looked like that, the more frightened I became!"
Madame Peacock clucked her tongue before taking another sip of her tea. "I heard the entire bridge is completely gone and that a train was on it when it happened."
"Terrible! We were waiting for some ranking dignitaries to arrive on that train. The whole town is in an uproar. What exactly were the people who did this thinking?" Marie moved to the other side of the stool and kept working while Madame Bardes kept speaking. "Of course, the party was ruined after that. Half of the people left right away!"
"I wish I had been at that party last night, too. But, my Sébastian will not allow it." Madame Peacock sniffed as if offended.
Madame Burdes tightened her lips. "Your husband should listen to my Arnaud. He knows that the only way to thrive right now is to make friends."
"You and I both know that. That's why you're standing there and I'm sitting here." Marie watched Madame Peacock eye the silk of the dress longingly. "But he would rather be loyal to what he thinks France was than what it is surely to become. He also remembers the women who were dubbed collaborators being pulled into the street in the dead of night after the Armistice. "
Madame Burdes scolded, "Sébastian could not possibly be old enough to remember."
Peacock nodded. "It's true that he was quite young but he clearly remembers the mob shaving the heads of all those women then marching them through the streets naked for the entire village to see. My late father-in-law made certain that my husband witnessed every minute."
Marie felt her eyes widen. She had heard such stories but never a first-hand account.
Madame Burdes waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "No matter. There will be no eleventh hour treaties signed this time around. The Third Reich is the future of France, I'm afraid. I fear those who don't already understand this will be the ones left naked and hungry."
Marie sat back and looked up at Madame Bardes. "Ready, Madame."
She stood and held her hand out so that Madame Bardes could safely step down off of the stool.
"You'll have this for tomorrow I hope?"
"Mai non, Madame. All that's left is the hem. I can have it to you today."
Madame Bardes clapped. "Chic alors!" She rushed to the dressing screen in the corner of her large dressing room. "I will pay you an extra five Reichsmark if you can get it to me in the next two hours."
The thought of having to accept Nazi currency sickened Marie though she did not let any sign of her disgust show in her smile. As surreptitiously as she could, Marie watched Peacock adjust her shawl over her shoulders and wondered if the woman would eventually convince her husband to conform to the Nazi lovers all around him. Instead of making eye contact, Marie just kept her eyes averted and used the time waiting for her leave to go by straightening her supplies and packing up her bag.
Long minutes later, Madame Bardes came out from behind the screen, back in her red house dress, the silk dress laying over her arm. "I look forward to seeing you again this afternoon," she said as she handed Marie the dress.
"I'll return just as soon as it's done." As she left, she nodded her good-byes to the two women, already so engrossed in yet another story about the explosion the night before that neither paid any attention to the lowly seamstress.
MARIE sat in the second pew from the alter of the only cathedral in the village. As a child, she had attended the small church led by Pastor Trocmé and often also enjoyed sermons by Reverend Edouard Theis. As a student, she had joined the French Protestant student organization Cimade, which had supported the efforts of her father and Pastor Trocmé along with numerous other believers such as the Salvation Army, the Quakers, even the American Congregational Church. Therefore, Marie was not Catholic but had also never really respected such denominational lines.
She had heard disturbing rumors about all manner of collusion between the current Catholic Pope and the Fascist regimes. It only made sense. The Vatican sat in the center of Italy, after all, and Prime Minister Mussolini had already shown that he was not above all kinds of coercion. Marie chose to believe that her brothers and sisters in Christ, such as the local priests and nuns in this village, were above such political motivations.
Besides, the small cathedral was the closest house of worship to her apartment. That made it her church according to her cover. She stared at the crucifix hanging on the front wall beneath the small Rosetta window. If she actually lived here in this village by choice, she would very likely worship here. The building was well over five hundred years old. The woodwork and the stained glass inside was stunningly beautiful, the congregation even more so.
Sitting in the quiet house of worship, she briefly wondered what God thought of the humans waging this war on the face of His creation. She wondered, as always, how it would end, and knew God already knew. But what did He think of it?
Shaking her head at her fanciful thoughts, she reached for the hymnal and opened it to the appropriate page, but found nothing there. With a frown, she looked at the pages before and after, but still could find nothing.
Curious. Prudence had never missed a scheduled drop before. Not ever. A worried frown marred her brow as she set the hymnal back in place. Then she felt someone sit in the pew beside her.
Her heart skipped in fright and she turned her head to look, relieved to see Prudence.
"Hi," her friend whispered. "Thought I'd come in person this time."
"You gave me a fright," Marie whispered back. "I thought we'd been compromised somehow."
Prudence looked around and noticed the single old woman three rows back, her head bowed in prayer. She gestured with her head and the two escaped the dim church into the bright light of day.
Not wanting to draw undue attention to themselves, Marie didn't grab Prudence by the neck and hug her even though she wanted to do just that. What a blessing to see her for the first time in months.
Prudence looked a little wan. She'd lost some weight – and had a rough edge about her. Strangely, it appeared as if she had dyed her blonde hair a dark chestnut. "How are things at the farm?" Marie asked.
"If you can't tell by the missives, it's been very … engaging."
Marie smiled at the sarcasm and looked around to ensure their privacy. "Indeed. I even witnessed some of the after effects," she said, referencing the explosion. "Well, will it slow down after the big operation next month?"
"I'm sure that will just pave the way for another, and another. It would be nice to see an end to this war very soon."
She gestured at Prudence's hair. "The dark hair is a bit of a change."
"It's been a month and I am still not fully used to it. Every time I look in the mirror, I have a bit of a shock."
They walked into the town and stopped at the park in the town square. Marie gestured at her favorite bench. "I can't bear to be indoors. Let's sit here."
"Have you been keeping busy making dresses?" Prudence asked, keeping the conversation simple in case someone overheard them.
"More than I care to, that's for sure," Marie said with a smile. "But, the business is good. You hear a lot bent over someone while pinning their skirt. It's funny how they think you don't have ears because you're in service of some sort."
Prudence nodded in understanding. "I know. It's how they're raised." Marie watched her friend's thumb rub over her ring finger in the habit she'd gotten used to. "So, do you think you may know who most of the unhappy wives are?"
"Exactly. And how they're seeking out happiness." Marie looked up and groaned. "Oh no. Here he comes."
"He who?" Prudence asked and started to look behind her.
"No! Don't look!" She leaned forward and whispered, "A German officer has taken a shine to me."
Prudence's eyes widened and she grabbed Marie's hand. "Oh no, Temperance. That's awful."
"Tell me about it," Marie said through gritted teeth, but smiled at the young officer's approach. "Hello, Oberleutnant Schäfer. How are you on this beautiful autumn day?"
"Fräulein Perrin," the blond young man greeted. He looked at Prudence. "Who is your friend?"
Prudence giggled and held out a hand. "I'm Murielle St. Pierre, Oberleutnant." She emphasized his rank as if promoting him to General. Then she looked at Marie and stage whispered, "He really is handsome, Marie. You weren't exaggerating."
Marie gasped. "Murielle!"
The young officer's ears turned a bit red. "I am pleased to hear you think that of me, Fräulein." One of the men in the group of soldiers near a truck across the street barked in their direction. "I must go. We have to go arrest a farmer who has been helping the resistance. I hope to see you again soon. I am still waiting on your answer! I only hope you don't make me wait much longer, Fräulein."
He held his hat against his head as he trotted back to the group. Marie looked at her friend. "What was that about?"
"Survival, my friend. He had to believe we were talking about something girlish." She gave Marie a very serious look. "What answer is he seeking?"
"He wants to take me to see Hope perform. I guess she's going to be here in a few weeks." She pursed her lips. "It would be so amazing to see her. I've only heard rumors of her performances."
"But at what risk?" Prudence asked.
"Tremendous risk. There are times I have to remind myself that we have a mission and are at war. I get so caught up in dress patterns and such." Suddenly, she put a hand to her forehead. "Oh my goodness. He's going to go arrest Marcel Bernard!"
"Why do you think that?"
"Because the last time I was on his farm, it took so long to hear back from London. But, the message was so timely and important that I had to have a reply. I bet they were able to triangulate the signal enough to narrow it down to the vicinity of his farm."
"Will he give you up?" Prudence whispered, looking around them.
"No." Marie swallowed in a suddenly dry mouth. "But his wife certainly will."
Prudence abruptly stood and brushed at her skirt. "We may need to pull you out, if you've been compromised. Let me go check with Praetorian. I'll leave you a message at the church." Her eyes darted all around. "Talking in public was dangerous for both of us. I'm sorry I risked it."
"I'm sorry, too."
"Go. Hurry. I will be praying for you!"
Marie rushed to her room in the boarding house and grabbed the wireless. Removing the false bottom from her bag, she put it and the code book inside. Then she wrapped several yards of cloth around her waist, covered it with her shirt, refilled the bag with sewing implements, and rushed out of the room.
She rode her bike to the cemetery on the edge of town. Thankfully, it sat behind a hedgerow and it didn't look like anyone was there at this time of day. She rushed through the gate and found the tomb with the broken door. She slipped inside and worked in the dark, removing the wireless, the code book, her earphones, and the antenna and stashed them in the farthest corner of the tomb. Then she unwound the fabric from her waist, folded it as well as she could in the dark, and placed it in the bag where the machine had been.
She looked all around before leaving the tomb and running back to her bike. As she mounted and started pedaling off, she looked all around again. If the Nazis caught her here she had no ready excuse for her presence in a cemetery. She secured the bag to the back of her bike and pedaled as fast as she could back to town.
Anxious, worried, every sense heightened, she pedaled through town, forcing herself to pedal at a normal pace. When she finally reached her boarding house, she secured her bike and forced herself to walk as normally as possible up the stairs to her room. Once inside, she bolted the door with shaking fingers then leaned against it, sliding down the door and drawing her knees up to her chest.
Silent tears falling from her eyes soaked the material stretched over her knees. She started praying then, for help, for wisdom, for protection.