Evette rushed to the train station, hoping she wasn’t late. A week had passed since McDougall had arrested the guards willing to accept bribes at this same station. They had nabbed the middleman, the saboteur, and the corrupt soldiers, but the League’s mastermind was still at large, and that made her nervous.
She banished work from her mind as the crowds disembarked from the train. “Emile!” She recognized her brother and waved to him.
He made his way through the crowd and wrapped his arms around her. They hadn’t seen each other since he’d been mobilized in August 1914, two and a half years ago. He had been given two previous furloughs but had always gone back to the village to see their mother and surviving sister. For this furlough, he had left the village a day early to meet Evette for an afternoon.
“Look at you,” he said, holding her at arm’s length. “You’ve grown up. And you don’t look like a peasant girl anymore.” He glanced at her clothing.
“The Donovans have been generous.” She wished she could tell him about her real job, but she wasn’t supposed to discuss it.
“Hmm. Let me get my things.”
Her brother disappeared, then returned not long after with a pack.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Yes.” He seemed deeply weary, as if he was at the beginning of leave instead of at the end. The result of traveling or of something else?
“I can’t wait to show you Paris,” she said, hoping her enthusiasm would spark some interest. “First I’ll get you something to eat. There’s a wonderful restaurant not far from here. Claire—Mr. Donovan’s daughter—took me there about a month ago.”
It was only eleven in the morning, so the restaurant was nearly empty when they went in. Evette paid for the steaks as soon as they arrived, a habit she had picked up while working for McDougall. If her meal was already paid for, she could leave whenever she wanted without creating an incident.
“You know what we eat in the trenches?” Emile asked partway through the meal.
“No.”
“Sometimes nothing. It’s easy for the rationers to get lost, especially in the dark when we’re in a new area. The trenches can be like a maze. Or our relief is late, so we’re stuck up front longer than planned, and none of the officers bothers to adjust the supplies.” He took a sip of his drink. “In the winter, our substitute coffee is usually frozen by the time it gets to us. When we do get food, it’s cold ratatouille, hard biscuits, muddy bread, soup made from animal scraps.” Emile speared a piece of steak with his fork. “I haven’t eaten anything like this in years.”
Evette set her fork down as guilt swept over her. She didn’t eat steak often, but even the occasional indulgence now felt sinful. “Does everyone eat that poorly?”
“Heavens no. Not the officers. They have their own cooks. And they don’t sleep in the mud like the rest of us. They have nice little dugouts along the communications trenches.” Emile ate another bite, but the expression of pleasure from the food quickly dissolved into bitterness. “The difference is even more dramatic when we’re pulled into reserve. The officers find nice chateaus for themselves and leave forty of us to sleep in a roofless barn with moldy hay. When we ask the farmers for straw to sleep on, they refuse, and the officers side with them.” He set his jaw and shook his head in frustration. “The officers are all fools. Once we were marching in the rain and were told we could only wear horizon-blue uniforms, and that was after we’d been outfitted with surplus British raincoats. The idiots made us take our coats off because they were khaki, and when a few of the men got sick, the medical officers refused to see them. It’s like we’re animals rather than men. The generals will sacrifice thousands of us for a few meters of ground as long as they can have an advance to report in their dispatches. At the rate we’re going, we’ll all be dead or maimed in another year or two.”
“But the newspapers say you’re being well fed and that they’ve set up rest camps and—”
Emile leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The last rest camp I was in, I slept in a tent. It was snowing, so they gave us two blankets instead of one. My feet weren’t dry the entire four days we were there. That was our rest. The papers only report eyewash.”
He finished his food, and Evette pushed hers toward him. She was no longer hungry, but her brother seemed physically, as well as emotionally, at the end of his strength. “Why didn’t you tell me things were so awful?”
One side of Emile’s lips lifted up slightly. “I tried once. The censors read the letter, and as punishment, I had to stay up the line when my unit rotated back for rest duty. If they would send me to prison instead, I’d write inflammatory letters every day. Prison would be like a holiday compared to the army.”
“So that’s why your letters are so . . . so vague?”
Emile nodded. “Thank you for the food.”
“Thank you for helping me get to Paris.” She contemplated telling him about the soldier who had given her the rest of the money, but she wasn’t sure Emile would approve. As they left the restaurant, she wondered if he would approve of anything she’d done lately.
They walked past a jewelry store, and a middle-aged couple emerged, chatting about their purchase. Emile watched them with narrowed eyes until they climbed into a cab and were driven away. “There are two Frances, Evette. Those who didn’t start the war and now can’t escape it, and those who are profiting from it.” He glanced at her dress. Evette had worn her favorite outfit to meet him, but as she looked over the unfaded richness of her skirt, she wished she had chosen something else.
Did Emile think she was part of the France that was profiting? She was better off than she’d been in the village, with more money than she’d dreamed of earning three short years ago, and she no longer wore typical peasant garb. She had enough blankets to keep her warm and had sufficient food. “I’m trying to help.”
“Yes, someone has to keep that rich American happy so he’ll continue supplying us with shells.” His tone was caustic, like some of the chemicals she’d used at the munitions factory.
Evette bit her lower lip, wishing she could tell him about the sabotage she’d thwarted, about the spies she’d helped track down. “What do you want me to do?”
Emile didn’t answer for a while, staring at the ground. Finally he looked up. “I don’t know.” He meandered along the street, and she followed. “You’re my sister. I want you to be happy. I’m glad you’re away from Gaspard and that you have nice clothes. I just . . . I don’t know. The war is taking a lot from some people and very little from others.”
Originally she had planned to show him the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe. They seemed like such petty destinations now. “How can I help you? Can I send you more food? Knit socks for you?”
He shrugged. “Before I left for furlough, there were rumors that General Nivelle’s planning a big offensive, one that will decisively win the war. I think it will happen soon, so I was lucky to get leave. I don’t believe anything an officer tells me anymore, so I doubt it will lead to victory. But if it’s as big as they’re saying, it might be the end of my agony.”
“Emile, I . . .” Evette felt her throat tighten. He spoke so casually about the possibility of death. Was this really the same boy who had laughed with her during harvest and changed the lyrics of children’s songs so they were always about her? “Isn’t there something I can do?”
Emile shook his head. “No. You and I, we’re just little people stuck in the designs of our leaders. Life is cruel and blessedly short. The only thing we can hope is that the next life will be better.”
As Evette watched the train pull away a few hours later, an intense melancholy gripped her heart. The years of war had killed everything joyful in her brother, leaving him bitter and changed. She didn’t blame him, but she mourned the difference. Would he ever smile again? Could he ever forgive his country for putting him through such horror and for treating him so abominably? Before the war, he’d been a gifted student and shown promise as a writer. He’d planned a future as a journalist. But now he hated the newspapers, and it seemed he wasn’t planning any future at all.
Evette was doing her best to combat the spies and saboteurs McDougall asked her to tail, but unlike her brother and the millions of other soldiers, she wasn’t suffering. It wasn’t fair, and she didn’t know how to fix it.