Nora thought back to when Marie-Louise had finished relating this tale. Her delicate hands had trembled as she reached for a tissue. She apologized for getting emotional.
Nora hadn’t been able to say anything at that moment. She had sat there, feeling hollowed out. So many emotions for then. So many for now. She’d looked with heartache at fragile Marie-Louise, who was once that brave, frightened, eleven-year-old child.
Marie-Louise had finished the story by telling how she’d arrived at the old bookshop and went through the door, where the bell no longer worked.
She handed her coat to a silent man with ink-stained fingers.
He didn’t speak, just nodded as he locked the door and freed the tiny slip of paper from its hiding place. He gave her a book to carry home for her mother.
Marie-Louise had said she was never more frightened than in those moments. But somehow by the time she’d returned home from the bookshop, she realized she was even more determined to continue to carry out her tasks. She didn’t tell her mother what happened, as she knew if she did, that would be the end of it.
Nora wrote until midafternoon, completely lost in the world Marie-Louise had painted for her with words and emotions. It caused Nora to feel, once again, guilty, sad, and helpless.
On a sudden whim, she dressed warmly and headed to the nearby Metro Blanche station with Atticus. She knew where she needed to be.
* * *
One transfer and a half-hour later, Nora and Atticus turned off Rue des Rosiers onto a narrow, cobblestone lane and stood in front of the address Marie-Louise had given the day before. She stared at the weathered, cream-colored building and looked up to the second floor. She pictured a young Marie-Louise, in happier days before the war, at the open French doors looking over the simple wrought-iron railing.
Then the image switched to the closed French doors. A curtain edge moved slightly and a frightened Marie-Louise peeked out over the street she loved, which had changed horribly during the Occupation.
After all she’d written that day, Nora tried to capture some of the feelings of fear, anxiety, and sadness that existed during those four years of the Occupation.
She and Atticus walked one street after another, along cramped laneways and wider streets with busy traffic, passing Hasidic Jews and orthodox wives. She imagined some of the routes the young carrières must have taken.
Nora and Atticus went into a café, where she ordered a café crème and Atticus had his bowl of water. Sitting at the window, she had a view of the corner of Marie-Louise’s apartment building. She closed her eyes and took herself back to the terrible years as much as she could.
* * *
Later, back at her computer, Nora felt an even greater connection to the words she had been writing. The smells, the colors, the sounds… All of it was alive in her thoughts and poured onto the pages as she typed.
She stopped writing when she suddenly realized Atticus was waiting patiently by his leash. They left for a walk. It had started to rain as they came back from the Pletzl, and the cobblestones were slick. She trod carefully now, her hood pulled over her head, and it was Atticus who indicated the walk would be short by making a beeline for the front doors after a quick circuit around the square.
Emotionally drained and thankful for a dinner of leftovers dropped off by Chloe, she sat on the couch and watched the evening news. But really, she just stared blankly at the television, her mind lost in the nightmare of the horrors from eighty-three years ago.
Right after taking Atticus for his last walk of the day, she had another long soak in the tub and fell into bed, hoping to read a few chapters of her book about Vincent van Gogh’s life. Her imagination still worked overtime knowing he had lived next door.
Nora also wanted to get back to the manuscript she had begun about the young painter in Montmartre and the waitress, but her focus was all on her talks with Marie-Louise now. There was absolutely no possibility of her mind being able to go anywhere else until they were finished.
She felt frightened she might not do the story justice, but she was committed to writing it from her heart to honor Marie-Louise and all who had survived those terrible times.
She reached down and gave Atticus a good belly rub and they both fell into a deep sleep.
ChapterTwenty
Four weeks tostay with Atticus
Nora and Atticus were managing to visit many of the Christmas markets dotted around the city. They went early in the morning or later in the afternoon, depending on Nora’s schedule with Marie-Louise.
She’d never become very familiar with the Metro system, but taking Atticus gave her the confidence to explore, and she was happy to discover how easy it was to get around.
She had even managed two FaceTime visits with the Girls at home while she visited the markets, in spite of the time difference. She made one call from a very small market across the Seine from Notre Dame.
“It wins best prize for setting,” Nora told them. “Look at that view! I’ve been to this Square René Viviani before because it’s minutes from the Shakespeare & Company bookstore and just down the street from Odette, the best place ever for cream puffs!”
That market was known for its focus on locally crafted merchandise, excellent food products, and a lovely setting, thanks to lots of evergreens around the vendor stalls. Nora couldn’t resist the beautiful choices of jewelry and bought earrings as a Christmas gift for Chloe from a particularly impressive vendor. The Girls helped via video with her choice, much to the amusement of the young woman who had designed and crafted the jewelry.
The other market Nora shared with the Girls was in the Tuileries—La Magie de Noël. She and Chloe went in the evening because it had “the best ambiance, then, with all the lights,” Chloe had told her. Atticus stayed home with Olivier.
