He smoothed down the sheet of paper with his introduction written out, but he scarcely saw the words. No, he saw Anne’s tearful face as she met him where her brother should have been, the horrible news on her lips. Gabriel had been arrested. Gabriel was in prison. Gabriel’s future was still unknown. Would he be held? Executed? Sent off to a camp?
His pulse thudded, slow and sorrowful.Doloroso.They were going to try to find a way to sneak messages in and out of the prisons, but thus far they hadn’t hit upon a way that would work. Certainly they had no hope of helping anyoneescapeprison. Once an agent was in the hands of the Nazis, they were well and truly at their mercy.
A check of his watch told him it was nearly time to begin. He switched theOn Airlight on as a signal for his mother. Usually, he’d say his introduction and then hustle onto the stage, stand before the podium, and raise his baton.
Tonight, after he spoke he’d lower the needle onto the record he had queued up. The whole thing would also be recorded and rebroadcast at different times over the next week.
He prayed Zelie was somewhere she could hear it, at least one of those times. Either this week or next—he’d volunteered to run the program on Christmas Day as well. Vichy had been only too happy to let him, with the promise that they’d rebroadcast throughout Christmas week. Plenty of opportunities, then, for her to get his message.
At six o’clock, he sent power to his microphone, leaned close, and smiled, so that his audience would hear it in his voice. “Good evening, and welcome to the youth orchestra hour. This is MarcelLaurent, conductor of the orchestra, and I am excited to bring you a few special holiday programs over the next couple weeks. Our talented young men have worked hard to brighten your Christmas with some of our favorite pieces, both old and new. And we would also like to take this opportunity to extend our own holiday greetings to family we won’t have the pleasure of seeing this year.”
He had a list of greetings from his musicians, and he read through a portion of them now. “From Pierre Archambeau, happy Christmas to Grand-pappa and Grand-maman Archambeau—do you remember the year I ate all the almond cookies? The taste of them still reminds me of you. From Etienne Aubert...”
He’d selected five messages to read this time and would do another five next time, ending both with his own. “And to my own special someone, as I was visiting my mother tonight, I thought of our favorite quote from Pascal:If one does not love too much, one does not love enough.Happy Christmas,mon amour.”
It would sound like a sweet nothing to his sweetheart—but he prayed she’d see the meaning. Zelie would know she was the one he was trying to get a message to, and mentioning Pascal—BlaisePascal—would tell her what it was about. The reference to visiting his mother should tell her where Blaise and hence Elise were—the two people she loved most in the world.
“Next week we’ll be bringing you Bach’s Christmas Oratorio, Corelli’s Christmas Concerto, Saint-Saëns’ Oratorio de Noël, and other festive pieces, so be sure to tune in at your usual time. But for now, I am honored to present to you the youth orchestra’s recording of Handel’sMessiah.” He lowered the needle onto the record.
Would she hear it? Would she understand?Father God, wherever she is, please give her peace. Reassure her that they’re all right. Wherever she is, help her to have a good Christmas.
Eighteen
27 DECEMBER 1941
URDOS, FRANCE
Zelie gasped when Henri opened the mailbag, sucking in a full lungful of air for the first time in three hours—only three. This return trip had still been painful, but not nearly as excruciating. He helped her from the bag, handed her the clothes he’d already dug out of his suitcase for her, and had a blanket ready too. Though she was shivering, it only took a few minutes to recover this time, to dress herself, and to slide into the passenger’s seat.
“I still think returning to Marseille is a horrible risk.” Though he grumbled, he got out the map and reviewed the course they’d need to get there.
Zelie wrapped the blanket around her. “There is no way Emile is still there. He’d have vanished—either so that everyone would assume he’d been arrested as well, or because someone confronted him. He’ll be gone.”
“But his father-in-law won’t be. They’ll have circulated photographs, Zelie.”
She waved that off. “We’ll find a place on the other side ofMarseille this time, so I’ll be visiting different small towns. They won’t know me.”
The look he sent her could have cut her to ribbons, were it a blade. “It isn’t the everyday moving about a small town I’m concerned about. If you continue to meet with Marcel in the city, continue to play and sing at every bistro, you think you’ll escape notice?”
He knew about that? She swallowed, trying to remember if she’d mentioned it. She didn’t think so... but either someone else had, or he’d seen them one night.
Either way, his point was valid. And confirmed the decision she’d already made. “You’re right. That will have to stop.”
He sighed. Zelie wondered what had been in her voice beyond the words. “One day,” he said, “you will be able to sing freely again, to play. One day, you’ll be able to think about nothing but romance.”
“Maybe someday, for the music. But no romance.” She turned her face toward the window. Snow fell here in the mountains, but it would be warmer along the coast. Were Blaise and Elise still in Cannes?
He shot her a dubious look but didn’t argue. Just refolded the map and put the car back in gear. “We can get about halfway to Marseille today, I think. Then finish the trip tomorrow. With all the gifts we’re bringing for everyone, I daresay we’ll have quite a New Year’s Eve celebration.”
Everyone who was left, he meant. Zelie nodded. Then, when a thought struck, she glanced at her watch and turned toward the radio Jacques had installed for her—the last birthday gift he’d ever given her. She’d been so surprised by it she’d barely been able to stutter out a thank you.
“What are you doing?” Henri turned onto a larger road, heading east.
“Radio Paris should be rebroadcasting Marcel’s show in a few minutes.”
He snorted. “But she isn’t thinking about romance.”
Zelie sent him a glower. “His plan was to do a live introduction to recorded shows over Christmas. If hedid, that means he’s alive and free and still in Marseille. And if so, he may try to get information to us through it.”
