Page 42 of The Librarian Spy

“I’ll make this right, Elaine,” Etienne said.

She glanced up. Now that she was closer, the exhaustion that bruised the delicate skin under his eyes was evident, as were the lines of his face, which had deepened since she last saw him. He was younger than Joseph, but now he looked older by several years.

“I know he was arrested by Werner, and I am poignantly aware of what that means.” Elaine wanted to hurl the lid of the typewriter in an explosion of rage, but instead set it gently on the floor. “I wish you would have been the one to tell me.”

Etienne blinked slowly, as if in pain. “I wanted to spare you such a detail.”

“I want to be told everything,” Elaine said through gritted teeth. “He is my husband.”

Etienne nodded.

“Was he tortured?” She held her breath, dreading the answer and yet needing to hear it.

After a long moment, Etienne nodded again.

An ache knotted in the pit of Elaine’s stomach with the confirmation of what she already suspected. She put a hand out to the table’s surface, using its support to steady herself.

“Elaine, I’m sorry I could not—”

The door opened. “Bonjour,” Nicole sang out. “I found bread yesterday and a small bit of cheese.” Her entrance was followed by the clunk of her shoes being kicked off.

The time of Nicole’s arrival allowed Elaine to compose herself as the other woman hastened to the kitchen to deposit the food before she joined them in the living room. She smiled at Etienne. “Ah, Gabriel. I expect this means you have a fascinating new task for us.”

He gave one final look at Elaine and his features smoothed, ready to do business. “I do.”

Once Denise and Josette were with them, Etienne explained that they would be transporting pieces of a printing press from several locations to a warehouse on 35 Rue Viala. The weight of the items was considerable and required the utmost care as one broken piece might render the machine inoperable.

They all listened intently, Josette chewing at her nails as he spoke. Once he had finished, he took his leave and did not try to pull Elaine aside privately again, leaving them to eat the food Nicole procured in peace.

Regardless of the messenger, the mission was one Elaine found herself eager to embark upon. Their efforts would help release more newspapers and tracts, which would garner more support for the Resistance. Like the leaflets sent out in March that attracted so many recruits that the Savoy Maquis went from a group of only two hundred and fifty men to over five thousand.

The greater their numbers, the higher the likelihood of a swift victory. And the sooner Joseph would be released.

The success of the tracts with the Savoy Maquis was evidence that words did have power, even against a force such as the Nazis. And Elaine anticipated the opportunity to do her part to encourage France to rise together and fight.

Explosives did not tax Elaine’s shopping basket as much as the foreign roller object that lay crookedly against the woven side. The oblong shape reminded her of a rolling pin, though thinner and far heavier. It was concealed beneath several pathetically small carrots, a bundle of rutabagas, and as much bread as she was allowed to buy for the week. Or rather, as much as she was able to find. More often than not, they couldn’t receive their full allotment due to limited stock.

This was the fourth item she had relocated from one of the three garages where the burdensome pieces were stored. The Grande-Blanche hospital came into view, meaning she was finally close. She adjusted the heft of her shopping basket from one hand to the other and tried to avoid leaning too hard away from the drag of her cargo. It wouldn’t do to bring attention to herself, especially so near the destination.

Denise approached from the opposite direction with a pram that sagged deep into its frame. She shoved her burden toward the sprawling white building with “35” inscribed above the entryway.

Elaine rushed ahead to open the door for Denise who expertly maneuvered the buggy into the entry, the wheels protesting the angle with a high-pitched squeal.

“Printing plates,” she explained.

“Where did you get the pram?” Elaine closed the door behind them, its bang loud enough to echo in the long, empty hall.

“It’s mine.” Denise’s knuckles were white as she steered the teetering baby carriage toward the warehouse within. “I have a daughter.”

Elaine’s shock must have shown on her face for Denise scoffed. “Don’t look so surprised. It is why I am fighting so hard against this occupation. I do not want my Sophie to grow up in this world without enough food and even less freedom, to be told her only purpose is to be a uterus and her husband’s housekeeper.”

“Does she stay with you?” The question escaped Elaine before she could stop it.

“She is with my mother.” Denise stopped before another closed door, which Elaine also pushed open for her.

There were so many more questions Elaine wanted to ask, prying ones about how long it had been since Denise had seen her daughter or how painful the separation must be. But they all had enough bruising on their hearts to know better than to prod at tender topics.

As Denise passed through the entryway, she paused. “My Jacob is Jewish. Pierre created all of our papers, including the one that keeps my daughter alive and safe every day.” The sharpness of her stare relaxed with unspoken gratitude. “My husband and child are not the only Jews Pierre has saved in these harrowing times.”