Page 43 of The Librarian Spy

Joseph had been a hero to so many. The understanding left a pang of longing in Elaine to have him back. His loss was palpable always, an ache that could never be soothed.

Denise navigated her way through the open doorway without another word, as though the entire conversation had never happened. But to Elaine, the admission made an indelible imprint upon her that she knew would remain forever.

A man with dark hair closely cropped against his head like a soldier squatted by a pile of machinery with a rag loosely held in his hand. Elaine recognized the parts he pensively surveyed as the various items she and the other ladies had painstakingly transported.

Some had been fitted together and rose from the ground like a skeletal demon, its dark bones glossy with an iridescent sheen of oil. The man stood as they approached and strode toward them, their footsteps all echoing in the vast empty space amid the grating screech of the overtaxed pram wheels. A deafening silence fell over them as they came to a stop.

Grease stained his fingers with its dark smears, and its odor hung thick in the air.

“I’m Marcel.” He extended his hand, then grimaced and wiped at it with the dirty cloth. “Thank you for your help in relocating the printing press. I’m aware it is quite the arduous job.”

Elaine examined the beast he was assembling. “No more so than building it, I assume.”

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It will probably take a month or two to complete with so many components.” He hefted the plate from Denise’s pram. The baby carriage jolted up several inches, coiling tight its springs after the cumbersome strain.

Elaine relieved her basket of the roller instrument and carried it to the partially built mechanism, adding the object to the errant spread of machinery. Curious, she studied the beginnings of the printing press and considered where certain parts might go.

Marcel joined her. “You have experience with a Roneo?”

“That’s correct,” Elaine confirmed, wondering who might have told him.

“We have one here.” He motioned to a shelf with various items stacked upon its wide surface. “If you’d be willing, I’d appreciate your assistance.”

If she were enlisted to operate the Roneo, she could play a vital part in recruitment of new Resistance members. She would have a role in the implementation of those words that swayed the reluctant French who were in a state of misled hope—that there would be enough food this year, or sufficient fuel this winter, that the occupiers would leave them to their own devices. The more their disillusionment was countered with truth, the more willing they would be to help.

And with her skills, she could be an important component.

Without looking at Denise to gauge her reaction, Elaine nodded. “I would be honored to.”

Josette entered the room with a man on either side of her. The taller of the two had auburn hair and appeared younger than the other by at least a decade, his strides lanky by comparison.

“Here is the location,” the older man said to Josette in a cordial manner that went along with his dress. He didn’t opt for the loose trousers and simple, button-down shirt as the other men, but instead wore a tailored suit, his bow tie perfectly straight and his hair parted severely to one side.

Josette gave a nervous giggle. “I can’t believe I got lost after having been here several times already.” From her basket, she withdrew a strange piece with a screw jutting from it and set the item beside the roller.

Her nails had been chewed down past the raw, pink area of her nail bed so the skin there burned with an angry red. Before Elaine could ask after her friend, the older man extended his hand toward her. “I’m Antoine.”

Absent any grease on his fingers, Elaine accepted his hand with a firm shake. His pensive gray eyes regarded her with lingering consideration. “Pierre taught me everything I know about the stamping process on false papers. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Another mention of her husband.

If only Elaine could have known the Joseph with whom everyone else was so well acquainted. And yet to her, she was learning he was an utter stranger.

Elaine murmured her thanks and struggled to figure out what to say next when the taller man stepped forward. “I’m Jean. I do the typography here.” Though he was young, the corners of his eyes were crinkled before he smiled, suggesting the happy expression was commonplace.

Marcel regarded Elaine. “If you’re ready to begin with the Roneo, Jean can show you where everything is.”

She hesitated in her surprise.

They wanted her to start so soon?

“I...” She cast an apologetic glance toward Denise, who seemed not at all bothered by the turn of events. “Of course.”

Denise gave her a nod and departed with Josette, the latter of whom waved briskly in Elaine’s direction.

Jean led Elaine across the room to the duplicator with his long-legged stride. Time had left a fine layer of dust sifted over the machine, rendering the surface dull. Jean hefted it from the shelf and placed it on a desk piled with enough paper to make them seem like a supplier.

While Elaine and the other women used small bits for their messages, she had never seen so much in this quantity, not with the ration in place.