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“I disagree she should go with Second Lieutenant von Bock. I shall be the one escorting her. She’s too beautiful to be with the likes of him. People will notice her, and he will be invisible.” Johann’s tone shimmers with humour but also hints at the seriousness that lies beneath the surface.
Laughter filters into the kitchen from the dining room once more. “He has a point,” one of the men says, still laughing.
“I agree,” Müller intones, laughter absent from his voice. “She is a better match for Captain Schmidt. Just makes sure she understands her place. It won’t reflect well on you if she does act as anything but a docile companion.”
My heart rate kicks up. Not from fear but the realisation this might result in the break Baker Street is looking for in the war. It’s my chance to do my job, to do what Allaire hoped would happen once Johann moved into Jacques’s home. What better way to learn about the Nazis’ plans in the war than to be among a group of high-powered officers who are likely to brag about upcoming operations?
The faint sound of a distant explosion reminds me of just how in the middle of the war I am, and my muscles tense. It’s far enough away that the ground doesn’t tremble.
At the rapid scraping of a dozen or so wooden chair legs across the dining room floor, I hurry to the sink and begin washing the dishes. My body braces for another explosion. There isn’t one. Was it an Ally attack? It wasn’t the work of a resistance circuit. They wouldn’t do that during broad daylight.
Or at least I don’t think they would.
The officers and Johann rush from the house. Soon after, I hear the rumble of engines drive away.
I wait a few minutes while I tidy the kitchen, then check through the window to make sure all the German soldiers are gone.
Satisfied no one has lingered behind, including Johann, I remove the food-laden plate from the cupboard. I put it on the counter and fill another plate with what little food remains from the officers’ breakfast. I carry both plates to the barn.
Inside the barn, I remove the bale of straw from the trapdoor. “It’s Angelique. I have some food for you.” I pull open the trapdoor and climb down the steps, carrying one of the plates. I pass it to Oskar.
“Was that an explosion?” he asks, worry pinching his brow.
I nod. “But you should be safe here. Whatever it was is over.” Or I assume it is.
Sonja is asleep on the bed. Her parents look as though they might have successfully squeezed in an hour or two of sleep since Johann and I left them.
I go back up to retrieve the other plate and hand it to Margrit. “Sorry for the delay.” My voice is quiet so as not to wake Sonja. She looks so at peace. I can’t imagine the last time she felt that way. The last time we have all felt that way. “Johann’s commanding officer was here, along with some other Wehrmacht officers.”
Margrit’s face pales and she gasps. Oskar wraps his arm around her shoulders, but his expression and tense body conflict with the comforting action.
“It’s all right,” I assure them. “They’re gone. No one suspects you’re here. For now, you’re safe. I have to go into town. Is there anything I can get you before I leave?”
Oskar smiles softly, the strain of their situation a stain on his face. “No, we should be fine. Thank you for your kindness.”
I return his smile, struggling to make it brighter, more reassuring than I feel. My smile is nothing like it was prior to the war. I wonder if it will ever be that way again. “You’re welcome.”
After I leave the family hidden in the barn, I go into the house and pack food for Jacques, putting it in a basket. Then I head towards the part of the vineyard where he told me he would be midday. I pause at the top of the slope and appreciate the view of neat rows upon rows of grapevines attached to the long trellises.
The view is also a reminder of how much work the vineyard is for one man to manage, beyond what I do to help when I can. But I am a poor substitute for his son and the other man who used to work here until they found themselves in the German prison camp.
I walk down a row of grapevines and relish the peace. It’s just me and the leafy plants and the silence.
The sun is high in the sky when I come upon Jacques. He’s inspecting an inline stake in one of the trellises.
He accepts the food basket. “Are they gone?”
“Yes.” I assume he is referring to the soldiers.
Jacques peers into the basket. “Who is the family he’s hiding in the barn?” He speaks so calmly; I would think he was referring to a warm spring day. A heavy weight drops in my stomach.
So he does know about them.
I try to gauge his reaction to the unexpected guests. He’s used to hiding downed Allied pilots in the barn, but this is no doubt the first time a German has hidden someone in there.
“How…?” I stumble over the word. “How did you find out?”
He bites into a stale piece of baguette, his expression giving little away. “I saw him take them into the barn last night. Who are they?” Jacques still doesn’t look at me, his eyes moving to the horizon.
