The Darkest Hour(70)

Ana?s accompanies us to the station and insists on escorting us to the platform herself. We weave through a packed crowd, passing three Nazi guards along the way who are inspecting the contents of a young Frenchwoman’s carryall. She trembles and bites her nails as they rifle through her things, but her bad luck is our good fortune, because the Germans don’t give our papers a second glance. It’s just as well, because Tilly isn’t having a good day. She’s jittery and jumpy, and she might start yelling in German at any moment. We need to get on our train car fast.

After we find our platform, I embrace Ana?s and she whispers into my ear, “We’ll arrange for a friend to find you at the Perpignan station. He’ll say to you, The irises will soon be in bloom. Your reply will be, What a sight they’ll be to behold.” As I memorize both code phrases, she tucks a slim bottle into my palm and nods at Tilly. “For your cousin.”

I look down at the bottle. It’s sleeping syrup for illnesses, often given to sick children, and I’m sure the Resistance bought it off the black market. When I glance up to thank her, I see that Ana?s has already vanished. There’s not a trace of her in front of me, and my thank-you dies on my lips.

We board the train and it begins a slow chug down the tracks, and I can’t help but recall the last ride that I took—with Sabine. If I shut my eyes, I can see her clearly, dressed in her Fifine alias and flirting with Lieutenant Schuster. A knife twists inside me at the memory, and I wonder if I’ll always feel so double-sided about her—anger at her betrayal yet anguish at her sacrifice, hating her and missing her all the same. How can the girl who saved my life over and over be the same one who fed me to the wolves?

Focus on the mission ahead, I tell myself. I can’t let Sabine muddle my thoughts now, and so I settle Tilly into an open seat by the window and ask her to take a sip of the syrup.

“What’s this for?” she asks.

“It’ll help you sleep.”

“Why do you want me to sleep, Lucie?” Tilly asks this a little too loudly, and I wince because she has used my real name instead of my alias. Across the aisle, a red-haired woman peers at us from behind her newspaper, a curious spark in her beady eyes. She reminds me of the gossips at my family’s parish back home who’d sigh at Theo’s long hair and who’d whisper at the bruises on Maman’s arms. This woman, however, might not be as harmless as those church ladies. She could be a collaborator, for all I know, ready to turn in anyone who has raised her hackles—and her sights have already prowled upon Tilly and me.

I lean into Tilly. “Please drink a little of the medicine,” I whisper, hoping that she won’t bark out a Heil Hitler now that we’re confined to this train car. “It’s what the doctor would want.”

Her eyes alight. “Dr. Nacht?” she whispers back. That’s all it takes for her to knock back a swig of the syrup, and she’s out in no time. I breathe a little sigh of relief, but I see that the red-haired woman is still peeking at me. I challenge her with a glare. If she even thinks about pointing us out to the Germans, I’ll kill her.

An hour passes and then another, until an entire day has come and gone aboard the train. Twice we’re delayed by track work, but at last I catch a glittering glimpse of the Mediterranean. Before long the engines sigh as we pull into Perpignan, and the passengers begin gathering their valises. I wait for everyone to disembark ahead of us, including the nosy redhead, who waddles down the aisle and out of view. Only then do I nudge Tilly awake.

“We have to get off now,” I say into her ear.

She blinks at me sleepily. “Where are we, Lu—”

“We’re playing a game, remember? My name is élodie and yours is élise. We’re cousins.”

Tilly yawns. “Do we have to play?”

“Come on, lazy bones. Everyone else is already gone.” I help her to her feet, just in time to see a young French policeman approaching our car and pointing a bony finger at me. He might not be a Nazi, but he’s nearly as bad—a German puppet in French dressing. A chill wriggles down my back, but there’s nowhere to run off to. I’ll have to see what he wants.

“Your papers?” he asks.

I flash a friendly smile. “Certainly, sir.” As I reach for my false papers, I give the station a quick once-over. The swooping peaks of the Pyrenees loom above the train station, pretty as a painting. The platform has mostly thinned out around us, but I do notice four more policemen standing by the ticket counter, their arms crossed and their clubs in plain view.

The man in front of us finishes looking over my papers but doesn’t return them to me. In fact, he tucks them away in his pocket. “You best come with me, mademoiselle.”

Tilly scoots to my side. “Did we do something wrong?”

“Not at all. Don’t you worry.” I pat her hand to reassure her despite the rush of blood to my head. This can’t be good. I ask the policeman, “Is there a problem, sir?”

“Follow me.” He gives me a little push, and my thoughts scatter at what we should do. I could take him down easily. He’s thin as a haricot vert, but his friends are a different story. With Tilly out of commission I couldn’t take on all of them at once.

The policeman escorts us through the station, and I expect him to lead us into an office for interrogation. I’m about ready to grab Tilly’s hand and throw an elbow into the policeman’s neck, but for some reason he strides straight out of the station and points us to a parked car. He dips his head toward mine.