The Librarian Spy(3)
Likely Mr. Edmunds was aware of all this.
“You will be doing genuine work in Lisbon that can help bring your brother and all our boys home.” Mr. Edmunds got to his feet and held out his hand, a salesman with a silver tongue, ready to seal the deal. “Are you in?”
Ava looked at his hand. His fingers were stubby and thick, his nails short and well-manicured.
“I would have to go on an airplane, I’m assuming.”
“You wouldn’t have to jump out.” He winked.
Her greatest fear realized.
But Daniel had done far more for her.
It was a single plane ride to get to Lisbon. One measly takeoff and landing with a lot of airtime in between. The bottoms of her feet tingled, and a nauseous swirl dipped in her belly.
This was by far the least she could do to help him as well as every other US service member. Not just the men, but also the women whose roles were often equally as dangerous.
She lifted her chin, leveling her own stare right back. “Don’t ever call me ‘Dollface’ again.”
“You got it, Miss Harper,” he replied.
She extended her hand toward him and clasped his with a firm grip, the way her father had taught her. “I’m in.”
He grinned. “Welcome aboard.”
A week later, a black Buick came to collect Ava at 8:00 a.m. sharp from the apartment she shared with two others in Naylor Gardens. The women had thrown something of a goodbye party for her despite how little they knew one another, using the last of their sugar rations to bake her a cake with sunshine yellow rosettes clustered at the center. It was a kind gesture.
She was grateful to know they wouldn’t be entirely out of sorts by her abrupt departure. In a city where housing was scarce, they already had someone lined up to take her room the next day—another government girl in the quintessential white rayon shirt with a pressed convertible collar.
Leaving the Library of Congress had been far less easy. Ava had cared for those books like they were an extension of herself, coddling and tending to them, ensuring they were loved and cherished. She’d grown accustomed to the beauty of the library, to the feast of learning at her fingertips daily. In the three short years she had been there, she had become a fount of information, ready to help anyone find anything.
She’d always been proud of how necessary she felt.
Now, she would be venturing into unknown territory, her knowledge limited to a weeklong stint of frenzied research. At least with what she had managed to obtain about Lisbon, she discovered the importance of packing several hats, which she would have easily left behind otherwise. Being seen in public in Portugal without one would label her as a prostitute.
While she was at it, she used the last of her number 17 ration stamps for a new pair of pumps. With only four color options, she chose black over brown, town brown or army russet. She wore those shoes now with a simple green A-line wraparound skirt and a white-and-green rayon blouse.
With the busywork over, all that remained was the arduous drive to the airport. A hive of bees seemed to buzz around in Ava’s empty stomach. She’d been far too nervous to bother eating anything that morning.
“Would you like to see the Mall before you go?” The driver met her gaze in the mirror. “The cherry blossoms just bloomed, and we have time.”
The beauty of those trees became diminished to the nation after the horrific attack on Pearl Harbor. Four had been cut down by vandals, and many demanded that Japan’s gesture of goodwill nearly thirty years prior should all be destroyed.
In the excitement of preparing to depart for her new role, Ava had not realized the cherry trees had blossomed. Ordinarily, it was her favorite time in DC even though the accompanying festival had ground to a halt in light of conservation efforts for the war.
“I would,” she replied, grateful for his consideration, and a few minutes more reprieve from her dreaded flight. “Thank you.”
The driver turned left and snaked along at the 35 miles per hour enforced speed limit; Victory Speed to conserve gas. At last, the Mall came into view. It didn’t inspire awe as it once did, its pristine appearance marred by rows of temporary housing units and offices for government girls with antiaircraft guns sprinkled around the monuments.
But the cherry trees were laden with pink petals so heavy that they sifted away to float in the air and dance across the water of the Tidal Basin like thick, soft snowflakes. How Ava loved to stroll down the path beneath those trees, letting the flowers whisper across her cheeks as they tumbled gracefully downward on an unseen breeze.
It was precisely the distraction she had needed to pull her thoughts from the upcoming plane ride and the trepidation of facing a place she knew so little of. Truly, she wasn’t sure which was worse.
At least, not until she joined the line on the runway to board and her nerves vibrated to an insistent hum.
Flying on the plane was far, far worse.
TWO
Hélène
April 1943
Lyon, France
Words had power.
Hélène Bélanger’s gaze lingered on the paper plastered to the wall, clean and white against the old stonework, its message in stark, black letters.
à bas les Boches.
Down with the Germans.
The recently applied poster hadn’t yet been pulled down by the Nazi forces who had occupied the Free Zone of France six months prior. She shouldn’t even be looking at the note, but could not tear her gaze away. Not when it made her heart pound harder with the need to do something.