The Librarian Spy(57)
Elaine drew in a sharp gasp and tried to cover it with her hand. But there was no hiding her shocked reaction to such horror.
Manon shifted her focus from her son’s photograph to the blank wall in the distance. “When I returned home, I stood in front of my door for over an hour before bringing myself to enter. I already knew it was too late for him.”
“I’m so sorry,” Elaine whispered. She wished for a more insightful response, something that might be of better comfort. But there was no balm for a wound such as Manon’s. Nothing could ever heal what had been so violently ripped away.
When Manon looked up, her eyes were no longer flat pools of black, but now flared with more spirit than Elaine had ever seen in them. “I joined the very Resistance they erroneously persecuted me for belonging to, and I do not worry about danger. I have nothing left to lose. If it were not for my faith, I would have joined my husband and son months ago.” The blaze of her expression waned, as energy did when it burned bright and was gone just as quickly. “Perhaps this boy will be another chance for me. To save what I could not with my own.”
She looked down at the picture once more, lost in her thoughts. Elaine rose and put a hand on Manon’s bony shoulder. The other woman did not stir.
Her story stayed with Elaine for the rest of the day and would remain with her for her entire life. Now, however, she was glad she had spoken to the other woman and hoped that in helping to save Sarah and Noah, Manon might also perhaps save part of herself.
When Elaine returned to the warehouse, she found the print room in full production with preparations for the latest paper. Antoine was hunched over the desk, his focus as sharp as the point with which he sketched in his artistic hand over the metal. Marcel fluttered over the printing presses like a mother hen, and Jean sat at the table where Elaine occasionally worked with the Roneo, little Noah in front of him.
Jean covered his eyes with his hands, then threw them back to reveal his face, his smile exaggerated like a performer at a fair. Sarah was at Noah’s side, gazing down at her son as the boy stared up at Jean with wide, hazel eyes. Every time Jean uncovered his face, Noah’s mouth would lift with the slightest hint of cautious joy.
The sight was bittersweet. The effects of war were everywhere in Lyon and the children were not unaffected, the wondrous shine of youth buffed away by the oppressive Nazi occupation.
“I found some bread and a tin of sardines,” Elaine announced as she joined them. “As well as some Jerusalem artichokes and rutabagas.”
Noah sat upright, no longer interested in Jean with the prospect of food.
Elaine handed her basket to Sarah. “I also found a safe place for you to stay. The woman is quiet, but kind, and her home is welcoming.”
Sarah nodded her thanks.
“I am trying to do what I can to find a way for you to get to America,” Elaine said in a low voice.
Sarah closed her eyes, her face relaxed in gratitude. Noah tugged at the rim of the shopping basket in an attempt to see what was inside, almost tipping the precious contents. With a patient laugh, Sarah swept it away from him and pulled her son into her arms, carrying him off to the kitchen.
Together, Elaine and Jean watched the two exit the warehouse, Sarah’s footsteps drowned out by the cacophonous humming and banging of the automatic printing press.
“I’d like children someday,” Jean said wistfully. “To get married after this war.”
“With a certain blond,” Elaine teased.
A flush blossomed over Jean’s young face.
“I want to help Sarah and Noah,” she said, her tone serious. “They need to be in America, to have their family reunited.”
A doubtful look crossed Jean’s face, much in the way that clouds blocked out the sun.
It was an impossible request that she was aware would take an act of God to set into motion. “Sarah hasn’t seen her husband in two years.”
“A lot of women haven’t seen their husbands in that long.” This was said with a somber sympathy reflected in Jean’s bright blue eyes.
“Yes, but she actually stands a chance of getting to him and would be safer in doing so,” Elaine said, surprised at how the truth of those words cut her. “Perhaps I am truly considering it because of my own husband.”
The door to the warehouse squealed open, and Josette scuttled through the opening. Even from a distance, she appeared diminutive, her shoulders tucked forward as if silently willing to shrink herself into nothing.
Elaine went to her friend and fought to swallow her gasp of surprise. Josette’s collarbones thrust out from her pallid skin like twigs, and the small gold crucifix seemed to droop an inch lower.
“Have you been ill?” Elaine asked, not embracing her for fear of breaking her.
A tic near Josette’s right eye quivered. “No.” She worked the corners of her mouth up in an unconvincing smile.
Elaine couldn’t help but stare in horror. “What’s happened to you?”
“I’ve been nervous lately.” Josette’s hand tightened around the basket handle, as if forcefully keeping herself from bringing her ragged nails to her lips.
“Perhaps taking some time off—”
“No.” Josette protested with such vehemence, her voice cut over the clatter of the printing press and called the attention of Jean, Marcel and even Antoine. Her gaze slid around the room, and she lowered her head with a shake of self-castigation.