The Librarian Spy(63)
Like the one she now experienced.
She had been introduced to this precise newspaper where the code had been placed. She happened to run into James, who knew how to crack it. The mother and child needed to go to America, which was where she was from. And the best way to do that would be to ask for the assistance of the British agents flying into France, of which she had the perfect contact in James.
And this was where fate took a back seat. This was where action came into play.
“We have to do something,” Ava said.
James scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “It isn’t that easy. Besides, there are plenty of organizations that can get them into a safe house.”
“If that was possible, they’d likely have done it by now. They’re probably in danger, James.” She fidgeted in her chair, agitated at his hesitation. “You’ve seen the refugees here in Lisbon. You’ve heard their stories. Don’t you dare tell me you are casting what they’ve said as mere war rumors.” She stared at him, daring him to deny her. “You’re too smart for that.”
He exhaled a frustrated breath.
She pointed to the translated code. “They want to go to America. I can help them get there.” Or at least she hoped she could. “Surely, there is someone in England who would know where the printing press is located. The Resistance receives goods from Britain all the time.”
He jerked his head back and looked at her. “How do you know that?”
“Because I don’t simply photograph the papers, I read them as well. Britain is working closely with the Resistance.”
James twisted his lips to the side in thought. “You think you can coordinate access to America for them.”
“Yes,” Ava answered immediately. Doubt squeezed at her chest. It had not gone well when she’d tried to aid Lamant. But he was a man, not a woman and child. And after watching Peggy work magic through phone calls to DC, Ava was sure she could ask her for some advice.
She was nothing if not determined.
James drummed his fingers on the table. “How do we know they haven’t been relocated yet?” Sitting up, he gestured to the paper. “This was published almost a week ago.”
“Imagine if they haven’t, if we could have done something.” Ava stared at him, beseeching with her eyes as much as her words. “What if in this time of vacillation and indecision, they die when they could have lived? Because of us.”
James studied her, then shook his head. “If they allow women to become president in America, you should run.” James smirked. “You’d win.”
“So, you’re saying you’ll help?” Hope swelled in her chest, but she kept her little cry of delight contained until he confirmed.
“I will see what I can do.” He put his hand on the table, so it hit with a soft thud. “That isn’t the same as promising to help.”
No, it wasn’t, but it was still enough. For now, that is.
It was hope.
SIXTEEN
Elaine
The effort of putting everything at risk for the coded message had been in vain. Two weeks passed and still not one person had answered Elaine’s call for aid. At least Marcel had begun speaking to her again.
They argued over the matter for some time, but after she asked how he would feel if it was his wife and child, his protests floundered. Not only did he accept that she had done the right thing, he also agreed to allow her to place new sets of code in the next issues until someone offered assistance.
Truthfully, Elaine had been heartily disappointed when no one came to her after the first few days of the newspaper’s release. With taking such a risk, she’d been certain there would have been a brave soul willing to step forward.
While Elaine’s own optimism was somewhat dimmed by the lack of an immediate response, she did not share her reaction with Sarah, whose hope remained firmly in place.
Not that Elaine could fault her when she herself harbored her own secret wishes for Joseph’s miraculous survival. That the informant had been mistaken, that somewhere he was still alive, dreaming of her the way she dreamed of him, waiting for the day they could be reunited.
In the weeks Manon housed the mother and child, color had blossomed back into her pallid cheeks and smiles occasionally reached her eyes. Witnessing those glimpses of momentary joy was like watching the sun break through on a streak of cloudy days. True, the bedroom in the warehouse did not carry the comforts Elaine had grown used to, but the effects of Sarah and Noah on Manon were well worth the sacrifice.
Those were the times to be celebrated, the wisps of joy in an otherwise gray and painful world for Elaine.
December frosted over the chill of November, its dark days all the bleaker under the shroud of Elaine’s mourning. The work kept her busy, yes, but nothing seemed to fill the chasm in her soul left by Joseph’s death.
The following day would be the Fête des Lumières, a day to honor the Virgin Mary for having saved Lyon from the plague in the seventeenth century. Every year since, a procession was held for the virgin—dubbed the Lady of Lyon—in gratitude.
Elaine recalled one December she and Joseph vacationed in Lyon, before the Nazi occupation, when the river sparkled with thousands of lights and vendors called out to the crowds. Their kiosks were filled with cups of rich coffee and paper cones with frites straight from the fryer, crusted with granules of salt and steaming in the icy air when broken in half.