The World That We Knew(75)

Lea sank to the floor, the dress in her arms, her face hot with tears.

Heart of my heart, love of my life, the one loss I will never survive.

As for Ava, she was sick with shame. Her emotions were so raw she could feel herself melting, and a pool of muddy water gathered around her on the floor. That was when she decided, they would leave that night.



Ahron Weitz gave Lea one of his paintings, the night sky filled with stars. She embraced him, but not for too long. They would likely never see each other again, and so there were no goodbyes. Weitz stayed at the window and watched them go. They had thanked their hosts, but thanks could never be enough for people who were willing to risk such danger for complete strangers. Lea said a blessing Bobeshi had taught her at their door, the Hashkiveinu, a petition for safety through the night.

Lay us down, our God, in peace, and raise us up our King, to life. Spread your shelter of peace over us, and over all of Israel and Jerusalem.

It was dark, a good night for traveling, for cutting across fields, and finding the twisting road that had been sketched in blue, the same color as the sky when they reached Monsieur Félix’s farm in the pale morning light, for they had been walking all night. There was Beehive House, exactly as Julien had drawn it before Monsieur Félix was murdered, before he worked as the Bissets’ carpenter, before he went to Izieu. The farm was deserted except for a small goat that had been tied to a post in the stable, a creature so delighted to see them that it jumped into Lea’s arms when it was freed.

The door to the house was locked, so Ava shoved open a window and climbed in. She could smell death, and she called for Lea to wait on the porch. When she placed her hands on the tabletop she could see the image of a body hanging from the beam. She went outside and could see past the barn to Monsieur Félix’s grave. There in the tree was Azriel. The angel usually departed once his work was done, and the fact that he was still hovering nearby was troublesome.

They had a dinner of potatoes and onions, fried and made delicious in Ava’s experienced hands. She was long past Hardship Soup. She could make a meal out of anything and nothing. She washed the dishes, then made up the bed in the small upstairs bedroom.

Lea was sitting on the porch in the dark. Things had not turned out as she had wished. The deserted farm had been a huge disappointment, but the fury she had felt at Ava had faded. Why would anyone want to give up life on earth? They both knew where fate led once Lea was safe, and what a sacrifice Ava was expected to make. It was an act of love that only a mother would do for a child, and her companion did not owe her that.

Ava had come to stand in the doorway. She wasn’t certain this was a safe place. If it was up to her, they would leave right now.

“He’ll be here,” Lea told her.

Julien would keep his promise. He would stay alive and walk down the dirt road and when he saw her he would know her and she would know him in return.

Ava didn’t argue. She knew that Lea’s mind was made up. She came to sit beside her on one of the old chairs Monsieur Félix had made long ago, when his daughter was small, when people kept their doors unlocked and had no fear of their neighbors or of the police. The view was dusky in the fading light. Lea had grown taller and thinner. She hadn’t been a child for quite some time. She looked like the woman she would soon be, and she had a woman’s certainty. She intended to wait for as long as she must.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


THE LAST ANGEL




HAUTE-LOIRE, JULY 1944

MONSIEUR CAZALES DROVE FROM A neighboring farm to deliver Bluebell, now in the back of the truck, for she had wandered over to his property, as she often did. He’d already heard from his wife that odd things were going on at the Félix place and had been ever since Marianne had returned. As he pulled up, two strangers, a girl and a woman, came out onto the porch, as curious about him as he was about them.

“The old man’s not here?” Cazales said. “Or his daughter?”

“No one was here when we arrived,” Lea told him.

“And who are you?” Cazales asked, not that it was any of his business. Still, old Félix had been his neighbor for a long time. He supposed he had a right to know. The dark woman was oddly silent and the girl was not someone he’d seen before. His wife had gossiped that the daughter, Marianne, was involved with some young fellow who came and went as he pleased, speeding down the road in some rattletrap car that was likely stolen, scaring the cows in their pasture.

“We’re friends of the family,” Lea said.

Cazales shrugged. Maybe this was true, maybe it wasn’t. But they weren’t German soldiers, and how much damage could they do even if they were thieves? Perhaps they were simply homeless, making their way to the border. He wasn’t that interested in other people’s personal lives. If Marianne had a boyfriend, for instance, who was he to care? Let her have a hundred of them for all it mattered to him. People here were entitled to their privacy. Still, there were some things that were quite concerning, the coming storm, for instance. He had already rounded up his cows and shut them in his barn. “Take my advice, tie up the goat so she doesn’t go running off and get lost in the storm. It will be here by dark.” He could tell from the way the wind was rising, from the upturned leaves on the trees.

They did as he suggested, keeping the little goat in the barn, though she complained about her confinement. It was a good thing she was tied up because the storm that arose suddenly that night was vicious, a swirl of black in the sky that gave way to a drenching rain, and then sudden hail, so that it seemed stones were being thrown on the roof. The wind was dreadful; it shook the house and the trees. Branches broke, haystacks went flying into the air, sunflowers were pulled up by their roots. Anything not tied down rose into the whirlwind before dropping to the ground with a crash.