The Baker's Secret(21)

“Pardon me, mademoiselle.”

Emma jumped in surprise.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you.” It was Michelle, the woman carrying on with Lieutenant Planeg. Once she and Emma had been rivals in beauty, but there was no comparison anymore. Emma struggled merely to stay clean, while Michelle’s hair was lustrous and blond. She wore a snug chemise with two buttons open at the top, as if she had forgotten to finish dressing herself, or was inviting someone to help complete an undressing, and a crimson bloom of a skirt. Her skin was lucent like a pearl.

“Mademoiselle.” Emma gestured at the washing. “Forgive me for not standing.”

“On the contrary, forgive me for not kneeling with you. I failed to dress properly for the occasion.”

Emma spoke to the water. “You look lovely, as ever.”

“It is all illusion.”

Emma raised her eyes. “I think not.”

Michelle took a long breath, in and out. “Whatever you may have heard, whatever you believe, I am here to ask your help.”

“A common request lately, although I am ill equipped to help anyone.”

“You have managed to gain the favor of the occupiers without compromising your honor. That is an achievement.”

What sort of an admission was Michelle making? Emma wondered while the young woman continued. “You have fed your family. You have kept your household intact. You have done these things without the aid of a man.”

“I would rather have relied upon my father and Philippe.”

“I would prefer that for you, too, friend.”

Emma pondered that sentence a moment. Had they ever been friends? In school, or since? She could not remember.

“I know I do not look it,” Michelle said. “But I am starving.”

“You are right. You appear to be very well.”

“Oh, but if you could see—” She reached to unbutton her chemise further.

“No, no.” Emma waved her wet hands. “That isn’t necessary.”

“I am all bones. I have sores on my skin.”

“I’m sorry to hear it, Michelle. Of course I have sores, too.”

“Yes, but you do not depend upon your skin as a means of survival.”

Emma turned and began churning a dress in the water. Michelle was being too familiar. Philippe had always shown Emma’s skin such respect. It was part of her, but the lesser part of what he desired. Or so she believed.

Michelle knelt in the dirt after all. “I beg of you.”

“What do you want from me? Stand up.”

“You have ways of getting things. Everyone knows. Everyone is talking about it.”

Emma flipped the dress over and spanked a stain out of it. “I have no such ways.”

Michelle wrung her hands. “If only I had some eggs—”

“What?” Emma spun at her. “My Mémé is hungry every day. I might actually grow a bit peckish from time to time myself. If I had eggs, do you think I would give them to a whore?”

Michelle jumped to her feet. “I am no whore. How dare you?”

“You said your own self that you survive by your skin.”

“With a man I love. A brilliant lieutenant who is an engineer, who accompanies me to church, who shows me kindness. Something my fellow townspeople cannot manage.”

“Because you chose him, of all men. An enemy of our people.”

“You have no idea what it was like. Being beautiful was going to be my doom.”

Emma scoffed. “I am so full of sympathy it is spilling out of my ears.”

“Men were circling my house like dogs who have cornered a rabbit.” Michelle had begun to pace, her skirt billowing at each change of direction. “I know what soldiers do. We have all heard the stories. What defenses did I have? I had spent so many years keeping the hounds of our village at bay, all those men with their attentions and appetites, regardless of my honor, regardless of their wives. I could not trust any of them to protect me, not one. But then, my lieutenant—”

She stopped pacing, composed herself, folded her hands as if attending a cotillion. “Lieutenant Planeg behaved decently, a proper courting gentleman. He brought me flowers. He called me lady. On the day I finally allowed him in for tea, all the rest of them went away. The soldiers gave me peace. Besides . . .” She paused, seeming to wipe away a tear with the tip of a pinkie. “Who knows how we choose, Emmanuelle? Do you remember choosing Philippe? Or did you simply accept one day that there was a feeling, so powerful and right, and you could not resist?”

Emma’s hands went still in the water and she did not speak.

“I am no strumpet.” Michelle adjusted her bodice. “I love this man. I believe he will keep me safe, because our liberators are never going to come.”

“On that, I happen to agree with you.”

Michelle wiped dust from her dress where she had knelt. “If you can give me eggs, perhaps I can provide you with something in return. The benefit of his protection, perhaps.”

Emma drew a blouse up and down the scrubbing board. “I am already safe, thanks to the Kommandant’s infatuation with my bread.”

“You see?” Michelle said, softening. “We all make deals to stay alive.”

“This conversation is moot.” She took up a new dress, plunging it under and back. “I have neither eggs, nor any means of obtaining them. But I do wonder what made you think that I might. Why did you come to me?”