The Last of the Stanfields(80)
Robert turned the truck onto a steep, winding road that hugged the side of a mountain as it ascended. The vehicle’s clutch struggled with each hairpin bend, until the engine finally gave out not far from the village of Seix. Robert grabbed his satchel and left the tandem behind once and for all, judging that the path ahead would be easier by foot. They shoved Germain’s Berliet off the edge of the cliff, watching as the truck plunged into the rocky Ribaute gorges.
After a long and arduous climb, the two weary travelers made it to Seix at the break of dawn. Hanna caught sight of a guesthouse and asked Robert if he had any money.
“Not a cent,” he replied, watching as Hanna rolled up a leg of her pants to reveal a thick strip of gauze wrapped around her calf. “Is that a wound? Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No. My father had a talent for predicting the future.” Hanna dug under the bandage and pulled out two hundred francs, which she handed to Robert. “Go in and see if they have a room.”
“Don’t you think that might be risky? With my accent?”
“It would be even riskier if a woman walked in there to do the talking for her husband, but maybe you’re right. No choice. We’re just going to have to walk straight into the lion’s den and hope that this time we get lucky and stumble upon somebody honest.”
As it turned out, luck was on their side. Madame Broué, the woman who ran the guesthouse, was more than just honest. Since the onset of the war, she had sheltered refugees fleeing France as they awaited guides to lead them safely into Spain. Madame Broué had never once turned anyone away from her doorstep. As an innkeeper, she was required by law to keep a register, but she simply left all the clandestine visitors off the list. Her selfless acts were even more courageous considering that soldiers would regularly stop by around cocktail hour to check the register. As soon as Hanna and Robert set foot in the guesthouse, Madame Broué took one look at them—defeated expressions on their faces, carrying nothing but a satchel as luggage—and understood everything. Without a single question, she grabbed a key from a hook and led them upstairs to a simple bedroom, with one large bed and a washbasin.
“You’ll find the toilet and shower at the end of the hall. You’d be wise to head straight there. You both could use it. Steer clear of the hallways before nine in the morning, and never come downstairs in late afternoon, under any circumstances. You hear me cough from behind the counter? Get back in your room and don’t come out until I say so. Lunch is at noon, dinner at seven thirty.”
“We can pay for a few days in advance,” Hanna offered. “We only need one meal per day; we’ll be skipping dinner.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll eat two solid meals. When you cross the border through those mountains, you’ll be forced to fast, so you’d best fill up while you’re here. As for money, we’ll see about that later.”
As soon as Madame Broué had closed the door behind her, Hanna headed straight for the bed. She stroked the surface of the blanket, then lay down with a heavy sigh. “My God, I can’t remember the last time I slept on cotton sheets,” she said dreamily. “You’ve got to come touch this, it’s so soft.” Hanna buried her face in one of the pillows and smelled the fabric, savoring the scent. “That smell . . . the smell of clean things, I forgot how sweet that smell could be.”
“You enjoy it; I can sleep on the floor,” Robert said, with the grace of a gentleman.
“You need to rest as badly as I do,” Hanna insisted. “You can sleep right here next to me. I don’t mind.”
“And what if I do?” Robert replied mockingly.
In response, Hanna rolled over and playfully whipped the pillow at Robert. He realized it was the first time he had seen the girl smile.
“First, let’s take our kind host’s advice and go and clean up. There’s no way we’re getting into these sheets when we’re this filthy,” she said commandingly.
Hanna took her shower first. The water was absolutely freezing, yet the sensation of it filled her with an unbelievable rush of relief. The past twenty-four straight hours had taken their toll on her. She looked down at her feet, badly bruised and blistered from all the walking. Her legs looked disturbingly thin and malnourished.
They still had a long way to go. France was teeming with dangers, and the passage through the mountains was sure to be harrowing. Yet, the guesthouse was a momentary refuge in which Hanna felt something akin to peace and safety. The thought of a good night’s sleep in a real bed gave her hope, restoring her desire to keep pushing onward. The mountain crossing didn’t frighten her, because she knew that true freedom and a new life in America awaited her at the end of the journey. After all, some of the best moments of her entire life had been in America, on those unforgettable trips with her family. The mere thought of her parents brought the pain of Hanna’s grief back to the surface again. Her eyes were welling up with tears when a knock came at the door.
“Everything all right?” Robert whispered from the other side.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“I was worried you’d passed out. You’ve been in there forever.”
“It’s been forever since I had a proper shower, I was just making the most of it. I’ll let you have your turn now.”
Hanna stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a towel, which clung to her curves and left nothing to the imagination. Robert couldn’t help but look, confusing Hanna. She had no idea what to make of it. The only other time she had received this kind of attention was in high school, from a boy her own age for whom she felt absolutely nothing. But Robert? Robert was a man . . .