The Nightingale(121)

He strode past her, his hands fisted at his sides. Anger contorted his handsome face, made him almost unrecognizable. “An aeroplane went down near here last night,” he said, facing her at last. “An American aeroplane. The one they call a Mustang.”

“I thought you wanted their aeroplanes to go down. Isn’t that why you shoot at them?”

“We searched all night and didn’t find a pilot. Someone is hiding him.”

“Hiding him? Oh, I doubt that. Most likely he died.”

“Then there would be a body, Madame. We found a parachute but no body.”

“But who would be so foolish?” Vianne said. “Don’t you … execute people for that?”

“Swiftly.”

Vianne had never heard him speak in such a way. It made her draw back, and remember the whip he’d held on the day Rachel and the others were deported.

“Forgive my manner, Madame. But we have shown you all our best behaviors, and this is what we get from many of you French. Lies and betrayal and sabotage.”

Vianne’s mouth dropped open in shock.

He looked at her, saw how she was staring at him, and he tried to smile. “Forgive me again. I don’t mean you, of course. The Kommandant is blaming me for this failure to find the airman. I am charged with doing better today.” He went to the front door, opened it. “If I do not…”

Through the open door, she saw a glimpse of gray-green in her yard. Soldiers. “Good day, Madame.”

Vianne followed him as far as the front step.

“Lock and close all the doors, Madame. This pilot may be desperate. You wouldn’t want him to break into your home.”

Vianne nodded numbly.

Beck joined his entourage of soldiers and took the lead. Their dogs barked loudly, strained forward, sniffing at the ground along the base of the broken wall.

Vianne glanced up the hill and saw that the barn door was partially open. “Herr Captain!” she called out.

The captain stopped; so did his men. The snarling dogs strained at their leashes.

And then she thought of Rachel. This is where Rachel would come if she’d escaped.

“N-nothing, Herr Captain,” Vianne called out.

He nodded brusquely and led his men up the road.

Vianne slipped into the boots by the door. As soon as the soldiers were out of sight, she hurried up the hill toward the barn. In her haste, she slipped twice in the wet grass and nearly fell. Righting herself at the last minute, she took a deep breath and opened the barn door all the way.

She noticed right away that the car had been moved.

“I’m coming, Rachel!” she said. She put the car in neutral and rolled it forward until the cellar door was revealed. Squatting down, she felt for the flat metal handle and lifted the hatch door. When it was high, she let it bang against the car fender.

She got a lantern, lit it, and peered down into the dark cellar. “Rach?”

“Go away, Vianne. NOW.”

“Isabelle?” Vianne descended the ladder, saying, “Isabelle, what are—” She dropped to the ground and turned, the lantern in her hand swinging light.

Her smile faded. Isabelle’s dress was covered in blood, her blond hair was a mess—full of leaves and twigs—and her face was so scratched it looked like she’d gone running in a blackberry patch.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

“The pilot,” Vianne whispered, staring at the man lying on the misshapen mattress. It scared her so much she backed into the shelving. Something clanged to the ground and rolled. “The one they’re looking for.”

“You shouldn’t have come down here.”

“I am the one who shouldn’t be here? You fool. Do you know what they’ll do to us if they find him here? How could you bring this danger to my house?”

“I’m sorry. Just close the cellar door and put the car back in place. Tomorrow when you wake up, we’ll be gone.”

“You’re sorry,” Vianne said. Anger swept through her. How dare her sister do this thing, put Sophie and her at risk? And now there was Ari here, who still didn’t understand that he needed to be Daniel. “You’ll get us all killed.” Vianne backed away, reached for the ladder. She had to put as much distance as she could between herself and this airman … and her reckless, selfish sister. “Be gone by tomorrow morning, Isabelle. And don’t come back.”

Isabelle had the nerve to look wounded. “But—”