The Nightingale(51)

For a beautiful, tender moment, Vianne forgot her worries, and then Isabelle said, “Well, I’d best go. I need to be first in the butcher’s queue.”

“You need to eat something before you go,” Vianne said.

“Give mine to Sophie,” Isabelle answered, pulling the coat back on and rewinding the scarf around her head.

Vianne walked her sister to the door, watched her slip out into the darkness, then returned to the kitchen and lit an oil lamp and went down to the cellar pantry, where rows of shelving ran along the stone wall. Two years ago this pantry had been full to overflowing with hams smoked in ash and jars full of duck fat set beside coils of sausage. Bottles of aged champagne vinegar, tins of sardines, jars of jam.

Now, they were nearly to the end of the chicory coffee. The last of the sugar was a sparkly white residue in the glass container, and the flour was more precious than gold. Thank God the garden had produced a good crop of vegetables in spite of the war refugees’ rampage. She had canned and preserved every single fruit and vegetable, no matter how undersized.

She reached for a piece of wholemeal bread that was about to go bad. As breakfast for growing girls went, a boiled egg and a piece of toast wasn’t much, but it could be worse.

“I want more,” Sophie said when she’d finished.

“I can’t,” Vianne said.

“The Germans are taking all of our food,” Sophie said just as Beck emerged from his room, dressed in his gray-green uniform.

“Sophie,” Vianne said sharply.

“Well, it is true, young lady, that we German soldiers are taking much of the food France produces, but men who are fighting need to eat, do they not?”

Sophie frowned up at him. “Doesn’t everyone need to eat?”

“Oui, M’mselle. And we Germans do not only take, we give back to our friends.” He reached into the pocket of his uniform and drew out a chocolate bar.

“Chocolate!”

“Sophie, no,” Vianne said, but Beck was charming her daughter, teasing her as he made the chocolate bar disappear and reappear by sleight of hand. At last, he gave it to Sophie, who squealed and ripped off the paper.

Beck approached Vianne. “You look … sad this morning,” he said quietly.

Vianne didn’t know how to respond.

He smiled and left. Outside, she heard his motorcycle start up and putter away.

“Tha’ was good cho’clate,” Sophie said, smacking her lips.

“You know, it would have been a good idea to have a small piece each night rather than to gobble it all up at once. And I shouldn’t have to mention the virtues of sharing.”

“Tante Isabelle says it’s better to be bold than meek. She says if you jump off a cliff at least you’ll fly before you fall.”

“Ah, yes. That sounds like Isabelle. Perhaps you should ask her about the time she broke her wrist jumping from a tree she shouldn’t have been climbing in the first place. Come on, let’s go to school.”

Outside, they waited at the side of the muddy, icy road for Rachel and the children. Together, they set off on the long, cold walk to school.

“I ran out of coffee four days ago,” Rachel said. “In case you’ve been wondering why I have been such a witch.”

“I’m the one who has been short-tempered lately,” Vianne said. She waited for Rachel to disagree, but Rachel knew her well enough to know when a simple statement wasn’t so simple. “It’s that … I’ve had some things on my mind.”

The list. She’d written down the names weeks ago, and nothing had come of it. Still, worry lingered.

“Antoine? Starvation? Freezing to death?” Rachel smiled. “What small worry has obsessed you this week?”

The school bell pealed.

“Hurry, Maman, we are late,” Sophie said, grabbing her by the arm, dragging her forward.

Vianne let herself be led up the stone steps. She and Sophie and Sarah turned into Vianne’s classroom, which was already filled with students.

“You’re late, Madame Mauriac,” Gilles said with a smile. “That’s one demerit for you.”

Everyone laughed.

Vianne took off her coat and hung it up. “You are very humorous, Gilles, as usual. Let’s see if you’re still smiling after our spelling test.”

This time they groaned and Vianne couldn’t help smiling at their crestfallen faces. They all looked so disheartened; it was difficult, honestly, to feel otherwise in this cold, blacked-out room that didn’t have enough light to dispel the shadows.