The Invisible Woman

by Erika Robuck

  They climb aboard, watching the park, praying to see Sophie’s face. The time to go draws nearer, but Sophie still doesn’t arrive. Travelers fill the bus. The Milice leave the station and head toward the park. Mimi looks at Virginia with panic in her eyes.

  As the driver steps down and makes last call, a familiar man with a mustache enters the bus. He keeps his gaze down and slips past them and toward the back seats. Virginia turns to watch him more closely, but Mimi grabs her arm, calling her attention to the window.

  Sophie!

  She walks coolly inside to the ticket counter, buys her pass, and strides out to the bus, arriving just as an MP intercepts her, demanding her identification card. Virginia can’t hear the exchange, but she can see Sophie’s face, dark and beautiful under interrogation. Sophie points toward the park and makes a motion as if showing the height of someone. Then she holds up two fingers and points to the park again. The MP nods and leaves her, and she climbs aboard as if the whole chase never happened.

  Chapter 26

  After the ordeal, upon return, Sophie tells the women that even though the guard says deportation is imminent, Louis refuses to leave his men. And the guard knew neither the date of transport nor their destination.

  “We knew to prepare for this,” Virginia says.

  “No,” says Sophie.

  “Sophie,” says Mimi. “Louis is a good man. Of course he wouldn’t leave his team.”

  “They’ve been together since Lyon,” says Virginia. “They’ve been through hell and back. Brothers-in-arms.”

  “Then why did we try?” says Sophie.

  “To know he was still alive,” says Virginia.

  “It was worth the off chance he’d take our offer,” says Mimi. “And I’m heartened he was able to say no. If he were broken by torture, he’d have accepted.”

  Virginia is troubled to see Sophie’s face go blank. There’s no other description for it. It’s as if her light goes out. Virginia has experienced the shock of loss. It’s like she’s watching herself after her father’s death, after Emil’s breakup, after the hunting accident, the war losses. She kneels at Sophie’s side and takes her hand.

  “You need to return to London,” Virginia says.

  Sophie shakes her head the slightest bit in the negative.

  “You need rest,” Virginia says. “You were magnificent in Paris, but you can’t hold up under this level of strain much longer. It’s too personal. The only hope now is that Louis survives through the liberation, and there’s a good chance he will. Please, leave France. Take care of yourself. Give your fiancé a healthy woman to come home to when this war is over.”

  Sophie’s eyes remain blank.

  Virginia hopes Sophie heeds her words, but she can’t force her. She leaves the women and heads outside, taking great gulps of fresh, cool air. It’s heaven to walk outdoors at night without being cold. The air still hangs with the sweet smell of grass and the pungent odor of goats. The silver stars in the navy sky wink as if all is well. She stops at the top of a hill and stares up. She thinks of the night in Spain when Louis found her, after his escape.

  * * *

  —

  After Virginia’s first mission, Vera wouldn’t allow Virginia to return to France. Vera tried to placate her with a posting in Madrid. As she had done in Lyon, Virginia was to secure safe houses for agents, resistors, and Allied airmen on the escape, while working undercover as a newspaper correspondent. It was a clear night in May when Virginia waited in a café for the arrival of three men. Her contact said they’d escaped via the Pyrenees months ago, landed in a Spanish prison, and now that they’d served their sentences, needed shelter and help arranging travel back to London. Those she’d harbored all had the same haggard look, the one she wore after surviving the mountain crossing. Though the weather was considerably kinder this time of year, she was watching for men with that look.

  It was a Saturday night on the Gran Vía. Music poured out of bars, and Virginia was surprised to find she was a little drunk on Rioja Alta. It was hard to come by those days, but she’d had the money to ensure her glass refilled itself. It now sat empty, only the half-moon of her red lipstick staining its rim. She lifted her crossword puzzle book and used it to fan herself until her attention was drawn to the street. Three gorgeous flamenco dancers spilled out of a lively club and picked three men from the crowd. The dancers were dark red beauties, flames in the night, reflected in the glassy, hungry stares of the men they led in the dance. A crowd clapped around them, and, when it became clear one of the bystanders was a good dancer, the other couples faded away, leaving the two to finish the dance alone.

  Spain was like nowhere Virginia had ever been. Ravaged from years of civil war, crawling with spies, embassies for Axis and Allied powers within walking distance of the others, Spain was the rope in an international tug-of-war. Yet the streets pulsed with vitality. Dancing, wine, music, bullfighting.

  The Spanish understand the sacrament of the present moment, she’d thought. They are stars. Comets blazing through the night, living while there’s still life left.

  The dance ended, and the crowd cheered. She looked into her empty wineglass thinking how thirsty she was, but the beauty of the night sky over Madrid distracted her. She was so lost in her stargazing that it took her a moment to realize a shadow had fallen over her. The man from the dance gazed down at her as though she were the star.

  “How long since you’ve had a boarder, Auntie?” he’d asked, grinning.

  She’d recognize that voice anywhere, though the man inside the mess of dirt and hair was barely recognizable.

  “It has been a long time, Nephew,” she said.

  His grin had grown even wider. He laughed and raised his eyes to the heavens. Music started again. He reached for her hand. She took it, and he pulled her into his arms and led her into the street, where they danced under the stars in Madrid.

  * * *

  —

  Gazing at the sky, Virginia thinks, How will I leave them?

  Her team watches together for the last time, awaiting the change in command, the arrival of the big guns. The officers and military men who will really make soldiers of these guerillas. The air is heavy with unspoken emotion, but they’ve worked together closely enough not to have to speak. Virginia dares a look at their brave, beautiful faces.

  Lavilette and Mimi, dear to her as family.

  Their son. How is it possible a ten-year-old child is with them, yet it’s all right?

  Five Maquis, including the explosives expert and the angry one.

  The American and the British pilots from Estelle’s barn.

  Sophie, stubborn girl. Girl after her own heart.

  Estelle, the sister she never had.

  Estelle looks at her, and Virginia sees her friend’s tears illuminated in the light of the full moon. Then, suddenly, Virginia feels a foreign sensation. A stinging in her own eyes. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until Estelle wipes the tears off her cheeks. Virginia sputters a laugh, and the tears fall harder. A deep feeling of tension releases itself in her. She takes the first good breath she’s had in months.

  Soon, the hum of the plane starts. They rise, separate, make a new formation, that of an L, a runway of light. These officers aren’t being dropped; they’re being landed. This will be even more dangerous for the pilot, but safer for the precious human cargo, and necessary to get the wounded airmen out of France.

  What a miracle all this is.

  The plane is soon visible. She flashes her light, and the pilot responds. The plane lowers, growing larger, louder, and closer. Her heart pounds as she scans the surrounding countryside. They’re in a remote area, but not quite as far away from Cosne as they’d like to be. This field is the highest and flattest they were able to find.

  The plane lands with a little bump and stops short. They descend upon it, helping the men unl
oad containers of supplies as quickly as possible before loading on the two downed pilots from Estelle’s barn to go back to London.

  Virginia looks at Sophie and motions her head to the plane. Sophie refuses.

  The American pilot kisses Virginia’s cheek before they help him aboard. He keeps his hand pressed to the window as the plane turns to take off. It taxis, accelerates, and rises, just clearing the treetops, becoming tinier in the night before disappearing altogether.

  The officers are introduced. The wagons are loaded. And just like that, Lavilette and the men are gone.

  The women and the boy are all that’s left.

  The boy is the first to crush Virginia with a hug. He leaps into her arms and kisses her cheek.

  “Diane,” he says. “You were much better than we expected.”

  She smiles at him through her tears, and plants a kiss on his cheek.

  “Colonel Lavilette,” she says, “you also exceeded my expectations.”

  Mimi comes behind the boy and lifts him down so she can hug Virginia.

  “You really were the answer to our prayers,” Mimi says.

  “No, you were the answer to mine. And I didn’t even know I made them.”

  Mimi laughs through her tears.

  Sophie waits for Virginia to motion her over.

  “You’re a heart, Sophie,” says Virginia, taking her hands. “Hearts need love and care. You have far surpassed anything that was expected of you. When you’re ready, go home and get well.”

  Sophie doesn’t answer but wraps her arms around Virginia and cries on her shoulder.

  Estelle is the last to stand before Virginia. The women hold each other for a long time.

  “It’s not good-bye,” says Virginia. “I’ll see you after the liberation.”

  Estelle nods, but her smile soon contorts into a sob, and Virginia again pulls her into an embrace.

  But they can’t stay out here all night, not with the danger so acute. With reluctance, the women and the boy climb on their bicycles and ride away from Virginia, disappearing into the night like spent stars.

  Chapter 27

  Virginia’s decision to travel alone to Chambon may have been foolish. The Cosne station is infested with Nazis. If the Milice arrive, she’s in trouble.

  All rail travel in the region had been suspended for days because of sabotage repairs. With warnings from HQ about increased raids and roundups of suspected Resistance members in the region, Virginia insisted her people stay away from her. After nearly a week of agonizing, self-imposed isolation, she’s finally able to proceed, as trains are again operational.

  Virginia had told HQ her travel times and changes so the RAF bombers wouldn’t target her train, but when she arrives, the engine and times have been switched because of repairs. There’s nothing to be done.

  Seated at the wall with her two suitcases at her feet, blue shawl covering her hair, she watches and waits. There are considerable delays—it’s a miracle there are rails left to ride—and she has been here for two long, hot, frightening hours. She watches the crowd with an eagle eye, aware of every person in the space, including the mustached man from the bus to Fresnes. The moment he entered the station, she remembered exactly where she first saw him. He was the man in the dinghy who took the weapons from the boy’s wagon. Though one would assume the man is a resistor, she’s unsettled by his presence. She’ll need to get word to Mimi to watch out for him.

  The man reads his newspaper with great production, like he wants her to think he doesn’t see her. While it is standard to pretend not to know other resistors in public, she questions the coincidence of seeing him here again when she travels. Also, she knows by now how accurate her radar is for betrayers.

  Will the train ever arrive?

  In the small crowd entering the station doors, a young woman in a worn, pine-green dress stands out. She has large eyes, a dark braid, and full lips—a face of innocence that makes her look like an oversize doll. After she buys her ticket, she looks for a place to wait. Her eyes dart this way and that, and her forehead is creased with worry. Virginia thinks she must not be from Cosne, because she appears lost and frightened. Also, her clothing is even more provincial than that which is found here. The woman scans the crowd until her eyes find Virginia. She gasps with a quick laugh and moves quickly, taking the seat next to Virginia, knocking the wireless suitcase in the process.

  “La Madone?” the woman says, breathless.

  Virginia flinches.

  “Diane?” the woman says. “Is it really you?”

  Without looking at her, Virginia whispers, “How do you know me?”

  “Simon sent me to find out when you were coming back to help us, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. I thought the trip was wasted, but here you are. A miracle. La Madone!”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so thrilled to see you. Are you coming to us?”

  “I am. Trying, anyway. But the train.”

  “Yes. Delayed. I’m so happy I can travel with you.”

  Virginia can’t believe her change in luck. She really shouldn’t have embarked alone, but here is her own little miracle, a native Frenchwoman who can speak for her at the checkpoints.

  “You’re actually a great help to me,” says Virginia. “My accent . . .”

  “Oh, I know. Simon said how bad it was.”

  Virginia gives the young woman a stern look. The woman smiles sheepishly and shrugs her shoulders.

  “I’m Danielle Le Forestier.”

  “The doctor?”

  “No, I’m his wife. But I assist Roger where I can. When I’m not taking care of our two little sons, and our guest, that is.”

  Virginia no longer wants to speak with this woman. She keeps her lips pursed and continues to watch the travelers. When she notices that the mustached man no longer sits reading his newspaper, she looks at the doors. He walks out to the street, heading to where two Milice stand.

  “Trouble,” says Virginia.

  The stationmaster is before them.

  “Follow me. Now,” he says.

  Virginia knows this man is an ally. She stands and lifts her suitcases. Danielle offers to take one. Virginia passes her the suitcase with her personal belongings, keeping the wireless to herself. They walk in a hurry past the counter, down a poorly lit hallway, and to a room with a window facing the tracks. He closes the door behind them.

  “There’s been a roundup. A large one in this region. They’re being taken to Vichy for interrogation.”

  He points down the track about a hundred yards to where the Milice unload a bus to a railcar, men and women tied to one another by ropes, stumbling as they try to navigate down and up steps.

  Virginia rushes to the window, squinting her eyes, struggling to make out the faces, trying to convince herself that her people would have gotten word and hidden.

  “Now, over there, do you see the man with the orange scarf around his neck?” he says, pointing about twenty yards from the station to a different track.

  “Yes,” says Virginia, forcing herself to pay attention even as she keeps scanning the line.

  “When he puts that scarf in his pocket, leave through the back door at the end of the hallway, and meet him on the platform. When your train arrives, he’ll see you get on safely.”

  “Will we be on the same train as the prisoners?”

  “No. The boches commandeered that train. And yours was switched and held up because of line repairs.”

  “Do you know any of the captives?” she says.

  “Not yet. I just got word. When I saw you, I knew you needed to leave immediately.”

  “Are we in danger?” says Danielle.

  The man looks from Danielle to Virginia and departs in silence.

  Virginia continues to try to see the prisoners’ faces, b
ut they’re too far. The bus pulls away, and the train door is locked. She finds herself praying for her friends.

  The sound of a commotion in the waiting area reaches them in the room. Virginia locks the door and pulls a wire from her pocket, passing it to Danielle.

  “What’s this?”

  “A garrote. It looks like a shoelace. But if you wrap this around a neck, it will suffocate a man, even cutting through to the trachea if you pull hard enough. I have two.”

  Danielle’s face contorts with revulsion. She pushes it away.

  “No!”

  “We might need to defend ourselves,” says Virginia.

  “I would never kill a man.”

  “It’s war, Danielle.”

  Danielle stares at Virginia a moment, then nods her head. “So, you don’t know about us villagers of Chambon?”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “We’re pacifists.”

  “What?”

  “Our pastor, André Trocmé, says we’re never to fight with guns and knives and dirty tricks. We fight the war with the weapons of the spirit.”

  “Are you joking?” Virginia says.

  “I couldn’t be more serious. Pastor Trocmé just got out of hiding and returned to us. He isn’t happy about the growing numbers of the Maquis. Especially because some of the refugee boys have left the villagers who’ve sheltered them to join the Secret Army.”

  It’s not the fists alone that win the fight.

  “If you’re a pacifist, why are you working with Simon to find me?” Virginia says.

  “Well, I may be a pacifist myself, but my husband isn’t. And I’m not a fool.”

  * * *

  —

  The following moments are to Virginia like flashes from a camera.

  The orange scarf in the pocket.