“Yes.” François pointed at the river. “This river, she is the Seine. She winds her way through the city.”
“I need to get out.” John set his hat firmly on his head and straightened his coat.”
“Now?” François’s brows rose.
“Yes. Right now.” John indicated the curb ahead. “Pull over and let me out here.”
When the truck stopped, John reached over Billy and shook François’s hand. “You’ve been a lifesaver. Merci, mon ami.”
François released his grip. “Vous êtes le bienvenu, my American friend.”
John closed the door and pulled his duffel and chest from the back. He turned his collar up and hurried down the street to the bridge. Agaria was close. He could sense her movements on his forehead.
CHAPTER 7
Aubrielle led Éclair across the Alma Bridge toward the Champ-de-Mars in the morning fog. A cold mist had moved across Paris overnight. This morning, a thick cloud snaked along the Seine spilling outward over the banks and across the city. The heavy sky hid the top of the tower from view as she crossed the street to the park entrance. She stopped near the tower and looked back along the empty street.
Footsteps, unheard until now, echoed through the mist and then stopped.
“Bonjour?” The vapor confined the light from the streetlamp into a bright globe above her head and allowed little illumination of the street behind her. “Is someone there?” Her voice, dampened by the moist air received no response.
Uneasy, she held tight to Éclair’s lead and continued beneath the tower. The squeak of the wagon wheels and the muffled beat of her pony’s hooves were the only sounds inside the cloud. When she reached her usual morning spot, she gave Éclair his feedbag and lifted the cover from her merchandise to study her wares. The lilies and lavender still looked fresh, but the roses all bowed their heads as though in prayer.
No one will buy these.
She plucked the roses from the containers, tossed them in the wagon, and rearranged the display to look as full and inviting as possible.
She paused, long stem in hand, as a tingling sensation passed across the nape of her neck. To her right a bell chimed.
The low clouds carried the moist fishy scent of the river and masked her view of the tower. The nearby trash receptacle, a smudge of darkness, appeared to move as vapor shifted. For a brief moment, the shadowy outline of a tall man appeared. When the gloom thickened, he vanished into the mist.
Close by, in the other direction, the pastry vendor sat beside his pushcart filled with croissants and sipped a warm beverage. Steam rose from his cup and blended with the fog. He never glanced her way.
Aubrielle shivered. What’s wrong with me?
She finished grooming her display, muttering to herself as she pulled a stool from the wagon. “I should have stayed home.” There would be no tourists in the park with this weather. Still, it would be shameful to let what remained of her merchandise fail, undisplayed in the backyard. Besides, Papa had refused to get out of bed this morning and had called her Marguerite, her mother’s name, several times.
That’s another reason I’m unsettled.
As soon as Mrs. Moroney had arrived with fresh baked bread, she had hurried out the back door.
I should have brought a piece of bread with me.
She cast another glance at the pastry vendor and felt for coins in her coat pocket. No luck. She’d left them on her dresser at home.
“Your neighbor said I would find you here.”
The voice beside her ear startled her, and she came to her feet. Hand to her chest, she spun and faced Henri Vogl, her flower broker. “Henri. You frightened me.”
He laughed and ran his hand down the arm of her wool coat. “I see that. Why so nervous, ma petite fleur?”
Aubrielle shrugged off Henri’s hand and stepped back. Henri could always make her uncomfortable. His thick shock of blond hair and flirtatious manner annoyed her. Although other women might find the broad-shouldered man attractive, Aubrielle did not. “What do you want?”
Henri’s grin widened, and his scrutiny drifted down her coat to her legs then made its way back to her face. One brow lifted. “That depends on you.”
Aubrielle shook her head. “I cannot restock again this season.” She held out her hand to the empty park. “The petals fade before I can sell them. Besides, I have not the funds to buy more.”
“We could work something out, mon petit bouton de rose.” Henri’s eyes narrowed as he grasped her arm again. “Walk with me.”
“Leave Éclair and my flowers unattended?” She jerked her arm from his grip. “Non. I will not.”
* * *
The urgent pain between John’s eyes dissolved as his gaze rested on a young park vendor. A flower girl? He strained to see her through the mist as she arranged her floral display in the back of an old wagon. Her well-worn coat spoke of hard times, but the bright red triangle scarf tied over dark hair made John smile. Now that she stood only a few yards away, he hesitated.
She won’t know me. I’ve made that mistake before.
The young woman pulled a stool from her wagon and sat beside her wares, casting furtive glances at the bread vendor a few paces away.
She’s hungry.
John gulped the moist air as his heart contracted. Driven by a will not entirely his own he moved forward, and then came to an abrupt halt as a gentleman crept up behind her. The blond, broad-shouldered man bent and whispered in her ear.
A friend? A lover?
John cursed the clouds that blocked his view and crossed the pavement in time to see his flower girl jerk her arm back in anger.
A threat?
“Non. I will not.” She addressed the blond-haired man with a sharp tone.
The weight of the .38 pressed against John’s side as he grasped a handful of her flowers. “Excuse me—”
Both heads turned toward John.
The girl’s eyes widened in confused recognition.
The man’s eyes narrowed. His glare rose to John’s face.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” John murmured and grinned down at the man.
“No, no. Not at all.” The girl brushed past the man’s shoulders. “Au revoir, Henri.”
Henri gave the girl a long look then stalked away.
“A friend of yours?” John asked as he handed her the coins for the bouquet.
“Not really.” She refused to look him in the eye. “A business acquaintance.” The coins slipped into her empty coat pocket without a sound. “Merci.” Her smile didn’t reach her wary dark eyes as she pulled the wedge from beneath the front wheel and tossed her stool in the back of the wagon. “Enjoy your day.” She tugged her pony's lead and led her cart away.
* * *
Aubrielle walked Éclair toward the exit and passed beneath the tower near the footing.
I was right.
The tall man had been watching her. She’d seen his large, unmistakable outline in the mist. Between Henri’s odd behavior, and the giant in the fog, her knees shook as she led Éclair onto the street. Mrs. Moroney’s warning about attacks on young women near the park prompted her to hurry home.
She glanced over her shoulder.
Was he following her?
She quickened her pace beside the Seine and onto the Alma Bridge. At the top, she paused and brushed a hand along Éclair’s withers while she searched the shadows behind her. The clouds had begun to lift in the park, but along the river, the fog remained thick. She couldn’t see past the edge of the water to the street. With a tight grip on her pony’s lead, she made her way over the bridge. The further she moved from the river, the brighter the day became. Once she locked the backyard gate, she felt foolish at her fears and chuckled at herself. Never before had she allowed her imagination to pull her reason out by the roots.
She stopped in the kitchen and listened to the house. Papa’s shallow, even wheeze told her he slept in his room down the hall. On the kitchen table, Mrs. Moroney had left
her a handwritten note. A bank official had come to the house and asked about the mortgage payment. Their finances had been in arrears for several months, ever since Papa had stopped working.
Aubrielle crumpled the note and shoved it into the pocket of her coat. Cold metal brushed her knuckles. She pulled the coins from her pocket and stacked them on the table.
I cannot make hats, but I can sell flowers.
She would go back to the park tomorrow, try harder somehow. Be friendlier. She shook her head as she walked to her room and lay on her bed. The tall stranger must think her unhinged, the way she had run off. She closed her eyes thinking about him.
Firm hands shook Aubrielle awake. She sat up in bed and blinked at Tante Mae. “What time is it?”
“Just a wee bit past five. I’ve sent my baker lads home and brought supper for you and your Papa.”
Aubrielle nodded and scrubbed her hand across her face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“And sound asleep you were, too.” Tante Mae held out a paper document. “I found this taped to the shop door.”
Aubrielle took the document and pulled it open. She read the text and her gaze rose to her neighbor. “We’ve been evicted.” Her hand trembled as she read the notice through tear-filled eyes. “It says we are eight months in arrears and have to be out of the shop and apartment by the first of the New Year.”
Tante Mae eased her hips onto the narrow bed beside Aubrielle. “I know, darlin’. I’ve been expecting this.”
“You have?”
“Aye.” The older woman nodded and pushed and errant black curl streaked with gray from her forehead. “Your Papa can’t keep the shop. It’s a hard truth he’ll have to understand.”
“But—where will we go?” Aubrielle sniffed.
“You’ll both move in with me, of course. I rattle around in an empty apartment. Besides, I’m over here more than at home.” She nodded and pulled Aubrielle close.
Aubrielle clung to the dear woman as equal parts defeat and relief washed over her. “Why would you do that for us?”
“Here now, enough tears.” Tante Mae pushed Aubrielle’s dark hair from her face and kissed her forehead. “Your Mama was my dearest friend for many years. She held my hand when my beloved Oscar died.” Mae lifted Aubrielle’s chin and met her gaze. “She and I swore to take care of each other, and before she passed, I promised her I’d watch over you and your Papa.”
“Are you sure?” Aubrielle shook her head. “How can we impose like that?” Tears slipped from her eyes, and she hung her head.
“Ah, my sweet Brie. It would be easier for me to have you close so I can tend to Lou.” She lifted Aubrielle’s chin with her finger. A smile lifted the corner of Mae’s lips. “There is even room for Éclair in the back if need be. You could still sell your flowers.”
Aubrielle wiped her face and grinned at Tante Mae. “I am done with selling flowers. Soldiers do not buy them, and the tourists have left Paris.”
“Well then, you’ll have to sell something else. How about baguettes and croissants? I have plenty and soldiers need to eat.”
“That’s true, but there is another boulangerie selling croissants in the park.”
“There will be room for two. It is a very large park.”
CHAPTER 8
John held his sea chest beneath his arm. The flowers in one hand and his bag in the other. He admired the dark-haired beauty.
My love!
She was young, but certainly no child.
In his heart, John made a solemn vow, one he made each time his eyes first rested on his soul mate’s new face.
I will love and protect you all the days of your life.
The flower vendor barely glanced at him as she pocketed his coins. She kept her chin tucked, and her eyes downcast while she unblocked the pony cart and led it away.
John clenched his teeth and took a slow breath as she vanished into the fog. He shoved the bouquet of flowers into the trash receptacle, and with renewed determination, he pursued her into the cloud bank.
I don’t even know her name.
Far enough behind to remain hidden by the fog, but near enough to reach her should a need arise, John kept pace with the young woman. He could do nothing else. From the end of an alley, he watched as she closed the gate behind her cart. As soon as she climbed the stairs to her house and disappeared inside, John circled the block. She lived on a winding street of vendors, above a millinery shop. He passed the busy boulangerie next door, and the smell of fresh bread followed him around the corner.
On the street of shops behind her house, he found what he wanted—a sign in the butcher shop window. Appartement à louer. Inside the store, John spoke to the owner about the apartment rental.
From the third-floor living room window, John’s view was of the back of the bakery. Next door to the boulangerie, Agaria’s covered flower cart stood beside the small stable.
“There is a box to receive mail at the bottom of the stairwell.” The butcher walked through the living area and stopped in the kitchen. “The furniture comes with the apartment unless you have your own.”
“I don’t.” John inspected the bedroom and water closet. “I’ll take it.”
“For how long, monsieur?” the butcher inquired.
“Indefinitely, mon ami. I have business in town.”
“That is good for us both, no?” The butcher stopped outside the door. “There are two keys in the kitchen drawer. You may pay your rent on the first.”
* * *
Aubrielle turned off the light in her father’s room and softly closed his door. She made her weary way down the dark hall to her room and stood at the window overlooking the back gate. Papa grew worse each day, one moment anxious and the next angry, unable to follow a simple conversation. At times, he believed Aubrielle to be her mother. They could not afford a physician, and even if they could, there was no cure for Mad Hatter’s disease.
Tomorrow she would sell the last of her flowers. Truthfully, she intended to give them away if there were no buyers. No doubt Henri would attempt to persuade her to continue to sell his wares, but she would be firm. Mrs. Moroney’s offer to let her sell baked goods appealed to her. What she didn’t sell could be put in the day-old bin in the store. No more dying flowers to throw away.
Across the alleyway, a light came on in an upstairs room and caught her attention. The familiar outline of a tall man stood framed in the light.
Aubrielle gasped and drew back from the window even though he couldn’t see her in the darkened room. She pulled the curtain closed and peeked around the edge.
The tall shadow paced away from the window, only to return a moment later.
Unwilling to turn on her light, she undressed in the dark and crawled between the sheets.
Had the tall man followed her?
She rolled over and stared at the closed curtains.
I must be imagining things.
She would keep a look out for the man tomorrow, and if she saw him, she would report him to the préfecture de police. Although she tried, she couldn’t remember the details of his face.
The next morning, she left the house just after Tante Mae arrived with a basket of croissants. Folded into a napkin, the flaky pastry Mae had given her warmed Aubrielle’s pocket as she crossed the bridge and walked along the river with a lighter heart. Yesterday’s fears had evaporated like the fog. She didn’t care that her flowers had wilted a bit more overnight. She would give them away if she had to. Today would be the last day she and Éclair would sell dying flowers in the park.
After Éclair had his feedbag, Aubrielle pulled the pastry from her pocket, broke off a small piece and popped it in her mouth. As usual, the park was empty except for the vendors and a few residents enjoying the bright morning. The man she had glimpsed in the third-floor window last night remained a mystery, his large form nowhere to be found. At noon, she handed out small bouquets of flowers to soldiers and homemakers cutting through the park.
S
he took her time in the afternoon, walking the half-circle paths that meandered to the edge of the park, beneath the colorful autumn trees before returning to the avenue. Aubrielle and Éclair waited for two cars to pass, then crossed the roadway and continued in the direction of the École Militaire. There would certainly be more soldiers near the military school to present with flowers.
With her cart nearly empty, she turned Éclair north, along another arching path, toward the exit to the park and home.
“Aubrielle!” Out of breath, Henri jogged up to her cart and graced her with his most flirtatious smile. “I didn’t know to look this far from the tower. I couldn’t find you.” He gestured to her depleted flower display. “You’ve had a good day?”
“Non. I gave them away.” She took Éclair’s lead and scratched the mane between his ears. “I’ve decided not to sell flowers anymore, Henri. I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean?” Henri paced away, then turned back as he pushed his shock of blond hair back from his face. “You cannot quit. If I do not sell the remaining stock, I will lose my broker position.” He inhaled deeply, rested his hands on his hips and softened his voice. “Aubrielle, the petals of these lilies are so exquisite, their fragrance so rare, that their scent will make you cry. I promise you, people will fight to have a bouquet from your cart.”
“Who will fight, Henri?” She shook her head. “There is no one here. Besides, I have no means to buy your exquisite greenhouse flowers.”
“You don’t understand how important this is for me.” Henri gripped her arm. “My uncle—”
“Arrêtez, Henri.” Aubrielle pulled away and put Éclair between them. “You have been my friend, but this behavior must stop.”
Henri’s jaw clenched as he glared at Aubrielle. Without another word, he stalked away around the curved walkway.
Aubrielle glanced around. Henri’s words and actions were out of character. Threatening.
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