Aubrielle's Call

by Bowen, C. Marie

  His hands trembled as they rested on his knees. He sat hunched forward, his back muscles taut, unable to relax and murmured to himself as though in a trance. He didn’t acknowledge Aubrielle’s touch.

  She crossed her arms and retraced her steps to the kitchen. “I’ll set the table.” The dishes and silver sat ready on the counter across from the stove.

  Had John intended to kiss me?

  Heat infused her face, and she fumbled the utensils, dropping them onto her mother’s fine china. “Merde!”

  “Here now.” Mae turned from the stove. “Settle your nerves, darlin’. I’ll set the table.”

  “Non, non. It is fine. Nothing’s broken.”

  A short tap on the back door caused Aubrielle to turn on her heel and bump against Mae.

  “Brie!” Mae exclaimed with a chuckle and clutched Aubrielle’s arm.

  Her face heated again at the knowing look in Tante Mae’s eyes, but Aubrielle’s lips curled into a grin to match Mae’s, and she gave a nervous laughed.

  “That’s better, now take a breath. No need to rush.” Mae took the silverware from Aubrielle’s hands. “Go on then. Answer the door.”

  Aubrielle straightened her skirt and touched her curls.

  “You look grand.” Mae turned back to the stove. “Take him to the living room and talk with your Papa while I finish up.”

  Although she hurried from the kitchen, Aubrielle rested her hand on the door for a moment before turning the handle.

  He wants to kiss me.

  Her stomach fluttered.

  If he tries again, I will let him.

  She struggled to quell her excited smile and opened the door.

  “Henri?” No, no, no. Her eyes scanned the ruelle behind the unexpected arrival and caught a glimpse of John as he rounded the corner. “What a surprise.”

  “Bonjour, Aubrielle.” Henri’s smile showed a dimple in each cheek. “How are you feeling today?” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “I hope I haven’t arrived at an inopportune time.”

  “Not at all,” Aubrielle muttered as she stretched to look past Henri’s shoulder. “I’m feeling much better. Merci.”

  John slowed to a stop as he entered the back gate. One hand held a bottle of wine. His gaze caught Aubrielle’s, and a single brow rose in query.

  Henri spied the direction of her interest and turned. His smile faltered, and he muttered, “I see I should not have arrived unannounced.”

  The aroma of Tante Mae’s corned beef and cabbage drifted out the door, and Henri’s stomach growled loudly.

  John followed Henri’s footsteps through the dusting of snow and mounted the steps. He extended his free hand to Henri. “It appears we meet again, monsieur. I’m John Larson.”

  “Yes. Aubrielle’s friend from the park. Henri Vogl.” Henri shook John’s hand then turned to Aubrielle. “Perhaps another time would be better.”

  “Nonsense!” Mae called over Aubrielle’s shoulder. “Come in, both of you, and close the door. Dinner is ready, and there’s always room for another chair.”

  Aubrielle couldn’t read the look on John’s face as she stepped back from the door. “Please, come in.”

  Henri entered, grinned at Aubrielle then addressed the older woman. “Whatever you’re cooking certainly smells wonderful, Mrs. Moroney.” He pulled off his cap and trailed Mae into the kitchen.

  John placed the bottle of wine in Aubrielle’s hands and closed the door. “Monsieur Vogl is a frequent guest in your home?”

  “Only recently.” The light from the kitchen fell along the hallway, leaving the back door and cloakroom in shadow. Aubrielle pulled the bottle to her chest and held tight with both hands.

  I need to see his eyes.

  “I’m not sure why Henri comes here.”

  “No?” John leaned close. “I could tell you why.” He shrugged his overcoat from his shoulders and removed his hat.

  “Is that so?” Aubrielle gripped the bottle and tipped her head back. “I’ve even less idea why you come here.” Stop talking. “I’ve known Henri for many months. He’s only a friend.”

  “A close friend?” John reached behind her and hung his garments on pegs. “Perhaps it is I who should leave.” Instead of backing away, he leaned forward to whisper in her hair. “Although I could never leave your side for long.”

  His hushed breath beside her ear sent a shiver down her neck. She closed her eyes. “John—”

  “Come. You have a guest waiting.” The weight of the wine bottle lifted from her arms, and her hand was enfolded in his. “Tonight should prove interesting.”

  When they approached the kitchen’s bright light, Aubrielle pulled her hand free of John’s and lifted it to the heat in face. Bon Dieu!

  “If you could put this platter on the trivets, I’d be much obliged.” Mae pointed to three crocheted hot pads set in the middle of the table.

  Henri placed the large server of steaming corned beef, cabbage, potatoes and sweet carrots where Mae directed. As he straightened, he looked at Aubrielle and winked. “Your Tante is a marvelous cook.”

  Mae chuckled and placed a long loaf of fresh bread on the table beside the butter. “We’ve little to spare these days, but always enough to share.” She caught Aubrielle’s stare and grinned in delight. “Go wake your Papa.” Her eyes widened as John lifted his gift. “Wine? I’m not sure this simple meal will do it justice.”

  “The wine is for you, Mae. Open it or not. The decision is yours.”

  “Oh, we’ll open it.” She handed John a corkscrew from the drawer. “If you would.”

  Aubrielle hurried into the quiet living room. John rattled her thoughts.

  Does he realize how much?

  Papa’s head had tipped back, and his mouth sagged open. He emitted a brief snore.

  “Papa?” She touched his shoulder, but he remained fast asleep.

  Mae’s voice reached from the kitchen. “Mr. Vogl, if you would reach into the cabinet behind you, you’ll find proper glasses for the wine. Aye, those are the ones. Thank you.”

  Aubrielle shook her father’s shoulder. “Papa? Dinner is ready. Are you hungry?” He had lost a lot of weight in the last few months. His frame felt of skin and bone.

  He blinked his dark eyes open with a small snort and stared up at her. “Non. I’m not hungry, Aubrielle. Let me rest.” He closed his eyes and turned his head away.

  * * *

  John leaned back in his chair and swirled the Merlot in his glass as he studied Aubrielle’s other guest.

  Across the table, Henri Vogl continued to eat his meal. He paid little attention to the conversation and replied only to direct questions.

  He behaves likes a man half-starved rather than a hopeful suitor.

  Henri’s jacket appeared sized for a smaller man—or perhaps a younger one. Though clean, the garment had seen better days.

  Aubrielle told of their visit to the synagogue and her plans to celebrate Hanukkah with her father.

  “Your Papa’s menorah is packed away with your mother’s Christmas decorations,” Mae replied.

  “We haven’t—I haven’t taken those out in years.” Aubrielle shook her head. “At first, it hurt too much to look at them and know Mama would never see them again.”

  Mae nodded. “I understand—and so would your mother.” Mae glanced at John. “You should bring those boxes in the house and go through them.”

  “You’re right.” Aubrielle traced her finger around the rim of her wineglass. “I need to clean out the storage beside Éclair’s stall before we move.” She lifted her contemplation from the wine to Mae. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “I’ve already made room for you both.” Mae laid her napkin beside her plate. “It will be best for all of us to have you close.”

  “In that case, we shall move after Hanukkah. We can celebrate Christmas at your place and finish with this house and Papa’s shop by the New Year.”

  The conversation paused, and John leaned forward. “So, Mr. V
ogl, what type of work do you do?”

  Henri waved his fork in the air. “Oh, various things. Most recently, I brokered flowers for the tourist trade. The war and winter put an end to that.” He speared a portion of corned beef in his bowl. “And you, sir? What brings you to France?”

  John chuckled. “Passion’s curse.” He raised his glass with a grin. “And a tramp steamer that brought me to these shores. How long I stay remains undetermined.”

  “You have loved ones in Paris, Mr. Larson?”

  John pressed his lips. “So far, only a few acquaintances and some dear friends.” He raised his glass to Aubrielle and Mae.”

  “And your line of work, if I may inquire?” Henri persisted.

  John ran his hand along his neck. “I’ve been involved with acquisition and trade, but as you said, war and winter have dampened those ventures.” He sipped his wine, then set the long-stemmed glass on the table. “We both appear to be at loose ends, Mr. Vogl.”

  “Please, call me Henri.”

  “Did no one think to wake me for supper?” Lou Cohen yelled from the hallway. “Qu'est-ce que ç'est?” He staggered forward, his arms flailed as he pointed at the table.

  John came to his feet, as Aubrielle rounded her chair and reached for her father.

  “Papa, I tried to wake you—”

  “Non!” Lou slapped his daughter’s hand away. “Ne me touche pas!”

  “Monsieur Cohen—” John stepped between Lou’s raised arm and Aubrielle.

  Lou’s wild blow glanced across John’s shoulder, and he lurched into John’s chest.

  John steadied the elderly man. “All is well, Monsieur Cohen. Try to be calm.”

  Lou gasped and let his head fell back to look into John’s face. “Sir? You’ve come again?” His eyes filled with tears. “I thought you’d gone.”

  Who does he think I am?

  “I’m still here.” John turned slightly and saw Mae had set a clean plate at the table. “Look, Mrs. Moroney has your supper ready.”

  Distracted, Lou’s interest shifted. “Oh yes. Je vois.”

  John helped him to the table and steadied him as he took his seat.

  “Here you are, Lou.” Mae placed his dinner in front of him and handed him a spoon. “I’m glad to see you’ve got your appetite back.”

  Aubrielle released a small sob She covered her mouth with both hands to silence her distress. The big brown eyes that watched her father brimmed with tears.

  “Come.” John wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked toward the living room. “He’ll be all right.” John stopped and faced Aubrielle. “Your father was only confused.”

  She nodded and leaned against him as she wiped her tears. “I know. He became confused when he woke and heard strange voices.” She blinked up at John and half sobbed a chuckle. “I wonder who he thinks you are.”

  John inhaled slowly to calm his pulse. The length of her body pressed against his in a familiar manner, and his body reacted. Oh, my love. He brushed a stray curl caught in the moisture on her cheek.

  Her head tipped back to see his face. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her attention dropped to his mouth, and her lips parted.

  Desire flooded John, and he fought the impulse to lower his head and capture her mouth with his. Aubrielle wanted to be kissed, and he desperately wanted to claim her lips for his own, but not here. Not now.

  “I think I should be going.” Henri’s voice reached them from the kitchen.

  “I need to go as well,” John’s deep voice was filled with regret.

  Aubrielle straightened and turned aside. “Whatever must you think of me?” Her face darkened in a heated blush.

  He clasped her hand to keep her close and bent to whisper in her hair. “Only that you and I want the same.”

  Her gaze sought his.

  He lifted her hand to his lips. “As I said, I’ll never be away from you for long.”

  CHAPTER 18

  John looked up at the sky and blinked a snowflake from his eyelash. Sometime during the evening, the snow had picked up again. He carried Billy’s supper in the bag Mae packed for him as he trailed Henri down the steps to the back walk. Near the stable, he brushed snow off the nearby stool, set the bag down, and opened the stable door to check on the little horse.

  Éclair’s ears perked with interest as he moved forward to beg for attention.

  Fresh straw covered the floor, and Éclair’s water and food trough were full. Aubrielle must have taken care of Éclair while I was at the bank. John scratched between Éclair’s ears and rubbed his neck. “Good boy.”

  “What are you doing?” Henri stood in the doorway.

  “Checking on Aubrielle’s pony.” John gave Éclair one last pat on his neck. He closed the door behind him, picked up Billy’s supper, and walked with Henri toward the ruelle. “She has a lot on her mind. Checking on her pony is the least I can do.”

  Henri nodded and opened the back gate. “Where are you staying while you’re in the city?”

  John pointed across the alleyway. “Third floor—where you see the light.”

  Henri turned his collar up. “That’s rather close for coincidence.”

  “Yes.” John chuckled as he latched the gate behind them. “What about you?”

  Henri shrugged. “I find myself displaced at the moment.” He removed himself from the bitter wind as he paused between John’s building and the next one. “I was staying with my uncle, but there arose—a complication.”

  John studied the young man. To a stranger, he and Henri would appear much the same age, their mid-twenties. How long had it been since he felt that young? A millennium at least. “Can you not reconcile the complication?”

  “I doubt it.” Henri looked down at the snow, then back along the narrow passage. “The issue is tied up with the war. My family is Austrian, you see, but Onkel Hersch has lived in France for forty years.” Henri shrugged. “I came here during Austria’s civil war, about five years ago.” He shivered visibly and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “Since the Anschluss—Austria’s agreement to be annexed by Germany—Onkel Hersch has been afraid my presence will remind his associates of our heritage—Austrian—the same as Hitler.” He shuffled his feet and glanced at John. “Once France declared war, the welcome at my Onkel’s home was withdrawn.”

  “I see.” John stared over Henri’s head at Aubrielle’s back door. Her room remained dark. “Where are you staying now?” When Henri didn’t answer, John focused on the young Austrian. “Henri?”

  “I thought you saw my bag.” Henri studied John. “When you checked on her horse.”

  “You—” John shook his head and ran a hand along the back of his neck. “You’re sleeping in the Cohen’s barn? In Éclair’s stall?”

  “Not in the stall.” Henri’s face had flushed dark red. “Near the back, by the grain and storage closet. It’s not bad. The barn is warm at least. Better than sleeping on the street.”

  “You’re the one who cleaned the stall.” John shook his head. “No. Get your bag. You can’t stay there.”

  “What?” Henri staggered back as though John had struck him with his fist. “Do you think I want to sleep there? I’ve no place else to go.”

  “Did you not hear the talk at dinner?” John leaned in to see Henri’s face. “The Cohen’s are moving in with Mae Moroney. Aubrielle will be in the stable tomorrow looking for her father’s menorah. You have to leave.”

  Henri ran a hand over his face. His eyes searched the darkness as though the falling snow held some secret answer. “There’s no other place.” He sniffed and cleared his throat, then nodded and straightened his shoulders. “One last night and I’ll find a new location tomorrow. In the daylight.”

  “Another garage?” John shook his head. “No. You’ll sleep on my couch.” I’m going to regret this. “You can stay with me until you get back on your feet.” I hope he and Billy get along.

  “You’d do that for me?” Henri’s head tipped to the side, and hi
s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. Perhaps because you’re Aubrielle’s friend. Or maybe because I’ve slept in the rough before and I know what it’s like to need a hand up.” John lifted his hat and scratched his forehead. “Get your bag. I still have errands to run tonight and Billy needs his supper.”

  Henri called back from the Cohen’s gate, a grateful smile on his face. “Is Billy your cat?”

  John ran his hand over his face and laughed.

  * * *

  John considered Billy’s reflection in the mirror. White bandages wrapped his thin chest and side above a pair of clean brown slacks Mae had provided the smuggler. “It’s only been a day,” John reminded him. “You need to stay in bed and heal.”

  “But what if something happens?” Billy pushed the dirty blond hair out of his eyes. “What if you need me?”

  Henri leaned his shoulder against the door frame. “I’ll go with you,” he offered John.

  John and Billy exchanged a brief glance in the mirror as John slipped the leather straps of his shoulder holster over his shirt. He slid the revolver into its sheath then turned to Billy. “If something does happen, I won’t have to worry about you slowing me down.” John opened the bedside table drawer and withdrew the stacks of banknotes from the arms sale. One by one, he shoved the bundled notes into the inside pocket of his overcoat.

  Billy watched and pressed his lips. “Remember to ask for Maurice Bonet. He knows François.” Billy flinched as he shifted in the bed. “Make Bonet tell you how to contact that René chap.”

  “I’ll speak with Monsieur Bonet and ask about both François and the seller.” John slipped his jacket over his shoulders, covering the holster, then turned back to the mirror to adjust his tie. “I won’t be gone too long.”

  “Will you take the truck?” Billy asked.

  Henri raised a brow. “You have a truck?” His glance went from Billy to John.

  John had moved the truck from the alley to the street across from Mae’s boulangerie the night before. “No. I’ll hail a cab.” He stopped at the foot of the bed and stared down at Billy. “Your supper is on the kitchen counter. You should eat it before it gets cold.”