The looming house, three stories of stone trimmed with marble sills and steps, is lit up. Lanterns hang on a black wrought iron fence at the edge of a cobblestone drive. She counts two dark, sleek cars idling in the circular drive in front of the massive mansion, and another car is rumbling in place on the street. All have bright headlights piercing the twilight. The drivers are waiting in the cars, ready to transport passengers at any time.
Terrified that she’ll be seen, Collette ducks behind a giant stone urn filled with dirt. Nazi flags, lit up by the headlights, are stuck in the dirt. She peeks around the urn as car doors are slammed. A tall man in an ankle-length black overcoat is laughing with a short German officer. They pause and light cigarettes.
As they walk slowly in Collette’s direction, she pulls her body into a tight ball. She desperately wants to run but remembers the terrifying Halt! when she was clinging to the side of the mountain, and stays still. She imagines the crack of the gunshots, only this time they would be just a few feet away. She’s far enough back in the shadows but presses her hands against the urn to stay steady. The stone is frigid.
The guests turn up the drive and climb the marble steps into the grand house, speaking a mixture of French and German. Collette backs up quietly, staying low.
She sees that a black iron fence stretches around the front of the huge house, but then it turns into a low wall a few feet away that she can easily climb over. As she searches for a spot that will be out of sight, she hears singing.
It’s not soldiers singing, which often happens when the Germans have sloshed their way through bottles of French wine.
A girl is singing. In German.
Standing next to a car on the drive is a young girl wrapped in fur. She has a pale pink fur hat that’s tied under her chin. Her wine-colored velvet coat is trimmed at the bottom with a wide band of more light pink fur. Her hands are in a fat pink fur muff.
She’s standing stiffly as she sings, facing two short German men in uniform, and an even shorter man in a knee-length dark coat, who is clapping delightedly.
The ends of her long, dark hair are picked up by the brisk wind and she falters a bit, but continues her song. The men burst into applause, and the short man shouts, “Brava!” He gestures for the other Germans to follow him inside, leaving the girl in the cold.
Collette stands up without realizing it and moves closer to the drive. The girl seems to be about her age, but Collette’s never seen her before. School had continued off and on during the war, relocated to an old barn at the edge of the village, but Collette hardly ever went. She certainly had never seen this girl there.
Suddenly the girl walks toward Collette and peers into the darkness. Before Collette can run, the girl pulls her hand out of the muff and holds up two fingers. V—for victory—the symbol for winning the war against the Germans that is recognized around the world. Collette gasps as the girl flashes the V, rushes up the marble steps, and disappears into the house.
Collette runs back to the low stone wall, quickly climbs over it, and races to the back of the house. She can see several people in the bright glow of the kitchen against the approaching nightfall. The woman in the flowered scarf is constantly moving. She stacks platters with food and hands them to women who go in and out of the kitchen. Every once in a while, she steps toward the window and glances out, but never stops to take a long look.
Collette waits until the woman comes close to the window again, then briefly steps into the light, and back out again. She’s not sure if she’s been seen, but she knows to wait.
The back door flies open, and the woman steps out, shaking a white tablecloth. Collette runs over and hands her the notebook and pen. “Initial here.” The woman drapes the tablecloth over her arm, kicks the door closed behind her, and scans the grounds behind Collette. She marks a wobbly X.
Collette is surprised to see that the woman is young but as wrinkled and grim as Collette’s own mama. The woman shakes the cloth again, glances furtively at Collette, and rushes back inside to warm her hands at the woodstove in the corner of the kitchen.
“Where are you going next?” Collette jumps at the sound of a girl’s voice and peers around the side of the house.
Standing under the kitchen window is the same girl in fur, but now she’s wearing worn-out pants, brown leather boots, and what must be her father’s coat. “I’m coming with you,” she says. She’s abandoned the fur hat and has replaced it with the blue beret worn by the Milice. Her long hair is tucked into the beret, but she still doesn’t look like a boy. She grabs Collette’s arm and pulls her to the side of the house. “You’re not very good at this, are you? You’re standing in the light.”
Collette pulls away from her, but the girl won’t let go of the coat. Collette frantically scans the area, but the only activity is the gentle snow falling on the ground.
She sticks to the deception. “I have to get back. I was just delivering a package, but it’s almost curfew and I have to leave.”
“Let me come. I promise I won’t talk and I’ll stay out of sight. Better than you do.”
“Let go of my coat.” Collette glares at the girl and jerks her arm away. “I’m going home.”
“No, you’re not.” She points up at the window. “You just delivered a message. You have more to do tonight, I know that. And I’m coming with you to help.”
Collette remembers Hélène’s instructions about what to do if someone stops her. “I am just delivering packages for a shop—for food, for my family.”
“Well, if you are going home, then show me where you live.” She drops her hand from Collette’s coat, makes a dash to the low wall and jumps over it before Collette can move. She pops up and waves at Collette to join her. “You definitely don’t want to stay where you are,” she says, loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear.
Collette leaps the wall and squats down behind it. “Shhhhh! You’re not coming with me. If we are caught after curfew, they could take us away somewhere—even kill us.”
The girl reaches into her pocket and pulls out an apple and a buttered biscuit.
“My father buys fruit from the market in Marseille.” She thrusts the food toward Collette and says slowly and deliberately, “He buys fruit. In Marseille.”
Collette studies her, weighing the words. Marseille, south of Brume on the Mediterranean Sea, is one of the places where the orders for the French Resistance come from. Where the nitric acid came from. Where people in Noah’s Ark are hidden, and rescued, and supplied with what they need, to secretly fight the Germans in the village.
Collette slowly takes the apple and relishes the feel of its smooth, round shape. An apple! She drops it into her pocket while shoving the biscuit into her mouth. It tastes like honey.
The girl leans her face close so that Collette can see milky-white skin and deep brown eyes fringed by thick eyelashes. The girl speaks slowly, “He goes often to the market in Marseille. I’ve been with him. Now, am I coming with you?”
Collette continues to chew the soft biscuit as she considers this girl. She knows that there are people in Brume who take the biggest risk of all, by hiding families from the Germans and helping them escape. Others spend time in the company of Germans and Milice, pretending to be on their side but gathering information for the Resistance fighters. They appear to be collaborators, but they’re actually spies.
Maybe that’s what this girl’s father is doing in his fancy house filled with well-fed Germans. He gathers information at Marseille, spends time with the enemy, then reports information to the French Resistance. Maybe he’s just pretending to be a collaborator. Is that what this girl is trying to tell Collette?
But this girl is too risky. “Go home,” Collette says to the strange girl who sings to Germans while dressed in pink fur. “Go inside, into your warm house.”
The girl pulls out another apple and stuffs it into Collette’s coat pocket. “The girl in the kitchen? That’s Rabbit.” She slides in another biscuit next to the apple. “
Not because she can cook rabbit so well. But because she’s fast. She can run like a rabbit.”
Collette wants to be rid of this spoiled girl who knows too much. It’s time to move, and Panther said she has to do this mission alone. She can lose the girl in the streets as they make their way out of town toward the bridge.
“Don’t talk,” Collette says as she swallows the rest of the biscuit. “And don’t sing, either.”
The girl smiles. “I sing so that I won’t throw up,” she says, and the smile fades.
They sneak across the yard and over the wall near the front fence. A man in front of the house speaks loudly in German, and a woman giggles in response. Collette and the girl run up the street, away from the lanterns, Nazi flags, and headlights. Even as they flee, Collette is careful to hide in doorways, creep along the sides of stone walls, and cover her tracks.
She keeps glancing back to see if she’s alone.
Chapter 12
Skylark
Brume
Nearly Spring 1944
“Stay low!” Collette can’t believe the girl is still with her. She’s tried everything to lose her, but every time she looks back, there she is, close behind. The people in town have closed their drapes and shuttered the windows. As Collette cuts through side streets and gardens, dodging anything in the way, she feels like a panther sneaking through the night. She wonders if that’s how Panther got his name, only this panther has a cub that won’t let go.
Collette has to admit the girl’s instincts are good. Whenever they hear voices, whether in French or in German, the girl ducks into a doorway or flattens herself against a wall in the dark. Her black coat, dark hair, and navy beret help her blend in to the night.
The cobblestone Route de Ruisseau at the edge of the village turns into a rough, unpaved road that’s a mixture of frozen wheel tracks and puddles covered with thin layers of ice. Houses stop, and stunted oak and juniper trees begin. Collette decides to take a risk and stay on the road because it’s much faster than stumbling through the woods. They have at least a mile to cover before they reach the bridge.
The only sound is the crunching of their boots, and it seems so loud. There are no birds at night, no voices echoing from the village. Collette picks up speed and hopes there’s no one around to hear them jogging down the rugged road.
There’s a slight moon and a scattering of stars in the slate-colored sky, but sometimes they’re covered by wispy clouds. Collette doesn’t notice stars anymore. She used to study them through the window of her home, wondering how far away they were. Now she rarely looks up unless she’s looking for German planes.
As the road narrows and disappears into a close crop of oak trees, she slows to listen. The girl stops, too. Then she taps Collette’s shoulder and points.
There’s a tiny red spot of light in the woods.
Collette pulls the girl down next to her. The light moves and then goes out. The faint smell of cigarette smoke drifts by.
Collette holds tightly to the girl’s coat, hoping that she understands that she’s to freeze in place and not make a sound.
The girl doesn’t flinch. They are just two boulders on the edge of the road.
There’s a rustling in the woods, then the sound of a man relieving himself, followed by a grunt. A lone soldier tramples branches as he makes his way back to the road. He shouts a flood of German words, but his back is turned and he walks hesitantly away from them. An answering shout, followed by laughter, pierces the night. The soldier shouts something back and walks faster up the road.
“Idiot was lost,” the girl mutters.
Collette claps her hand over the girl’s mouth. But the soldier has picked up the pace and is no longer visible. She drops her hand and glares at the girl, only to be met with a grin on that pale face. “Now what?” the girl says.
Does she think this is all a game? Collette wonders, glaring back at her. She quickly moves to the edge of the woods and squats down, the girl right behind her. “I have to count,” Collette whispers. “Count the number of soldiers on both sides of the bridge.”
The girl doesn’t ask why, just nods. “Far side first?”
Collette shakes her head and adjusts her hat, pulling it down tightly around her ears. “You stay here—or go back home. I don’t want to have to worry about whether you’re going to get us caught.”
“Let’s split up,” the girl continues. She draws two vertical lines in the dusting of snow on the ground, followed by an arrow circling around the lines. “You go around to the right and check on the far side of the bridge. I’ll take the left and count soldiers on this side.”
“Did you hear me? You have to get out of here.”
The girl continues to ignore Collette and draws a wavy line, leading away from the two lines in the snow. “Down the stream is a place to cross. Your feet will get soaked, but there are rocks to make it easier.”
“How do you know this?” Collette tries to keep her voice down, but she wants to yell at this annoying girl who is taking over the mission.
“I come with my father on this road. He visits the soldiers and brings fruits and vegetables from the market in Marseille. Last summer, I played on those rocks, but they shouted at me because they were storing ammunition there.”
Collette suddenly feels the bitter wind stinging her face. Her entire body is ice cold. Her shoulders and knees ache from crouching and hiding. Her legs can’t seem to support her, and she sits down hard on the cold ground. This girl has been to this bridge with the Germans. If she leaves, she might tell about the mission. If she stays, she’ll get them caught. “What are you doing here?” she manages to ask.
“I’m doing exactly what my father does. Counting soldiers.” The girl turns and strides up the road toward the bridge.
Collette is left sitting on the ground for a moment. She starts to call out but realizes that if the girl gets herself in trouble, it doesn’t mean that the soldiers will know that Collette is there, too. Let her go, she thinks. The job for Panther comes first. She jogs up the road until she hears the bubbling stream, then cuts back into the woods, bearing to the right as the girl had drawn in the snow. The moon lights her way for a while, as she scrambles over logs and shoves aside branches that have brand-new leaves. She stays low, stopping once to listen.
As she emerges, she can see the lights of a German outpost on the other side of the water, upstream, at the end of the short, rickety bridge. A wooden shed stands directly across from her. Next to the shed is a large square space surrounded by sandbags, stacked like a stone wall. The rocks in the stream are in front of her, just as the girl described. The ammunition is stored on the other side, just as she said.
Collette steps behind a scraggly oak to stop and think. Is she walking into a trap? The girl knows too much. And now she knows the mission.
The voices of the German soldiers are muffled by the running water, but Collette can see that they have a campfire going on the other side, near the bridge. Two soldiers are sitting on a log wearing their round-topped helmets, warming their hands. They stretch out their feet and try to knock each other off the log. The third soldier paces up and down the road that continues beyond the bridge through acres of fields. He repeatedly stops, swings around, and aims his gun at the sky, making machine-gun noises.
She glances to make sure the soldiers are occupied, pulls her heavy gray coat up around her waist, and plunges into the fast waters to reach the first large, flat rock. The water is just deep enough to slow her down as she struggles to get to the other side. Her legs feel sluggish as the cold grips her and drenches her boots and the soft blanket linings. She slips off the rocks, sinking up to her knees in the icy water, flinging out her arms to stay balanced. The bottom of her coat drops and gets soaked, dragging her down as she struggles to plow through the stream. Gradually she’s able to lug her feet from the silt and rocks at the bottom and push herself onto the high, muddy bank of the stream. Her wet pants and coat cling to her, seeping cold deep into he
r bones. She crawls over the edge of the bank, staying low.
Her boots are heavy, and she can’t feel her feet. The soldiers laugh and whistle as they soak up the heat of the fire. Collette lies flat on the frozen ground.
Such a narrow stream and a small, short bridge that’s so important. If the bridge is gone, the soldiers will have to do what Collette just did. And when the ice begins to melt and rushing water fills the stream to the top of the bank, the Germans will need to build a new bridge to get their trucks full of soldiers back and forth to Brume.
If she can help take that bridge down, she’ll do it.
Collette pulls her body forward using her elbows and shoving with her feet. She remembers her brave brother telling her about fighting the war in Belgium. He had come home briefly before returning to battle and described the hours he spent hunched over in wet, muddy trenches as bullets rained down. He pulled himself through fields, flat on his stomach, rifle in hand. She remembers that he’s still there, only now he’s underground, buried in the middle of a battlefield.
She’s wearing his beat-up old boots and will use them just as he used his boots as a soldier. Only she plans on making it home so she can report to Panther.
On this side of the stream, she no longer has the cover of the woods. She sprints to hide behind the shed and cuts through a field to spy on the soldiers from behind. Her boots are cumbersome because the blanket lining is now soaked and squishy, but they don’t slow her down. A cluster of juniper shrubs is her only protection, but now she can see across the bridge to where she and the girl had been hiding in the trees.
She still counts only three soldiers, two dark forms visible against the fire and the one lone soldier still aiming at the dark sky.
Skylark and Wallcreeper Page 8