Collette grits her teeth and leans back against the warm metal wall of the boxcar. “I’ll have to. We have to get back to Panther.”
Marguerite carefully slides the boxcar door open a few more inches. The Germans have set up torches, and the soldiers have flashlights. They’re still running around shouting as they drag boxes of supplies into one giant pile.
“We have to go right now.” Marguerite reaches behind for Collette.
A wave of nausea suddenly hits Collette. As she looks out over the scene of the wreckage, it seems to be spinning. “You go. I’ll slow you down.”
“Collette—get up!” Marguerite barks, just like the German soldier. “Think about what we’ll tell Panther. Think about those British paratroopers who’ll give us chocolate and maybe even a medal. We did it, Collette. Skylark and Wallcreeper destroyed a German train! Now let’s get out of here.”
Then she smiles. Collette cannot believe that in the middle of the enemy, shoved into a toppled boxcar, Marguerite can manage a smile. “I am Wallcreeper,” she says wearily, and heaves herself up, reaching for Marguerite’s hand.
“Yes, you are. And I am Skylark, and I’m not leaving you. We’re in this together, my friend. Now hold on, and let’s go.”
They gingerly climb down from the boxcar, scanning the area to make sure that all the soldiers are busy elsewhere. Protected by train cars lying on their sides, piles of debris, and coal smoke, Marguerite half drags Collette away from the havoc they created. She moves them into dark corners, flattens them against the sides of the cars, and keeps them low when they might be visible. She never lets go, even as Collette falters.
Soon they leave the broken railroad tracks behind and make it across the fields to the woods, and finally to the hut. Collette collapses on the ground next to the hidden bicycles.
Marguerite rolls her bicycle out onto the road and flicks on the light mounted on the handlebars. “Climb in the basket.” She motions to Collette. “Tonight you are the delivery.”
Chapter 29
Chocolate Croissants
Cliff House
November 2012—Day 8
I don’t interrupt once.
Marguerite moves around the cluttered room like a ballerina, waving her arms, rising on her toes, acting out the crashing of the train. She shows how they tossed their bicycles, stroked Le Roi’s sweaty neck, and sneaked out of the woods toward the railroad tracks.
She demonstrates pushing the sliced railroad tracks with such strength that I almost jump up to help her.
I am there with her in southern France, frightened as the train pounds down the tracks, shaking in fear as she and my granny hide in the boxcar. I believe every word and can see it all.
The second she finishes telling about how she helped the injured Collette climb into the bicycle basket, Simone appears behind Marguerite’s chair and gently places her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “Time for a little rest now.” She points at me. “Let’s get you situated in the guest room. How long can you stay?”
But Marguerite isn’t finished. “Let me tell Lily one more thing.”
“Of course, Mama.” Simone rests her elbows on the top of the wingback chair. “But you know how you like your nap before supper.”
I hadn’t noticed that Simone must have turned on a few of the lamps. In October, it starts to get dark earlier, and the day is already overcast and gloomy. A soft yellow glow highlights the collection of objects laid out carefully on the tables and bureaus crowding the room. I notice for the first time that the fabric of Marguerite’s chair looks like antique maps.
I want to stay and explore the house, and hear more stories about Marguerite and my granny. But Simone’s question also makes me realize that I have no plan. I was going to get the pen, hop on the train, and be back in Brooklyn before anyone missed me.
But it’s so tempting to stay here longer. New York City, especially the Armory and Rockaway Manor, seem so far away. Was it only a few days ago I was watching the ocean rise?
I better check to make sure I haven’t been declared a missing person. “Can I charge my phone?” I pull my phone out of my backpack. The battery is low, but it’s still alive. There’s a long list of texts, missed calls, and voice mails. I scan quickly and see that they are from my mom (every ten or fifteen minutes), Nicole, and Johnny.
While I had been engrossed in tales of a world war, comfortable in an old house overlooking the ocean, everyone else had been going nuts trying to reach me. Had something happened to Granny?
Simone points to an outlet located next to a small round table that seems to have dozens of postcards glued to the top of it. “I’ve made up a room for you. But you’ve called home, right?”
“I have a lot of messages. I’ll call as soon as the phone’s charged. I think I better let everyone know I’m okay.” I dread hearing what my mom will say, but know I have to check in soon. I want to tell her about Granny and Marguerite, but I’m not so sure she’ll listen.
Marguerite stands unsteadily, and Simone reaches out to help her. “Mama, you’ve worn yourself out. Let’s have a little lie-down.”
“We are not doing anything.” Marguerite winks at me. “But I will indulge in a little nap now. And then at supper I’ll tell Lily all about how soon after we derailed the train, the south of France was liberated from the Germans. It was glorious! But also so sad because that’s when I had to leave Collette and my beloved Brume.”
She shuffles across the room toward the back of the house, suddenly appearing much older than the Marguerite who acted out her days as a Resistance fighter.
I need to check on Granny.
I scroll through the texts but don’t bother to listen to the voice mails. They’re all from my mom and I have a pretty good idea what she’s said.
Johnny’s texts start with:
Everyone freaking out.
Call your mom
And, after a series of additional warnings, follows with his admission that he finally had to tell everyone where I am.
Had to show your mom your last text to prove u r alive.
I guess I haven’t handled this part of my mission very well. So far I managed to keep everyone distracted, but this time I am definitely in trouble.
I listen to Nicole’s message. She explains that my mom wouldn’t leave the Armory and at first had Granny all upset—until Granny realized where I am and is thrilled. “Miss Collette wants you to tell her all about it and keeps talking about someone named Marguerite. I’m getting concerned because she seems more confused than ever. Who’s Marguerite?”
I have to smile at that message. Poor Granny is making sense to me but probably appears to be deep in a period of dementia.
Simone comes back from settling Marguerite and grabs my boots and backpack. I unplug my phone, and she leads the way to the guest room up another flight of stairs. It’s surprisingly plain, with a single bed piled with quilts and patchwork pillows, a rocking chair draped with a woven shawl, and a bedside table with a china lamp. Two fat books are stacked on the table.
A window overlooks a small courtyard with bushes stripped of leaves, and chairs like the ones outside the restaurant in Brooklyn.
“You can come help me in the kitchen after you make your calls, if you want.” Simone barely fits through the doorway of the small room. She straightens a small braided rug with the toe of her shoe and drops my backpack and boots on the rocker. “Or you can take some time to look at everything in the living room.”
I can tell by her smile that she knows exactly what I’ll do after I make my calls. She pulls out of her apron pocket a sample bottle of shampoo, a toothbrush, and mini toothpaste. “I still haven’t seen everything she has in that room, and I’ve lived here all my life. She keeps hauling things out of the attic and moving things around.”
“Where’d she get all that stuff?” I sink onto the edge of the bed. Everything in the house seems so comfortable.
“Well, as I said, she traveled everywhere, talking about
the war, sharing her stories. She’s made friends around the world and saved everything they gave her. She must have more in her collection than some museums—postcards, maps, compasses . . .”
“Fountain pens?”
“She only wanted one fountain pen. She has very little from her childhood in France. Everyone was so scattered—she had no one who could tell her what happened to her friend. She went back to Brume a few times, but there was no one left who remembered her as a child. Years ago she decided not to go back until she found out about Collette. You have no idea what joy you’ve brought my mama.”
Simone straightens the shawl on the back of the chair, and as she leaves the room, she says, “Thank you for coming here, Lily. You are braver than I’ll ever be. I don’t even have a passport.” She points to the books on the bedside table: The Wonders of Argentina and View from the Great Wall. “That’s how I travel.”
I scoot back on the bed and lean on fat pillows stacked against the wide, carved wooden headboard.
I decide I’d better call Johnny and find out what’s going on, before I talk to my mom. He’s at the restaurant and can’t talk much but basically warns me that my mom, Nicole, and Maria are freaked out, and now even he’s seriously worried. “You better call your mom right away. Be prepared to catch hell. Why didn’t you text me after you got to Marguerite’s, Lily?”
I’m not used to Johnny showing that much concern. He’s usually pretty relaxed. I pull my legs up and drag a quilt over them. I really screwed up, but hasn’t it been worth it? I try to explain about Marguerite and Collette, Skylark and Wallcreeper, but he cuts me off. “There’s a Metro-North train tonight. You better be on it. I can’t cover for you anymore.” He hangs up, and I hold the phone in front of me, shocked. Johnny has never even been this mad at me before. He must be catching it hard from my mom.
Just as I start to call my mom, Johnny texts, Sorry. Come home. I grip the phone and want to call him back and keep him on the phone as I explore Marguerite’s house. I want to describe everything, even bring him there to see it with his own eyes. He should meet Marguerite and hear her tell the stories in person.
My mom answers without a hello. “You are so grounded. No phone, no friends, no . . . no . . . no anything,” she sputters. “What in the world were you thinking?”
I start to answer, but she just picks up speed. “Obviously, you were not thinking! Seriously, did you consider anyone else at all?”
“I was thinking about Granny,” I say softly.
That stops her for a moment, but she starts up again. “I can’t believe you lied to me, Lily. How am I ever going to trust you again?” Her voice is shaky, and she blows her nose loudly into the phone.
I clutch a soft pillow to my chest and think about Simone’s words about how brave I am. If you are brave, do you feel this awful and make people cry? Maybe this is how Granny used to make Mom feel when she traveled. “I’m sorry, Mom. I really am. But everything turned out fine.”
“Lily, if you say everything is fine to me one more time, I’ll . . .” She blows her nose again and is finally quiet on the other end of the phone.
“Mom—are you still there?”
“Of course I am,” she says. “I’m trying to absorb all of this, Lily.” She asks me if I’m okay. “Did anyone bother you on the train? Did you get anything to eat? Does Marguerite live in a safe neighborhood?” I tell her all about Marguerite’s intriguing Cliff House, and about Henry and the Fountain Pen Emporium, the letters, and the ride on the Metro-North. I repeat the adventures of Collette and Marguerite as secret members of Noah’s Ark, and she actually listens. She’s completely surprised and doesn’t interrupt with questions, just exclaims and gasps, amazed at the story. When I finish, she bursts out, “You have to write this down!”
Then it’s my turn to ask questions about Granny. For once, my mom doesn’t avoid talking about anything that makes her nervous. She explains how Granny traveled a lot when my mom was growing up, and when Granny came home, she tried to share the details of her adventures, but my mom didn’t want to hear the stories. She didn’t beg to go along on the trips. My mom just wanted to keep Granny home.
“One time, Lily, I heard on the radio that a hotel had been bombed in the Middle East somewhere. It was the hotel that your grandmother was staying at—we’d talked briefly on the phone the night before. I was staying with a friend.”
“What happened? Was it her hotel?”
“She’d left for the airport just before the bombing but didn’t try to reach me because she didn’t think I knew about it. It was a terrible night. When she got home, I didn’t speak to her for days.”
There’s silence as I realize why my mom seems to worry a lot. “Well, we have cell phones now, Mom.”
“Not much good if you don’t use them.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just that everything happened so fast. And I did text you.” I don’t want to tell her that I didn’t call because she wouldn’t let me go. I want her to know that there were times that I missed her, but the words won’t come.
“Texting about pizza and movies at the Armory when you’re really at Grand Central Station? Never again, Lily. You really pushed the limit this time, and I am not pleased.”
I can hear her anger through the phone, but all I want is one of her crushing hugs. I whisper, “I’m sorry,” but it doesn’t feel like enough.
“We have a lot to talk about.” I can tell it’s going to take a long time before she’ll trust me again.
She seems to be winding down, but she’s using her I-mean-business voice. “You have my mother’s genes, and I guess there’s nothing I can do about that. But, Lily, you’re only twelve, and I’m going to have to watch you a lot more closely.” She sighs so loudly I’m sure the entire Armory can hear her.
I think about my granny saying that my dad was fearless. Maybe I have his genes, too.
“Mom, Granny never told you about Marguerite?”
My mom hesitates. “She mentioned her once or twice, said she was an old friend in France. She made a lot of friends during her life, so I didn’t pursue it.”
“But Marguerite is special.”
“Yes, she most certainly is.”
I describe Simone. “You’d like her, Mom. She doesn’t have a passport, either!”
“And you carry yours wherever you go.” She pauses, and I prepare for another lecture. Surprisingly, she adds, “But you uncovered so much information that I didn’t know!” She goes on to tell me that Granny never once mentioned anything about the French Resistance. “I knew that she lived in France as a child, but she moved to New York and never talked about it again. She worked on perfecting her English. It’s as if she deliberately left it all behind.” I could hear the dismay in my mom’s voice. “Well, it’s certainly understandable, considering what she experienced during the war.”
“There’s so much more I want to know.”
“I’m sorry, Lily, I’ve never heard the details about Marguerite, never saw the pen, and certainly never knew that she was doing such treacherous heroic things like scaling mountains, hiding from German soldiers, and crashing trains at twelve years old. Do you think it’s all true?”
I picture Marguerite deep in memory as she told her stories. “Oh, Marguerite was definitely there with Granny. But why didn’t Granny tell you about it?”
“It must have been too horrible to remember.” Her voice softens. “She only told me that she lost her big brother in the war and saw terrible, frightening things. She just wanted to forget. It happens to a lot of people who survive wars, Lilybelle.”
My granny always calls me Lilybelle, but not my mom. I slide down so that I’m buried in pillows and the warm quilt. “Mom, isn’t Granny amazing?”
I think she’s crying because she has trouble answering me. “You both are, sweetie. Now get your butt on that morning train. I just wish Simone could travel with you, but you say she doesn’t travel, so make sure she gets you safely on the train.” She start
s rambling. “Please be careful, don’t talk to strangers, and I’ll be at Grand Central when you arrive.” I think about all the strangers I’ve met since I was checking the floodwaters for Nicole at Rockaway Manor.
I don’t want my mom to go, but the bed is pulling me in for a nap. “Mom, have you ever had crème brûlée? Or a chocolate croissant?”
She chuckles. “Your granny’s from France, Lily. Of course I have. I guess we’ll have to put those on the list for Johnny to learn how to make. Now get some rest.” She waits for me to hang up first. As I start to call Nicole, the phone beeps: HUG HUG HUG. I send her back a heart.
Chapter 30
Evacuation
Cliff House to Brooklyn
November 2012—Day 9
As it turns out, I do get a chaperone for my train ride back to Manhattan. Marguerite insisted on traveling to New York so she could finally see my granny. “I’m just going to be sitting and sleeping,” Marguerite tried to reassure Simone.
“But you hate trains! Do you want me to go with you?” Marguerite made her pfft sound again, and Simone fussed and lectured. Finally they agreed that Simone would drive us to the station and Marguerite and I would take the Metro-North train to Manhattan.
By late morning, we settle next to each other on the Metro-North, equipped with a basket of goodies prepared by Simone. A loaf of French bread pokes out of the basket. Apparently Simone thought that we would be starving in the ninety-minute ride back.
Marguerite naps for a bit, but she’s so excited she can’t stay quiet for long. She keeps asking me all about my granny, and I realize that I don’t know much about Granny’s life. “Granny doesn’t talk much about herself, except to describe the gardens she planted all over the world. Of course, I never really asked.” I’m going to ask now, that’s for sure. I hope it’s not too late and Granny can still remember.
Skylark and Wallcreeper Page 20