The Nightingale

“You are the leader of this now, and if we are risking our lives for one child, we may as well try to save more.” Mother got abruptly to her feet. She hooked her arm through Vianne’s, and the two women strolled the perimeter of the small garden. “No one here can know the truth. The children will have to be coached and have paperwork that passes inspection. And you would need a position here—perhaps as a teacher, oui, as a part-time teacher. That would allow us to pay you a small stipend and would answer questions about why you are here with the children.”

“Oui,” Vianne said, feeling shaky.

“Don’t look so afraid, Vianne. You are doing the right thing.”

She had no doubt that this was true, and still she was terrified. “This is what they have done to us. We are afraid of our own shadows.” She looked at Mother. “How will I do it? Go to scared, hungry women and ask them to give me their children?”

“You will ask them if they’ve seen their friends being herded onto trains and taken away. You will ask them what they would risk to keep their child off of that train. Then you will let each mother decide.”

“It is an unimaginable choice. I’m not sure I could do it, just hand Sophie and Daniel over to a stranger.”

Mother leaned close. “I hear one of their awful storm troopers is billeted at your house. You realize this puts you—and Sophie—at terrible risk.”

“Of course. But how can I let her believe it’s all right to do nothing in times such as these?”

Mother stopped. Releasing Vianne, she laid a soft palm against her cheek and smiled tenderly. “Be careful, Vianne. I have already been to your mother’s funeral. I do not want to attend yours.”

THIRTY

On an ice-cold mid-November day, Isabelle and Gaëtan left Brantôme and boarded a train to Bayonne. The carriage was overflowing with solemn German soldiers—more so than usual—and when they disembarked, they found more soldiers crowding the platform.

Isabelle held Gaëtan’s hand as they made their way through the gray-green uniforms. Two young lovers on their way to the beach town. “My maman used to love going to the beach. Did I ever tell you that?” Isabelle asked as they passed near two SS officers.

“You rich kids see all the good stuff.”

She smiled. “We were hardly rich, Gaëtan,” she said when they were outside the train station.

“Well you weren’t poor,” he said. “I know poor.” He paused, let that settle between them, and then he said, “I could be rich someday.

“Someday,” he said again with a sigh, and she knew what he was thinking. It was what they were always thinking: Will there be a France in our future? Gaëtan slowed.

Isabelle saw what had captured his attention.

“Keep moving,” he said.

A roadblock had been set up ahead of them. Troops were everywhere, carrying rifles.

“What’s going on?” Isabelle asked.

“They’ve seen us,” Gaëtan said. He tightened his hold on her hand. They strolled toward the swarm of German soldiers.

A burly, square-headed sentry blocked their way and demanded to see their passes and papers.

Isabelle offered her Juliette papers. Gaëtan offered his own false documents, but the soldier was more interested in the goings-on behind him. He barely glanced at the documents and handed them back.

Isabelle gave him her most innocent smile. “What’s happening today?”

“No more Free Zone,” the soldier said, waving them through.

“No more Free Zone? But—”

“We are taking over all of France,” he said roughly. “No more pretense that your ridiculous Vichy government is in charge anywhere. Go.”

Gaëtan pulled her forward, through the amassing troops.

For hours, as they walked, they were honked at by German lorries and automobiles in a hurry to get past them.

It wasn’t until they reached the quaint seaside town of Saint-Jean-de-Luz that they were able to escape the gathering Nazis. They walked along the empty seawall, perched high above the pounding surf of the Atlantic Ocean. Below them, a curl of yellow sand held the mighty, angry ocean at bay. In the distance, a lush green peninsula was dotted with houses built in the Basque tradition, with white sides and red doors and bright red tile roofs. The sky overhead was a faded, washed-out blue, with clouds stretched as taut as clotheslines. There were no other people out today, neither on the beach nor walking along the ancient seawall.