“He’s sick.” Her voice sounded very much like an annoyed older sister. “Mamanis saying we should let him rest here before we go any further.”
My heart sank. I knew this was an impossible request. There was no way we could make it to Marseille in time to meet the dealer if we delayed ourselves by even a day here. Time was of the essence if we were going to get out of France.
***
“I’m very sorry, but we all must leave today. We need to bring him with us; we can’t leave you here alone.” Monsieur Armel’s voice was firm.
“He just has a cold, Rachel,” Solomon insisted. “Look, even his eyes are red and his nose is runny. Let him sleep in the car. I’m sure it will pass by tomorrow or the next day.”
I could see the look of anguish on Rachel’s face. Clearly, the child was in terrible discomfort.
Again she muttered something underneath her breath as she placed Leo down and reached for her clothes beside the bed. He clenched his eyes shut and he looked like a newborn rabbit, his eyes swollen and rimmed with pink.
No one but Rachel seemed to think he was suffering from anything more than a cold.
In less than fifteen minutes’ time, we were all headed toward the car.
***
We arrived just outside Lyon by sundown, and Solomon carried Leo up the stairs of another farmhouse that was renting two rooms for the night.
“I’m sorry you’re stuck in here with us, Solange, but they don’t have any other options for us,” Monsieur Armel apologized. “A young lady should have her own room, or at least sleep with a mother and her children. But no one wants to risk you also getting sick. We’re already in too-tight quarters with the car.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, and it was true. I was happy just to be able to stretch out on a bed at night after sitting in such a twisted position in the car for so many hours. Secretly, however, I wished I could be alone with Alex in the room.
Monsieur Armel looked at his watch. “The farmer and his wife have invited us to join them for dinner tonight.” He stood up and walked toward the window. Outside there was nothing but fields and orchard trees. The urban splendor of Paris was far behind us now. It seemed completely possible that the owners of the farmhouse had never laid eyes on Notre Dame or the Eiffel Tower. I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to imagine I was not cramped in a small room in the French countryside, but back sitting in my grandmother’s elegant parlor. That instead of the damp smell of wood and straw, I was inhaling the delicate bouquet of violets.
***
We settled down for dinner around a large wooden table and several mismatched chairs. A basket of thick bread was passed to us by the matron of the farm, and we all tore large slices and filled our hungry stomachs with the warm and yeasty loaf.
Solomon had remained upstairs with Rachel and little Leo, but Eva was enjoying the opportunity to be the only child at the table.
“Have a little more chicken,” the old woman urged Eva. “It seems like you have quite a journey ahead of you.” She looked kindly onto the little girl. “And such a pretty dress you have!”
The woman’s vision must have been cloudy or else she was just being kind. Eva’s dress was now almost in tatters. Smudges of dirt created unattractive shadows across the front placket. The hem had come partly undone on the skirt so that it hung unevenly. But Rachel had tied the girl’s braids neatly, and her blue eyes and fair hair gave her an angelic quality that was apparent even to those with the poorest eyesight.
“We were not lucky enough to have our own,” the old woman lamented. “So it’s nice to be able to put up two families for the night.”
She turned to me. “I suppose you’ll be a mother soon.”
I blushed, turning the ring that Alex had given me before we left.
Alex didn’t answer her. He simply placed his hand on mine and smiled.
But our affectionate moment would be short-lived. Later that evening, as the radio was brought out, we heard the terrible news that Italy had declared war on Great Britain and France.
***
We all felt under a black cloud. Leo’s fever had not abated, and Rachel was now even more insistent that they not travel any further.
“His nose is still running and he’s lethargic,” Solomon informed us later that evening. “I told her there will be good doctors in Marseille. I know we have to maintain our schedule.”
Monsieur Armel appeared visibly torn. Our schedule would not allow a single missed day. Everything had been planned. The meeting with the dealer could not be rearranged. The ship leaving Lisbon would not wait. The transit visas had already been ordered and had an expiration date. Our schedule had to be maintained with clocklike precision.
“Rachel.” He said her name quietly. “You know we cannot stay...”
Her eyes fell to the floor, then shut closed. “I wouldn’t be a mother,” she whispered as a single tear fell down her cheek, “unless I at least asked...”
