Josie rested her chin on her forearms. “I don’t ’member them. Do they look like Mommy?”
“Sort of.” Except Simone had known how to smile. Paul set his Bible in the suitcase and stuffed the Aurabesque plans into a manila envelope.
“Are you going to show them your car pictures?”
“Something like that.”
“Oh! I need to show them my Feenee stories.” Josie bounced off the bed and ran out of the room.
Paul groaned. He didn’t have room. Closing the suitcase required effort, and every item was necessary. How could he explain to Josie?
He tucked the car plans next to the tank plans in the pocket inside the lid.
Josie ran back into the room, her curls bouncing. She grinned and held out crayon drawings scribbled on the back of his sketches for the Au-ful trucks. A pile as thick as his Aurabesque plans.
Paul squatted in front of her. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have room.”
Josie’s grin dissolved. “But—but I want to show them.”
On the top page, green-haired Feenee flew above the Eiffel Tower. When Josie learned they weren’t returning to Paris and she’d lose all her Feenee stories, she’d be devastated.
Josie’s brown eyes shimmered with tears.
Paul felt like a heel, but what choice did he have? Trade the Aurabesque for Feenee? Throw away a surefire hit of a car design in favor of doodles by a child not yet five years old? His plans represented untold hours of work and countless calculations.
Once again he could hear Lucie’s voice in his head, but from a time when she didn’t like Paul:“Her gifts come from the Lord as surely as yours do. When you truly accept that ...”
Did he accept that or didn’t he? And why did Lucie always have to be right?
Most important to remember, his little truffle was about to lose almost all she knew and loved.
“I think...” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard and took the stack of stories. “I think Feenee would love to come on our trip.”
Josie’s grin returned, and she clapped her hands. “She would!”
Paul removed the Aurabesque plans from the manila envelope and worked his daughter’s stories inside.
Tonight he’d feed the car designs to the fire so the Germans couldn’t have them.
“Thank you, Daddy.” Josie flung her arms around his legs.
Paul fondled her curly hair. No matter what, he’d done the right thing.
MONDAY, DECEMBER8, 1941
The flames in the fireplace barely took the edge off the morning chill in Green Leaf Books. Lucie stoked the fire, then crossed her arms over her thick gray sweater.
She flicked on the tabletop radio she’d hauled down from her apartment so she could listen to the news when the store was quiet, which was most of the time recently. With all the bombings and reprisal killings, Parisians ventured out as little as possible.
Static crackled on the radio, and Lucie fiddled with the dial until Radio-Paris came in. The Germans controlled the station, but playing the BBC would mean a fine she couldn’t afford. And every Parisian knew how to interpret the blatant propaganda.
As Lucie unlocked the cash register and counted the cash, the announcer intoned about the Red Army making a pathetic attempt to push the brave Germans from the gates of Moscow. That meant the Soviets had launched a major offensive.
Next, the announcer said Gen. Erwin Rommel had fallen back strategically in Libya. That meant the British had kicked the Germans and Italians out of Egypt.
Finally some good news.
At eight o’clock Lucie unlocked the front door. A thin layer of snow coated the street and sidewalks in the moonlight. So beautiful, and Lucie paused to absorb the sight.
