“A few ... complications.” He shot her a sidelong glance under the brim of his fedora. “I’ll tell you later.”
“I did too.” She squeezed Paul’s arm. “But we’re here and we’re together.”
“I’ll never let you from my side again.”
Love for him welled inside, and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder.
Once outside, Paul hailed a carriage, gave an address to the driver, and helped Lucie and Josie inside.
Paul pulled his daughter onto his lap. “I have something to tell you. We’re not going to your grandparents in France, but to your grandparents in America. Miss Girard is coming with us.”
“To America?” Josie said.
“I’m from America too.” Although Lucie had spent little time there.
“Our trip might seem strange to you, Josie.” Paul bumped against Lucie in the dark carriage. “You must stay with either me or Miss Girard at all times. Never, ever let us out of sight. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.” Uncertainty quivered in her tone.
“We may ask you to do something you don’t understand, butyou must immediately do what we say. We might ask you to be quiet or to lie down or to run. If we tell you, do it.”
“That sounds scary.” Her voice broke.
Lucie found her little hand and held it. “It might be scary, but I know you can be brave like Feenee. Remember, God can make you brave if you ask.”
Lucie leaned against Paul’s shoulder.Lord, make me brave too.
41
ORLÉANS, FRANCE
THURSDAY, DECEMBER11, 1941
The little hotel stood dark and silent. Paul shifted drowsy Josie on his shoulder and rapped on the door three times, paused, then four times.
Lucie’s grip on his arm tightened. Meeting a resistance contact was dangerous. Paul had to follow procedures to ensure the legitimacy of the contact and to prove his legitimacy to the contact.
Footsteps padded to the door, and a woman in her forties opened the door a crack.
“Bonsoir, madame. The night is cold, and my family of three would like a warm room.”
The woman glanced him up and down. “For how long?”
“Eleven nights.”
“Eleven? Why not fourteen?”
The phrases flowed as planned. “I need no more than eleven.”
The woman ushered them in. She led them up a narrow staircase for three flights, then down a crooked hallway, where she opened a door. “Wait in here.”
“Merci.” A tiny room with a bed barely big enough for Lucie and Josie and floor space barely big enough for Paul.
After he tucked Josie in, Paul sat beside Lucie on the edge of the bed and took her hand.
Before long, the door opened, and a man in his forties entered, nearly bald. He eyed the three of them. “Give me your cartes d’identité. I need the photos for your new cards. I also need your passports.”
Paul hesitated, but they’d come too far to turn back. He pulled his card and his and Josie’s passports out of the inner pocket of his coat.
