The résistant reviewed the papers. “From now on, you are Fredéric and Colette Foucault. The child will remain Josephine. You will speak only French. The child must call the woman Maman.”
“Josie will like that,” Lucie said with a shy smile.
“What’s happening?” Josie sat up in bed, hair bow askew. “Who’s that?”
“He is our friend. Come sit with me,” Lucie said in her flawless French. “Speak with me in French.”
“Oui, mademoiselle.”
Lucie hugged her. “Would you like to call me Maman?”
“Maman? May I?” Josie’s eyes grew huge. “It’s true. You kissed my father, and now you are my mother.”
Lucie gave Paul a playful look. “Oui.”
Paul grinned. In America he’d have to put a new spin on the meaning of “make an honest woman out of her.”
The résistant tucked the cards into the passports. “I will give you cartes d’identité and German Ausweis passes to cross the demarcation line, both in the name of Foucault. I will add exit visas to your passports in your own names so you can leave thezone non occupée. You will hide your American passports on your persons until you reach the Spanish border.”
“D’accord,”Paul said. “How will we obtain transit visasfor Spain and Portugal? Will we use our new identities or our American passports?”
The man gaped at him. “They said you were all fluent in French.”
Paul frowned. “We are.”
“You—your accent is horrible.”
He did have an accent, but “horrible”?
The man ran his hand over his head. “The woman and child will pass for French, but you will never pass, monsieur. Never.”
Paul’s stomach twisted. “I won’t speak. Lucie—Colette will do the talking.”
“Non.” He slashed his arm through the air. “The Germans will question you. You sound American, and they will not let an American man escape so he can fight against them.”
Lucie’s forehead creased, and her eyes rounded.
“We’ll make it work,” Paul said to comfort himself as much as to comfort her.
“No.” The man knifed his hand down. “We must separate you.”
“Separate?” Paul bolted to his feet. “We will not be separated.”
“You have no choice. One sentence from you, and they’d know you are American, your papers false. You would endanger every man and woman in the escape line.”
Paul clenched his fists. “I will not be sep—”
“No.” A violent shake of his head. “We will send you with the British airmen.”
Paul’s breath heaved. His mind tumbled. “Then Lucie and Josie will come with me.”
“Absolutely not. We do not take women and children. It is dangerous. You will cross the Pyrenees Mountains by foot in the winter. The child would not survive.”
A tiny whimper rose from Josie.
Paul stared down at his daughter. So small.
Lucie held the girl tight. “It’s all right, Josie.” But her eyes spoke of despair.
