Wary and tense, Paul scanned the passersby. A French policeman directed traffic and two German soldiers patrolled, but none gave Paul a second glance.
At the base of a bridge over the Adour River, Denise entered a building, the last they’d see of her.
Without pausing, Paul crossed the bridge and searched for their contact, a young blonde woman in a tan coat and a red hat. There she stood on the far side, next to bicycles propped against the railing.
As the only escapee who spoke French, Paul would make contact. Each exchange was dangerous, and résistants were to be feared as much as soldiers and police. If they suspected an infiltrator, they’d escort the man into the woods and shoot him.
Paul had to be vigilant and precise. He blew out a breath and approached the blonde. “Excuse me, mademoiselle. Are those bicycles for sale?”
She met his eye in a cool manner. “That depends on how many you would like.”
That was the proper response. “I would like four.”
“Show me your payment.”
“Oui, mademoiselle.” Paul fished a torn franc note out of his pocket.
She lifted another torn franc note. The halves matched. She pocketed them, mounted a bicycle, and pedaled away.
No time to waste. Paul straddled a bike and followed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the three airmen dash over and grab bicycles too.
Thank goodness he’d ridden a bicycle a few times over the past year, because the girl set a fast pace, never looking back to see if the men kept up.
Paul didn’t know what lay ahead on the journey, but he knew what lay at the end—freedom, home, and the girls he loved.
LISBON, PORTUGAL
FRIDAY, JANUARY16, 1942
At the base of the gangplank, Lucie turned back to Lisbon, to Europe, to Paul.
For over two weeks, she’d waited for him, visiting the American Legation daily, leaving notes and Josie’s drawings. But as soon as Dominique Kahn heard the Portuguese freighterEspiritu Santowas taking passengers to New York, Lucie and Dominique had booked passage.
Lucie’s gut told her to stay, as if leaving meant giving up on Paul. But how much of her reluctance stemmed from fear of an ocean with German U-boats lurking beneath the surface? Although they weren’t supposed to attack neutral Portuguese ships, accidents happened. And the Nazis were far from honorable.
However, Paul had told her to take the first ship home. And this was it. She had to take Josie to her grandparents, and she had to be disciplined enough to do so.
“Lucie?” Dominique said from higher on the gangplank. “It is time to leave.”
Lucie hauled in a breath and led Josie up the ramp.
She had reason to look back, but Dominique didn’t. During their time at the boardinghouse, the author’s story had emerged.
When the Nazis invaded, Dominique and Fabien Kahn had fled to their summer home in Provence. As Jews, they were forbidden from returning to Paris—nor did they want to. But over time Fabien became determined to get information from Paris to de Gaulle’s Free French in London. He’d sneaked back and forth across the demarcation line, smuggling news. He might even have passed messages through Green Leaf Books.
In September, he’d been caught. In late October, in reprisal for the resistance killing of a German officer, a group of hostages had been shot. Including Fabien Kahn.
At the top of the gangplank, a Portuguese sailor barked instructions and motioned the three dozen passengers inside.
Josie whimpered. “I don’t like it here. It smells funny.”
The stuffy passageway smelled of oil and sweat, and Lucie wrinkled her nose. Josie had rarely complained during the journey, despite the upheaval. With only ten more days to go, Lucie would do her best to keep up the child’s spirits.
A sailor pointed down a staircase, more like a ladder.
“I’ll go down first,” Lucie said to Josie. “Let’s sing our song.”
“Okay.” Josie peered down the ladder with a mixture of apprehension and adventure.
