“Paul?”
“Hmm?”
Dad chuckled. “I asked you a question.”
“I’m sorry. I’m—”
“In love. I know. Are you sure you don’t want a honeymoon? You won’t be much good to us.”
Paul shook his head. “Josie needs us here. Besides, any place without Nazis is a honeymoon paradise.”
Dad’s forehead creased. “I’m sure it is.”
Out on the factory floor, Paul inhaled the smells of oil and hot metal and energy.
“The conversion will be complete next week.” Dad planted his hands on his hips. “We’ll be able to produce two hundred utility trucks a day for the Army.”
The irony of making trucks again made Paul laugh. But these would have gasoline engines, and they’d be for a good cause.
The silver standard had served him well, but he was glad to reembrace quality. “Well, Dad, let’s set the gold standard for utility trucks.”
“That’s the plan.” Dad flagged down a worker in his fifties. “Griffith, I’d like you to meet my son, Mr. Paul Aubrey. He’ll take over as production manager. Paul, Griffith is the general foreman.”
Paul extended his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
Griffith’s nostril flicked up, but he shook Paul’s hand. Paul didn’t blame him. Throughout many industries, company founders were known for innovation and grit, most of them having worked for a living. But their sons were known as useless fops.
That was one of the reasons Paul had studied engineering and had started his own subsidiary in Paris. He gestured to the conveyor belt curving overhead. “So, Griffith, I’m eager to hear your opinion on the conversion. I’d like to meet with you and the other foremen, make sure the assembly line meets your needs.”
Griffith blinked heavy-lidded eyes. “Uh, sure. That’d be good.”
“Great. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Paul and his father continued down the line.
Dad shot him a glance. “I’m surprised to see you so friendly with labor. Last I heard, you were having big problems with your workers.”
“I was. Let’s just say I’ve come to see their worth, see the worth of all skills working together.” He had the Lord to thank for that, and Lucie, and Jacques Moreau and the other men in Paris, now working under the Germans. Paul sent up a prayer for them.
His lungs expanded, the heaviness of oppression and secrecy and danger lifted, the prickling of social censure gone.
The last year had been the hardest of his life. But because ofit, he’d be a better manufacturer, a better father, and a better man.
And because of it, he had Lucie to inspire him and chide him and love him.
Paul nodded and smiled to a group of mechanics. No, he wouldn’t change a single thing.
SATURDAY, MARCH7, 1942
The piece of wedding cake was too pretty to eat. But Josie, seated on Lucie’s lap in a fluff of pink organza, had no such qualms.
“Enjoy it while you can, hon.” Frannie Thiel winked as she sashayed by. “I’ve heard they’re going to ration sugar. Can you believe it?”
Lucie smiled at her new friend’s back. Yes, she could believe it.
She scooted Josie and adjusted the skirt of her ivory wedding suit. “Do you like the cake?”
“Mm-hmm.” Josie swallowed, bits of white frosting on her mouth. “Why’s Daddy so loud?”
