Lucie’s mouth went tight. Typical businessman who lobbied for war to get rich and fled when war threatened those riches.
The ladies passed the Louvre, crossed the Seine, and entered the Latin Quarter on the Left Bank, home of artists and writers and others of like mind.
They turned down rue Casimir-Delavigne, and the cheery green façade of Green Leaf Books quickened Lucie’s steps. She’d always thought a street named after a French poet was a lovely location for a bookstore.
“We’ll see you upstairs.” Véronique blew Lucie a kiss.
Lucie blew a kiss back and entered the English-language bookstore, a home for American and British and French literati since Hal and Erma Greenblatt founded it after the Great War. When Lucie’s parents moved to Paris in 1923, they’d become fast friends with the Greenblatts.
Bernadette Martel, the store assistant, stood behind the cash register, and Lucie greeted her.
“Hello, Lucie.” Hal peeked out of the back office. “Come join us.”
“Okay.” She flipped back to English. Why was he in the office? Hal liked to greet customers and help them choose books, while Erma did the bookkeeping and other tasks.
Lucie made her way through the store, past the delightfully jumbled bookshelves and the tables which fostered conversation about art and theater and the important things in life.
Boxes were piled outside the office door, and inside the office Hal and Erma stood in front of the desk, faces wan.
“What—what’s wrong?” Lucie asked.
Hal set his hand on Lucie’s shoulder, his brown eyes sad. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Leaving? But you can’t.”
“We must.” Erma lifted her thin shoulders as she did when her decisions were etched in stone. “In Germany, the Nazis don’t allow Jews to run businesses. I doubt it’ll be different here.”
“They won’t come to Paris.” Lucie gestured to the northwhere French soldiers lined the Somme and Aisne Rivers. “Besides, you’re American citizens. They won’t do anything to you. Our country is neutral.”
“We can’t take any chances,” Erma said. “We’re going to Bordeaux and sailing home. You should come too.”
Lucie had already told them she’d never leave. But as a Christian, she could afford to remain in Paris, come what may. She could never forgive herself if she persuaded the Greenblatts to stay and they ended up impoverished—or worse.
An ache grew in her chest, but she gave them an understanding look. “You’re taking the SSWashington.”
Erma stepped behind the desk and opened a drawer. “If we can.”
“Hush, Erma. Don’t worry the girl.”
“Ifyou can?” Lucie glanced back and forth between the couple.
“We don’t have money for the passage.” Erma pulled out folders. “It’s tied up in the store.”
Lucie’s hand rolled around the strap of her ballet bag. “You can sell the store, right?”
Hal chuckled and ran his hand through black hair threaded with silver. “Who would buy it? All the British and American expatriates are fleeing.”
“What will you do?” Lucie’s voice came out small.
“We have friends.” Hal spread his hands wide as if to embrace all those he had welcomed. “Lots of friends.”
Erma thumped a stack of folders on the desk. “I refuse to beg.”
Hal dropped Lucie a wink. He’d beg his friends.
What if those friends didn’t have the means or the heart to help? What if the Germans did conquer France, including Bordeaux?
A shiver ran through her. Lucie couldn’t let anything happento them, not when she had both the means and the heart. “I’ll give you the money.”
