Paul’s breath stilled. Conversions to new products, production figures, orders—he might indeed hear information that would be useful to Germany’s enemies.
He rubbed his temple. “We’re neutral. No one at home wants to get involved in this war.”
“You haven’t been home for a while. Opinions are shifting. With each new conquest, Hitler pushes the US closer to the Allied camp. It’s only a matter of time.”
A long breath rushed out, and Paul tapped his fingers on the armrests. Home. The only place he wanted to be now.
“We need to know what the Nazis are capable of,” Duff said. “Every bit of information helps. You’d perform a great service to your country.”
The photograph on his desk drew him—Simone holding Josie at Christmas. Although his wife’s image was frozen, challenge shone in her dark eyes. Simone, the woman who’d chopped off her hair and dressed as a man so she could race cars. Simone would take the risk.
Or would she? Simone had given up racing when Josie came along.
“Josie,” he murmured. “She’s only three years old. If anything were to happen to me ...”
Duff sighed deeply. “She’s an American citizen. We’d take care of her, get her home to your family in the States.”
Without a father. Orphaned.
Everything in him said go home, get out of danger, leave the pain behind, take the easy path.
But words niggled in his brain, his father’s words.“Nothing of any worth lies on the easy path.”
“As a citizen of a neutral nation, you can leave whenever you want.” Duff gestured toward the door. “You could try this for a while. If it isn’t helpful, or if you’re in any danger, sell and go home.”
Paul closed his eyes. Duff’s voice. Simone’s voice. His father’s. He needed to seek a higher and wiser voice, and he needed time to make a decision. “I’ll think it over and get back to you.”
“Thank you.” Duff stood, shook Paul’s hand, and departed.
Paul shut the office door and leaned his forehead against it. Why did he have a funny feeling the Lord would guide him to the difficult path? He usually did.
1941
3
PARIS
TUESDAY, APRIL1, 1941
In the storage room upstairs from Green Leaf Books, Lucie rummaged among the books. Thank goodness Hal Greenblatt had built the false wall when the war began in 1939, a perfect place to hide titles on the German “Otto List” of books banned from sale in occupied France.
There was the book Alice Young requested—Escape from Munichby Evelyn Lang.
Lucie backed out, flipped off her flashlight to conserve the precious battery, and closed the door with its cunning hidden latches and hinges.
To camouflage the false wall, Hal had installed a barre where Lucie could practice each evening, and Lucie was painting a black-and-white mural. The doorway to the hiding place had become the side of an upright piano, with an elderly man at the keyboard. Today Lucie imagined he was playing “Spring” from Vivaldi’sThe Four Seasons.
Over time, the wall was filling with ballerinas practicing at the Palais Garnier.
“I shall finish you soon,” she said to a sweet-faced young dancer whose body needed fleshing out over the pencil sketch.
Lucie fished in a case of German-English dictionaries, removed a dust jacket, and wrapped it aroundEscape from Munich. Then she tucked the dictionary into the wood box to serve as kindling.
She trotted downstairs to the store. Erma Greenblatt had warned that if the Germans occupied Paris, Lucie would no longer be able to order books from Britain. So Lucie had used the store’s petty cash and her own to buy English-language books from fleeing Britons and Americans.
In the bleak days of the exodus, to stave off worries about the approaching German army, Lucie had hidden books by Jewish authors or books that criticized Hitler. After saving them from Nazi bonfires, she discreetly sold or lent them to her most trusted customers. Her tiny way to nourish an oasis in the cultural desert the Germans had created.
The store ran long and narrow with bookcases dividing the space into three bays, each with a table and chairs. In the nonfiction bay sat Lucie’s friends, musician Charles Charbonnier and painter Jerzy Epstein, a refugee from Poland, along with two young men from the Sorbonne. Lucie greeted them warmly.
