We were the only passengers who got off in Hardelot—which surprised me.
“The resort should be to the west,” Luc said as the tramcar pulled away, the little girls waving at Luc and Grace through the back window.
We all turned west, expecting to see the lights from the resort in the distance.
All we saw was darkness.
The entire town felt deserted.
“I thought this was a popular seaside resort town,” I said to Luc.
“It is.” He frowned and nodded to a little café across the street. “Let’s see why it’s so quiet.”
Grace and I followed him across the empty street. It was cold and windy with thick, heavy clouds overhead. There wasn’t a star in sight, and the moon was nowhere to be seen.
The café was a warm and welcome respite after the noise of the tramcar and the chilly outdoors. Soft candlelight filtered from the tables, and the smell of fresh baked bread and spices made my stomach rumble. There were about a dozen other people in the café, most of them unaware of our entrance.
Luc found us a table, and the waitress arrived to take our order. Their words flew back and forth so quickly, I couldn’t look from one speaker to the next before the other was talking again. The French language was beautiful, though I only understood a handful of words.
I didn’t know what was being said, but it was easy to discernsomething was wrong. It was written all over Luc’s face, and the waitress kept shaking her head.
When she finally left the table, Luc sighed. “The resort does not open until May.”
“Even with the Easter holiday approaching?” Grace asked.
Luc nodded. “There is one hotel open, but the waitress doesn’t know if we will find a room there.”
“What will we do if we can’t find a room?” I asked, frowning.
“I don’t know.” Luc shrugged. “We will hope and pray for the best. The closest town is Calais, thirty-two miles north. I do not know if they will have a hotel available, and there are no tramcars running there tonight. Besides, the monoplane is here in Hardelot.”
The waitress brought lobster bisque and crusty bread to the table. The soup was warm and creamy, and the inside of the bread melted in my mouth.
“Do you like oranges?” Luc asked as the waitress waited for our reply.
I grinned, and Grace chuckled beside me.
“They’re my favorite,” I said. They were almost impossible to come by in Salem. Though they were grown in Florida in 1692, there was no way to transport them efficiently to the northern colonies without great expense. The only time I could enjoy them was in 1912, which I did whenever possible.
Luc nodded at the waitress, who left the table and soon returned with large, juicy oranges for us to enjoy.
A girl, perhaps ten or eleven, bussed tables nearby and watched us with curiosity. Her interest was so obvious, I finally leaned over to Luc and said, “Who is that girl?”
He looked in the direction I pointed and shrugged. “I do not know.”
The next time the waitress appeared, Luc spoke to her, and the woman turned to the girl.
“She is the owner’s daughter,” Luc said to me. Then he spokein French to the waitress again, who motioned for the girl to join them.
The girl was pretty, with dark brown eyes and hair. Her gaze shifted between Grace and me. “Sœurs jumelles?” she asked, her shy face tilted down as she looked at us.
“Oui.” Luc smiled. “Twin sisters.”
“Sont-ils Américains?” she asked.
“Oui. They are Americans.”
“Doesn’t she know who you are?” I asked Luc.
