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Grand-Père is dead. The man who took her in, who made her feel safe, who promised she’d see Maman again. Gone.

That night, she doesn’t cry. Her grief feels too big for mere tears. It sits in her chest like a stone, heavy and cold and immovable.

Monique sits with her, holding her hand. They say nothing. What is there to say?

In Fresnes, Andrée doesn’t know her father is dead. Doesn’t know her mother has been released. Knows nothing of the world beyond the walls of her cell.

The interrogations have stopped. For three days now, no one has come to fetch her.

She doesn’t know if this is good or bad. Have they given up on her? Or are they planning something worse?

Outside her high window, she can hear distant explosions, artillery fire. The Allies are close, that’s obvious, and everyone in the prison knows. The guards are nervous, their tempers frayed. This means more violence, or mercy, depending on the guard.

Liberation is coming, but will it come in time?

Andrée lies on her mattress, conserving her strength, asking the universe for reassurance that her parents are alive, that Josie is safe.

Three agonizing days pass before Maurice knocks on Stéphanie’s door and asks to speak to Josie. Stéphanie holds her hand as Maurice tells her that her Grand-Mère would like her to come home.

“Let me get your things,” Stéphanie tells Josie, wiping tears from her eyes. As much as she has loved having Josie living with them, she knows the girl doesn’t belong here. And deep down she cannot deny the feeling of relief, the lifting of a fear that has sat with her since the day Josie arrived—the threat her presence posed for her and Monique. The relief turns quickly to guilt. We all do what little we can until we reclaim our country. She cared for a young Jewish girl the same age as her own daughter. She can only hope there are many more like her out there who would do—who are doing—the same.

“Thank you. Thank you,” Josie whispers as she hugs Stéphanie. “You saved my life.”

“And I’d do it again. Monique and I are here whenever you need us.” And she means it.

Josie turns to Monique. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. We will be friends for life.”

“Slow down, Josie—these old legs can’t keep up with you,” Maurice calls out.

For safety he walks on the opposite side of the street. An old man on his own. A young girl going about her business. Just one problem: There’s no slowing Josie down. She needs to get home to her Grand-Mère.

“If you must go on ahead, wait at the bottom of the stairs for me. I want to take you up and let you in.”

“Hurry,” Josie urges him.

Maurice huffs and puffs into the building where Josie waits, one foot on the bottom step, tapping impatiently.

As he holds open the door into the apartment for Josie to enter, he catches the look of fear on her face. She’s where she belongs, but the realization that only one of her adoptive family is inside is etched on her young face.

Cautiously she steps inside. She sees Tina siting on the sofa, staring at nothing. “Grand-Mère, it’s me.”

Tina turns to look. She forces a warm smile on her face, opens her arms wide and exclaims, “Josie! Dear, dear child.”

Josie runs, throwing herself onto the sofa, into the arms of Tina. Together they sob quietly.

“I’ll leave you,” Maurice says. “I’ll bring some food up later.” Before leaving he glances around the room, which looks better since he helped Tina put it back together. It almost looks like a home once more. As he closes the door, he hears Tina whisper, “Play for me, Josie. Play ‘Clair de Lune.’”

The mood in Paris is changing. There’s an electric anticipation in the air. Word passes from trusted neighbor to trusted neighbor. Someone with a radio relays news snippets from the BBC’s Radio Londres; the Allies are advancing after their Normandy breakthrough. While hope is in abundance, so is fear. Nobody knows exactly when liberation will arrive in Paris, or what the Germans and the dreaded Militia will do with the changes coming their way.

Word reaches Maurice, which he passes on to Tina, that German troop morale is low. Their presence on the streets has declined. This news is complicated by the rumor that Hitler has ordered his commander in Paris to stamp out any insurrection without pity.

The Militia take to the streets in greater numbers. They are more dangerous than ever, knowing that the power they so cruelly wielded will soon be curbed. They fear retribution. They have become desperate and unpredictable; like wounded animals, they are to be avoided even more than previously.

Whispered conversations and spread rumors freely among the population of Paris. Yes, there’s hope, but people dare not act, not until the Communist Resistance fighters take to the streets, leading the rebellion and erecting barricades. When the police leave their posts to join the last battles, it is the beginning of the end.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Out! Out!”