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“Returning home. You?”

“Visiting family. A few weeks, perhaps.”

“I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“I’m sure I will.”

The charade is exhausting but necessary. Anyone could be listening. Anyone could be watching. Trust no one. Assume everyone is a collaborator until proven otherwise. These are the rules that keep them alive.

The train ride home is much slower. The train stops on the tracks several times. At the checkpoint, the same questions. Papers. Purpose of travel. How long staying. The German soldier looks at Suzanne’s documents longer than Andrée’s. French, but issued in Lyon. Less common. He asks her something in his broken French. She responds in fluent French, easy and natural. He nods, hands back her papers, moves on.

When he’s gone, Suzanne catches Andrée’s eye. The smallest smile. They’ve passed. Almost home.

Finally Paris appears through the window. Buildings, streets, people. The city under occupation but still Paris, still breathing, still alive. The train slows, pulls into the Gare d’Austerlitz. They transfer to the metro and make the short trip to their metro station, Vaugirard.

They disembark. On the platform, Andrée turns to Suzanne. “This way. Stay close but not too close. You know what to do.”

They navigate the station, the streets beyond. Andrée leads the way. She knows every turn, every shortcut on the short trip home—which streets have more patrols, which are safer.

When her building is in sight, she stops. Checks the street. Empty. “Inside. Quickly.”

As they enter, M. Dupont looks up from his desk just inside his apartment door. His eyes flick to the suitcases, to Suzanne, then back to Andrée. She knows what the concierge is thinking—if she’s here to stay, that apartment is becoming crowded. There is a long pause as he seems to consider what he is seeing. Andrée’s heart starts to pound.

But eventually he nods once. Asks nothing. For now, he simply returns to his newspaper.

Upstairs, Andrée’s hands shake slightly as she fits the key in the lock. Then the door opens and there’s Josie, running, throwing herself into her arms.

“Tata Andrée! You came back! You came back.”

“I promised, didn’t I?” Andrée buries her face in Josie’s thick curls, feels the relief wash through her. She’s home. Her mission is complete. For now, she’s safe.

Behind Josie, Louis and Tina appear. They take in Suzanne, the suitcases, understand immediately.

“Welcome,” Louis says, extending his hand. “You must be Suzanne. Come in, come in. You’re safe here.”

Suzanne steps inside, and Louis closes the door behind her. Another agent arrived. Another piece in place. Another small victory in a war that must, surely, eventually end.

Andrée keeps her arms around Josie, feels the child’s heartbeat against her own. Whatever happens next, whatever dangers lie ahead, this moment is enough. The wireless sets are here. The work continues.

“Come,” Tina says.

They move to the dining table, Josie still holding Andrée’s hand, unwilling to let go. Through the window, Paris stretches out gray and cold, occupied but undefeated. Somewhere in the city, the Resistance continues its work. Somewhere, others are risking everything for freedom.

And here, in this small apartment, a family gathers around a table, welcomes a stranger, eats what passes for supper these days, and dares to believe that tomorrow might be better than today.

Chapter Ten

It is December 3, 1942, and Andrée, lost in memories of winters past, doesn’t hear Josie approach as she stands staring out of the window to the street below, which is empty, silent: Curfew has ended, but people remain indoors, sheltering as best they can. Fuel shortages are making it harder for the citizens of Paris to warm their homes as the cold begins to bite. The shielded streetlamps shine dimly. It is past sunrise, but heavy dark clouds extend the night. She feels the touch of a small hand as Josie’s fingers close around hers; the young girl leans into Andrée’s side.

“Good morning, Josie. You’re up early.”

“I know. Somehow I felt you were out here alone, and I wanted to be with you.”

Andrée hears the words “I wanted to be with you” and bites her lip. How can this child have made such a momentous impact on her in such a short period of time? Four weeks. She can’t look at her for fear of breaking down. They both look out the window.

“Is it snowing?”

“It’s threatening to. Can you see the small snowflakes dancing past the streetlamps as they float down? They’re too fine to settle just yet though,” Andrée says.