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“Thank you, Tata Sophie. Andrée says you have a piano.”

Sophie laughs. “Straight to the important matters. Yes, I have a piano. An old upright, a bit out of tune, but it plays. You’re welcome to use it whenever you like. Now, come in, come in. I’ve made lunch. You two look like you need feeding up.”

Inside, the house smells of baking bread and lavender. The piano stands in the sitting room, exactly as Andrée remembered. Josie goes to it immediately, lifts the lid, plays a quick scale. The tuning is indeed questionable, but the tone is warm, the keys responsive.

“It’s perfect,” Josie announces.

“Good. Now, come eat. You can play later. Food first, music second. That’s my rule.”

Sophie provides a delicious lunch of fresh bread, cheese, and tomatoes from the garden. Here a system of bartering has developed as neighbors share what they grow and what they have bought, both legally and on the black market. Sophie catches up on what’s happening in Paris. Andrée is cautious with her news, sufficiently vague. And Sophie is careful not to ask too many questions. They both understand. The less said, the safer everyone is.

“I have new neighbors since you were last here,” Sophie says. “Colette Durand and her daughter, Solène. They moved here last year from Chartres. The husband died in a German bombing raid. Colette wanted to get away from the city, somewhere quieter. Somewhere safer.”

“How old is Solène?” Josie asks.

“Twelve. Just your age, I think. She’s a lovely girl. A bit wild, perhaps. Knows every path in the forest, every secret place. She’s been desperate for a friend her own age. All the other children here are either much younger or much older.”

“Could I meet her?” Josie asks, a note of keen interest in her voice that makes Andrée’s heart ache. When was the last time Josie sounded this hopeful?

“I’ll introduce you this afternoon. They live just down the lane. Colette is a good woman. Devout. Goes to church every Sunday. She’s become a good neighbor. Helps me with the garden, brings me eggs from her chickens, takes vegetables home from my garden.”

That afternoon, Sophie takes them down the lane to a smaller cottage, painted yellow, with chickens scratching in the yard. A woman answers the door. She has dark hair streaked with gray and kind eyes.

“Colette, this is my goddaughter Andrée and her niece Joséphine. They’re staying with me for the week.”

“How lovely! Solène will be so pleased. She’s out in the forest, of course. That girl spends more time with the trees than with people. Let me call her.” Colette steps into the doorway and cups her hands around her mouth.

“Solène! Solène, come home! We have visitors!”

A few minutes later, a girl appears from the trees. Tall for twelve, all limbs and energy, with wild dark hair and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She stops when she sees the visitors, suddenly shy.

“Solène, this is Joséphine. She’s staying with Mme Sophie for a week. I thought you might like to show her around.”

Solène studies Josie. Josie studies Solène. A long moment passes. Then Solène grins.

“Do you like climbing trees?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

“Never? We’ll fix that. Come on. I’ll show you my favorite places.”

“Is it safe?” Andrée asks Colette quietly.

“The forest? Safer than anywhere else. Solène knows every path, every hiding place. The Germans patrol the roads, but they rarely venture into the forest. Too easy to get lost. Too easy to walk in circles. The girls will be fine.”

“Go,” Sophie tells Josie. “Explore. Be a child. That’s what you’re here for.”

Josie looks at Andrée for permission. Andrée nods, her throat tight. When was the last time Josie was free to play alone outside with a friend?

“Be back in time for supper,” Andrée says.

“We will,” Solène promises. “Come on, Joséphine. I’ll show you the old oak. You can see the whole forest from up there.”

“Call me Josie.”

And they’re off, running into the woods, two girls who barely know each other, already friends.

Andrée and Colette watch them disappear.