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“Her name is Esther Rosenblatt. She is in bed, asleep. She ate a little soup, but she is still very sick. She came from Tours. They have rounded up all the Jews and keep them in the stadium there for days before loading them onto the trains.”

The thought turned Johanna’s stomach. “God, that’s awful.”

Fabienne sipped the coffee. “This is good.”

The lightness Johanna had felt earlier returned, made her giddy all over again. She sipped her drink. “So, what happens next?”

Fabienne lit a cigarette and handed it to Johanna, then lit one for herself. She drew down, lifted her head, exhaled slowly, as if she was pondering the question intently. Johanna felt undone, she wanted to help, and she craved being closer to Fabienne, and Fabienne was giving her neither.

“We need more wood,” Fabienne said.

“I can get that,” Johanna said.

“And food. Things we can store for a while.” Fabienne turned her back to Johanna, filled her cup and drank.

Johanna felt rejected, as if their connection had been cut off without reason. “I’ll get what I can.”

“And store it in the cellar. Things that will last.” Fabienne turned around but avoided making eye contact.

“Yes, of course.”

Johanna finished her cigarette in the tense silence, confused by the shift in Fabienne’s demeanour. It was as though she was keeping something from her, which Johanna supposed was always going to be the way until Fabienne determined it was safe for Johanna to know. Johanna had hoped for more, needed it, but if this was all that was on offer, she would take it and she would prove herself. “I’d better get back,” she said.

Fabienne nodded. “Can I bring the pot back later?”

Johanna smiled through her flat feeling. “Of course.” She slipped out the kitchen door and made her way across the yard, the weight of disappointment dragging her heels.

***

“Bonjour, chérie,” Mamie said, entering the kitchen. “Is that real coffee I smell.”

Fabienne poured her a cup. “Johanna brought it over.” She watched Mamie’s eyebrows lift, her eyes widen, a slow nod of agreement to not question Fabienne any further.

“Remember, she is still German.”

Fabienne didn’t need reminding of her bad luck; falling for the enemy was never a good idea.

“And the woman?”

“In the spare bedroom, sleeping. She was carrying her papers. Her name is Esther.”

Mamie nodded. “I hope this miracle isn’t going to be our downfall.”

Fabienne didn’t want to think about extricating a pregnant woman, who might still die yet. The coded message she’d deciphered the previous evening while watching over her was of greater importance. “Johanna wants to help us, Mamie.”

Mamie drank the coffee. “She is going to get us killed.”

Fabienne shook her head. “Maybe that will happen anyway. But we have new instructions, and we are going to need all the support we can get.”

“That look in your eyes is scaring me, Fabienne, and I am already living with too much fear. I am nervous going to work at the house. I am anxious sending Nancy to school every day. I pray every time you go out to collect rations, and when you come back with nothing, I worry how we will get through another week.”

Fabienne held her tightly, the fragility evident in the narrowness of her grandmother’s frame and the slenderness in her wiry arms that were once muscular. She’d been strong before, in mind and body, and Fabienne hadn’t noticed the depth of decline that had taken place since the Neumanns had arrived. “We will not give in, Mamie,” she whispered.

Mamie eased back and cupped Fabienne’s cheek with her trembling hands. Her eyes glistened and she forced a smile.

It didn’t take much for Fabienne to read her thoughts. The same words often taunted her, and she refused to concede to them. You will be next. “I will be careful,” she said. “We have important work to do, and I will not stop until it is done.”

Mamie sighed. “You are as stubborn as your mother. It is nice to be reminded of her.” She patted Fabienne’s cheek gently. “What is this mission?”