“The Nazis round up Jews, Gypsies,” he said. He looked at Claudette pointedly. “And the crippled.”

Her heart flipped. “What do they do with them?”

“You mean what do they do to them?” Monsieur Lefebvre raised his eyes heavenward. “You’d better hide.”

Where could she hide if the Nazis swept into this village with their tanks? Could she climb up to the attic? What use did the Nazis have for invalides?

Not for the first time, Claudette compared her affliction with Solange’s. The day they met, she had decided that blindness was worse—to be unable to thread a needle or bask in the beauty of perfect stitches; not to see the lush colors of silk or the intricacies of fine lace. Now, for the first time, she wished she had Solange’s long legs to run fast.

“Don’t listen to Monsieur Lefebvre,” the tavern keeper told Claudette. “The French spirit and might will prevail.” His voice turned to a whisper. “Mark my words. We’ll organize a second army and defeat the enemy.”

Two old men at the bar nodded and lifted their glasses, but their gesture was meek.

“The worst is yet to come,” Monsieur Lefebvre said, his speech slurred. “The worst is yet to come.”

Chapter Six

Claudette

Loire Valley, France

August 1940

The downturn in Mémère’s health was sudden. Each coughing fit left her gasping for air. Her skin wasn’t just pale; it was gray, as if she had ingested ashes. She no longer left her bed, and Claudette tucked a chamber pot under her a few times a day and fed and washed her. In church, she placed candles at Christ’s feet. Aware of how preposterous it was to ask Him for this particular favor, Claudette nevertheless beseeched God in His mercy to send over the Jew and his elixir. Or, if the Jew had enlisted, could Mary at least protect him?

Before dusk, Claudette picked blades of sorrel weed in the garden for their soup. She straightened up and was arrested by the sight of the luminous orange-and-pink ribbons cast by the lowering sun. The beauty of the sunset never changed, regardless of the misery of the world below, and Claudette imagined assembling remainders of fabric in sunset hues to create a beautiful cape for a princess in one of the romance books.

Her reverie broke when a black car stopped by the back gate, the one through which the Jew used to enter to avoid detection. A mattress, a trunk, and suitcases were tied to the roof of the car. A man dressed in a cream-colored city suit stepped out, took off his hat in a respectful manner, and approached Claudette.

“Good evening, Mademoiselle. May I secure your kind permission to park here for the night? Perhaps use your well and outhouse?”

No one had ever spoken to her in the language of the romance books. Three months after the disheveled refugees had begun to stream in, a man more refined than anyone she’d ever met was standing in front of her asking for a favor.

He took out a thick roll of bills and peeled off two. Claudette stared at the beautiful woman in the front passenger seat wearing a fashionably tilted hat with a feather. Her arm rested on the open window, and the sleeve of her blouse was of expensive white silk. Curious to see the rest of the elegant woman’s outfit, Claudette nodded her assent to the man but didn’t reach for the money.

He took a step forward, holding out the bills. “Would you happen to have a room to let?” When she shook her head, he said, “We’ll sleep in the car. Tomorrow I’ll go search for petrol.”

Claudette accepted the money and pointed to the cowshed. “It’s empty.”

After the man drove the car into the yard, a boy and a girl, about five and seven years old, bounded out. Just then, Mémère called for Claudette.

She rushed in to explain the visitors’ presence. Mémère coughed and soiled herself.

By the time Claudette managed to come out again, it was almost dark. The family was seated on a blanket, sharing an open basket of food. The mattress and luggage were no longer on the car roof. Someone was moving about in the barn.

“Thank you for your generosity,” the woman said. Her plaid skirt was spread wide around her, and Claudette could see that it had been cut on the bias. The woman had upturned lips that were finely carved, and her brown eyes were lovely. “May we ask you for another great favor?”

“What is it, madame?”

“Would you please let our children sleep inside? My boy is prone to colds.”

There were two unused rooms upstairs. Claudette had been sleeping on the front-room couch since the start of the war, when the Jew’s visits ended and Mémère needed her nearby. Claudette missed the Jew’s quiet presence in the evening by the fireplace, where he read from his little book, his lips moving.

“Yes, madame,” Claudette said.

An hour later, a heavyset woman led the children in. “Who are you?” Claudette asked.

“Their nanny.” The children bounded up the stairs. With her heft, the woman could squeeze through the narrow stairwell only by turning sideways.

It was only for that night, Claudette told herself as she entered Mémère’s room. She came out with the chamber pot and saw that the nanny had claimed her sofa.

“You’re not supposed to be inside,” Claudette said.

“I can’t leave the children unattended, can I?”

They would all be gone tomorrow, Claudette told herself, and soon after, she crawled into Mémère’s bed.

When she entered the kitchen in the morning, the nanny was working by the sink. Her large hips filled the small space, and Claudette couldn’t get to the stove, which was taken anyway by a pot of porridge.

“Excuse me,” Claudette said. “What are you doing?”

“Madame said to make the children’s breakfast.”

“Not here, though.”

When the woman didn’t move, Claudette called Belle and walked out to the yard. The elegant woman was washing her face in a bowl resting on the rim of the well.

“Good morning,” she said to Claudette. “Thank you again. We were so exhausted from two days on the road. What a beast of a trip.”

“Your nanny is in my kitchen.”

“Do you mind? Please. My children haven’t had a hot meal in two days. We’re also out of provisions. Who could have imagined such a disaster? My husband has gone out to get some food and petrol. When he returns, we’ll be on our way.”

The man returned in the afternoon, his jacket folded on his arm, and from the way he swung the petrol can, Claudette could tell that it was empty. Back in her kitchen, they helped themselves to the oil and the sack of potatoes in the corner, then left money on the table. After supper, the couple sat in the front room and talked in hushed voices. The nanny had retired with the children upstairs, and Claudette was again relegated to Mémère’s bed.

On the third day, Claudette protested to the man. “I never agreed to any of this. My grandmother is sick and I—”

He peeled more money off his wad of cash. “How much do you want?”

“It’s not about money, it’s—” Claudette could hear her own weak voice. Belle started barking.

“Do something about this damn dog. It frightens the children and gives my wife migraines.”

“I’d like you all to leave. Please.”

“Do you think we want to be stuck in this wretched house?” The corners of his mouth pulled down in distaste. When Belle continued barking, he kicked her.

“Don’t touch her!” Claudette cried out. Belle retreated with a whine.