But he found it didn’t matter. The truth was, he loved Genny and would do anything to free her, including using the last of his savings and selling a ring that had been in his family for three generations. He didn’t regret doing it, even if Genny had felt nothing for him. He’d never expected anything from her. How could he? He still had a wife. One to whom he must return, even though she couldn’t remember his name.
Max left the secret room, picking up the longest lengths of wood he could carry, scraps of what had once been wine racks. He had no nails but hoped to find some. As thoughts of boarding up the front door blossomed into the idea of moving back in, at least for a few days, Max found himself climbing those stairs with the agility of a whole man.
* * *
Isa lay still on the cot, her back to the bars. She breathed steadily but was far from sleep. In the past three days she’d used slumber as an escape, and God had granted her the blessing of rest.
At last she turned on her back and stared at the low, curved ceiling. This was the crudest of the cells she’d been in, the most isolated. She was surrounded by cold, damp cement; it had the feeling of a hole in the earth. Water dripped from somewhere, but she was the only living being, other than the occasional passing rat, to inhabit anything within hearing range. Two sets of bars separated her cell from any other she’d passed when first brought in. There were no windows, no electricity, no plumbing. Just a cot and one thin blanket. And a bucket.
Guards changed every twelve hours. One sometimes sat between her cell and the next set of bars, close enough so she could hear him move, far enough so she felt the isolation more sharply.
Of the guards she’d seen so far, only one had looked her in the eye. He’d even managed to produce the blanket and bring her tea with the tasteless gruel yesterday. He’d also spoken to her, telling her he’d enjoyed her song the night before. It was a hymn she’d sung while hoping to banish the absolute silence and to invite the presence of God.
She had thanked him politely, the way Genny had taught her no matter the source of such a compliment. And then she watched him go, to be replaced by one of the others who blended in so well with the gray walls surrounding them.
Since then she had lain on her cot, nearly unmoving. Praying the numbness would last. Until the end.
* * *
“He’s left messages in every parish in Upper Town, trying to find someone who knew Father Antoine.”
Edward turned his full attention to Father Clemenceau, who had sent for him through various connections, not one of whom would know how to find Edward if the chain was broken. New identity papers were stuffed in his pocket: he was now Faas van Folkvaror, the son of a wealthy Dutch shipbuilder.
“What rank did you say this officer held?”
“Major.”
Edward’s heart sped. “But he wouldn’t leave a name?”
“No. He said if Father Antoine wanted to see his aunt again, he should come to the Lassone residence.”
Edward made a hasty track to Isa’s. He didn’t listen to his own cautious nature. It could be a trap. After all, Father Antoine had been at the Lassone residence countless times while the press was there. Surely he was suspected as well; that was why he’d taken the trouble to change his identity. But something told Edward this was one German Major he need not fear.
The door was boarded, glass swept to the side. Edward knocked and it sounded hollow inside. He knocked again, hearing nothing and fighting to hang on to his hope even as it sank. Pivoting to look around, he half expected armed guards to appear. But the front garden, the street, the neighborhood, appeared deserted.
At last he heard an uneven footfall approaching the door. Edward breathed easier. He hadn’t been mistaken.
When he opened the door, Major von Bürkel looked at Edward, obviously perplexed, then surprised, and finally pleased.
“Major,” Edward greeted.
“Come in out of the cold,” he said, stepping out of the way. “Though I can’t promise it’s much warmer in here. Come to the kitchen. I’ve lit the stove at least.”
Edward followed, seeing Isa’s home devoid of its former splendor. It might have rankled or