the street around them erupted into noise, though with measured horses’ hooves and calmer German voices. But she didn’t want to acknowledge them. She wanted to pretend nothing was near except Edward.
He moved away and she stopped herself from pulling him back.
“We should go quickly,” Edward whispered.
She moved to follow, wishing he would keep her hand, but he didn’t. She wasn’t bold enough to slip her arm through his, even though she’d done it casually a dozen times before. Just then any touch seemed fraught with more than it had ever meant in the past.
Before long Edward delivered her back at the gate of her home, where he stopped. The gardens were mainly vegetables instead of flowers these days, but there was still a granite bench under the beech tree near the tall stone fence. She wished he would take her there and let her ask him if he’d felt anything in the flurry of that moment on the street.
But he seemed so eager to leave she wondered if that moment had happened at all.
“Edward, won’t you come in? see for yourself what I’m trying to tell you about?”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“If you and my mother insist on staying here in Belgium, then I won’t be back. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”
“Without even seeing the room? It’s the perfect place, exactly what any secret could use.”
His hands were on her shoulders so quickly it startled her, his eyes boring into hers, but neither the touch nor the look was anything she’d imagined. “No. I won’t have it. I won’t have you involved in any of this. Do you understand?”
She shook her head and tears stung her eyes. “But, Edward—all right if you won’t use the room. Promise me you’ll still come here. Without knowing if you’re safe or not . . . I’ve lived that way for nearly two years. Please—”
“No, Isabelle.”
He’d never called her that before, but she welcomed the newness of it, as if he’d realized at last that she should be called a name more befitting a woman than a child.
“Edward, please.” She’d never begged before, never imagined herself begging him or anyone for anything. But pride was trivial compared to what she wanted most. “Tell me you won’t stay away. That you can’t stay away.”
Edward let her go and stepped backward. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Then he turned, pulled up the collar of his jacket and pulled down the brim of his hat as if to hide his face, and walked away.
11
Only German folly exceeds the lack of discretion to which they routinely adhere, as shown by the most recent mistaken arrests.
La Libre Belgique
* * *
“That should do it,” Edward said to Father Clemenceau, rolling two slim sheets of paper, content for another issue of La Libre Belgique. The second since the mass arrest.
At least seven of their conspirators awaited trial at St. Gilles prison, just south of Brussels proper, held for these last two weeks without contact. Between Edward and the priest, they had found only three other remaining links in the organization. Jan and Rosalie, by some miracle, had been completely ignored in the most recent round of arrests. Another main supplier survived, who had provided most of the content for the copy now in Edward’s possession.
It would be Edward’s job to get it to the printer.
This was not the longest but was perhaps among the more important issues. The edition from a week ago might have been more vital, following so closely after the arrests, its existence enough to dim many smug German smiles. This second issue would be a needed boost to the morale of every Belgian who fretted over the upcoming trial, and that was just about everyone in Brussels. The paper had survived, no matter how many people they arrested.
Edward handed the rolled sheets to Father Clemenceau while reaching under the table for a walking stick he used for just such an occasion. Turning it upside down and twirling off the tip, he tilted it toward the priest, who slid the papers neatly inside. Then Edward replaced the tip, reached for his suit coat and hat, and with a swift farewell was on his way to the printer Father Clemenceau had persuaded to run one more issue. The printer had not been easily convinced, and after this edition they must find someone else.
Nothing new there.
Edward walked down the street at a brisk though unhurried pace. He did nothing to call attention