Rest.’ She helped me onto a beige divan set against the wall. ‘Sit here while we figure out how to get you out safely.’
The nuns assembled an ice pack consisting of a lump of ice wrapped in a scrap of striped fabric and held it to my cheek. The initial sting of the cold, wet press made me scowl. ‘Christ!’ They moved it away from the welt, shock lifting their eyes wide open from hearing me swear. ‘Sorry,’ I said, motioning for them to try again. ‘It’s very cold.’
A woman with her hair pinned back, thin as a rail, paced around, talking about the nearest safe house. ‘The best option is to get her out of Vichy,’ she said to Mme Dubois, exchanging something wrapped in brown paper. ‘Pack her with the shipment. I’ll radio for transport. You know where. Wait until sundown. I’ll need a few hours.’
Mme Dubois nodded, glancing back at me. ‘She walked right up to them as if she wanted to die. Defiant, that one.’ After pondering her own thoughts she turned toward me. ‘What was in your head, love?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, not wanting to elaborate.
The woman placed a hand on my shoulder. There was something about her touch, and in the long pause that followed, that made me think she knew what had been in my head, and she understood. ‘I wasn’t supposed to be in Vichy today.’ She leaned into the light coming from a lantern Mme Dubois had lit and placed on the ground. ‘After what you did for us at the Sleeping Lady, I couldn’t leave you tied to that column.’
I moved the ice pack from my face, squinting, getting a good enough look at her face. ‘Hedgehog?’
She winked. Then she turned around and left, disappearing into a corridor.
Mme Dubois draped a blue scarf over my head. ‘You must mean a great deal for the leader of the Alliance to personally save your bottom,’ she said, tucking my hair underneath the fabric, tying a loose knot under my chin. She helped me off the divan and walked with me outside. She pointed to a car parked against the kerb with its back seat pushed forward.
‘Where am I going?’ I got in the car without waiting for an answer.
Mme Dubois shifted her eyes suspiciously toward the square where the riot was still plenty rife, not at all concerned with my question. ‘Through the seat. Crawl back as far as you can.’
I hunkered down in the boot from behind the back seat, piled to the brim with bolts of fabric, sewing machines and bags of scrap tossed haphazardly all around; a hard squeeze even for someone who could move without pain.
‘No matter what happens…’ Mme Dubois used both hands to push the seat back into place and everything turned pitch-black. Her voice was muffled and barely audible from the other side of the seat. ‘Don’t move.’
The engine flared and we sped away. The smell of petrol and burning rubber from the squeal of her tyres permeated the air. I buried my nose into a soft pad I figured was fabric. Bumpy roads were made worse by speeding turns, stopping and starting, until I heard the engine shift into a high gear and felt a smooth street under the tyres.
Just when I started to feel safe and out of the city, the car stopped abruptly. The engine cut off, and everything got very quiet. A German voice spoke up. Then Mme Dubois got out of the car and started talking in a high-pitched, very girly voice. ‘Seamstress on a job,’ she said. ‘Late for delivery.’
I lay still, and then even stiller when I heard a tap near the back bumper.
‘Öffnen!’ I heard, followed by more tapping. ‘Open it!’
Mme Dubois mumbled as she fit the key into the lock, making much more noise than she had to—a warning not to move. I felt a push of cool air penetrate the scarf wrapped around my head when the boot opened. My heart raced as I realized I’d die from another beating. I barely had the strength to breathe, much less move. If I get caught this time, I thought, it won’t be from my doing.
‘Fabric, bags…’ I heard him say, mixing French with German. He poked a few bags with the tip of his long gun, rustling things around. ‘Sew machine,’ he said, tapping the machine’s hard case. ‘Needle case…’ He hit the top of my head and paused, as if he was considering the