waved through the brush. I heard pounding, then the frightening sound of one loud boom. The chateau’s chimney peeking over the trees lit up with fire blazing out its stack, shooting sparks into the late morning sky. I scrambled to my feet, ditching my bicycle in the brush, hurrying away, until I reached a dirt road I hoped would lead to the river. A plume of thick dust from an approaching car billowed behind me down the road. I ran before I had a chance to even think about running, glancing over my shoulder, my heart bursting from my chest, watching the plume of dust expand like a balloon behind the speeding car.
The road vanished ahead of me—a cliff. Feeling every inch of the road in my legs and muscles, I pushed harder and harder to outrun the car, but even a leopard’s lungs could only carry it so far. I jumped, the skirt of my housedress parachuting around me as I hurled myself into the air, only to land knees first in a sandy hole, every bone in my body smacking against the other like fists to a palm.
Rocks tumbled down the slope and caved in around me. Everything got dark and grey, and I felt life slipping away with each struggling breath. Then suddenly I saw Gérard standing over me, his foot pressing on my chest, laughing with his mouth hanging wide open. But soon enough the laugh gave way to a woman’s voice telling me to hold on, and the vision of Gérard disappeared in pieces with every new and wonderful thought I had about of making it out alive. ‘Help,’ I gasped through the grit and the dust. ‘Help!’
I poked my hand through a pocket of air, searching, and a warm hand grabbed mine. Then I saw the most relieving sight of all, a familiar face to match the voice.
Marguerite.
She lifted the rocks away one by one, giving me a second chance at life. I looked up and out of the hole, the crisp blue sky above me with the sun on my face, and I knew—I’d use those paints after all, and cover every wall in Vichy if I had to.
She grabbed on to me, and we hugged tightly. ‘Are you all right?’ She pulled away to look at me. ‘Any broken bones?’
‘It’s you…’ I said, hugging her again. ‘I’m so glad it’s you. How did you know where I was?’
‘That was my car you were running from,’ she said. ‘I thought you might head toward the river for cover.’ She pulled debris from my hair. ‘Is this paint?’
‘Yes,’ I said, dusting myself off. ‘And don’t ask.’
She dropped my hair as fast as she had picked it up. ‘I like your housedress. What’s left of it at least.’
‘You do?’ I ripped the dangling hem off. She cracked a smile, and so did I. We hugged again.
‘I missed you,’ I said.
‘I missed you too,’ she said. ‘Now, let’s get out of here. The police aren’t that far away.’
We walked down a rocky embankment to the river where she had parked the car. A man and a boy wearing a tattered youth legion uniform guarded the vehicle with guns pointed in all directions. I stopped before I got in. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Into the hills,’ she said. ‘There’s been a big development in the war. The Reich has disbanded the armistice to fight off our shores in the south, the Allies invaded North Africa. Now the Germans are storming the Free Zone looking for résistants.’
‘So, it is over,’ I said. ‘The armistice—the Free Zone.’
‘We knew it was only a matter of time,’ she said, motioning with her head to get into the vehicle.
I nodded, though I’d hoped against hope what I knew for so many months would never come to pass. I got into the vehicle. The Germans were coming.
We drove for a good while, through villages Marguerite said were sympathetic, and into the volcanic Puy-de-Dôme area of the Auvergne just south of Vichy. ‘We’ll be safe with the Maquis,’ Marguerite said, holding her hair back from the front seat. ‘They live in the hills; it’s where they hide. A brutal group of French Résistance, but also the most accommodating. You can rest before going back to Vichy. The camp is near a hot spring.’
Papa and Mama used to take Charlotte and me into the volcanic hills when we were little for day picnics and rest. There were lakes, but I wasn’t sure where—the basalt cliffs were