Only acting would stop her trembling; only action would stall her tears. She must . . . what?
There was only one thing left to do. Find Edward. He might know someone who could help. At the very least he needed to know what had become of his little brother—particularly if the Germans were sending Jonah to a work camp the likes of which Edward had already known.
Rosalie. The name came immediately to mind. Isa could not remember any house number, indeed she hadn’t seen one that night Edward had taken her there. But she remembered the neighborhood and would find this woman herself. Surely Rosalie would know how to find Edward.
The nearer Isa came to the far end of Lower Town, the greater her doubt grew. She might consider herself Belgian, but she was a stranger to this part of Brussels. The way she was dressed, in her mother’s forest green day gown, hardly lent much help—and yet, if anyone suspected her of being a German spy, wouldn’t they think she would have taken more time to look like one of them, to fit in?
She didn’t have time to worry about such things. She wished she’d brought her papers, but going back for them would have wasted too much time. She must find Rosalie, and then Edward, and get back home to Genny. Genny! Surely she was more frantic than ever.
She’d forgotten how each narrow, cobbled street looked so similar. How one began only to end unexpectedly. She was sure she’d reached the right street until seeing the next, then equally sure that was the one.
Tell me what to do, Lord! I don’t know what to do.
She paced the blocks, trying to retrace her steps from so long ago. She eliminated several streets as being too far from the edge and a couple by virtue of oddities she was sure she would have noticed that night: a little statue of St. Martin, a porch so long it traversed the length of three town houses. Surely she would have noticed the smells of the stables at the end of one street.
As usual, there were few people out, but two people she asked did nothing more than give her their backs. She walked the two arteries she’d narrowed as her choices. Both had homes in the center of the block with a tiny, square window that looked so familiar. As she neared despair of ever finding help, someone emerged from one of the buildings she watched.
“Pardon.” She approached the blond young man on the steps. He turned to her abruptly with a look uncannily passive from one stranger to another. She continued in French, “I—I’m trying to find someone and I wonder if you might help?”
He eyed her. “Who are you?”
“Isa Lassone.”
“It’s clear you’re not from around here. Who are you looking for?”
“A young woman, dark hair, petite. Her name is Rosalie.”
If the name meant anything to him, he didn’t show it. “What do you want with this person?”
“I need to speak with her. We have a mutual friend.”
“And who is that?”
Isa folded her arms against his close scrutiny. “I’d rather not say.”
“And maybe I would rather not say if I know this Rosalie.”
“Oh, but you must help,” Isa pleaded. “I need help for a child!”
He appeared unmoved. This dreadful war! It made everyone suspicious. Were children its latest victims? Her gaze left his face and went to the door of the home he’d just exited. What had she to lose by going to every door and asking for Rosalie?
She took a step forward, intent upon going around the tall man, when it suddenly occurred to her that he might be younger than he initially appeared. Though the skin around his eyes and ears was wrinkled, there was something familiar in the aging pattern. In fact, recalling Edward’s disguise, she knew at that moment that he and Edward had at least one thing in common: their makeup artist.
The man stepped in her path in one quick, agile movement. One quick, agile, and young movement. “I think perhaps you should return to your home, mademoiselle.”
At two steps closer she was certain. With one glance around to see that no one was nearby, she whispered, “You know this woman, don’t you? I tell you, I mean her no harm. I must talk to her.”
“Talking to people these days is dangerous. Even pretty young women. Perhaps especially so.”
“But I need help. A boy has been seized by the Germans and Rosalie will want