time completely. One morning there was frost on the ground and the yellow leaves were crisscrossed with ice. The frost faded in the shine of the morning sun, all the same it was autumn. They were in a tree, speaking to one another in the beautiful language of birds, in which heartbreak sounded like a song.
Once he was gone it was only the two of them. Lea had dreaded the fall as much as Ava had, for its arrival meant it was impossible for her to send or receive messages.
“If only time could move more quickly,” Lea said. They had built a bonfire to burn away the chill of the night.
“Time is uncontrollable. It does as it pleases.”
They had both huddled near to watch the fire.
“You can go if you want to,” Lea said. When Ava gave her a look, Lea shrugged and made herself clear. “You can follow him.”
All she had to do was go south until she reached the beach of black sand where a thousand herons all took flight at once to block out the sky to make the world their own. Of course she could find him. She had no need of maps or guides. The world was open to her. But instead, she made Hardship Soup for them to eat for supper. And when the fire had burned to ash, she took the thorns from her bedding, cleared the shards of glass from the grass, and shook the ants out of her dress.
Even if she could fly away, she had no intention of doing so.
PART TWO
1943–44
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE OLD MAN
HAUTE-LOIRE, AUTUMN 1943
JULIEN HAD BEEN AT THE farm for over a year. During this time he and Lea exchanged messages for the six months the heron was with them, but in winter there was no way for them to communicate. It was almost the time for the messages to end when the heron arrived on the hillside, standing there as if he were a thin, elegant man in a pale gray coat. Julien climbed the hill to meet him, his heart hitting against the cage of his ribs.
“Hello,” Julien said, always in awe of the creature and half-expecting him to speak. The heron merely stared into his eyes, interested, but removed. Julien knelt to slip the tube from the heron’s leg, then withdrew the message. It was the highlight of every month during the bright half of the year, and what he missed most during the dark winter months.
I’m still here.
I’m keeping my promise. Please, keep yours.
Julien crouched down in the shade. He had not seen Lea for nearly two years. They had been cast into the far sides of a maze, blindfolded, with no walls or trees or bread crumbs to guide them. What they needed was a map; then they would not have to depend on the heron’s messages. Julien took out a pencil he carried with him for sketching, and got to work. He remembered his trip here backward, the way he would if he were spiraling out from the heart of a labyrinth. One could approach from over the mountains or from the village to discover Beehive House, set in the fields, with its barn and its beehives. He was precise in his rendering, even though his hands shook. The heron was still as Julien replaced the message. Time was moving in a blur. It was getting away from him. If he had no hope of finding Lea, perhaps she could find him. He stood with his hand over his eyes watching the heron fly away. It was then he saw Monsieur Félix on the porch with his rifle, pointing up. Julien ran as fast as he could, shouting for the old man to stop, waving his hands like a madman, startling Monsieur Félix so badly that he put down his gun. When he reached the porch, breathless, Julien grabbed it away from him.
“What’s wrong with you?” Monsieur Félix said, aggravated by the interruption. “I won’t have another chance. He’s flying south. Herons bring good luck if you cook them.”
“Don’t ever do that,” Julien said darkly.
“All right,” Félix said, taken aback. Julien was surprisingly fierce when he was in a fit of anger. He was not such a kid, really. And he had a temper it seemed.
“It is not good luck to eat them,” he told the old man. “It’s a crime.”
Monsieur Félix shrugged. “There are many crimes committed in this world, but this isn’t one of them.”