A Coming Evil

by Vivian Vande Velde

  This time he wasn't so quick on the charm. He hesitated a moment before inclining his head in a short bow and mouthing the word "Please."

  Lisette stood—too abruptly, it turned out. Her right foot had gone to sleep and she pitched forward, right over the edge of the hill.

  "Lisette!" Gerard cried, lunging forward to grasp her arm. His fingers passed through her like a chill just as she caught hold of an exposed tree root. She'd only slid down a few feet and was more dizzy from the fact that Gerard was standing on thin air a good two feet beyond the edge of the hill than from the tumble she'd just taken.

  She scrambled back up to the top of the hill and motioned Gerard to get back onto solid ground.

  He did, but he looked as queasy as she felt. "It appeared the earth just swallowed thee up," he said.

  "Yes," she said, concentrating on making sure her skirt was down all the way around because she had to do something with her hands. "Well. It looked to me as though you were standing in the air. And here's something else to consider: I can hear you."

  "Thou can hear me?" he echoed. "For how long has this been?" He had a definite accent, and some of his sentences sounded stiff and old-fashioned.

  "Starting from when you called my name just now."

  He sighed. She could hear that, too, a definite exhaling of what certainly sounded like breath, and he crouched beside her. "Are thou injured?" He caught himself before touching the ankle she was massaging.

  "I'm fine," she said.

  Gerard looked from Lisette to the edge of the hill and back to her again.

  "What do you see," Lisette asked, "when you look down there?"

  "The ground extends"—he paused to calculate—"a spear length or so beyond thee. Then the hill slopes gently down. There are many trees." He shrugged. Unsure of what she wanted, he added, "Elms ... maple..."

  Whatever a spear length was, it was probably longer than the handbreadth she could see. "You don't see the farmhouse or the barn?"

  Calmly, warily, he said, "No."

  "The fields?"

  "No."

  "I have to go." Lisette got to her feet more slowly this time. Her foot felt tingly but it could support her weight.

  "But—" Gerard said.

  "I have to go," Lisette repeated more emphatically. Part of it was that she couldn't afford to have Cecile and Aunt Josephine angry with her again, not two days in a row. And part of it was that, deep inside, she was very, very frightened. "I'll be back tomorrow," she mumbled, not sure yet if she meant it.

  She didn't look at Gerard as she started down. And when she did look back—about halfway down—he was looking down the hill after her, but not quite in the right direction.

  9.

  Monday, September 2, 1940

  If she'd been home, Lisette would have talked about the ghost to her father, or even to her mother. But Aunt Josephine didn't seem the kind of person who would take this sort of news well.

  So Lisette didn't say anything about Gerard during lunch, or during the diaper-changing/diaper-washing session that followed. ("Lisette should do it," Cecile suggested sweetly. "She's used to babies and probably feeling homesick." But Aunt Josephine insisted they take turns.) Still, Lisette thought, if the opportunity arose during the bicycle ride to or back from Sibourne, she planned to ask about ghosts, since Cecile had mentioned them. She just wasn't sure what the opportunity would look or sound like.

  She rode Aunt Josephine's bicycle, since Cecile's was too small for her and Uncle Raymond's too tall. That left Aunt Josephine riding Uncle Raymond's bicycle, which meant she had to wear a pair of Uncle Raymond's trousers, and she'd obviously hoped Lisette would be the one to do that.

  "What we have to do," Aunt Josephine said as they rode side by side down the road that led to the town, "is buy a little bit here and a little bit there. I got two extra ration books through the black market, an adult's and a child's. But as far as anybody knows, there's only the three of us, so we can't use more than one adult and two children's coupons in any one place."

  Lisette nodded. She wasn't used to all these hills and she was saving her breath.

  "The hardest thing has been getting enough milk. Rachel, of course—she's just beginning to have solid foods. But the other small ones, too, they really should have milk every day. I don't get milk with the adult books, so I've been giving Rachel what she needs and watering down what's left for the others. Are you willing to give up your allotment?"

  "Fine," Lisette said, although she thought it wasn't fair: she was a child, too.

  And two extra ration books for four extra children, not including Rachel. So much for her parents' idea that she'd eat better here than in Paris.

  But Aunt Josephine must have guessed what she was thinking. "Don't worry. We have the vegetable garden, and I've done well trading my cigarette coupons for grapes and peaches. There's always somebody who knows somebody." She must have guessed that Lisette still needed cheering, for she added, "Want to share a secret?"

  Lisette nodded.

  "You may have noticed that Cecile likes to keep everything. She doesn't know it, but I sold one of her outgrown dresses for yesterday's chicken." She put her finger to her lips to indicate not to tell and almost fell off the bicycle.

  Lisette knew it was mean of her to let this news lift her spirits, but somehow it did.

  Aunt Josephine and Lisette went to several stores to get their little bits of milk and flour and the one egg each that they were allotted for September, except that they only got two because it was so late in the day and most merchants had sold out already. Still, it was better than in Paris, where there were long lines for everything, and if you didn't get there early, you might as well not even wait because there'd be nothing left.

  However, Aunt Josephine was self-conscious and grumpy about having to wear Uncle Raymond's trousers. Sure that everybody was staring at her, she felt she had to explain to clerks and other customers in every store how she normally wouldn't dream of wearing pants but that she was using her husband's bicycle and it was impossible to ride a man's bicycle and look modest at the same time with a skirt.

  Lisette didn't think anybody cared, and for a while it seemed as though Aunt Josephine's embarrassing embarrassment would be the worst part of the trip. But as they were getting ready to start back, making sure that their baskets were secure on their bicycles, two German soldiers stepped out of the restaurant directly across the street from them.

  One said something to the other in German. They both laughed, then the second man answered, then they laughed again.

  Even Lisette thought they were looking at Aunt Josephine.

  Aunt Josephine's face turned bright red. Lisette couldn't tell if she was more angry or mortified. In any case, her hands were shaking, and she suddenly became clumsy, unable to manage the bindings. Just as the Germans crossed the street, still talking and laughing, the package containing the noodles slipped out and dropped to the ground.

  Lisette, Aunt Josephine, and one of the Germans all leaned down to get the parcel. Lisette picked it up first, and Aunt Josephine snatched it away.

  The German who'd tried to help—a lieutenant, by his uniform—straightened and smiled. "Hello, Fräulein," he said.

  "I'm not a Fräulein," Aunt Josephine said, readjusting the packages, refusing to look at him. "I'm not even a mademoiselle. I'm a madame."

  "And a very pretty young madame," the German said. "My friend and I, we thought you were sisters."

  For the first time, Lisette looked up. Her father was the oldest of the Beaucaire children, and Aunt Josephine was the youngest, with almost twenty years in between, but Lisette had never thought of her aunt as being young. Now, however, seeing the appraising expression on the German lieutenant's face, Lisette glanced at Aunt Josephine and reevaluated everything. She did look younger than her thirty years; and, with her light brown hair ruffled by the breeze and her blue eyes made brighter by her blush, she was pretty. Lisette could see why the German would look at
Aunt Josephine the way he was.

  Feeling unsettled, Lisette glanced away to the second German soldier, who wore a captain's insignia. But that made things worse, for he had much the same expression as his companion and he was looking at her. Lisette pretended she hadn't noticed. She looked at her feet, hunched her shoulders, and folded her arms in front of her.

  Aunt Josephine had seen what was going on. "I'm much older than I look," she told them. "And she's much younger."

  The lieutenant said something to the captain in German, possibly translating. Whatever it was, they both found it amusing. Then, to Aunt Josephine he said, "Here, let me help you." Short of hitting his hands away, there was nothing Aunt Josephine could do. He tied the packages to the basket so that they couldn't bounce out.

  "Mine's fine," Lisette said as he turned to hers.

  He checked anyway. "Quite a bit here," he told them. "You must have a big family, madame."

  Was he suspicious, or just trying to make conversation? He was still smiling. But Lisette thought her aunt wore a guilty expression, and she probably did, too.

  "Much of this is ice to keep the milk cold," Aunt Josephine said. "And our neighbors are elderly, so I do their shopping, too."

  "Ah," the man said. "Kindhearted as well as beautiful."

  "Thank you for your help," Aunt Josephine said. "Come, Lisette."

  What a good spy she'd make, Lisette thought. She's gone and given my name away. But she didn't say, "Yes, Aunt Josephine." She just got on the bicycle and started pedaling.

  The lieutenant called after them, "Perhaps we'll meet again, madame, mademoiselle."

  The captain blew a kiss. Lisette wasn't looking, but she could hear it.

  As they reached the outskirts of the town, with no sign of the Germans following, Aunt Josephine regained her composure. "That was a rather exciting marketing trip, wasn't it?" she asked, sounding light-hearted and—in the end—flattered by the attention.

  On the whole, yes, Lisette thought. Except that the memory of the way that man had looked at her made her shiver despite the warmth of the sun on her arms.

  10.

  Monday, September 2, 1940

  Back at the farmhouse, Lisette and Cecile took the clothes down from the laundry line. While Aunt Josephine started to prepare dinner, the girls did the ironing. Lisette knew how to iron, though at home in Paris her mother had one of the new electric irons, and Aunt Josephine only had the kind you heated on the stove. Cecile was only good at flat things: dinner napkins and handkerchiefs and some of the skirts, which left Lisette with shirts, blouses, dresses, pleated skirts, and the boys' pants.

  After dinner, Louis Jerome and Etienne did the dishes, then everybody gathered in the candlelit living room because once again the electricity had gone off at six o'clock. Aunt Josephine had unraveled one of Cecile's old sweaters to reknit it into winter outfits for baby Rachel. Anne was helping her, sitting with her hands held apart while Aunt Josephine wrapped the yarn around them. Emma and Cecile were playing cards, but they kept showing their hands and dropping their cards, so they were no fun to play with. Louis Jerome was playing with Rachel, making faces and shaking her rattle so that she squealed with laughter, and Etienne was reading a book about planes that looked much too old for him.

  "May I get a book to read from the study?" Lisette asked.

  Aunt Josephine nodded while Cecile looked up from her cards and said, "Those are grown-up books. I have some in my room—"

  "No, I was in the mood for a grown-up one."

  Cecile looked at her as if she were crazy, but she abandoned Emma anyway. "Will you read it to me?" she asked.

  With a glance at Aunt Josephine, who didn't look as though she was paying attention—but with mothers you could never be sure—Lisette said, "Certainly."

  "Be careful with the candles," Aunt Josephine warned.

  Cecile opened the huge doors at the end of the hall on the first floor, behind the staircase. "There are some over here that have pretty pictures," she said.

  Lisette followed her. Cecile was talking about a section that had books on photography. Because Uncle Raymond was such an organized person, the photography section was also where he had a shelf for his photographic equipment: cameras, special papers and trays, bottles of chemicals. Uncle Raymond— Lisette's father had used to complain after family gatherings—tended to make a nuisance of himself with his picture taking. Here, the one wall without bookshelves was covered with framed photographs of Cecile and Aunt Josephine, and there were other pictures on just about every flat surface in the room.

  Lisette bypassed the photography section and continued examining the shelves until she found a copy of the Encyclopedia Larousse.

  "That looks boring," Cecile told her.

  Lisette brought the book to the desk. "What's this for?" she asked, indicating the red cloth draped over the desk lamp.

  "It's something to do with Papa developing his pictures. He can't use light, except red light is all right. Look at this picture of when I was five. Wasn't I cute?"

  "Mmm-hmm." Lisette was trying to find out what sorts of things were going on in the world during 1314. It was before the Protestant Reformation, but after the Crusades.

  "What are you looking for?" Cecile asked.

  "Just looking. Hold that candle still." It seemed that most of the Middle Ages were one big lump. The book talked at great length about serfs and the role of the Church, but there were few specific dates. Apparently Gerard had died in time to miss the Black Death.

  "Are you through yet?" Cecile asked.

  "Isn't there a list of who was king when?"

  Cecile shrugged. "Who cares? Let's do something else. Let's go back with the others."

  She'd never find out anything this way. Lisette closed the book and returned it to its place. In Paris, there were all sorts of wonderful museums staffed by knowledgeable people who no doubt had the information she needed at their fingertips. But Sibourne wasn't Paris. Lisette wondered if the town even had a library.

  They walked back to the living room, where Lisette had no sooner sat down than Cecile suggested, "We could brush each other's hair."

  "All right," Lisette said, though she suspected that she would be doing most of the brushing.

  Cecile ran to get a hairbrush, then settled herself in front of Lisette. "How about if we tell each other stories while you brush?" she suggested.

  "What kind of stories?"

  "Ghost stories," Cecile said a bit too quickly.

  Lisette brushed Cecile's hair, which was the same light color as her mother's, but finer and straighten "I don't know any," she said.

  "Then tell me, what's the spookiest thing you've ever seen?"

  Lisette worked her way through a tangle. "Aunt Louise with her hair in curlers."

  "Lisette," Aunt Josephine warned.

  But Lisette had gotten Cecile giggling, and she started talking about a teacher in her school—her old school in Nice—who had hair that always stuck out in all directions. This must be hard for her, too, Lisette realized. Cecile was used to spending her summers here, but she had never been to the school in Sibourne either.

  After Aunt Josephine finished wrapping her yarn, it was time to get Rachel, Anne, and Emma ready for bed. While Aunt Josephine was upstairs reading the twins a bedtime story, Etienne started telling his own ghost stories, which made little, if any, sense. Lisette finally said, "Your turn to brush, Cecile."

  Etienne stopped talking midsentence and Louis Jerome, who'd been looking through his stamp collection, closed his book with a snap. They were both out of the room before Cecile and Lisette had exchanged places.

  Now what was that about? Lisette wondered. She said, now that they were alone, "So, Cecile, if you were going to tell a ghost story, what kind of ghost would it be?"

  The brush caught in a tangle, and Cecile dragged it through.

  "Be careful!" Lisette snapped, holding her hands over the spot that still tingled. "Go slower."

  "Sorry," C
ecile said.

  "Ouch!"

  "Sorry."

  "OUCH!"

  "Sorry. If you brushed it once in a while, it wouldn't be so tangly."

  "I do brush," Lisette protested. "But my hair's thicker and curlier than yours. You can't—ouch!—Here, that's enough."

  "No, no, I've got it," Cecile said. "Just this one more tangle, then it'll be easier."

  Lisette tried not to squirm.

  Cecile said, "He'd be young."

  "Ouch. Who?"

  "The ghost."

  It was hard to concentrate on the conversation. "How young?"

  "My age."

  "Ouch! Cecile! Give me the brush."

  "No, wait. Let me put it up with a rubber band."

  "I don't want it up with a rubber band. I can never get those things out without having to cut— Ouch!" Lisette lunged for the brush.

  Cecile yanked it away in time. "Be that way." She was wearing her hurt, sulky expression. "I'll do Etienne's hair."

  "Fine," Lisette called after her. She remembered how Etienne and Louis Jerome had practically fallen over each other trying to get out of there. "If you can find him!" She rubbed her scalp. Finding out what Cecile knew about Gerard wasn't worth the pain.

  Except, she thought, that she had learned something.

  Cecile had described him as looking to be her own age.

  And even Cecile should be able to tell the difference between ten and thirteen.

  11.

  Tuesday, September 3, 1940

  The next morning dawned gray and rainy, and it looked as though it would stay gray and rainy all day. When Etienne came back in from feeding the rabbits—a twenty-second dash from the porch door to the rabbit hutch and back again—Aunt Josephine carried on for at least half an hour about the mud on his shoes. Lisette was relieved. There was no way Aunt Josephine would permit her to play outside, and there was no excuse Lisette could give for going up the hill. So it wasn't her fault that she wouldn't be able to keep her promise to Gerard.

  At first, Aunt Josephine announced that it was too wet to go into town. There was enough milk for Rachel, if the others did without, and since it was so cool in the basement, the ice hadn't melted from the day before, so the milk would keep all day. But after breakfast and the regular morning chores, the rain that had looked to keep on forever had lessened to a dismal drizzle. Rachel was in a wretched mood, crying with a bone-jarring twang that was worse than nails on a blackboard. It reminded Lisette of home. "Probably teething," Aunt Josephine said. She poured some whiskey on her finger and ran it over the baby's gums, but still Rachel fussed. Aunt Josephine decided to go marketing after all.