by Erika Robuck
“If the invasion comes before we’re able to receive another drop,” she whispers, “and I don’t see you for a while, know that you are equipped and ready.”
A quiet cheer goes up in the group. They raise their hands together, shaking them.
“Shhh,” she says, smiling. “Listen. After D-Day, the war really begins. The Allies will start dropping teams of soldiers—Jedburghs, they’re called—with at least one French officer in each group. They’ll command you, and you’ll be able to fall in with the Allied armies, like the soldiers you are.”
“No longer terrorists,” says a maquisard, his voice breaking.
Lavi pulls the man into a hug and looks over the maquisard’s shoulder at Virginia with stark gratitude. The moonlight illuminates the tears on Lavi’s face. They look like the rivers that pilots follow in the dark. Seeing his emotion releases a shard of ice in her heart. The group falls together in a clumsy sort of hug.
“All right, now,” Virginia says. “That’s enough.”
Then they all disperse, allowing the night to shelter them.
* * *
—
Several mornings later, Virginia nearly leaps from the bicycle while it’s in motion. She leans it against a tree in front of Estelle’s place and rushes to the farm stalls, peeking in each until she finds her friend. When she does, she stops short in the doorway, surprised to see three children with Estelle. They kneel in the hay, watching baby goats attempt to take their first wobbly steps. Estelle turns her head when Virginia’s shadow falls over them. Two small girls cower into the side of an adolescent boy who has a patch of white in his brown hair.
“It’s all right,” says Estelle. She stands and wipes her hands on her bloody apron. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Virginia steps outside and looks up and down the road for Nazi vehicles, relieved to see they are alone.
“What is it, my friend?” says Estelle.
“D-Day is coming.”
Estelle breaks out into a wide smile and lifts her eyes to heaven.
“How do you know?” Estelle says. “There’s been nothing about the violins of autumn on the broadcasts.”
“In my last transmission, HQ said, ‘Autumn is coming.’ They want troop movement reports as soon as possible.”
“Oh,” breathes Estelle.
“I know,” says Virginia. “I need to let the others know. We should all be listening together each night, if possible.”
“Tell Mimi and her family to come stay with me. Lavi, too, if he’d like. There aren’t as many troops here as in town at Cosne.”
“All right,” says Virginia. “One more thing. I need to make first contact with Chambon as soon as possible to find the leader of the Maquis. They need to start securing safe houses for me when I move on, and HQ needs numbers of men.”
“I’ll get to work on that immediately,” says Estelle. “I have a trip coming up.”
She notices Estelle’s eyes flick toward the goat stalls and back to Virginia. She wants to ask Estelle if Chambon is haunted and, if so, how many ghosts it has, but she restrains herself. She’ll know soon enough.
* * *
—
When Virginia arrives in the forest, she’s glad to see an even more organized camp of well-fed men in good spirits, ready to begin railway sabotage at a moment’s notice.
“HQ will be pleased at how you’ve used your resources,” she says.
“You’ll let them know how grateful we are?” says Lavi.
“I will.”
He’s amenable to the plan to stay at Estelle’s until the signal. There’s nothing more he can do for the men now but pace with them in their prison. He’d rather have the time to rest with his family before the fighting starts. Neither of them has to say aloud what he really means, that he wants the time with Mimi and his son in case he doesn’t survive.
He hands her a paper.
“I’ve had the men copying notices to hang throughout the entire department, once we hear the violins of autumn.”
She takes it and reads.
the hour we have long awaited has arrived.
The words go on to rally French citizens to join forces with the Allies to bring about the liberation.
“I can barely contain myself,” he says.
“I know,” she says. “Me, too.”
After returning to her cottage to pack her wireless suitcase and a small bag of necessities, she goes to Estelle’s place. Lavi’s family is already there, and she’s scarcely had time to stow her things in the garret before the boy pulls her by the hand down the staircase.
“Come, see,” he says, pushing open the great doors to the formal dining room and standing aside to admit her.
What was once a dark, dusty cavern of sheet-filled furniture is now a glittering gem. The heavy wood furniture has been scrubbed, the drapes beaten, the chandelier polished and lit, its candlelight amplified by its reflection along the ornate wall mirrors and the gleaming place settings. Cheeses and breads adorn the serving dishes. Seeing the spread elicits a loud growl from Virginia’s stomach, much to the amusement of the group.
Estelle’s father beams from his wheelchair at the head of the table, the bottle of Barros Porto next to his goblet. He rolls himself over to her, places his hand over his heart, and bows as much as he’s able.
“Will you accept my deepest apologies and gratitude?” he asks.
She kneels to his eye level and takes his hands.
“You don’t have to apologize for being a vigilant, careful soldier.”
He kisses her hands.
She returns to standing and looks again at all of them, her affection for them punctured by the remembrance of her feast with the Lopinats and the three musketeers. She tries not to panic, not to think this is the beginning of the end for them, but she can’t help it. Estelle sees her struggling and saves her by instructing everyone to take their seats.
The chatter around her is warm and lively, but she feels apart from it. She can’t help but think of all the people who should be around this table and tables like it—of Louis, of Estelle’s late husband, of the three musketeers, the members of her Lyon network. Her distress at not being able to fully enjoy this moment is acute, especially when the awful memory flashes before her so clearly, she could be standing on the main street in Crozant where the peasants are impaled on fence spikes. A little touch on her arm brings her back.
“Are you having one of your awake nightmares?” the boy asks.
She concentrates on the weight and comfort of his warm, steady hand.
“Yes,” she says.
“Do you see the mountain?”
“No, not this time.”
“Something worse?”
“Yes,” she says. “But you helped wake me up again. Thank you.”
He smiles at her and shoves a slice of cheese in his mouth.
She forces down a bite of bread. The tightness in her throat makes it difficult to swallow, but washing it down with a sip of the port Estelle’s father insisted on sharing helps. As she finishes the glass, a word from Sophie gets her attention.
“Louis,” Sophie says. “He and the others have been moved to Fresnes, just outside the city. There are reports of dozens of agents who’ve been rounded up and sent there. I’m working on a contact now.”
Virginia’s heart sinks. Fresnes is another solitary-confinement prison, infested with bugs and disease. Few agents have escaped it. Many haven’t survived. The worst part: Fresnes is a holding place before deportation. He’s going to be shipped out to a concentration camp. Her only consolation is that he isn’t at Montluc. On the outskirts of Lyon, it’s a prison of brutality and torture, and it’s under the command of Klaus Barbie. If Barbie found out Louis was back, he might guess that she also returned. Virginia doesn’t think Louis would ever break under to
rture, but either way Barbie would take his time destroying Louis.
“I’m encouraged by early leads,” says Sophie. “And the location is better than Cherche-Midi’s. It has to be easier to spring a man from farther outside the capital than deeper in it. Don’t you think so, Diane?”
They all turn to her, eyes full of hope and expectation. She’s able to muster a small nod. Sophie beams. Estelle and Mimi exchange a look before returning their attention to their meals.
After every morsel is eaten, and they work together to clean, Lavi carries Estelle’s father up the stairs, while Mimi and Estelle take the wheelchair. The rest of them follow, gathering in the old man’s room to listen to the BBC. The group is full of laughter and hope, sure the announcer’s voice sounds different, more ebullient. When the personal messages begin, they all hold their breath, waiting for the words Les sanglots longs des violons de l’automne.
But the broadcast ends without them.
Chapter 20
The next night’s broadcast also ends without the words.
And the next night.
And the next.
By May 30, Lavi is in a state. They all are, stuck in limbo, waiting for invasion. The weather has been awful—rain and wind every day. Estelle has been holding off on her trip to Chambon. Sophie hasn’t worked on a contact at Fresnes. They’re getting short-tempered with one another. They look at Virginia with side-glances. After another silent breakfast over stale bread and the last of Virginia’s English tea, Lavi pushes back from the table, and throws his napkin on his plate.
“I can’t stand this any longer.”
“Darling, please,” says Mimi.
“I’m leaving.”
“Don’t go,” says Mimi.
“This is torture,” he says, staring at Virginia like a bull in a pen. “Sipping British tea in luxury, while my men live like animals.”
I’m as disappointed as you are, Virginia wants to say, but deep down she knows that can’t be true. Her position as an American is different from theirs. Her sorrows can’t compare. She shouldn’t have shared HQ’s message. Her own dashed hope is pressure enough. The added weight of theirs is crushing.
“At least come back at night,” Mimi says. “We all have to listen together.”
“I won’t make any promises.”
“Your men don’t need you until the invasion.”
“If there is one!” he shouts.
Sensing the roof about to blow, Sophie takes the boy out to the goat stalls.
“I at least need to be there to talk the men out of what they want to do,” Lavi continues. “They want to start with sabotage now. I’ve been holding them off, but I might not any longer.”
“That would be suicide,” says Virginia.
She stands and crosses the room to the window, staring out at the rain.
“Really?” he says.
He strides over to her. She turns to him, meeting his stare.
“You know what’s suicide?” he says. “Suicide is sitting in the woods rotting, while visions of Nazis sleeping in your beds, and eating your food in your kitchens, and raping your daughters, and killing your brothers assault you.”
“Stop!” says Mimi, crossing the room and grasping Lavi’s arm.
“We sit there with cold weapons in pits,” he continues. “Every day three trains travel on the line to the north, and do you know what’s on them? Our friends. Our neighbors. Our brothers being shipped to who knows where, while we sit here on a pile of explosives that could stop them. Think about it. If you knew Louis was traveling tomorrow, wouldn’t you want to blow up the line that would stop them?”
“Don’t put it that way, Lavi,” says Virginia. “Don’t dare act like I wouldn’t strap a bundle of dynamite to myself to stop them from taking Louis. Until the Allies land, there’s no distraction from reprisals. You sabotage now, the boches will have time to hunt and kill you. And your family. If you want to change the momentum of this war, you have to wait until you have the support you need, until you can join the light of your torch with the flames of armies.”
“What armies? Where are they? They aren’t coming!”
“You’re wrong,” says Virginia. “And if you die before that day, you won’t be here to enjoy blowing the Nazis back to hell with us.”
Lavi breathes heavily. After a moment, he leaves them, slamming the door on his way out.
“I’m sorry for his outburst,” says Mimi.
“Don’t be. I have to give myself that speech a dozen times a day.”
“Do you think he’ll come back tonight?” says Estelle.
“It’s hard to say,” says Mimi. “I don’t have to tell you how stubborn he is.”
Exasperated, Mimi leaves them to find her son and Sophie.
“Will you be all right if I go for the night?” says Estelle. “I need to get my ghosts on their way.”
“Of course,” says Virginia. “I’ll look after your father.”
“Thank you.”
“I should never have shared what HQ said. I’ve made this worse.”
“No,” says Estelle. “We’d be in this place either way.”
“You’re kind to say so.”
“When I come back, I’ll have a contact for you.”
“Good.”
Her friend pulls on her coat and wraps her head in a black covering, giving her the appearance of a nun. The image of Virginia’s friend, the sister from Lyon, comes to mind. Estelle suddenly looks very small and defeated. Vulnerable. A terrible feeling rises in Virginia.
“Be careful,” she says.
“Always.”
Virginia stays to clean up after breakfast. From the kitchen window, a movement catches her eye. It’s Estelle, leaving the house with her suitcase, crossing the field to the barn. Her form grows smaller and smaller until the rain and fog erase her.
* * *
—
Lavi doesn’t return that night.
The broadcast has no violins.
Sophie leaves the next day.
In between sitting with Estelle’s father and her farm chores, Virginia watches the lane, desperate for Estelle’s return.
Morning becomes afternoon. Afternoon rushes terribly toward evening. The rain continues.
“She will come back today, oui?” says Estelle’s father. Virginia plumps his pillows and helps him resettle in the large bed.
“I think so. She said one night,” says Virginia, working to keep her voice light.
“Good. So, anytime now. I’m so afraid for her when she travels.”
“Estelle is strong and capable. I have confidence in her.”
A lie. War consumes the strong and capable every day.
After she finishes helping him with his soup, Virginia pours him a small glass of port and leaves him to take her supper with Mimi and her son. They silently agree the dining room is too large—too much a reminder of all those not at the table—and choose to eat in the kitchen. All they can hear is the rain pelting the windows, and the clinks of their spoons on their bowls. Even the boy—normally an unflappable chatterbox—is quiet. They all strain their ears, praying to hear the door open and close, but it doesn’t. By the time they’ve finished eating and cleaning, night has fallen.
“The weather probably keeps them away,” says Mimi.
The boy smiles, accepting his mother’s words without question. Virginia wants to do the same, but the truth is, she’s already trying to process what will happen if Estelle never returns. She’s trying to imagine what that possibility means to this household, to her mission, and to herself. If she plans for the worst, she’ll be able to carry on. That’s what she tells herself.
Radio reception is poor that night. The broadcast, short. Do they imagine tension in the voice of the announcer? Do they miss notice of the violins of autumn?
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When the program concludes, Mimi and her son leave Virginia in silence to stow the radio away and see to Estelle’s father. He sits at the window in his wheelchair, holding his gun, refusing to go to bed.
“I’ll watch for her,” he says.
“Monsieur,” says Virginia, “Estelle would want you warm in bed. She can take care of herself. She’ll be home tomorrow.”
“She said she’d be home today. She has never not come when she said she would.”
“The weather is bad.”
“Then she’ll be cold when she arrives. I’ll stay up for her and keep the fire going.”
It’s clear he won’t listen to her. She brings him a blanket, lays it across his lap, and walks to the door. Before heading for the garret, she turns back and looks at him. He’s so small and frail against the large window. She won’t be able to sleep while he stays up all night struggling to add logs to the fire. With a sigh, she returns to the room and closes the door. She pulls a chair to sit with him at the window, keeping watch.
* * *
—
The worst thing about staying up all night is the torment of old memories from which one cannot awaken. All the worries and regrets and guilt she’s able to suppress in the industrious hours of daylight grow from the night’s shadows, overwhelming her with their darkness.
It’s as if she’s back at the doctor’s office in Lyon, when she’d agreed to meet the betrayer to give him funding for the Paris circuit. In spite of HQ continuing to insist his checks were good, all her instincts were on alert.
“Louis said there were a slew of agent arrests in Paris,” she’d said. “I think this man is a traitor.”
