by Kate Breslin
“Ma petite soeur.” Jewel leaned to touch her cheek. “We will go very soon. That is another reason I came to see you. I wanted to tell you to be ready.”
“Where will we go?”
“Not a prison.” Jewel smiled. “Captain Kepler has promised to take me to our father in a few days.”
“And he will let me accompany you?”
“Of course he’ll allow it. Kepler will grant whatever I ask.” She squeezed Jo’s hand. “I want you by my side when we are reunited with our father.”
Jo’s heart filled with such pleasure and relief that it took a moment to realize the contradiction in her sister’s words. If Kepler was as accommodating as Jewel claimed, then why did her sister feel the need to slip away behind his back? “I don’t understand. If you and Kepler are in love, then why—”
“Goodness, no!” Jewel flicked her gloved wrist. “He loves me, so I know he won’t mind my asking you along.”
“So why hide our meeting? Are you afraid of him?”
“It is difficult to explain our relation amoureuse.” Her sister gave a pensive look. “Kepler . . . he can be dangerous when crossed. And while he is very attentive to me, I must take care when I am with him. I would not wish to turn him against me.” She eyed Jo, her eyes sad. “Like you, I have waited a long time to see our father.”
Jo’s compassion for her sister mingled with the uncertainty in her own heart. If Jewel was no longer attracted to Kepler, did she still have feelings for Colin?
The kiss on the beach again flashed in her mind, along with the ache in her heart. Jo needed to know the truth. “Do you hold the same affection for Colin . . . as you did a year ago?”
Jewel lifted a brow, her blue eyes dancing. “After seeing Madame Mabry in the register downstairs, I had thought you and Colin were amoureux.”
“Oh no!” Jo’s face flooded with heat. “I mean, we’ve only been posing as a married couple, much as you and Monsieur Outis have done. ’Tis all been very proper, I assure you. Colin and I are just friends.” She knew the last words for the lie they were, but Jo wanted to give her sister every chance. “So, do you still love him?”
Jewel sighed. “I released him from his promise in Toulouse. I no longer feel any romantic attachment to him.” She grinned. “In fact, if you wish to pursue his heart, you have my blessing.”
Jo’s immediate joy and relief were soon extinguished by doubt. “But you wrote pages and pages in your diary about your love for him, your hope to marry and have children. And about your grief when he left you behind.”
How could her sister now act so . . . unfeeling toward him? Irritation surged through her. Since Jewel claimed no affection for Kepler, was the situation as Colin had feared? Were her sister’s feelings so shallow as to be revolted by his prosthetic hand?
“What has happened to change your mind, Jewel?” Jo challenged her as she raised her left arm toward her sister. “Are you put off by his injury?”
Jewel leaned back, clearly surprised. “Don’t be silly, Johanna. I tended his wound a year ago, and it did not bother me then. Why should it do so now?” She paused. “It is exactly because a whole year has passed that my feelings for Colin have changed. I no longer hold him in the same regard.”
Jo dropped her arm, forcing a pleasant expression. Colin had told her it was a gash in his leg Jewel had tended, not the damage to his hand, which occurred months later.
Hair rose along her nape. Something was wrong. Jo decided to test her sister further. “Did you ever chance to meet Colin’s friend Wyatt?”
Jewel shook her head. “Non, and I am sorry for his death. None of the other soldiers were with Colin when he appeared out of the darkness and fell into my arms. I know the man was his good friend.”
Jo gazed at her sister as coldness swept through her. “What about the swan that drank tea? I read about it in your diary and wondered—”
“Why are you asking me all of these questions, Johanna?” Jewel rose from the bed with a trill laugh. “I feel as though we’re playing charades.”
Heart pounding, Jo feigned a contrite expression. “I’m sorry, Sister. I have so many things I’ve been saving up in my head to ask you. Please forgive me.”
Jewel’s taut expression eased. “No apology is necessary.” She glanced toward the door. “I should go. Kepler will be back soon.”
“How will you arrange things with him?”
“Do not worry, ma chère. I shall approach him when the time is right.” She took Jo’s hand. “Once I know exactly when we are to meet our father, I will return and let you know.”
Jo watched her replace the veil and then followed her on rubbery legs to the door.
“Until that time, take care of yourself.” Jewel reached again to brush a gloved finger across Jo’s cheek before she slipped out of the room.
Jo didn’t move for several moments, shock numbing her senses. Only belatedly did she realize Jewel had never once asked for the return of her precious diary.
No one but the daughters of Jacob Reyer could appreciate its value; Papa’s beautiful artwork was hidden against the leaf-edges of the book. And like Jo, her true sister had treasured it.
There was also the injury that hadn’t happened until after Havrincourt. And Wyatt was not a man, but a horse, which Jewel had known.
Which meant the woman in black was not Jewel. She was a stranger.
Jo’s insides ached with humiliation, rage, and confusion. She had called the woman her sister. She’d even cried in her arms!
Yet Colin too had felt certain it was Jewel, though he hadn’t actually seen her face behind the veil. She, on the other hand, had recognized him and spoken to him about her aunt and her difficulties living alone in occupied France. She even wore Jewel’s ring on the silver chain around her neck! A ring that connected her to Jo and her papa. Why is she pretending to be my sister? Where is Jewel?
Jo hugged herself and returned to the window. How did this woman know enough details from her sister’s life to try to dupe both Colin and herself into believing she was Jewel Reyer?
The diary, of course. The bookmark.
Was this woman the intruder in Jo’s room in Toulouse? If she had managed to read even a part of the diary, it would explain her knowledge of Colin’s time with Jewel at Havrincourt and their first meeting. Jewel had also written about the small garden behind the house, but nothing about their father’s pipe smoking. Had this stranger simply made up the rest, like some actress on a stage?
And how did she know about the diary in the first place?
Petit. Jo shivered as a chill coursed through her. Petit had drugged Colin that first night in Toulouse, taking his passport and documents, and he’d searched his bag. The American was with them at the jazz concert that night, keeping her and Colin away for several hours. He could have arranged for the diary to be taken from her room.
And if Petit was guilty, that meant Jo was all alone in Barcelona.
She stared out the open window, barely aware of the tram passing below her on the street or the guitars strumming Spanish music along the promenade. Jo wondered now if Petit had told her the truth when he said he’d spoken with Colin. Was her lieutenant still in Portbou wondering why she had abandoned him? She hadn’t even left him a note!
Rising from her window seat, Jo began to pace while fear and uncertainty tried to unnerve her. Except for Colin, she had no idea whom to trust, and right now she could only assume he must still be in the north.
For a moment, Jo considered putting through a telephone call to the hotel in Portbou. What she had to say, however, posed too much of a danger if overheard.
Instead, she quickly went to the desk and wrote out a few brief words to André at the dovecote in Vernon. When she had finished, she rolled up the tiny paper and withdrew from her kit bag the small metal capsule that strapped to Little Corporal’s leg.
Stuffing the note inside, Jo then retrieved her beloved little bird from his cage. She attached the capsule and took him ba
ck to the open window.
“Safe travels, my little one.” She spoke softly as she released him, watching his white wings flutter across the sky.
When her pigeon finally disappeared from view, Jo bent her head, and for the first time in her memory, she spoke to God.
You helped Colin to find me once, Lord. Now please let him find me again.
CHAPTER
22
Early the next morning, Jo awakened to the telephone ringing beside her bed.
Petit? Anxious, she rolled over and picked up the instrument. Yesterday, after the strange woman in black had left her room and Jo released Little Corporal to the skies, she continued to wait hours for word from the American.
He had sent Jo only a note through the front desk late last night, informing her Colin wasn’t on the train. Petit also promised to join her for breakfast this morning.
“Mrs. Mabry, good morning! Are you ready to meet me downstairs?”
“Mr. Petit.” Jo recognized his affable tone. She glanced at her nightgown. “I need a bit more time. Would a half hour be acceptable?”
“I’ll be waiting here in the lobby.”
Jo rang off and flopped back onto the bed, staring at the white-paneled ceiling. She wondered what she should say to him: Did you arrange to have an intruder enter my room in Toulouse and look at my sister’s diary? Are you acquainted with the phony woman in black posing as Jewel? Can I even trust you anymore, Mr. Petit?
Releasing a pent-up breath, she raised herself to sit on the edge of the bed. Of one question she was certain: had he really spoken to Colin in Portbou yesterday before their departure?
Sliding her feet to the floor, Jo padded off to the armoire to fetch her clothes. She hadn’t brought much in the way of dresses, so she chose the dark blue with matching wrap, and after she’d finished her toilette, she made for the elevator.
Downstairs, Petit waited near the front desk. “You look lovely today, Mrs. Mabry. I trust you got a good night’s sleep?”
Jo jerked a nod. “And you, Mr. Petit?”
Despite his smile, she noted the slight crease in his brow. Perhaps sensing her agitation? Jo considered waiting until after they had eaten to broach the subject of Colin. The dining room would be full of guests, after all.
“Slept like a log.” His smile broadened as he took her arm and escorted her into the restaurant. The delicious aromas of sausage, bacon, and yeasty bread filled the dining room. The hotel staff seemed surprisingly scarce; only three waiters rushed about the dining room, and it was several minutes before she and Petit were seated. In lieu of a menu, a sideboard with buffet fare had been prepared for the diners.
Jo served herself at the board, selecting pernil ibèric, a delicious cured ham, sliced paper thin; crusty baguettes covered in cheese; and pa amb tomàquet, the grated tomato on toast that was a breakfast staple of the city.
Pouring a glass of fresh orange juice from the pitcher, she overheard that a cook, a dishwasher, and two busboys were out sick with influenza.
Jo informed Petit of this once she returned to the table. Already he’d filled his plate, including xuixos, custard pastries fried and dusted with sugar. In addition, the waiter had brought them each a cup of cafè amb llet.
Petit tucked his napkin into his collar. “The desk clerk told me there are a few cases of influenza among the hotel staff. Don’t be surprised if you’re short on maid service.”
Jo had removed her gloves, and as she retrieved her fork, she saw Petit wasted no time tucking into his food. “Considering the scant help, I am grateful for room service, since I was left to my own resources yesterday. Otherwise, I should have starved.”
Petit paused, glancing at her. “I’m sorry for my lengthy absence yesterday, Mrs. Mabry. It was necessary to check in with my business associates.” He looked about the dining room before returning his attention to her. “A confidential reconnaissance involving our two friends.”
While Jo was somewhat appeased by his words, her distrust of Petit and the uncertainty of her situation in Barcelona remained. Was he telling the truth? She decided not to wait with her questions. “Tell me, Mr. Petit. How long have you known the woman with Kepler is not my sister?”
He’d taken a bite of the custard-filled pastry just as she asked the question, and he nearly spit the contents back onto the table as he began to convulse with coughing.
Jo’s irritation quickly turned to concern. “Are you all right, sir?”
He nodded, grabbing for his glass of water. He drank half before he recovered enough to speak. “Excuse me, Mrs. Mabry, but what kind of question is that?”
Despite her pounding pulse, Jo eyed him with a level gaze. “A direct one, I hope.” Ignoring his surprise, she relayed to him her conversation with the veiled woman. “Did you know she was an imposter? And where is Colin? Did he know about her, too?”
Dropping her fork onto the plate, she pressed her hands against the edge of the table and continued. “Did you in fact speak with him yesterday before we left . . . or was that another lie?”
“Whoa now—slow down, missy.” Petit set down his glass. “I did talk to your lieutenant, and you saw for yourself he was in no condition to travel. I fully expected him to arrive on the afternoon train.”
Petit pulled the linen napkin from his collar and tossed it on the table. “As for your visitor yesterday, I can’t say, but I’ll certainly check with my superiors.” He leaned in, his expression intent. “Until I get back, I want you to remain upstairs in your room. Do not open your door for anyone except me. Is that understood?”
Jo’s eyes widened. “Are you trying to scare me?” Her heart sped even faster as she too lost her appetite and set her napkin beside her plate.
“I’m only thinking of your safety.” His dark eyes held hers. “I ask your trust on this, Mrs. Mabry. It’s no joke.”
He looked so earnest, Jo couldn’t help wavering in her suspicions. Perhaps Petit hadn’t arranged for the intruder to enter her room. Could it have been Kepler?
She remembered how the Boche spy had looked at her and Colin before leaving Le Bibent that night. Kepler could have broken in and paged through the diary while she and Colin were with Petit at the jazz concert.
Still, Jo had doubts. Without Colin here, she could trust no one. She decided on an uneasy truce instead. “All right, Mr. Petit.”
She offered a smile, though it took effort. “I am still worried about Colin, though. With the illness that seems to be spreading, I hope he hasn’t contracted this flu. I shall telephone the hotel in Portbou once we finish breakfast.”
“I’d be happy to call him for you.” Petit’s smile faltered as he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The telephones are not private, Mrs. Mabry, and there are spies all over the city. We must be careful about what is discussed over public lines.”
As Jo knew only too well. “It is not necessary, Mr. Petit. I’ll be discreet.”
He paused, staring at her before he nodded. “Very well. Would you like to finish eating?”
Buoyed by the small victory, she inclined her head. “I do think my appetite has returned.”
His eyes glinted with the laughter in his voice. “And mine.”
Afterward, he escorted her upstairs to her room. “Remember what I said. Keep the door locked.” He paused. “And keep your telephone call short. Will you be all right until I return?”
“I’ll be fine. Just don’t leave me stranded here again.”
When she’d closed and locked her door, Jo heard his receding footsteps. She went to sit on the edge of her bed and telephoned the front desk, requesting a call be put through to the Vilars’ hotel in Portbou.
A few minutes later, the desk called back to inform her there was no answer. “Would you like me to try again later, madame?”
Jo’s hopes plummeted. “Yes, please. Let me know when you get a response.”
Returning to the window seat, she gazed out on the flower sellers and artists still plying their trade
. Horse-drawn wagons and a taxi clattered along the street.
Another hour passed before she turned toward the unmade bed. Petit’s comment about the lack of maid service amplified her worry over Colin’s health. What if he did have the flu?
She rose and made another call to the front desk. “Any luck?”
“No, madame. The operator insists there is much traffic on the lines. We will keep trying.”
Jo hung up and began pacing back and forth across the room, anxiety over Colin combining with a new fear at Petit’s implied warning. Was she in danger?
A thought struck, and she halted. What if Petit thought Kepler would come after her now that Jo knew the truth about the veiled woman?
And where in all of this was Jewel?
Having exhausted her nerves and her energy, Jo returned to lie on the bed. She reached for the diary on the nightstand, wondering anew about the fate of her real sister, and whether or not either of them would ever see their father again.
Curling up on her side, she stared out at the room, thinking of Colin. She missed his warm touch and his kind smiles, his steady reasoning. His kiss.
Most of all, she missed his goodness and strength. If only he would come and find her.
Had God heard her prayer yesterday? Or was it as she’d always believed, that miracles didn’t happen for people like her? The misbegotten. Leanbh tabhartha . . .
Tears blurred her vision before she ruthlessly wiped them away.
“I wish I could believe what you say, Colin.”
“You can, Johanna. It’s called faith.”
Hugging the diary to her chest, Jo finally closed her eyes. For his sake, then, if not her own, she would continue to pray for his safety and the safety of her sister.
CHAPTER
23
PORTBOU, SPAIN, APRIL 19
Ah, Lieutenant, bon dia. How did you sleep?”
Colin was on his way into breakfast and then to the post office when Senyor Vilar met him at the base of the stairs. “Well enough, I suppose.”
In truth, it had been a fitful night, though without the usual nightmares. And I wasn’t drugged.
