“I know, but I can’t seem to get past it.”
“All will be judged in the end, before the Lord, for their deeds on this earth. Matthew 25:46 says: And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.” He made the sign of the cross. “Say three Hail Mary’s.”
“Father, before you go, I could use your advice… for a… friend.”
“Speak to me of your concerns.”
“Well, my… friend, he’s… he’s a bit disillusioned about, you know, committing to this woman he cares for. Seems there’s been some bad history in the love department. Anyhow, I don’t know what to tell him.” André pinched the bridge of his nose. God, he sounded like a muttering fool.
“Has your friend done anything with this woman he should be confessing?”
“No. No, nothing like that,” André said a little too defensively as wishful images of them together in bed crept into his mind. Great! He tugged his fingers back and forth along the crease of his brow. There was no escape from her, even in church.
“Good, then I would tell your friend, love is a strong bond that in time can mend many aliments.”
“But how do I know--tell him, if he’s making the right decision to tell her how he feels, if it is love?”
“Hmm.” Father Francois fell silent and André suddenly felt like the walls of the small confessional were closing in on him.
“Good question, my son. Love is a leap of faith. Faith that your heart will be held in the good hands by the one you give it to.”
“And what happens if it’s crushed instead?”
“That doesn’t mean we give up; one’s heart is a strong muscle and will heal with the love of the right person. God created woman to keep man from isolation and loneliness. It’s up to you, I mean your friend,” he said with emphasis, “to let God’s gift into your heart. I would tell Géry--”
Why would I talk to him?” Puzzlement creased André’s brow. “
“He is the friend you speak of, no?”
“No.”
“Ah. My mistake.” Father Francois’ tone of voice had a funny ring to it, like he knew all along they weren’t talking about a “friend.” “I thought because he is infatuated with Eva tha--”
“Eva? No, I saw a picture of his gal.”
“Then he has misled you. My comrade, be careful. Jealousy can turn any friendship rotten.”
“Jealous? Me? No.” André shook his head, trying to knock around the thought that Géry was in love with Yvette. Could Géry be the “friend” who sent him that message? Could his attack be due to jealousy?
“André, I was referring to Géry. Only one man will be the victor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We are not in competition.” Father Francois was wrong. “Besides, I’m not vying for her attention.” He already had it.
“Then, dear boy, look in the mirror and see what I see. You are a man in love.”
***
For two days, Yvette locked herself in her hotel room, determined to harden her heart; rid herself of all foolish feelings toward André.
She reasoned it was better they give each other space. She argued she’d been a fool to give her heart away again, only to have it broken, then realized she would do it all over again. Why had she told André she loved him and how she could take it back? She reconfirmed she was better off without him, until memories of his kisses and how comforting it felt leaning on his strong shoulders made her want to run to him. It didn’t matter if he didn’t love her. Things could go on the way they were; she’d be satisfied. But in her heart, she knew she wouldn’t. She wanted a family. She wanted a man who loved her with the same burning desire she felt in her heart before the words, I care for you, doused that flame.
Now, as she stared down at the paper in her hand and reread the words for the second time, her tormented heart suffered from more turmoil. Who was this man; a man who could write so eloquently with such romantic ideals; who hoped for the kind of future she now dreamed of? When Madeleine handed her the paper and said it was important she read it, she didn’t realize she’d be getting a peek into André’s past dreams. She never knew. He never let on. War and a failed marriage had indeed done damage to his soul.
He wrote of hopes for love, dreams of a future full of children and laughter, romantic notions of growing old together, holding hands and despite the years, still being very much in love.
Yvette glanced down at the first line;
Love is the key that makes life worth living.
She ran her fingers over the line;
Love for a stranger now your soul-mate, a person you couldn’t imagine living without. Love for the tiny baby you hold in your arms, a miracle, a wonder who touches your heart like none other.
He ended with;
A love for family, a close bond that keeps your heart at home. This is the love that keeps the world alive. This is the love I dream of.
Tears pooled. She laid the paper in her lap and closed her eyes. Knowing he had never found that love broke her heart. Why couldn’t he realize, as she did, that despite all obstacles they had a chance at happiness? Why couldn’t he put aside old wounds and let her into his heart? He loved her. She could see it shining in his eyes when he looked at her, feel it in the way he held her. He did. He just had to.
Tears don’t help. She sniffed, then stood. Not one bit.
Madeleine gave her a personal view into her son’s soul and counted on her to set things straight between them. Determination straightened Yvette’s stance as she gathered up her coat and hat. She wasn’t going to let his mother down. She would make André see he only had to reach out to her and his dreams would be a reality. She’d make him understand that, despite this war, despite Amelia and his fears, there was hope for a future that included both of them. She had to, because there would be no happiness in her future without him.
***
“André’s not here.” But I am. Géry jingled the coins in his pocket, suppressing the strong need to hold the woman who had become his obsession. Eva was all he could think about. Not pulling her into his arms was leaving him frustrated. He barely ate. Barely slept.
“Where did he go?” Eva wrung her hands together. To hell. “Don’t know. Said he’d be gone a few days.” André. Always André.
“When? When did he leave?”
“Yesterday. You like my new suit?” Géry puffed out his chest and tugged on his lapel.
Her gaze bounced around the room. “It’s fine. Great. You look good.” She barely looked at him.
Géry’s nails dug into his thigh. “Stop worrying. He’ll be back.” Hopefully not soon. “This is a perfect time to get acquainted. Come. Sit.
She glanced around the room, “I guess. All right,” then stepped up to the chair he held out for her and sat.
“Right then.” Géry dragged a chair up beside her. “So how is your cousin?” He drummed his fingers against the table, the quick tapping keeping in rhyme with his leg.
“She is well.” A surge of happiness pushed away the worry in Eva’s eyes that, moments ago, made his hand clench.
“I got word Victorio was released and they managed to go home. I am sure my aunt is very happy. Thank you again, for all you did to get her released.”
“I’m glad it all worked out.” He became aware of her breasts beckoning to be touched… “Tell me about your family.” …aware of the way she licked her wet lips that called to mind other moist parts of her femininity. So distracted by the tug between his legs, he had to focus as she spoke about a father who had walked out, a wish he’d had many times as a young boy.
She spoke about her mother whose helplessness was a constant strain, a sentiment echoing his own feelings.
He nearly salivated when she pressed her fist between her breasts, then tugged at her blouse. As she twirled a finger through her hair, he envisioned his hand toying with her bristly thatches. The image hardened his groin.
She finished talking and he felt a connect
ion with her that firmly rooted his desires. They were meant to be together. She was what he had been searching for in every woman he had bedded who left him unfulfilled, unable to close the empty need dug by his miserable past. His erection was proof of that. He hadn’t even touched her and he could feel his need pumping, squeezing, closing a little tighter.
“Géry? She placed her hand over his, drawing his mind back to the present. “What time is the shipment of ammunition arriving?”
“What?”
“The ammunition. When is the delivery date?”
“We have it covered.”
André thought he had him fooled, fed him the wrong information, tried to make him think the drop off was on the other side of town. Won’t he be surprised.
“But--”
“Don’t argue.” Géry clenched, then unclenched his fist. His plan didn’t include her presence. She couldn’t get stuck in the crossfire.
“Géry you know I can’t do that. I want to help.”
“No.” He slammed his hands on the table and stood. “I won’t allow it.”
Eva’s eyes widened and he knew he had to calm down. Breathe. Gentlemen don’t rant, lose control. They were civil. She had to see him all civil-like.
“Excuse my abrupt outburst.” He held out his hand and she stood. “You must understand my concern for your well- being. This plan of ours is too dangerous and I would be devastated if anything should happen to you.” He forced a grin. “You do understand?”
Even now, as they spoke, his contacts were making ready. Surprise was the key. Preparation. Cunning. After tomorrow night, his purse would be a little heavier and he could start making plans for the future.
“I do. And I appreciate your concern,” she said.
“Good then.” He kissed her hand, the contact and anticipation making the ache in his groin that much harder.
He could just imagine André’s surprise when his little scheme didn’t go according to plan.
Yes. After tomorrow night, no one will stand in my way. In a few days, you will be mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
YVETTE PULLED HER SCARF around her neck and fought the cold wind that blew the brim of her wide blue hat up over her forehead.
Géry. Gosh. He seemed. Well… a bit crazy.
She couldn’t wait to get away from him yesterday. He didn’t want to let go of her hand after he insisted he walk her home. She knew he wanted to come in, but she refused him, which made the pupils in his eyes darken with a hard edge that unsettled her. Lately, she noticed a change in him. He seemed edgy and she didn’t like the friction between him and André. His abrupt outburst frightened her, not so much by his tone, but by the crazed, eerie look that came to his eyes. He seemed like a man on the edge, especially when he spoke about family.
She wished André had been there to save her from saying things she now regretted. Why had she told Géry about her family life? Maybe, because he felt no love from his own mother and she understood and sympathized with him. He’d been practically drooling, staring at her breasts, making her feel uncomfortable. She guessed that was why she kept rambling on without thought. She only patted his hand to get his attention and regretted her actions when lust sprang into his eyes. Whew. She shivered.
A gust of wind blew dirt in her face and she squinted against the onslaught, then moved closer to the building as she made her way down the street. She rounded the corner came to an abrupt stop, and threw herself against the wall. André stood leaning against a lamppost talking to a gendarme.
Wasn’t he supposed to be away? Yvette’s brow creased. She peeked around the building, not sure the debris hadn’t clogged her vision. She figured he was undercover, thus the lie about his whereabouts. But then why wouldn’t he be in the official French uniform? I’m sure he has his reasons, she mused, certain his quiet conversation was one of carefully planned false information.
Smiling with plans of sneaking up behind him, wrapping her arms around his magnificent body, then planting kisses on the back of his neck, she kept her back to the building, slipped forward then darted into a nearby doorway. Giddy, she titled her head, pulled her hat brim over her face and leaned her ear just a tad closer, careful to keep the rest of her body hidden.
“Their plan of action is set for tonight. I am certain.”
André’s words seemed to stop her heart. She blinked several times, not sure she fully comprehended his words. She leaned closer, certain she heard wrong.
“The information confirms the shipment of artillery. Ok, you don’t believe me. I understand, but that train derailment, the group that was arrested, who do you think gave you that information?”
Blood drained from Yvette’s cheeks as she leaned back against the building for support. Oh my God. She put her hands to her face. No. Not André. A sob rose in her throat, one she feared would give away her hiding place. Why would he betray the group? It didn’t make any sense. He had Louise arrested? Her mind seemed to freeze, overloaded with questions.
Old wounds clung, like mud, hardening her heart, clogging rational thoughts, drudging up the demons of her past. It was happening all over again. She peeked around the corner at the man she thought she knew.
“The guy who was just here, he’s one of my unit members, I sent him.”
She began to shake. She had finally put her past behind her and believed. Trusted.
“Look,” André said, “I expect payment.”
Yvette clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle the rising sob. The bitter taste of betrayal settled in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. Loss, anger and disbelief dug a knot in her chest. She couldn’t breathe.
“If anyone sees me here…”
“Come back tomorrow and you’ll have your money,” the officer replied.
Her gaze glued to the two men and emotionally drained when André finally walked away, she had to pry herself from the building. Dazed, she made her way toward her hotel. Irrational thoughts pelted her brain until there was nothing left but a numb ache. She entered her room and peeled off her clothing, not caring where they landed, then she sank onto her bed.
André had betrayed them. He told the police about the ammunition drop. Why? Why would he do that? She couldn’t think past the pounding headache exploding behind her eyelids, and she curled into a ball. But she heard him. Heard him! There was no denying it. It just didn’t seem right, logical. He couldn’t be the mole the whispered rumors spoke about. No. Yes. Maybe. Maybe there was another explanation. Yvette pinched the bridge of her nose.
He was the mole, his words confirmed what her mind didn’t what to grasp. He was the one leaking information. His loyalty to the cause was just an act. He sided with Pétain and Vichy. True, he saved lives, cared about children, and she knew that was not a front, but when it came to winning the war, he sided with the government. Why? Why? That didn’t make any sense.
She grabbed her stomach. God, she felt sick. She’d fallen in love with a traitor. What else had he lied about? His feelings? Had he ever been married, or was that just a lie to make her feel bad for him? Oh my God, oh my God. She hugged her pillow as tears threatened to fall and all hope for future happiness sank into the depths of satin fabric that seemed to swallow her up.
***
Hours later, when the moon shone through her window, Yvette put on her coat and stepped into the hallway. She eased the door to her hotel room gently closed so as not to awaken anyone and glanced down the long corridor.
She’d come to a decision as the hours of despair ticked away on the clock staring at her from the fireplace mantel. She had to warn them. She had to warm Géry and all those men whose patriotism matched her own. She wouldn’t let André’s treason put their lives in danger.
Thank God, despite Géry’s insistence she stay away, she had asked Jacques where and when the meeting place was. She hurried down the boulevard as light snow fell, a rare occurrence in this part of France, and the last thing she needed to slow her progress. Her gaze darted
around, assessing her surroundings, making sure no one followed; no one questioned her motives. A few people skirted past her, collars held up around their necks, hats pulled down over their heads as they hurried out of the frigid night. No one paid her any mind. The cafés were empty and an occasional bicyclist rolled past her.
By the time she made it to the edge of town and skirted around a crumbling stone wall that she remembered from the crude map, her nerves trembled. Waning moonlight flit across the sinister forest. She hesitated, not certain which way to go.
Suicide mission. The word sprinted her steps with purpose and she entered the dense foliage. Keen wind lashed her face and burned her ears. The air, scented with pines, carried fear. The darkness—trepidation. She choked back the dread clinging to her throat and tried to imagine a clear path before her. Her hands out in front of her like a protective barrier, she moved along trying to see, trying not to trip.
What if she was too late? A surge of renewed panic escaped, notching up her already erratic heartbeat. Puffs of terrified breath became swallowed up the darkness. No. Success was the only option, she told herself, trying not to think about what lurked in the shadows. She had to get there before the police. She just had to. In a desperate attempt to rush, her toes hit a fallen branch. She stumbled, grabbed a handful of leaves and caught herself. Frostbiting air attacked her chest like shards of frozen ice. She reached out to her sides feeling tree branches and sharp pine needles and moved slowly, ducking and swatting at dangling foliage.
The moon peeked out. Evergreens moaned and creaked and as they danced in the wind, their drooping foliage cast distorted shadows. Her breath caught. Panic threatened to take control, but determined to succeed, she pushed herself forward. Despite the small flashlight she flicked on and off, she couldn’t see. Didn’t know which way to go. The terrifying darkness seemed to squeeze in around her and she prayed she headed in the right direction.
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