“I think maybe you should direct me in, Rose. Perhaps it’s time for me to rest.”
“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to burden you. Here, I’ll help you in. It’s almost supper time.” She tumbles her words out like a game of dice.
I wonder if I’m somehow included in her regrets. Perhaps she wishes I wouldn’t waste so much of her time. We stand, and she positions herself next to me. I feel her small hand close around my elbow. I follow her like a lamb, surprised at my trust in her.
My trust was pretty much destroyed in Givet. General Daily had told me to trust no one when I became a spy, and he’d been right. I should have heeded him; then, maybe, Gretchen would still be alive . . .
Late August 1915
Webaashi Bay
Two years prior
“Let me present Mme. Maude Montreaux, our local, celebrated seamstress, who has had some of her designs bought by a famous fashion house in New York.”
“Oohs” and “Ahhs” could be heard throughout the town hall.
“She’ll be giving us some tips today on how to save by remaking old clothes into something new instead of buying new material or outfits.”
Lily Parsons stepped back from the podium, and Maude stepped forward. Lily thought Maude a lovely, middle-aged woman. Her navy dress, accented in long, lean lines of white, fit her snugly. Her graying hair fringed her face, bobbed in a trendy cut. Shockingly, she wore a tinge of rouge upon her lips and cheeks.
“My dears, I am so glad to be here,” Maude said sincerely. She smiled her winning, toothy grin. “Now, I’ve been told you have been instructed to come prepared today with sewing supplies and a well-used, man’s shirt in lighter cloth, with fabric well enough to be recut and redesigned.
“This will be our project today.” Maude held up a cute apron in a checked fabric, with coordinating, big, patch pockets and a thick waistband and ties. “This design is made from an old shirt of my husband Harold’s. I have a pattern you may use, and I’ll show you just where to cut the shirt. If you’re careful, two of them can be made. I also brought in scraps of fabric I had on hand which can be used for the pockets and seamed together for the waistband, or you can simply use the backside of the shirt for those as well.” Maude clapped her hands together with a smile. “Let’s get started.”
Lily had previously set up some tables in the town hall, and the women clustered their chairs around them. They worked happily away at their project, asking questions now and then of Maude, who gladly offered her assistance.
Lily looked around the room at the women visiting cheerily and happily engaged in their craft. This is one of the best things I’ve done.
It had been a divine inspiration to form a lady’s club. Here they could encourage each other to be frugal during this time of war.
Even Mauve had come, with Pearl, although at the moment she nursed instead of sewed. At least she’s out in the company of other ladies.
Her spirits had been pretty low of late. Nessa had told Lily that Mauve had a tinge of the “baby blues”. Mme. Cota had concocted some herbal tea to help with her melancholia. If Lily remembered right, it had contained borage, orange rind, lemon balm, and chamomile, blended with the spices of clove and nutmeg. Lily hoped it worked. She hated to see her friend so quiet and so unlike herself.
Lily toured the room once more before sitting down to work on her own project. She had an old, merlot, chambray shirt of her father’s which had seen better days and had been stashed in the rag bin.
Vanessa leaned towards Lily confidentially. “That’s the shirt your father wore when I met him?”
“Really?” Lily wondered how it was still around.
She remembered a little of how Nessa and her father had fallen in love, but she always wanted to hear the stories Nessa would share from time to time.
“Pop has kept this for more than twenty years?”
“The romantic in him, I suppose,” Vanessa said with a wistful tone and a faraway look in her eyes. “We met in the rail office. I thought him ruggedly handsome.” She winked at Lily.
Thinking of Nessa and her father made Lily think of family and of Luis. Lily missed her mild-mannered brother.
She sent up a prayer in her thoughts. Please watch over him, wherever he is.
Since the notice of his missing status several months ago, they had heard nothing else. They tried desperately not to think the worst. Lily had been very glad of Mr. Bellevue’s decision to come live with them, finally, after years of pleading from Vanessa. Nessa seemed so much more stable with her old friend by her side.
“Lily?” Vanessa squinted at her. Her work was poised under a large magnifying glass on a stand. She needed the extra power of the lens, plus her glasses, to see well enough to sew.
“Sorry. Lost in thought.” Lily tucked a few more stitches in the hem of her apron in the making.
“What about?”
Lily didn’t want to say. She didn’t want to derail Nessa’s chipper attitude.
“Oh nothing. I guess, remembering when you came. I thought you the prettiest lady I’d ever seen.”
Vanessa blushed slightly and chuckled. “Goodness, you’ve never told me that.”
“And you still are.” Lily impulsively reached over and pecked her stepmother on the cheek.
Vanessa cupped Lily’s cheek with a hand. “Love you, Lil.”
“You too, Nessa.” Lily smiled brightly, her blue eyes shining, thankful for her family.
The women of the club worked companionably, and most finished their aprons before it was time to go. Lily stood up at 8:00 in the evening and dismissed the gathering.
“Thank you, Mme. Montreaux, for instructing us and offering your expertise.” Everyone clapped. “Our next meeting will be in November. The date and topic are yet to be determined, but when plans are finalized, I will pin an announcement on the community bulletin board in the post office.” Lily looked around the room, grateful for each lady, even the more persnickety ones. “Hope to see you all then.”
The group fizzled out little by little until Lily and Maude were the last ones left to close up.
“Vanessa told me you’ve started writing to James Smith,” Maude commented.
Lily sighed. That was supposed to be private information, but she couldn’t hold it against Nessa. It had probably slipped out when Nessa and Maude had last visited.
“Oh, yes. It’s good to keep up the men’s spirits,” Lily replied noncommittally.
“I remember him as a bit of a shyster when he was a lad.” Maude laughed outright. Her voice sounded like a bell in the near empty hall. It startled Lily. “One time he came into the shop with Nora, and while I helped her, he turned all the hats on the shelves and the mannequins backwards.”
Lily joined in her mirth. “Sounds like Jimmy.” She thought if they were swapping stories, hers might top Maud’s. “He once tacked my braid down to his desk, and when I got up, I got the yank of my life.” Lily rubbed her neck as if still in pain. She and Maude shared another giggle.
“Menfolk, they are funny critters. Did you know Harold was so tongue-tied when he first came into my shop and met me, he could barely speak?”
“How strange. I would never have guessed. M. Montreaux is such a confident, well-spoken man.”
“He has not always been so.” Maude folded a length of fabric and turned a sideways, knowing look on Lily. “My point, I guess, is that men will do silly things when they’re in love.”
She’s somehow pinned the tail on the donkey there, thought Lily, but she kept quiet.
“Well, am I right?” Maude stuffed the last scrap of fabric into her bag and pushed the last chair back into place.
“Yes. I suppose you are.” Lily couldn’t help herself and blushed. “It’s funny. I never suspected I would . . . fall in love.”
“Well, it takes the best of us by surprise.”
The women gathered their bags in their hands. Lily turned out the lights and locked the door.
“Too ba
d Natalie isn’t open this late. I fancy a piece of her chocolate pie.” Maude smiled slyly. “I’m not ashamed of my weakness.”
“Well, I bet if we begged, she would let us in. Natalie does owe me a favor.” Lily grinned back under the light of the street’s lamppost.
“Let us not say we did not try.”
The two women went forth to beg entrance to The Eatery’s back door to satisfy their cravings.
September 1915
Givet
Since his advancement closer to the front lines, Luis had had to leave off getting his directives through the baker in Mertz. He continued to use the drop from time to time at the public house in Sedan, but for the most part, he used Gretchen as the avenue through which information flowed. Being stationed close to Givet allowed him to slip into the dairy on “official business”, presenting an unsuspicious cover. They’d also set up a secret meeting place in the copse of trees halfway between the dairy and his regiment, and it was where he had met her tonight.
“You’re to watch him,” Gretchen said. “We don’t know for sure if he’s divulging information to the Germans, but if you find he is . . .”
Luis swallowed. It was a dirty business, this being a spy.
He watched Gretchen search his face in the moonlight, her eyes icy pinpoints. Luis could sense the anger she held toward the operative they discussed.
“Ja,” he assured her.
“Do what you must to gain his trust. I cannot get a feel for where his loyalties lie anymore. He has . . . changed. My guess is, now, he’s loyal to whoever forks out the most money. He’s rather—unreadable—but perhaps I’m just too close to the situation.”
Gretchen stood near him, sheltered by the needled arms of a giant fir tree, its woodsy, citrusy scent a comfort.
Luis reached out for her suddenly and captured her in his arms. He was getting tired of the lies, the secrets, and the justified death sentences. He wanted to forget and take Gretchen somewhere safe away from it all. But Luis could make out no possible way of escape that would leave him with his integrity intact. He’d given his word, and he wouldn’t turn his back on his countrymen and their allies, who died in the trenches every day.
A scowl drooped Gretchen’s full lips. “I want my country back.” She grabbed Luis’s arms. “I want this all behind us.” She paused and stared up at him, her eyes like a begging puppy’s. “We must do whatever it takes to make that happen. Then we can . . .”
She didn’t finish and leaned back, putting some space between them.
This damned war! Every day Luis wished for it to end.
“Francois will make it seem like you are working for him. He . . . he trained me. He’s good at being a spy. I would have never thought . . . never guessed.” Her hands balled into fists by her side.
“Perhaps it’s not true that he plays both sides.”
“I would like to hope so, but something in my gut tells me he is.” Gretchen laughed bitterly. “People you’ve looked up to should be trustworthy, true to their character and beliefs, but the longer I live, the more I realize—people always disappoint you . . . in the end.”
Luis didn’t know if he agreed with her cynical view. He hoped she wouldn’t lump him in such a category.
“He’ll be at the farm?”
“Oui. Your cover is to pretend you glean from their store of food crops for your troops.”
“Ja. I know what to do.”
“Be careful, Gunther.”
Gretchen did not know his real name, nor he hers.
“Always.”
They lingered for some minutes in an embrace and went their separate ways, sticking to the shadows and the blanket of the night.
The next day
“I am here to take what is needed. You understand?” Luis held a straight face as he commanded the men with him to confiscate several bushels of potatoes.
“But, monsieur, we need this food . . .”
“I will teach you about need,” Luis growled out in his nastiest voice.
He dragged the man by the arm behind the barn, away from the sight of the other men.
Francois Dumas straightened his shirt and cravat. “Very good, monsieur. Very believable.”
“I was told you have something for me.”
Luis sized up the man before him. Francois looked lean, with wavy hair almost touching his shoulders. He sported a merlot beret on his crown, wore a thin mustache on his upper lip, and had a practiced, solid gaze and an unshakable steadiness about him. Luis couldn’t help instantly liking the man.
“Oui. You must beware, monsieur. All is not as it seems.”
Luis narrowed his eyes. “How’s that?”
“What is more convenient than a wartime love, eh?” Francois looked knowingly at Luis.
Luis felt like the tables had turned. Francois inspected him.
He obviously must know about me and Gretchen, but does he know it’s more than a cover?
“A believable cover, is it not?”
Francois shrugged and lifted up his hands. “Time will tell, but watch your back with that one.”
Luis’s estimation of the man decreased. Gretchen worked hard and loyalty ran in her veins, but he had to make it appear like he agreed with him. Francois had been told Luis had requested a different contact, which was Luis’s excuse to gauge Francois’s dealings.
“It’s over anyway, I think.” Luis shrugged.
Francois pinned Luis down with his eyes and said nothing more about it. “Your ear is needed. Generaloberst Wagner is said to be headed this way with his plan to push westward. You need to find out the details. Do what you must to gain access to the information.”
Luis grimaced. “It’ll be tricky. I’m usually not privy to such meetings, and I highly doubt there will be files floating around.”
“Find a way.”
“Ja.” Luis had practice doing the impossible.
“Now, you must make it seem like we’ve had a tussle.” Francois turned his cheek towards Luis, the hard muscle in his jaw twitching under his skin.
Luis hesitated but a moment before backhanding Francois with some force. An immediate, red mark rose to the surface of Francois’s cheek, accompanied by a light, bleeding gash.
“Another.” Francois closed his eyes and turned his head back towards Luis, who obliged him with one more crack. “Now, a performance for our audience.” Francois pointed back to the troop of Luis’s men.
Luis grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, verbally berating Francois as he neared the men. When they made it back around the barn, Luis thrust Francois ahead of him. Francois then scurried away, pretending submission.
While Francois and Luis had been behind the barn, Luis’s men had gathered the required quota of goods. Luis nodded to his men, turned on his heel, resumed his seat in the truck, and thought about how he’d access the secret plans of Generaloberst Wagner while being chauffeured away. It would take some clever scheming. He had never thought he’d be using his creative abilities for spying, but, then, one could never truly know what depths one might be requested to dive into.
Several days later
Being creative hadn’t been all that necessary after all. It had come down to eavesdropping—the oldest spy trick in the book. But he had to get closer. Luis crept along the building housing the general’s office hoping the warm evening weather had forced General Ostermann to open his window. He knew the generaloberst was ensconced with General Ostermann in his office. He’d seen the light on and the shadows of two figures. He prayed the officers on guard wouldn’t detect any movement. He didn’t need to get caught lurking outside.
Luis inched up close to the windowpane. I’m in luck.
It was open a crack, and he could hear, barely. He strained his ears to focus on their words.
“You know what Generalfieldmarchall Lemlich commands, General Ostermann.”
“Ja, Generaloberst, but I question whether this is the right strategy. We must think offensively,” Ostermann responde
d.
“Wasn’t the gas offensive enough?” Generaloberst Wagner asked. “Besides, who are we to question authority?”
Luis had been told Generaloberst Wilhelm Wagner was a man of order, of obedience. He probably didn’t care if Ostermann was one of Lemlich’s pet officers.
“By what date are we to join this force? I thought we had a job to do here?” Ostermann objected.
“Others will move in to take your place. By Christmas, you and your division are to be stationed at the rear of the forces near the ridge. Our initiative is to fortify those troops. The French and the British have been boils on the back of those fighting there. Their constant pestering must stop. We must stay in control of the rail lines through Arres, and Vimy Ridge allows our force strategic sight to stay in control.”
“Very well,” Ostermann conceded. Cigar smoke floated out the window. “I will start my men on the march by the end of October.”
“Gut,” Generaloberst Wagner said.
Luis heard them cease their conversation and could only think they were on the move. He slunk as close to the ground as he could and slowly made his way around the building until he knew he would be out of sight of the guards. He stealthily made his way back to his tent.
He entered the safety of his tent and formed his first thought. I’ll have to leave Gretchen behind, but maybe it’s for the best.
He’d gotten far too close to her, and it might be safer for them both if he put some distance between them. But the thought of being closer to an area of combat gave him concern.
Will I have to kill my own men?
How could he do that? He needed to make sure to contact Marcus. Maybe it was time to get out.
Luis wondered if he should pass on what he’d heard to Francois or Gretchen. Probably both, but Gretchen first. He would get word to her to meet him in the woods again.
Sept. 25th, 1915
Dear Mom, Dad, Celeste, Lizzy, Maang-ikwe, and Frances,
Silver Moon Page 16
