AN: Thanks Marie for getting me thinking about the sequel, which takes place two years later.
Maurice, where are you? Genevieve thought, watching the clock's hands creep across its face. You told me you'd be home by midnight. It's now 1:30 and there's still no sign of you.
She shifted in the rocking chair, seeking a soft part of the cushion. It was Maurice's favourite chair to sit in when he was home. Sometimes, if she closed her eyes and inhaled the lingering smell of his home-rolled cigarettes and handmade soap, she could conjure such a clear picture of him, she'd swear he was behind her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her cheek.
"Maman?"
Genevieve opened her eyes and turned to her curly-haired son. "Lucien," she murmured, stifling a yawn. "What are you doing out of bed?"
He rubbed his eyes, which were the same shade of brown as his father's. "I can't sleep. I had a bad dream."
She patted the chair's arm. "Poor darling. Dreams can be so frightful. Come sit with Maman and she'll make it better."
He fiddled with his worn pajamas. "Can I sit in your lap?"
She nodded. "Only if you're careful."
His face brightened as he eased into the chair, ensuring he avoided her eight-month pregnant belly. "Tell me about Papa."
She laughed. "You remember him well enough. You saw him not too long ago."
"I know, but I like to hear you talk about him."
Genevieve glanced at the clock again, fighting a nauseous feeling more intense than any morning sickness she'd ever experienced. "Well, your papa's a brave, strong, handsome man. He has a wonderful smile and a big heart. I remember once he found a boy on the street begging for money to buy some bread. Not only did your father buy the bread, he bought a week's worth of cheese and milk to go with it." She stroked her son's forehead. "I'll never forget how that child thanked him a thousand times when he gave him that grocer's bag. I told your father he must be an angel sent from heaven. He shrugged and said, 'I hate to see children suffer. They should always smile because it makes the world a beautiful place.' That's when I really fell in love with him.
"Of course, I wasn't the first woman to feel that way. All the girls loved his good looks and charm. He always had seven or eight of them clamoring around him, hanging onto his every word like he was General de Gaulle. He never seemed to notice me until one day, when your grand-père asked me to bring them some wine while they talked 'business.' I spilled your father's glass in his lap. He was very chivalrous, taking the blame for my clumsiness, but every day after that, he called me Petite Claret, after the wine they'd been drinking. We started to talk about what we wanted from our lives and the more we talked, the less I saw of the other girls. Then, one day, he asked me to marry him." Genevieve paused when her son let off a soft snore. How wonderful it is to be so young. I haven't slept that soundly since I was a little girl.
Balancing herself with one arm and holding Lucien with the other, she pulled herself out of the chair and carried him to bed. I must have tired the poor boy out, talking about Maurice so much. Her face fell as she glanced at the clock again. It's nearly two now. Where is he?
She flipped on a dim light when she entered Lucien's room and waddled to his bed. Try not to worry so much, you fool, she thought as she laid the boy down. You haven't seen each other in more than half a year; what do another few minutes matter? He probably had to take another way home to avoid the Gestapo. Or maybe he stopped to visit Little Boy Blue, Cock Robin or one of our other friends.
As long as it's not Abrielle.
She stretched her tired back, stifling a laugh. Ridiculous! Why would he visit her? He knows I can't stand her—the way she throws herself at him, like he was still a bachelor. He wouldn't do that to me, no matter how much of a Romeo he used to be.
Or would he?
"Stop letting your imagination run away with you," she scolded herself. "If you believe that, you might as well believe he's in Berlin dining with the Fuehrer himself."
Genevieve froze when sharp pounding sounded on her door. That's not an underground code. She turned off the light and hurried to answer it. Her blood ran cold when she saw the Gestapo agent on the other side. If a man's eyes are the window to his soul, his have nothing but evil to show the world.
"Guten Abend, Madame DuBois." His voice was harder than his gaze. "I'm sorry to bother you at such a late hour, but may I speak to your husband?"
A small gasp almost escaped her lips. "I'm sorry, he's not here."
The German's eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his brown fedora. "How odd. He knows there's a curfew on, doesn't he?"
Her mind raced. "He does, but he fears the wrath of a wife with pregnancy cravings more than any punishment the authorities could give him."
He stared at her stomach as if it was an infected boil in need of lancing. "It's late. No stores that sell food are open now."
"He went to a very understanding friend's home to get some radishes, if it's any of your business."
He nodded. "You sure that's all he's doing?"
Another wave of nausea washed over Genevieve. "Listen, Herr…."
"Hempel."
"I don't know what you're driving at. My husband may have broken the rules, but I assure you, he did it for a good cause."
He grinned wickedly. "I'm sure he thinks he is. You see Madame, earlier this evening, the French Underground stole some papers from Carlingue* headquarters. My men caught most of those responsible in the act and shot them. There was one man, however, who escaped. That man matches the description we have of your husband."
Genevieve closed her eyes against an image of Maurice dodging bullets as he ran through the streets. "Surely you're mistaken. He would never do something so wicked. We're loyal to the Third Reich."
Hempel lowered his voice to a menacing tone. "I assure you, Madame DuBois, there's no mistake. We've been watching your husband for quite some time and we believe he's been involved in several activities meant to undermine German authority in France. Now, I'll give you one more chance before I take more drastic measures. Where is your husband?"
A tear stung Genevieve's face. Oh, Maurice, I had an awful feeling something like this would happen the last time you left. Please God, let him be all right.
He reached for the gun. "Well? Answer me!" he hissed.
Her throat caught as she tried to speak. What if he's bleeding to death in some alley with only the rats to keep him company? Oh, my poor Maurice, all alone, cold and frightened. That's no way for even the lowest form of life to die.
His poem for Lucien sprung to her mind. If I should die before you wake, please pray the Lord for my own sake.
Why did you say those horrible words?she thought. Surely, you knew you were tempting fate with such thoughts.
"Chérie?" Genevieve looked up and forced herself to remain calm as her husband approached, brushing dirt from his leather jacket. "I asked Louis and Marie if they had any radishes, but they said they were fresh out. I'm afraid your cravings will have to go unsatisfied tonight." He frowned at Hempel. "What do you want?"
Hempel glared at DuBois. "What do you know about the raid on Carlingue headquarters tonight?"
DuBois shook his head. "Nothing. I don't know what you're talking about."
Hempel grabbed Genevieve and pressed his pistol to her neck. "One more lie and she dies. Now, where were you tonight?"
Genevieve gulped, wondering if they could hear her heart pounding. Mon Dieu, don't let it end this way. Not with the baby still in my womb.
Maurice's face mirrored her thoughts. "I was looking for radishes for my wife, I swear," he pleaded.
"Where is Little Boy Blue?"
DuBois shook his head. "I don't know any Little Boy Blue other than the one in my son's story books."
I'm sorry for all those horrible thoughts I had,Maurice, Genevieve thought. I never should've doubted you. Mon Dieu, I'm sorry for every sin I've committed and for any pain I've caused my fellow Frenchmen. Please, don't let him pull the trigger.
"Where are the plans you stole tonight?"
DuBois shook his head harder. "I have no papers other than my own. I'm not guilty of stealing whatever you think I have."
"Who is your leader?"
"The Fuehrer. I swear on my life and my wife's that he's the only one I'm loyal to." He fell to his knees. "Please, I'll do anything you ask. Just don't kill her."
Hempel cocked the trigger. "Empty your pockets, slowly."
Genevieve marveled at how calmly her husband obeyed the order. I would be shaking and throwing myself at his feet, begging for mercy it if he were pointing this gun at you instead of me.
"Remove your jacket."
DuBois complied and folded his arms as the Gestapo agent removed the pistol
from Genevieve's neck and inspected the clothing. "Monsieur!" he shouted when Hempel tore out the lining. "Please be careful! My wife gave me that for Christmas."
The German gave a frustrated grunt and threw the jacket back at DuBois. "You know, I could shoot you for treason right now and no one would question my judgment. But I'm not going to do that. It would be infinitely more satisfying to catch you in the act." He shoved Genevieve aside. "And when I do, I'll take great pleasure in watching you beg for you and your family's filthy French lives. Now, get out of my sight."
DuBois led Genevieve inside as Hempel stormed away. "Are you all right, chérie?" he whispered once he closed the door. "Did he hurt you?" He stared at her belly. "Mon Dieu, you're going to have another baby? Why didn't you send word? And what are you doing up so late in your condition?" He hugged her tightly. "Oh, Petite Claret, I'm sorry I put you in danger. I ran into Blue on my way home and he asked me if I'd help with that raid. Everything was going according to plan when all Hell broke loose. I had to run all over France to get the plans to our contact without getting caught. And when I heard you talking to that dirty Bosche, I was so afraid…."
Genevieve shook her head and kissed him hard. "It doesn't matter anymore. Just hold me."
*French Gestapo.