Chapter 7 – All the King's horses
November 1940
Twelve… thirteen… fourteen…
That was the last of them. She counted. The lone tree now stood bare of all its raiment in the wake of winter, its last leaves lying on the ground, lifeless, rotting. She squatted down and picked up the palest one. The autumnal brownish hue had faded away, devoured by the ghostly white. Withered and dry, it crumbled to crusts within one squeeze. So easy. So pathetic. Opening up her palm, she let them fall and join the rest of the pitiful leaves piled up waiting to be burned.
Another winter had come.
Smiling goodbye to the leaving churchgoers, Roxanne hurriedly swept the scattered leaves into place. The sun would be setting soon and there were other chores to be finished. She put a match to the leaf pile and watched as it blazed up before her eyes.
"Burning leaves can be harmful to your health, you know?" said a teasing voice.
Alarmed at the familiar voice, Roxanne immediately turned around, her hands clutching tightly onto her matchbox. Quick to hide her shock, she looked away from the grinning man sitting so comfortably on the bench.
"Why is that?" she spoke softly, her eyes fixing upon the bright flame.
His left cheek resting against his hand, Johan watched the girl before him with an intense focus, if just to intentionally make her feel more uncomfortable. This peculiar girl. She might look like his sister but their personalities were poles apart. Surely there were more pressing matters she should be asking?
"Aren't you at least a little curious how I found you?"
Roxanne picked up her broom and turned to walk back to the chapel. "All right, how did you find me?" she asked, not looking back at him.
Giving in to the amusement, he got up and followed her, one hand in his pocket and another stifling back his chuckle. "If I can let you go, I can find you." Johan was never trained in the art of verbal jousting as his friend Zachery but he had his own way around words that got to people. More specifically, they got to people's nerves.
Resisting the urge to tell him that that didn't really answer anything, Roxanne continued. "Just you?"
Still no sign of nervousness. A little hesitation would have been nice, he thought. "You're scared?"
"That depends." She would be lying if she said otherwise. Of course she was scared, but not of death. She was scared of them tracing her ties back to Gabrielle's family. She was scared of them harassing everyone in this church for harboring her.
"Are you scared of me?" he asked.
Roxanne paused briefly and turned to his face. "No." With that she continued walking. Simple logic. If he wanted to arrest or kill her, he would have done so by now. She hadn't forgotten the fact that he had helped her escaped, but people changed their minds all the time. Germany, especially, was not well-known for keeping its promises to its allies.
Johan smiled at her reply. He had expected just that. "Well, you have no reason to be. Nobody else knows."
"What are you doing here?" she finally asked.
"What, can't I visit the church?" he grinned. At first he was only curious to see how she was doing, then it became a regular routine of his unemployment life. For a few weeks now he had been going to this church, just to stop at the gate and watch her from the café across the street. It was not as though he was scared of coming up to talk to her, ask her how she was holding up, tell her to be a little more discreet. He wasn't torn by guilt or something like that. No, he was not. He would never be held back by such emotional constraint. Not anymore. Perhaps it was just more fun that way.
Today was different.
"You?" Roxanne couldn't help but spare him a sneer.
"What's wrong with me?"
"People like you…" She stared irritably into his eyes as she tried to find the words. But the humor present there told her this was pointless. "Just forget it." She turned away and hastened her walk.
"People like me? Speak for yourself. What's a Jewish girl doing in a Catholic Church?" He felt the realization dawn on him the moment the words left his mouth. But he didn't have enough time to mend the offense.
"That's because you Germans bombed all of our synagogues!" she turned around and slashed out at him, her violet eyes burning with fury. She knew it was wrong to be here, yet there was nowhere else to turn to. This was the only place people like her could hide.
"I apologize. That was a very stupid and hurtful thing to say," he said solemnly.
She did nothing to acknowledge his apology. Their walk became much quieter.
Johan had wanted to turn around and go home at that point, but as they walked past the central yard, a certain object captured his attention.
"Say, how come I've never seen anyone ring that giant bell over there?"
Roxanne stopped to look at the bell towards which he was pointing. There in the middle of the church yard sat the giant bell as old as the town itself. When rung, its toll could be heard several miles away.
"It is only played on the day of a wedding, or a funeral." In light of the recent events, the church had temporarily closed such services. They didn't want to attract unwanted attention.
"Hah, they're pretty much the same thing," he chuckled.
Again she didn't reply to his remark. As they reached the main chapel, Roxanne stopped in front of the doors, her back to him. "You want to go in and pray? We're closing soon."
"I don't believe in God," he replied. If there were such thing as a God who listened to and answered your prayers, he wouldn't be standing here now.
Letting out a heavy sigh, she turned to face him. "Then what are you doing here?"
Staring down at her visibly annoyed face, he smiled. "I'll come again tomorrow."
Waving her goodbye, he walked back to the front gate, leaving behind the vexed girl.
Marianne tapped four times on the door, each knock heavier than the last. "It's me," she said softly. Still, the basement was quiet enough for her voice.
The door clicked from the inside and a pair of onyx eyes appeared from behind the small crack. Upon settling on her features, the look on them softened. Another click came and swiftly Marianne disappeared behind the door.
"Sorry I'm late. Got held up at the studio." Marianne hurried out of her coat and habitually swung it on the rack as she waltzed into the room. "You wouldn't believe the tantrum Beatrice was throwing at poor Leopold. It was his first kiss scene onscreen!" She stopped to grab a glass from the cupboard before turning to the people sitting at the table. "He's only twelve months old, for God's sake." She had no idea how the casting director saw that woman fit as a mother figure.
"Well, evening to you too, hun." Her brunette childhood friend greeted her with a soft chuckle as she sat down.
Aside from Gabrielle and her two mentors, the other members did not exactly have a pleased expression on their face. One would think they would be more understanding given they were all working in the same industry and well-versed in Beatrice's infamous overtime schedule.
"So, who's gonna get me up to speed?" She glanced around the table and shot a teasing wink towards the man sitting opposite, whose hand was locked with that of the lovely woman next to him. "Arthur? Laure?"
"We haven't discussed much, actually," Arthur replied. "We figured we might as well wait for you since this time most of the arrangements involve you."
"Oh?" Her trained façade did not show if she was pleasantly surprised or otherwise. "All right. I'm here now."
"First order of business," he continued. "Our base will be moved again tomorrow. This theater's no long safe. Some Gestapo hounds had been spotted sniffing around the area. Problem is we haven't exactly found a new location yet."
"We can't go back to my house, right? Not after the incident last month," her friend spoke up.
"I thought you said they were only searching for Roxie?" asked Marianne.
"And to think we could have helped them shot two birds with one stone!" she exclaimed sarcastically, though the event of that day was still quite fresh in her memory.
"No, Gabrielle, we can't. Until the new base is settled, we won't be meeting for the time being." He shot a quick glance around the table. "Now, about the next shipment, it will arrive in the same fashion as last time. Only this time we're doubling the goods. So, Marianne…" He turned to her. "Are you ready for your next role?"
"Another war movie?" she replied half-heartedly.
"Yes. Sadly, normal movies don't usually involve that many guns and grenades," he chuckled.
Yes, they were smuggling weapons into the city as movie props. And yes, half of her studio staff were part of the French Resistance. So for two months now, blood had been her daily makeup, not that she would have complained had the films not been so pro-German. As it turned out, military occupation came hand in hand with media propaganda control and censorship. She was upset over the news then, and almost gave up on acting. Arthur was the one who talked her through it. It was the same when she first started acting. Even if the plot was horrendous, it was an actor's duty to carry through with his character, he had convinced her.
"When does filming begin?" Marianne asked.
"After the Light Festival. Because," he stressed. "We're not shipping from the French Resistance this time. Troubles are brewing down South."
"But who else would supply weapons for us?" she asked.
"Our old ally from the North," he smiled. "But since this is our first time working together, we need to establish contact first. Now, this is where you come in." His eyes returned to Marianne. "At the Festival, we'll be showing the last movie and make the announcement for the next one. There, you will meet with their contact. They should inform you of details of the next shipment."
"How will I know it's him, or her? British accent?" she said, faking said accent.
"I don't know who or where exactly that person will be. But, they gave us a code."
"British and their codes," she said irritably, leaning her head on Gabrielle's shoulder, worn-out. 'Or maybe they're testing us.' she thought. "What's the code?"
"All the King's horses."
She watched from the cold windows of her bedroom, a book half-opened in her hand, as three men were shouting down in the courtyard. Only one of them was actually doing the shouting, to be correct. The other two rarely got a word in. Though his voice was loud, his articulation was very poor, and thus she could not make out what they were talking about. The tallest among them was the quietest. She noticed that because he was blocking her view of the one standing on his left, who she assumed was getting ready to return the words of the opposite man once he was done shouting.
Her father had said a military officer must always be on alert, even in friendly territory. So when the pair of silver eyes turned abruptly towards her windows, Ameline merely nodded at him and spared him a brief, courteous smile. She only hoped he wouldn't be able to see the pinkish tinge that must have been donning her cheeks. But then again, she had known this man long enough to know that he would not misread such a thing.
She wondered if he could sense the disappointment bubbling inside her when the one she'd hope would turn around instead did not. She turned away from the windows and walked back to her desk, before said person would follow his gaze and really looked up.
Setting down her book, Ameline picked up the stack of letters waiting on her desk since this morning. One was from her mother, as part of her weekly letters. Two were from her friends in Berlin. And the last one, coated in an azure envelope, was an invitation from a new friend.
Dear Frau Ameline von Kluge,
It is my honor to invite you and your family to the opening ceremony of Lyon's traditional Festival of Lights, our Fête des Lumières. It will be held on the evening of December 5th at the city square.
With this being your first time in France, I feel I should inform you that post-ceremony Festival activities will continue until December 8th. I hope you will find them to your delight and look forward to seeing you at the Festival.
Yours truly,
Mayor Joffre.
Ameline folded the letter back into the envelop and returned to her book. She might have an idea as to what Johan was arguing with the other two.
End of Chapter 7.
A/N:
"All the King's horses" is from the rhyme "Humpty Dumpty". You know?
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.
