November 1943
Just as I had done for months, I woke up before the sun. I slipped from my bed, careful not to wake Aishe, stepping very deliberately around the room on my tippy toes, still remembering the most quiet path across the floorboards.
Just as I had done for months, I got dressed. I opened my wardrobe, shocked to see so many dresses, so many shirts, so many sweaters. I pulled out the dress I had worn on the day I met Cosima. It was too cold for a summer dress, but I wore two sweaters to compensate. I regarded myself in the mirror. I wondered if she'd recognize me. Because though my hair was neat and my clothes were straight, I hardly seemed to recognize myself at all.
I sighed, and then, just as I had done for years, I tucked one of Cosima's letters close to my chest, having decided weeks ago that I should rotate them, so as not to have them all fall to pieces at the same time.
I went downstairs and started my work.
I started in the kitchen, the place that seemed to have taken the brunt of Laurent's frustrations and neglect. I swept up the broken glass, the shards of porcelain plates, the shredded pages of old newspapers, the dust and the leaves. I swept them up into the dustpan and I dumped them into the trash, collecting all the chaos into one place, containing it for the time being, and removing it from sight.
I scoured the sink and the countertops, finding in the process, a heel of bread, a potato that had started to send out shoots, a bit of moldy cheese, and two eggs.
I wondered where they had come from. They were in varying degrees of decay, with the eggs still looking quite fresh. I set them aside in a bowl, and when I had finished cleaning up the rest of the kitchen I returned to them.
I cut the baguette into cubes and set the pieces to soak in the raw eggs. Then I cut away the mold from the cheese and I peeled away the shoots from the potato. Finally, I fried it all together in a pan.
And just as I had expected, I heard footsteps on the stairs within minutes of turning on the stove. I could tell by the weight of them that they belonged to Laurent, but when I turned around, I was surprised to see Aishe already sitting expectantly at the table.
I jumped at the sight of her.
Apparently I wasn't the only one who could move soundlessly across the rickety old floorboards.
"How long have you been there?" I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
Laurent stepped into the kitchen and much to my relief, he had trimmed his beard. He had cut his hair, too, and slicked it back with pomade. There was no sign of the madman that had climbed the stairs the day before.
"Bon jour," I said. "Are you hungry?"
"Famished," he said.
I divided the eggs into three meager portions, and set the plates on the table.
Laurent sat down, avoiding my gaze, and I sat down, too. Before he ate he crossed himself — a thing I'd never seen him do — and he whispered a prayer so quietly that I couldn't make out the words.
We ate in silence, save for the sound of our smacking lips, so it came as quite a surprise when there was a knock at the door.
I froze, daring not even to finish chewing the food in my mouth.
Laurent looked up, raising his finger to his lips, indicating the need for absolute silence.
There was another knock, this time softer, only three gentle taps of a knuckle.
Laurent's posture relaxed, just barely. He stood slowly and stepped to the door, pressing his ear to it. He stood like that for a long time, just listening, and then, when I thought I'd choke on the food in my mouth, he cracked open the door.
Every muscle in my body tensed. I was ready to run.
But then he smiled and pulled the door open. He picked something up off the ground.
Much to my surprise, when Laurent returned to the kitchen, he held a large bowl in his hands. He set it on the table and pulled off the kitchen towel that covered it, revealing four eggs and a bottle of fresh milk.
"From who?" I said.
"Lumiere."
"Madame Lumiere?"
"Non, Monsieur Lumiere. Madame Lumiere is not with us any longer."
"Not with us?" I said.
I could hardly believe it.
"She passed only a few weeks after mother and father."
"How?"
"A sickness, I think. I'm not sure. I only know because I saw the grave."
I swallowed hard, remembering the two white crosses in front of our own house.
"I see," I said.
"I'm still hungry," Aishe said.
"How about some milk?" Laurent said. "Doesn't that sound good...ehm..."
Laurent looked to me.
"Aishe," I said.
"Doesn't that sound good, Aishe?"
Laurent pulled three glasses down from the cupboard, and Aishe watched him with unblinking eyes. When he moved close to her, when he leaned to set her glass down, she scrambled under the table and clutched at my legs.
"It's okay," I said. "This is my brother, Laurent. We can trust him."
But even though she stood up, showing her face from below the table, she stayed between my legs, leaning her head back into my stomach as far as she could.
"She doesn't speak French," I said.
"Right, of course," Laurent said. "Ehm...something in German...Bäcker Braun bäckt braune Brezeln. Braune Brezeln bäckt Bäcker Braun."
Baker Brown bakes brown pretzels. Brown pretzels bakes baker Brown.
Aishe laughed and reached for the glass of milk, but I was pretty certain that Laurent had no idea what he was saying.
Encouraged, Laurent went on, spouting the tongue twisters I had taught him in order to impress the German boys at Le Chiot.
"Ehm...Fischers Fritz ißt frische Fische, frische Fische ißt Fischers Fritz."
Fischer's Fritz eats fresh fish, fresh fish eats Fischer's Fritz.
Aishe laughed again.
And for a moment we were happy. For a moment the room was filled with laughter, and the sky was filled with stars, and my mind was empty of fear.
But it was only a moment.
"Graben Grabengräber Gruben? Graben Grubengräber Gräben?" he went on. "Nein! Grabengräber graben Gräben. Grubengräber graben Gruben."
Do gravediggers dig ditches? Do ditchdiggers dig graves? No! Gravediggers dig graves. Ditchdiggers dig ditches.
Aishe laughed again, squirming in my lap and sipping at her milk. Laurent laughed, too, spitting the words out so fast that I had almost forgotten their meaning. I smiled despite the sour feeling in my stomach.
There was another knock at the door.
"I'll get it," I said, standing.
I thought it was Lumiere returning with more milk.
But then there was a second knock, more aggressive than the first.
"Delphine? It's me, Ethan."
I spun around, motioning wildly for Laurent to run. He scooped Aishe up into his arms. She would have screamed, but he covered her mouth with his hands. In a moment they were gone up the stairs.
"Delphine," Ethan repeated through the door. "I know you're in there. I can see the light."
"Ethan," I said. "You shouldn't have come."
"I just want to talk," he said.
"I don't want to talk. I want you to leave."
"But I have good news!"
"Unless it's papers for Aishe then I don't want to..."
"It's even better than that!"
"What?"
"Can you please let me in, so we don't have to shout about this through the door."
"No one can hear us."
"Delphine… I mean, Arianne..."
"If you don't have the papers, then I don't want to talk to you. Go away!"
"I have the papers!" he said. "I have them right here!"
I relented, pulling open the door, just the slightest.
"Hand them through the door," I said.
"Can't I come in?"
"No. If you have the papers, then just give them to me. If not, leave."
"It's more complicated than that," he said, taking the pack off of his back.
That's when I noticed that he wasn't in his uniform at all. He was in his plain clothes; a knit cap on his head, a heavy coat on his back, and thick wool trousers on his legs. But I recognized his black soldier's boots and they gave me chills. Over his shoulders he carried a traveling pack, and this is the pack that he had set on the doorstep.
He opened his bag and pulled out a thick envelope of documents. I felt butterflies. I wanted to reach out and grab the thing from him and slam the door in his face.
"Here," he said, holding the envelope out. "I've got everything right here. But some things I have to explain, if you'll just let me in."
"D'accord," I said. "But only for a minute. You will scare the girl."
We stepped into the kitchen, and to my horror, there were still three plates and three glasses of milk on the table. I moved as quickly as possible to the clear them away before he noticed.
"Say what you have to say," I said, standing a the sink with my back to him.
I heard him set the envelope on the table. I heard him pull the papers out. I heard him shuffle through them.
"There are a lot of documents here proving that the girl is your sister, and that you are her legal guardian, just like you asked."
"That's wonderful!" I said, turning around.
"But they are incomplete. You will have to sign them. If you will just sit down, then we can go through them together."
And though Ethan looked innocent, though there was a spark of joyfulness in his eyes, I couldn't shake my sour feeling.
Do gravediggers dig ditches?
"No," I said.
"No?"
He looked at me, confused and more than a little incredulous.
"No," I said again. "I want you to leave the documents here, and I'll look them over alone. You can pick them up in a few days."
"But we don't have a few days," he said with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"What do you mean, we?" I said.
He stared at me, tight-lipped.
"Look," he said, pointing at himself. "I'm ready to go right now. I pulled some strings, but we only have a few days."
"Ready to go where?" I said, feeling sicker and sicker.
"To Switzerland, like you wanted," he said, circling his finger in the air. "You and me and the girl."
I took a step back.
Do ditchdiggers dig graves?
"I told you, Ethan. I don't think that will work."
"But it's already done," he said. "I already told my commanding officer that I'm married. I've got three days for our honeymoon. That's three days to get a head start before anyone will know I'm missing."
"Three days?!" I said. "Honeymoon?! Have you lost your mind?!"
"Look!" he said, pointing harshly at the document. "I did what you wanted. She is your sister. It says so right here! You are the legal guardian. I will have no rights to her."
"That's not the point! The point is I won't marry you!"
"But I can save you! You and the girl!"
Nein!
"We don't need you to save us!"
"Oh, please be realistic, Delphine," he said harshly. "I think if I was you, I'd take whatever chance I had. There are a lot of bad men in this world, and those who would be more than happy to take advantage of any mademoiselle with no family and no connections, let alone a child."
As he spoke I forced myself to stare at his face, though I hated his face. But I made myself to stare into his eyes, never faltering in my gaze, because if I happened to look up, even just once, I would have given away Laurent's position.
He moved along the wall behind Ethan, never once making a peep on the floorboards. Once he reached the end of the wall, he crossed the entryway to the front door.
Gravediggers dig graves.
"Well," I said. "You're right about one thing...there are a lot of bad men in the world."
Ethan sighed as Laurent reached for the rifle.
"I'm glad you can listen to reason," Ethan said, pushing a document toward me. "Now you just have to sign here…"
"I'm not finished," I said.
"No?" he said, looking up.
Laurent approached — slowly, quietly — behind him.
"No," I said.
"Well, spit it out then. We really have to hurry."
"What I wanted to say is...you're wrong about the other thing."
"What other thing?"
Ditchdiggers dig ditches.
"I'm not alone," I said, watching as Laurent raised the butt end of the rifle up. "I've got family."
"Oh, yeah?" Ethan said with an incredulous laugh. "Where?"
"Right here!" Laurent said, slamming the butt of the rifle down against the base of Ethan's skull.
Ethan fell forward onto the table, his forehead making a sickening thud against the wood. And for several moments after, his body shook with spasms until finally he was still, his face down, his eyes closed.
"What have you done!?" I said.
"He can't be trusted," Laurent said calmly, setting the rifle aside. "I had to get rid of him."
"Is he dead?"
Laurent touched his neck.
"No."
He pulled Ethan's head up until his body was slouched against the chair back. After he had searched Ethan's pockets, he lifted up his coat, revealing a pistol tucked into the back of his trousers.
I watched, transfixed, as Laurent pulled the thing out, then tucked it into the back of his own trousers.
There was no doubt in my mind that the gun was loaded.
What did Ethan really come here for? I thought. Gravediggers dig graves.
"Help me! Quick!" Laurent said.
He reached under Ethan's armpits.
"Grab his feet!"
"His feet?"
"Yes. We have to get him to the cellar before he comes around."
"To the cellar? We can't just keep him prisoner!"
"Well, we can't let him go, either, can we?"
He was right. Of course, he was always right.
"Delphine! Grab his legs! Now!"
I grabbed him around the thighs, and lifted him up. He was much heavier than I expected, his soldier's boots only adding to the weight. It was an awkward sort of business, getting him down the narrow stairs into the cold, damp cellar, but we managed it.
Laurent laid him out on some old sacks of corn. Then he pulled Ethan's arms and legs back, tying his limbs behind him like he was some kind of animal.
"Is that really necessary?" I asked.
"We can't take any chances," Laurent said. "I don't trust him — not one bit!"
"But he's unarmed."
Laurent lunged forward, and that spark of madness was back in his eyes.
"You don't know what he's capable of!" he shouted right into my face. "But I do!"
I recoiled, instinctively shielding myself with my arms.
He stepped back. He shook his head as if he were a dog shaking off water.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"It's fine."
Just then, we heard delicate footsteps on the stairs. Aishe peeked into the cellar, leaning underneath the makeshift railing, the light from upstairs casting her whole body in shadows.
"Who's that?" she said.
"No one," I said.
I ushered her up the stairs and away from the scene. "It's just a friend. He needs a place to sleep for a while."
"Is he coming to Switzerland with us?"
"No," I said. "No, no. I don't think so."
Once she was upstairs, I turned back to Laurent.
"We have three days," I whispered. "Three days until someone comes looking for him. You better figure out what to do with him before that."
"Easy," Laurent said. "We leave him here and we run."
"But we can't leave...not yet!"
"Why not?"
Because my Dandelion has promised she will return!
"We don't have supplies… or a plan," I said, stumbling for a solid reason to stay despite the immediate danger.
"We don't need supplies," he said. "Not a plan, either. When you run, you just run."
I winced, remembering suddenly the blisters on his feet and the way he had hobbled up the road on the day he returned from the Eastern front.
"Well, I haven't had a chance to say goodbye," I said. "To mother and father."
I had meant it to be an irrefutable excuse, but as I murmured the words, I knew they were true.
Laurent must have known, too, because he relented, turning away.
"Then I guess you have three days," he said.
"Oui. Three days."
Laurent stayed in the cellar a long time. I went about cleaning the rest of the house, if only to give my shaking hands something to do.
I cleaned the bathroom, and there was no noise from the cellar.
I washed the dishes. I wiped the table.
I stripped the beds. I turned the mattresses. I washed the sheets.
I dusted every surface, every shelf, every centimeter of our rooms, and still there was no noise from the cellar.
I took Aishe into Rosheim, only slightly less frightened by the idea of taking her out into public as I was of leaving her in the house alone. We only went to the market for a moment. I kept my scarf tight around my face, and I kept my head down. I instructed Aishe to do the same, but soon her scarf fell away, and she attracted more than a few side-eyed glances.
I bought cabbage and potatoes because they were the cheapest, and a chicken because my mother had taught me how to make it last for many meals. I bought butter and flour, because I was certain I had enough other ingredients to make my own bread. It didn't seem wise to step foot in the bakery, where someone was sure to recognize me. Lastly, I bought some apples for Aishe, which she carried home happily.
It was only when we returned from the market, only when I pushed open the front door and stepped into the entryway; it was only then that we heard the sounds of a heated argument rising up through the cracks in the floorboards.
"How did you know she was here?!" Laurent shouted.
"Let me go! Why are you keeping me here?" Ethan said through sobs.
As soon as she heard the sound, Aishe clung to my shirtsleeve. She pulled me back toward the front door.
"Let's go! Let's go!" she whispered.
"It's okay," I said. "Shhhh!"
The shouts continued.
"Answer my question! How did you know?!"
"You're only making things worse for yourself!"
"Worse for myself?! Things can't get much worse for me. I'm already dead, didn't you know?!"
"Someone will come for me. You can't keep me here forever."
"Maybe," Laurent said. "Or maybe not."
Aishe tugged on my shirt sleeve again.
"Why are they fighting?" she asked with fear in her eyes.
"They're not fighting," I said. "They're just having a little disagreement. Adults do it sometimes. Don't worry."
But I set the groceries on the kitchen table and followed her outside.
"Let's build a snowman!" I said, leading her towards the barn and away from the house.
"There's not enough snow," she said.
"Well, that's no excuse. We can still try. It will just have to be a small one."
"Can we build a snow woman, instead?" she asked. "And a snow baby?"
"Of course!" I said. "Let's build a whole snow family!"
I tried to sound enthusiastic, but the last thing I wanted to do was make another family; especially one that could dissolve so quickly.
We walked to the barn where there was more snow on the ground, and I helped her roll the snowballs, asking her lots of questions about each family member in order to keep her talking.
"Who is this?" I would say.
"This is mama," she would say.
"And who is that?"
"This is baby."
I had to keep her talking because if we were silent, we could still hear the highest, harshest tones of Laurent's voice, or maybe that was just my imagination.
"And what is baby's name?"
"Aishe."
"And who is that? Is that the father?"
"No, that's brother."
"And does brother have a name?"
"Fordel," she said.
She shoved a pebble into the center of Fordel's face, creating a nose.
"Wow! Fordel is very handsome! How old is he?"
She didn't answer in words. She turned to me, with her bottom lip turned out. Then she held her hands up, showing seven bright red fingers.
"Seven? Wow! What a nice young man! And where is the father?"
She didn't answer. I couldn't hear anything else from the house, but my own mind was reeling with noisy, dangerous thoughts.
Three days. Only three days. When you run, you run.
"Is there a father?" I asked again.
"No," she said.
We must not hesitate. We must not make the same mistake.
Finally, when our family was finished, Aishe and I stood up straight and regarded the figures with a discerning eye.
"What a beautiful family," I said. "Should we make another one?"
"No."
I didn't want to take her back to the house, not just yet. I had to think of some way to distract her.
"I know!" I said. "Have you ever seen an airplane?"
She stretched her arms out like wings and raised her eyebrows.
"Yes, an airplane! Have you ever seen one?"
"Of course!" she said.
I laughed, because I'd never heard her use the expression before.
"Really? Where?"
"In the sky, of course!"
"Oh, I mean, have you ever seen one very close? A real one? On the ground?"
She shrugged her shoulders like it was a silly question.
I walked her to the barn doors, but when I leaned against them, I found them locked. I needed the key.
"You wait here," I said, but she was already kneeling down playing in the snow.
I grabbed the key from the house without completely opening the front door. No, I pushed it open only wide enough to reach my hand in. When I returned to the barn and unlocked the doors, Aishe stood up, brushing the snow from her red hands and wincing.
"Airplane," she said before I had even pushed open the door.
"Yes!" I said. "There is a real airplane inside. I'll show you!"
"No," she said. "Airplane."
She was pointing up, not at the barn door, but away from it. She was pointing at the sky.
I turned, looking up.
And that's when I saw it, the shadow a plane flying low in the sky. It was coming from the west, and heading east, heading toward Strasbourg.
But as soon as I saw it, it disappeared into an enormous gray cloud.
It can't be! I thought. It can't be her. Last time she came from the south.
I traced out the plane's trajectory with my eyes, waiting for it to emerge from the other side of the cloud. The sound of the engine trailed behind it, causing confusion to my eye.
I held my breath and prayed.
But then it reappeared, breaking out of the cloud and into the bright blue sky, the wings steady and sure, the metal body shimmering in the sunshine. It banked around and flew back in the direction of Rosheim, losing altitude by the moment.
I ran. Without realizing what I was doing, I ran back to the house. I ran toward the drive.
The plane banked around once more, until it was on a direct path for our drive, and then, in what could only have been seconds, it swooped down, the wheels stretching beneath it as if begging for solid ground.
I raised my hands to my mouth. I cried out in a mix of fear and disbelief.
But the landing was not smooth. The plane bounced once, twice, and a third time, the tires wobbling on the icy ground. It veered toward one side of the road and then the other. I thought for a moment that it would careen right into the wooden fence on either side, but then it straightened out, following the gentle slope of our hill until the thing stopped only meters from where I stood.
The propellor stopped. The glass hatch popped open. The pilot jumped from the plane, a leather cap on her head and large goggles on her face.
I fell to my knees in the snow and cried.
