Aubrielle's Call (5 page)

A man stuck his head out of the truck window. “
Bonjour, monsieur
.” The driver called, then opened the door. “John, is that you?”

It took John a moment to place the voice.
“
François!
Bonjour, mon ami.
” He approached the vehicle.

“What are you doing in the middle of the road?”

John chuckled. “I couldn’t get on the train to Paris.”

“So you thought to walk?” François laughed, shaking his head with amusement. “You Americans. You never said you were going to Paris, or I would have offered a ride. Hop in.”

John set his bag and chest into the back of the truck with the remaining items from the
Giselle-Marie
. He recognized the two crates of weapons, secured and covered by a canvas tarp. He opened the passenger door. “Thank you.”

“You’ve changed your clothes.” Billy moved to make room. “I wouldn’t have recognized you except for your size.”

François put the truck in gear, and they picked up speed. “You must tell me, are all Americans as big as you?”

* * *

The sharp urgency pointed toward his love slid across his scalp from above his right eye to behind his ear. The sensation woke him, and he blinked several times as he sat upright and looked out the window. The truck moved slower, and the world had disappeared into a cloud. “What time is it?”

François glanced at John and chuckled. “Early,
mon ami
. The sun should have risen, but today…” His shrug finished the sentence.

“Where are we?” John re-centered the pinprick between his brows. Past his reflection in the side window, he could just make out a river beyond the fog.

Billy blinked and cleared his throat. “Is this Paris?” He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Yes.” François pointed at the river. “This river, she is the Seine. She winds her way through the city.”

“I need to get out.” John set his hat firmly on his head and straightened his coat.”

“Now?” François’s brows rose.

“Yes. Right now.” John indicated the curb ahead. “Pull over and let me out here.”

When the truck stopped, John reached over Billy and shook François’s hand. “You’ve been a lifesaver.
Merci, mon ami.
”

François released his grip. “
Vous êtes le bienvenu
, my American friend
.”

John closed the door and pulled his duffel and chest from the back. He turned his collar up and hurried down the street to the bridge. Agaria was close. He could sense her movements on his forehead.

CHAPTER 7

Aubrielle led Éclair across the Alma Bridge toward the
Champ-de-Mars
in the morning fog
.
A cold mist had moved across Paris overnight. This morning, a thick cloud snaked along the Seine spilling outward over the banks and across the city. The heavy sky hid the top of the tower from view as she crossed the street to the park entrance. She stopped near the tower and looked back along the empty street.

Footsteps, unheard until now, echoed through the mist and then stopped.

“
Bonjour
?” The vapor confined the light from the streetlamp into a bright globe above her head and allowed little illumination of the street behind her. “Is someone there?” Her voice, dampened by the moist air received no response.

Uneasy, she held tight to Éclair’s lead and continued beneath the tower. The squeak of the wagon wheels and the muffled beat of her pony’s hooves were the only sounds inside the cloud. When she reached her usual morning spot, she gave Éclair his feedbag and lifted the cover from her merchandise to study her wares. The lilies and lavender still looked fresh, but the roses all bowed their heads as though in prayer.

No one will buy these
.

She plucked the roses from the containers, tossed them in the wagon, and rearranged the display to look as full and inviting as possible.

She paused, long stem in hand, as a tingling sensation passed across the nape of her neck. To her right a bell chimed.

The low clouds carried the moist fishy scent of the river and masked her view of the tower.
The nearby trash receptacle, a smudge of darkness, appeared to move as vapor shifted. For a brief moment, the shadowy outline of a tall man appeared. When the gloom thickened, he vanished into the mist.

Close by, in the other direction, the pastry vendor sat beside his pushcart filled with croissants and sipped a warm beverage. Steam rose from his cup and blended with the fog. He never glanced her way.

Aubrielle shivered.
What’s wrong with me?

She finished grooming her display, muttering to herself as she pulled a stool from the wagon. “I should have stayed home.” There would be no tourists in the park with this weather. Still, it would be shameful to let what remained of her merchandise fail, undisplayed in the backyard. Besides, Papa had refused to get out of bed this morning and had called her Marguerite, her mother’s name, several times.

That’s another reason I’m unsettled
.

As soon as Mrs. Moroney had arrived with fresh baked bread, she had hurried out the back door.

I should have brought a piece of bread with me
.

She cast another glance at the pastry vendor and felt for coins in her coat pocket.
No luck
. She’d left them on her dresser at home.

“Your neighbor said I would find you here.”

The voice beside her ear startled her, and she came to her feet. Hand to her chest, she spun and faced Henri Vogl, her flower broker. “Henri. You frightened me.”

He laughed and ran his hand down the arm of her wool coat. “I see that. Why so nervous,
ma petite fleur
?”

Aubrielle shrugged off Henri’s hand and stepped back. Henri could always make her uncomfortable. His thick shock of blond hair and flirtatious manner annoyed her. Although other women might find the broad-shouldered man attractive, Aubrielle did not. “What do you want?”

Henri’s grin widened, and his scrutiny drifted down her coat to her legs then made its way back to her face. One brow lifted. “That depends on you.”

Aubrielle shook her head. “I cannot restock again this season.” She held out her hand to the empty park. “The petals fade before I can sell them. Besides, I have not the funds to buy more.”

“We could work something out,
mon petit bouton de rose
.” Henri’s eyes narrowed as he grasped her arm again. “Walk with me.”

“Leave Éclair and my flowers unattended?” She jerked her arm from his grip. “
Non.
I will not.”

* * *

The urgent pain between John’s eyes dissolved as his gaze rested on a young park vendor.
A flower girl?
He strained to see her through the mist as she arranged her floral display in the back of an old wagon. Her well-worn coat spoke of hard times, but the bright red triangle scarf tied over dark hair made John smile. Now that she stood only a few yards away, he hesitated.

She won’t know me. I’ve made that mistake before.

The young woman pulled a stool from her wagon and sat beside her wares, casting furtive glances at the bread vendor a few paces away.

She’s hungry.

John gulped the moist air as his heart contracted. Driven by a will not entirely his own he moved forward, and then came to an abrupt halt as a gentleman crept up behind her. The blond, broad-shouldered man bent and whispered in her ear.

A friend? A lover?

John cursed the clouds that blocked his view and crossed the pavement in time to see his flower girl jerk her arm back in anger.

A threat?

“
Non
. I will not.” She addressed the blond-haired man with a sharp tone.

The weight of the .38 pressed against John’s side as he grasped a handful of her flowers. “Excuse me—”

Both heads turned toward John.

The girl’s eyes widened in confused recognition.

The man’s eyes narrowed. His glare rose to John’s face.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” John murmured and grinned down at the man.

“No, no. Not at all.” The girl brushed past the man’s shoulders. “
Au revoir
, Henri.”

Henri gave the girl a long look then stalked away.

“A friend of yours?” John asked as he handed her the coins for the bouquet.

“Not really.” She refused to look him in the eye. “A business acquaintance.” The coins slipped into her empty coat pocket without a sound. “
Merci
.” Her smile didn’t reach her wary dark eyes as she pulled the wedge from beneath the front wheel and tossed her stool in the back of the wagon. “Enjoy your day.” She tugged her pony's lead and led her cart away.

* * *

Aubrielle walked Éclair toward the exit and passed beneath the tower near the footing.

I was right
.

The tall man had been watching her. She’d seen his large, unmistakable outline in the mist. Between Henri’s odd behavior, and the giant in the fog, her knees shook as she led Éclair onto the street. Mrs. Moroney’s warning about attacks on young women near the park prompted her to hurry home.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Was he following her?

She quickened her pace beside the Seine and onto the Alma Bridge. At the top, she paused and brushed a hand along Éclair’s withers while she searched the shadows behind her. The clouds had begun to lift in the park, but along the river, the fog remained thick. She couldn’t see past the edge of the water to the street. With a tight grip on her pony’s lead, she made her way over the bridge. The further she moved from the river, the brighter the day became. Once she locked the backyard gate, she felt foolish at her fears and chuckled at herself. Never before had she allowed her imagination to pull her reason out by the roots.

She stopped in the kitchen and listened to the house. Papa’s shallow, even wheeze told her he slept in his room down the hall. On the kitchen table, Mrs. Moroney had left her a handwritten note. A bank official had come to the house and asked about the mortgage payment. Their finances had been in arrears for several months, ever since Papa had stopped working.

Aubrielle crumpled the note and shoved it into the pocket of her coat. Cold metal brushed her knuckles. She pulled the coins from her pocket and stacked them on the table.

I cannot make hats, but I can sell flowers.

She would go back to the park tomorrow, try harder somehow. Be friendlier. She shook her head as she walked to her room and lay on her bed. The tall stranger must think her unhinged, the way she had run off. She closed her eyes thinking about him.

Firm hands shook Aubrielle awake. She sat up in bed and blinked at
Tante
Mae. “What time is it?”

“Just a wee bit past five. I’ve sent my baker lads home and brought supper for you and your Papa.”

Aubrielle nodded and scrubbed her hand across her face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“And sound asleep you were, too.”
Tante
Mae held out a paper document. “I found this taped to the shop door.”

Aubrielle took the document and pulled it open. She read the text and her gaze rose to her neighbor. “We’ve been evicted.” Her hand trembled as she read the notice through tear-filled eyes. “It says we are eight months in arrears and have to be out of the shop and apartment by the first of the New Year.”

Tante
Mae eased her hips onto the narrow bed beside Aubrielle. “I know, darlin’. I’ve been expecting this.”

“You have?”

“Aye.” The older woman nodded and pushed and errant black curl streaked with gray from her forehead. “Your Papa can’t keep the shop. It’s a hard truth he’ll have to understand.”

“But—where will we go?” Aubrielle sniffed.

“You’ll both move in with me, of course. I rattle around in an empty apartment. Besides, I’m over here more than at home.” She nodded and pulled Aubrielle close.

Aubrielle clung to the dear woman as equal parts defeat and relief washed over her. “Why would you do that for us?”

“Here now, enough tears.”
Tante
Mae pushed Aubrielle’s dark hair from her face and kissed her forehead. “Your
Mama
was my dearest friend for many years. She held my hand when my beloved Oscar died.” Mae lifted Aubrielle’s chin and met her gaze. “She and I swore to take care of each other, and before she passed, I promised her I’d watch over you and your Papa.”

“Are you sure?” Aubrielle shook her head. “How can we impose like that?” Tears slipped from her eyes, and she hung her head.

“Ah, my sweet Brie. It would be easier for me to have you close so I can tend to Lou.” She lifted Aubrielle’s chin with her finger. A smile lifted the corner of Mae’s lips. “There is even room for Éclair in the back if need be. You could still sell your flowers.”

Aubrielle wiped her face and grinned at
Tante
Mae. “I am done with selling flowers. Soldiers do not buy them, and the tourists have left Paris.”

“Well then, you’ll have to sell something else. How about baguettes and croissants? I have plenty and soldiers need to eat.”

“That’s true, but there is another
boulangerie
selling croissants in the park.”

“There will be room for two. It is a very large park.”