Whisper on the Wind (32 page)

The press quieted and both of them set about bundling.

“Now whose stomach is growling?” Isa asked. He used to tease her about the protests her empty stomach made, but she’d distinctly heard his just now.

He didn’t look up, just kept working. “Amazing how you can do that.”

“Do what?”

He glanced at her with the first grin in two weeks. “Make your stomach noises sound like they’re coming from me. What form of ventriloquism is that, exactly?”

She took a step away from the table that was strewn with paper and stretched to relieve a stitch in her back. “Let’s go upstairs for something to eat.”

“Better check the all-clear light first.”

“Oh, I’m sure Pierrette is gone by now. She’s never stayed this long.”

“Isa—”

“You’re so cautious! All right, all right.”

They turned off the light just long enough to see that the all-clear light was not ignited.

Isa frowned, pressing the button to light the overhead again. “Maybe your mother forgot. Pierrette cannot still be here.”

Edward shook his head. “She wouldn’t forget.”

“Maybe she fell asleep.”

Edward lifted a brow. She could see he thought that a possibility. Sleep was all Genny seemed to do lately.

“I’ll be quiet,” Isa said. “If I hear anything from the kitchen, I’ll come back out without being seen.”

“I’ll go.”

“No. I know the kitchen better than you do and where to find what we’ll need.”

“All right.” But he closed the two steps between them and put his hand gently around her wrist. “Be careful.”

She nodded and let herself out.

Isa crept up the stairs silently, slowly pushing the door at the top. It creaked. She stopped. The sound had been slight, barely a scrape of metal on the hinge. The door opposite, to the kitchen, was still closed. She walked to it and put her ear to it, hearing nothing.

Turning around, she saw the bread wrapped in a cloth on the counter. Carefully opening a drawer, she withdrew a knife. She would take it down with her. The cheese was wrapped as well, near the bread. All she needed now was water, but to get that she must venture to the kitchen.

Placing both hands on the door, she listened again. How foolish she must appear, waiting for sounds that obviously weren’t there. But Edward’s constant caution had left an impression. She peeked carefully around the edge of the door.

Isa pitched herself back as if the door were on fire. Pierrette stood not four steps away. The other woman leaned against the sink facing the window, though it was dark and she couldn’t possibly see out. What was she
doing
here all this time?

Isa tiptoed back down the stairs without taking the bread, careful to skip the squeaky stair. She let herself into the secret room, and Edward had only to take one quick look to guess something was wrong.

“What happened?”

“Pierrette is still here.”

“Did she see you?”

Isa shook her head.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. She wasn’t even looking my way.”

Edward frowned. “I wonder why she is here so late.”

“I wonder the same.”

“Still think you want to trust her?”

Isa took a deep, calming breath. “Oh, Edward, I’m sure we’re both overreacting. I agree I’m not ready to trust her, but there was no harm done. I really do take your cautions to heart.”

“That’s good news. Surprising,” he added, “but good.”

Grateful for his attempt to lighten the moment, she nodded. “Let’s finish up.”

And so they did. An hour later they were tying the last of the bundles to be dispatched tomorrow.

“Why don’t you try the light again?” Edward said after Isa’s stomach growled louder than his once again.

“I think we should keep some food down here from now on.” She turned off the overhead light and finally saw the smaller light next to it.

“Let’s go,” Edward said.

With the room securely shut off behind them, they were upstairs in moments.

Genny sat at the kitchen table alone.

“When did Pierrette finally leave?” Isa asked, taking a seat next to Genny.

“Fifteen or twenty minutes ago. She waited so long for you tonight, Isa, I didn’t know what to tell her.”

“What did you say?”

“That you were with a close friend and might spend the night. When I reminded Pierrette about sentries, she just shrugged and said she didn’t mind taking risks because she has nothing to hide. I suppose that’s how she ended up in that jail cell where you met her.” Genny rubbed the back of her neck. “Isa, we should either tell her what you’re really doing or end this friendship. It’s nerve-racking.”

“For me, too!” Then she told Genny how she’d seen Pierrette in the kitchen, apparently alone.

“That must have been when I was upstairs in the convenience,” Genny said, looking a little embarrassed. “When I came back, she was still in the parlor.”

“She was standing by the sink. But why come in here at all if you were visiting in the parlor?” Isa shook her head. “I don’t like it, but I don’t see how I can end the friendship, either. Wouldn’t that be odd, for no reason?”

“You’re a Lassone, Isa,” Edward told her. “Snubbing people from Pierrette’s class should come naturally.”

She wanted to think he was making light of the topic, and maybe there was a hint of a smile in his eye, but Isa wasn’t sure, so she looked away, uncertain. “In any case, the excitement is over for now, and the latest issue is complete.” She looked at Edward again. “When will we have copy for the next issue?”

“Father Clemenceau said not to expect anything new until the end of the week.”

“Well, at least I’ll be available if she comes back tomorrow.”

Genny laughed. “Oh, I think you can depend on that.”

Edward was still frowning. “It’ll probably take both of you to distract her so I can get those bundles out.”

“Maybe she won’t come,” Isa said. “Since she stayed so late today, she may want to spend some time at home with Jean-Luc. He must be as bored as she.”

But Isa could see neither Edward nor Genny appeared convinced that might be a possibility.

31

We Belgians have always valued our freedom, and yet what freedom do we have, living under martial law? Why must martial law be imposed when the armies are no longer at our doors and we have proven ourselves peaceable? Injustice—that is what we live under.

La Libre Belgique

Much to Edward’s surprise, Pierrette Guillamay did not return the next morning. He wanted to think Isa was right, that the woman would spend more time at home with the husband she loved so much. But he couldn’t convince himself not to worry.

It occurred to Edward as he finished packing bundles destined for different depots that he was fortunate. Despite being caught in the center of a military occupation, there were still things to be thankful for. The theme of the latest issue of
La Libre Belgique
was to resist working for the Germans because every job a Belgian filled left a German free to fight. Poverty wasn’t so tragic as betraying one’s fellow Belgian, it said, and far less a price than those who forfeited their lives.

Yet he and Isa were spared the boredom. They had work. The blessing of work, his father had called it. Without it, Edward would surely go mad.

Edward harnessed copies of
La Libre Belgique
beneath his clothing while Jan took the greatest amount all at once in a box of books labeled for donation to the hospital. This particular box had a false bottom in which were stowed nearly a thousand copies to be delivered to the provinces, northward to Antwerp and eastward to Liège.

Edward left the house with Jan and walked toward the ring road, where Jan would go south and Edward north. Eventually Jan would end up at Midi Station and Edward at various shops along the way, familiar distributors all. Isa was to follow in another hour so they wouldn’t attract too much attention with so much activity from her home. She would make two runs to the flat, where Rosalie and others would pick up their copies.

Near the end of Avenue Louise, Edward saw Jan shift the bulk of the weight from one forearm to the other. “Getting heavy?” At his friend’s nod, Edward added, “You carried heavier books than those between buildings at the university.”

“We’re getting old before our time.”

“It’s the food—or want of it, I should say.”

They would soon reach the point where they would split. More people were on the street today, mainly soldiers enjoying a rare day of sun despite the continued chilly January temperatures. “There are too many sentries out today. I’ll cross here. It’s safer alone than together, considering what we’re carrying.”

Jan nodded and Edward left him. For a little while they traveled the same street in the same direction. At the ring road, Edward turned to the right, sparing a quick glance behind him. Jan had fallen behind, no doubt still feeling the weight of the books. He would have to switch methods or at least get rid of some of the legitimate books he carried.

The attention of a sentry who focused on Jan caught Edward’s eye. He stopped to watch, making himself an unexpected impediment in the stream of increased foot traffic. Another man bumped into him.

“Passen Sie auf!”

A German civilian, so Edward only bowed a silent pardon.

But the contact loosened the harness beneath Edward’s coat, and he knew he would have to right it quickly or risk leaving a trail of illegal newsprint in his wake. His nearest destination, a news shop, was nearly three blocks away. So he slipped inside the first café he passed, knowing all he needed was a place to stop and open the top of his coat, slipping one hand inside as if reaching for a wallet.

He ordered coffee he didn’t want and did just that.

Barely five minutes later he returned outside and glanced back in the direction he’d last seen Jan. There Edward froze. A commotion had erupted, Belgian
Polizei
blowing their whistles—crowd control being their most trusted duty—and a swarm of German sentries buzzing beneath a swirl of paper blowing on a breeze.

Just beyond the edge of the crowd were the remnants of a crate and a pile of books trampled beneath German boots.

Edward hastened in the other direction.

* * *

Isa locked the flat behind her, having completed her second run between home and this depot. Satisfaction was almost heady these days, with another issue complete. Working with Edward undoubtedly had something to do with the euphoria, but so did the importance of the job itself.

God had surely blessed her.

“Isa!”

She saw Edward at the base of the stairs and would have met him halfway but he was nearly at the top before she’d so much as turned his direction.

“What is it?”

“It’s Jan. He was arrested.” He looked around, behind her, above. “Come with me. Leave the key under the mat.”

She did as he asked, following him out to the street. “I went to Rosalie’s, and she’s going to wait until tomorrow to come here for the pickup. She’ll keep an eye on it between now and then. See? She’s in that café near the window, where she can watch.”

Isa looked in the direction he’d gazed, but not for long. He pulled her along faster than he’d ever allowed them to walk before.

“You have nothing on you right now, correct?” he asked as they walked.

“No. The last of the papers are upstairs, waiting for Rosalie and the others.”

“Fine. I don’t want you to go home directly. I won’t return there for a few days. It’s best if we wait and see, even if it means finding another printer for the next issue.”

Isa wanted to feel his caution, because he was so clearly concerned, but didn’t. “I know you want to be careful, Edward, and I’m sorry Jan’s been arrested, but he would never give us away. What can we do for him?”

“Get another issue out to prove they haven’t stopped us, that he’s just a courier and not worth serious punishment. But not on the press in your cellar. We won’t be using that again until we’re sure the Germans can’t trace anything back to you. I intend to see Father Clemenceau after I take you to a safe place.”

The safe place turned out to be another abandoned flat, registered to yet another fictitious name. Edward did little more than open the door and tell her to stay put until he came for her; then he fled.

Being alone allowed the fears Edward left with her to ferment. The flat was barely furnished, with a table and one chair. It was just one of many homes left empty since the Germans had crossed the border over two years ago.

She was tempted to go to the window, to roll up the blind and let the sun spill into the room. But she knew she couldn’t. All she could do was wait. And pray.

* * *

For the second time since Jan’s arrest that morning, Edward arrived at Isa’s home. The first time had been to take his mother to the home of Father Clemenceau’s niece, someone without connection to either Isa or Edward himself. But by midafternoon Father Clemenceau had sent her home, something Edward had protested. The priest had said Edward was being too cautious, but was there such a thing?

Edward never stepped beyond the alcove in the kitchen of Isa’s home. Caution had sent him to the back door, and now he was glad. Clara said Pierrette Guillamay had arrived over an hour ago and waited for Isa in the parlor with his mother.

He shook his head when Clara asked him if he would join them.

If their connection to Jan had been known, an arrest would have been immediate. But so far, nothing had changed. Rosalie seemed unaffected, too, and even the flat seemed safe. He’d taken the remaining illicit copies to the couriers himself, so now even if the flat were to come under suspicion, nothing would be found.

Which wasn’t true of Isa’s secret room in the cellar. If it were found, they might not discover any copies of
La Libre Belgique
, but there would certainly be enough other incriminating evidence, starting with the press itself. Block type of the paper’s heading, a block of artwork mimicking a failed German zeppelin attack, a ream of paper awaiting the next issue. Illegal, each and every item.

So much for taking extra precautions. He’d come to ask his mother to join Isa in hiding. Now not only couldn’t she go, but Isa would have to return.