She never worried that Didier would find out. Her husband was not a complicated man. He was made up of greed and vanity, and a certain surface charm that passed for kindness. He spent his days strutting about town, looking after municipal affairs. Since the occupation, those affairs were in the hands of the marshal, but Palomar enjoyed the illusion of control, flaunting his family money and political influence, and taking credit for keeping the peace.

She took two pictures—one of the wind-sculpted oak tree that seemed to point the way along the road to Sauveterre and another of the just-bundled sheaves of grain lined up in neat rows, ready to be stored in the barn or bories.

Working carefully, she put the camera away and rode home, giving Rotrude a wave of the hand as she wheeled the bike into the shed. Rotrude eyed the empty bushel basket roped behind the bike, but she didn’t say anything. Like Lisette, she was in favor of preserving as much of the harvest as possible without attracting attention.

A twist of smoke and the sound of pounding metal indicated that Papa was working at the forge today. He did whatever he was able to do from his wheelchair, helping around the farm, from sharpening knives and scissors to stemming grapes to repairing tools. He seemed grateful to have a purpose.

Lisette washed up at the outdoor well, savoring the sweet, cold water, clean from the pump. In the kitchen, her mother was chatting with Muriel, the housemaid, and grinding grain in the mill for tomorrow’s bread. Maman loved the big sunny kitchen with its shiny copper pots, floors and surfaces of Provençal tile. Seeing her mother safe and content made Lisette happy. Even now, a year after leaving the humble cottage in town, it felt like a small miracle to get up in the morning and serve her parents milk, still warm from the cow, or to make them an omelet of fresh eggs.

“How can I help?” she asked, tying on an apron.

“Muriel caught two fish today,” Petra said, coming into the kitchen. “I don’t like fish.”

“There’s rabbit, too,” Rotrude said. “Muriel’s a good shot.” Although it was strictly forbidden to possess a firearm, the authorities tacitly permitted hunting pieces.

Petra climbed up to the table and set down a handful of wildflowers. “Lisette, will you help me make a crown?”

Lisette smiled. “Sure. Watch: you make a loop with the stem, and then put the next stem through the loop, like so.” The spicy scent of lavender filled the air.

“We shouldn’t waste the wild lavender,” Rotrude scolded. “It’s needed to make medicine for the soldiers.”

Petra stared at the flowers on the table. “The medicine didn’t help my papa, did it?” Like Lisette’s brother, Petra’s father had been killed in the first wave of fighting.

Rotrude’s breath caught. “No, but he would want us to be resourceful, eh?”

“Well. These flowers are already picked, so we mustn’t let them go to waste,” Lisette said brightly, garnering a sweet smile from her niece.