“I don’t feel well,” Lisette said to Didier that Sunday. “I won’t be going to church.”

“Again?” He glared at her in annoyance. “People are going to think you’re walking around unshriven.”

“Perhaps they’re going to think worse than that,” she snapped, unable to hold her tongue. She had been feigning illness in order to avoid encountering the people of Bellerive. At church, she cringed under the fury-filled glares of the villagers.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He checked his ridiculous uniform in the mirror.

She didn’t answer. The truth was, her husband had become the most hated and feared man in town these days. Now that he had openly sided with the Nazis, she could no longer pretend he was loyal to the French. He was the worst sort of collaborator, trading information about resistance workers in exchange for political and financial favors. She yearned to tell her neighbors that Didier’s choice to join the Milice had nothing to do with her. But she was his wife, and everyone assumed she shared his views.

The next day, she went to the primary school for her regular delivery, bringing a bushel of grapes she’d scavenged from one of the vineyards that was no longer cultivated due to lack of labor. Sister Marie-Noelle met her at the entrance to the school. “Thank you, Madame, for your generosity.” The nun’s face looked taut, and she didn’t meet Lisette’s eyes. “I’m afraid I cannot invite you in.”

“What’s the matter?” Lisette asked. “Is everything all right?”

Sister Marie-Noelle stared at the floor. “Father Rinaldo was accused of being involved with the Maquis, and he’s been taken away. We fear for his life.”

Lisette caught her breath. “What? Where? Is he all right?”

“No one knows.”

“How can I help?” Lisette asked, her mind already racing.

“It is best you keep your distance,” said the nun, her voice barely above a whisper. “They were acting on orders from the Milice.” She made the sign of the cross. “Father Rinaldo was accused by your husband, the mayor.”

Lisette felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. “I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I am so sorry . . .”

“It’s best you just go,” said the nun.

Lisette left the grapes and rode as fast as she could to the mairie. No wonder she’d garnered such hateful glares when she’d ridden her bicycle into the village earlier. She dropped the bike in the courtyard of the municipal offices and went in search of Didier, finding him in his office, surrounded by envelopes and files stuffed with Nazi records and papers.

“Is this what you do all day, then?” she demanded, clearing his desk with an angry sweep of her arm. “Spy on our friends and neighbors, people we’ve known all our lives?”

He shot up from his desk. “Watch your mouth.”

“I have been doing just that for far too long. I tried to believe you were doing the right thing for Bellerive, but now I know that’s not true. You’re as bad as the Nazis. Worse, because these are your people.”