She felt a wave of tenderness for this man. He was so far from his home in America, where there was no fighting at all, yet he’d come across the ocean to fight for France. “I have never heard of Vermont,” she said. “Tell me about it.”

A smile flickered across his face. “It’s in the northeast, near Canada. Real different from here. We have long, cold winters and short, beautiful summers. I’m not homesick for it, though. I wanted to see the world. But I didn’t plan on this.” He gestured at his ruined leg. “So far, you’re the best thing I’ve seen in the world.”

It was the fever talking, Lisette thought. Yet his words touched a hidden place in her heart. “Hank—”

“It’s the truth. You saved my life. You’re my angel, Lisette.”

She tried to move on from the romantic words he’d spoken. She was a married woman. “Tell me more about Vermont.”

“We’re stonecutters—a family business. You know what that is?”

She shook her head.

He picked up a chunk of stone from the floor. “There’s a quarry where we take the stone—Vermont marble, finest in the world.”

“Ah. Marbre. That was my father’s trade as well.”

“We make pillars and monuments. Markers for cemeteries. Right before I signed up for the army, I worked on a monolith statue for a town that lost half its menfolk in the Great War.”

“And you still wanted to join the military.”

“I did. Lots of us fellows did. I wish I could say it was for honor and patriotism.”

“But it was not?” She frowned.

“Nah. I was looking for adventure. When I heard about paratrooper training, I thought that was for me.”

“And here you are.”

“Just a dumb guy looking for adventure. You make me wish I was noble. You make me wish I was a hero.”

She smiled at him, and it was the kind of smile that started in her heart and wouldn’t stop. “You are.”

In the midst of her terrible situation at Sauveterre, Hank was the one thing that gave Lisette a purpose each day when she woke up. She had a powerful need to help him, and she embraced her mission with a passion she had not felt in a very long time. Tirelessly and in secret, she tended to his wounds, brought him food and water, kept him as clean as she was able, and gave him a book to read—a collection of her favorite Sherlock Holmes stories. She took a risk and stole one of Didier’s old razors so Hank could shave if he wanted to. In the toolshed, she found a small rock hammer and stonecutting chisel, and she brought those as well so he would have something to do to pass the long hours alone.

Soon after the first dose of Toselli’s penicillin, Hank’s fever spiked, and she feared she might lose him. She gave him a second dose, refusing to give up on him. She sat by his side for as long as she dared. Even when he was delirious, she spoke to him in French, just so he could hear the sound of her voice. She reminisced about her life in Bellerive. It was good to remember the carefree days of her childhood, when Papa was well and her brothers were home safe, and she could run free in the town and outlying fields with her friends, and her greatest fear was having Sister Ignatius find a tear in her school uniform.