He hesitated, and in that hesitation, she read what he would not say. He had been sent here to scout the terrain. Surely it must mean something was in the works.

“Hank?”

“I was only given enough information to carry out my mission. One thing I know, because it’s no secret, is the mobilization is huge. A million Allied troops is what I heard. Everybody knows Germany’s been planning to invade England and now they have to fight the war on two fronts. They’re outmanned and outgunned.”

“Not in Bellerive. Not anywhere in this region. The Germans are in complete control. They have taken over everything, and they are aided by French traitors.” She felt a wave of contempt for her husband. “That is why you’re here,” she said, knowing it was true even before he answered. “There is going to be an invasion in the south.” The idea touched her with fire. “How can I help?”

“What? Lisette, this is dangerous business.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? My God, I have lived in the shadow of danger for years.” She bit her lip to avoid saying more about her situation at home. “I am not afraid of danger.” She hesitated. “I have been helping, in my way.”

She had accustomed herself to trusting no one, but Hank was different. Now she opened her straw basket and took out the film rolls she had been shooting. “The highest point in the village is the church tower,” she said. “From the very top, one can see for many kilometers in every direction. On a clear day, it’s possible to see the mountains to the east. I was taking photographs from the church the day I found you.”

“Holy moly,” he said.

“I will never know what became of my pictures. It’s safer that way. If . . . when you rejoin your group, you can take the film with you.”

Comprehension dawned, along with a smile, on his face. “You’re incredible, Lisette.”

“I cannot fight for France like a soldier, but I can fight for France,” she said.

Sixteen

Hank thought about Lisette all the time. He could be found out and taken prisoner, tortured or killed, yet he only thought about her. He lived for her visits. She was like a sprite from the woods, elusive and secretive, coming and going at random. He tried to imagine her life beyond the woods and the stream and the overgrown vineyard.

He asked her what she did with the rest of her day, but her answers were vague. She told him that she lived on a working farm, which she called a mas, a self-sustaining property where they produced everything they needed. With the Germans in charge, they were required to surrender all their produce, but they managed better than those who suffered from the punishing rations endured by city dwellers. The place was called Sauveterre, which she told him meant “Safe Haven.” She said this with a twist of irony, because nothing was safe anymore.