Ollie noticed a man’s hat hanging on a rack near the front door.

“Guillaume’s,” Madeleine said.

“Where is he?” Ollie asked.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Guillaume was delivering truffles in Arras when the Germans invaded. He hasn’t returned home.”

Ollie noticed a gloss in the woman’s eyes. The lines in her face appeared deeper.

“My heart still believes that Guillaume will someday walk through that door. But my head thinks otherwise.” She coughed, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “There’s a rumor that hundreds of the French Resistance have been executed in Arras. Despite being an old man, I fear my husband would have tried to fight.”

Louis stood and walked to Madeleine’s side. The hog nuzzled her leg. She scratched him behind the ears. “Until Guillaume comes home, we’ll hunt truffles. Yes, Louis?”

The hog snorted.

She sniffed, wiped her nose with her sleeve, and changed the subject. “So, Ollie, why would an American be on an RAF plane? Has the United States joined the war?”

“As far as I know, the United States plans to remain neutral,” he said.

“Then how did you end up here?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.” Madeleine tapped the floor with her shoe. “You can tell me while you pry up those boards.”

Ollie kneeled and began work on the floorboards, but he quickly realized it would be tough to extract nails using only one arm. In fact, it was damn near impossible to slide the claw of the pry bar under the nail heads. Chipping out chunks of wood could expose the nails, but marring the boards was not an option. So Madeleine helped by holding the pry bar in place as he tapped it with the hammer. It worked. Although slow and tedious, the claw wedged under the nail head. He pried, causing the board to screech. He tried to keep one side of his body steady, but it was of no use. Pain flared into his shoulder socket. He managed to loosen two nails before having to take a break.

“Hurt?” Madeleine asked.

Ollie nodded and leaned against the wall. He was sweating, despite the temperature in the cottage being cold enough to store meat.

The sound of a motorcar caused Madeleine to glance out the window. She squeezed the crowbar. The hum of the engine faded as the vehicle passed.

“Best we get this finished,” Ollie said, picking up the hammer.

For the afternoon, they worked on removing floorboards. To distract himself from the pangs radiating into his shoulder, he told Madeleine about his family. His journey to Britain. And his dream to fly for the RAF, only to end up working on a mission for the National Pigeon Service. But most of all he talked about Susan, and for the first time since plummeting into German-occupied France, he didn’t notice the pain.