“Elise!” Adelaide begged. “We can’t turn our back on them! They have nowhere else to go!”

Tears streaked down her little sister’s face, but Elise stood straighter, not about to give in. Addy was the soft one, the one who always followed her heart, which meant that she wasn’t the right person to be making the decisions for them. She’d never had to be the one taking charge.

“Adelaide . . .”

“Please,” the man closest begged, pulling himself up to his knees, holding up his bleeding hands. “S’il vous plaît.”

His French was heavily accented, his words slow. But she’d understood him in English anyway.

“Help us.” His voice was more of a choke, the words dragging out as he reverted to English. “You can’t leave us out here.”

She looked from him to Addy and back again, so close to dragging her sister inside and standing in front of the door with her gun trained on her just to keep her safe. But for every second she stood staring down at the broken man in front of her, her willpower diminished tenfold.

“Elise, please,” Addy begged, her voice almost childlike. “We can’t turn our back on them!”

Louis. She could suddenly see his face as clear as day in her mind. What if this were her brother, begging for mercy, for someone to show him some compassion, as he cried on his knees, moaning in pain, smeared with blood? What if her brother had been given that same chance to survive, and the one person who could help had turned him away? Something inside of her started to soften.

“Elise!” Addy cried.

“Fine. Bring them in,” she muttered, reaching down and pulling the first man up. His eyes were so bright, despite the state of his face and his broken body, and she kept hold of him tight, arm around his waist, as she helped him into the house.

“You speak English?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“We do,” Elise replied, before scolding the dog as he almost tripped her up, no longer in Addy’s arms. “Go away and sit down.”

The stench coming from the soldier told of death, and she forced herself to breathe through her mouth so her stomach didn’t churn. They had a modest fire burning, and she knew that one of them would have to go looking for more wood if they were going to keep these soldiers alive. The one she was helping was starting to shake almost uncontrollably, and she wasn’t certain whether it was from shock or from getting so wet out in the rain.

“Sit here,” she instructed, lowering him into a wooden chair. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but she’d never get bloodstains off the fabric sofa.