They drove for quite a while, over the mountains, on steep narrow roads framed by thornbushes that hit against the car. After more than an hour they arrived at a small stone château painted a pale pink, with windows that were framed by dark green shutters. It was past twilight now and darkness was settling down into the woods. The trees were crisscrossed by vines, and something smelled sweet, a wildflower Ettie didn’t recognize as she followed Victor along the path. There was a side entrance, a black iron door decorated with filigree. The house belonged to a doctor, and this path was the route his patients took to his office during the day. In the evening, it was shadowy, and a chestnut tree blocked the entryway from view. Safe, Ettie thought. This is a safe house.

Henri Girard had been the doctor in town for nearly twenty-five years. Before that, his father, also called Henri Girard, had been the local physician. Girard was a good-looking, tall man, very dignified. His grandfather had been a nobleman, and even though he was a country doctor, Girard’s manners were very refined. He had been to school in Paris, and had taught at the medical school there for a while. But he had decided he preferred the relationships he had with his patients in this small village. People came from across the mountains to see him, sometimes traveling hours, and he had brought more than fifty souls into the world, most of whom he still saw as patients, though many were now grown men and women with families of their own. He had come to be known as someone who would help Jewish resisters, and his barn was often a stopping point for those on their way to the border.

The doctor shook Ettie’s hand and welcomed her in the parlor where patients waited should the doctor be busy when they arrived. The furniture had belonged to the doctor’s father and was still in perfect condition, with several chairs and a sofa covered in green mohair.

The doctor poured three drinks from a bottle of eau-de-vie to welcome them and offered Ettie a glass.

“Thank you, I don’t drink,” she said.

“But you must start,” the doctor recommended, placing the glass in her hand. “It’s good to be able to drink and remain sober. That is,” he added, “if you really want to be part of this.”

“This?” Ettie said. “Perhaps you’d like to explain.”

“He’s helping us out,” Victor said. He had come to the doctor’s when he’d been burned and they’d had a frank discussion of how to best be rid of those who were responsible for the local arrests.

Ettie shrugged and downed the liqueur all in one gulp, then gasped at the fiery nature of the drink. The doctor laughed. He realized how young she was, which was both a good and a bad thing.