For Such a Time by Elyse Larson

Author:Elyse Larson [Larson, Elyse]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC014000
ISBN: 9781441233622
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2012-08-14T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Jean could not imagine—didn’t want to imagine—experiences so horrible that killing one’s own little girls would seem merciful. She wanted to yell, “No!”

From Giselle’s desperate and distant expression, she could see her cousin was unreachable, but somehow she must persuade her not to search for Claude’s gun. Quietly she said, “I have a gun. They trained me well, and I’m a good shot.”

“You? A gun?” Giselle’s eyes came back into focus. “But you hate guns!”

“Well, I’ve learned they have their place.” That was partly true. She didn’t have to say what place.

“Maybe you should let me carry it.”

“Let’s talk about this after we get to my apartment,” Jean said.

Mother Agnes hurried in. She’d found a bottle of shoe polish. “This should last through rain storms, if not shampoos. Color her hair quickly and go. She will need many rest stops, and you must not be out after curfew. Go out the rear door that leads into the garden. Madame Julie knows the way. I will place her bicycle beside the door.”

“Thank you so much for all you’ve done,” Jean said. “When peace comes, I hope I may return to thank you again.”

Mother Agnes’s swift smile made her look younger. “Nothing would please me more.”

“I shall return too,” Giselle said, “and find some way to repay your kindness.”

“Repay me by taking good care of yourself, my dear. I will be praying for you both. Now good-bye.” She left quickly, as she had urged them to do.

Jean lightly applied the shoe polish to Giselle’s hair in a streaking pattern, taking care not to touch her scalp. She wiped off the excess, leaving a muddy grayish tint. It set and dried in a short time.

“Not bad,” Jean said. Closing the stopper tightly, she placed the bottle in her purse. “I hope that will last until we get out of France.”

“Is there enough polish for another application?”

“One more. I’m not sure about two.”

Giselle sat in front of the dressing table mirror and grimaced as she lifted limp strands of her dingy hair. “Can you fasten it back into a knot of some kind?”

Jean combed it to the back of Giselle’s head and pinned it as best she could. “It’s too short for a chignon.”

Giselle studied the result in a hand mirror. “It will do. I’ll keep it covered as much as possible. Where did you park your bicycle?”

“By the back gate.”

Giselle picked up the brown wool coat and black bandanna Mother Agnes had left on her bed. “Then let’s go!”

“Wait. You need to carry these.” Jean pulled Giselle’s forged ration cards and identification papers from her purse. “Here. Memorize your name and ID information. I’ll tell you our family history while we walk up the hills and stop to rest.”

Giselle studied the cards and then said, “All right. I’m ready.”

At the back of the hospital, Jean ran ahead to pull her bicycle out of its hiding place. She felt as if a thousand eyes were watching. Breathless, she pulled her bike from the evergreen shrubbery and waited.

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