Hour of the Bells by Heather Webb

Author:Heather Webb
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-01-22T00:00:00+00:00

FOR TWO HOURS BEATRIX HAD SHIVERED IN THE DARK, DUCKING behind buildings downtown, hiding from policemen, until her toes and fingers grew numb. When she could take it no longer, she slipped inside a church to warm herself. At half-past two in the morning, she walked to the tavern, toting her bag. Her heart thumped in her ears as she tucked herself against the building. When a shiny black Alva chugged down the street, she breathed a sigh of relief. He came. She climbed into the mysterious man’s car and silently handed over the packet of bills.

“We can’t take a direct route, you understand,” he said. “There are MPs crawling all over the place.”

“MPs?” She stared at the back of his black fedora.

“Military police.”

“Do what you must,” she said, gingerly placing her bag next to her on the seat. “Just get me to Strasbourg.”

The car trundled over moonlit country roads. No one dared break curfew, and certainly no one else was foolish enough to drive along the front line. With each bump she glanced at her bag. Though she could not see the dynamite, she felt its power pulsing in the air around her.

If the driver only knew . . .

The next instant, the man slammed on his brakes. “Merde.” He swore under his breath.

Beatrix leaned forward. “What is it?”

“A checkpoint ahead.”

The car beams poured over a pack of soldiers spread out in a fan, guns poised.

The driver hit the steering wheel with his hand. “I knew I should have gone the other way. Merde!” This time he yelled it. “If we get through this, we’ll veer east of St. Die and slip through the border that way. If not, it’s been nice knowing you.”

Her stomach sank to her toes. If they searched her bag, they were both finished. She had to think fast.

He peered over his shoulder at her. “Relax and don’t say anything. I’ll try to talk us out of this.”

Blood raced in her veins. She had made it this far, and she wasn’t about to let some criminal mess this up for her. She clasped her hands in her lap and her spine went rigid. Think, Beatrix.

The car pulled to a stop and two soldiers flanked the car. One tapped the driver’s window.

The driver cranked it open. “Bonsoir. What can I do for you, fellows?”

The soldier smirked. “You’re in violation of curfew. Why are you on the road?”

Beatrix blurted, “We apologize, monsieur, but my sister is dying. If she doesn’t sign the proper documents in time, our estate will be lost.”

As in Germany, nothing mattered more to the French than carrying on the family name and securing inheritance for the next generation.

She dabbed at her eyes as if to stop tears from flowing. “Please, she has only hours left. We’re racing the clock.”

“Where are you headed?” the solider growled, unconvinced.

“St. Die,” she said quickly. The last French town before Strasbourg. “She lives in an apartment there, alone.”

The soldier leaned his head in the car window to check for suspicious items.

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