The Bicycle Spy by Yona Zeldis McDonough

Author:Yona Zeldis McDonough
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.

The next morning, Marcel woke with the light. Last night before bed, Papa had told him about the message he needed to bring to the Resistance member in the neighboring town.

Still rubbing his eyes, he went into the kitchen. He could smell the bread his mother had baked: a round peasant loaf and the pain d’épice the soldier liked so much. He knew it was hard getting supplies to bake anything these days, and shelves of the bakery were often empty or nearly so.

Marcel ate breakfast while she wrapped up the baked goods. She put the loaf in a white cloth and the pain d’épice in a checked cloth. “Remember, if they ask, give the soldiers the pain d’épice,” she said. “Maybe they won’t even bother with you today.”

It was the day honoring Saint François-Xavier. He was born in Navarre, in Spain, but was well-known and loved in the entire region. The holiday was widely celebrated and school would be closed. Everyone would be in church and not focused on Marcel or where he happened to be going on his bike.

“Don’t worry,” he told his mother. “I’ll remember.” Both she and his father stepped outside to watch him as he pedaled off down the road.

It had rained the night before and there was still a fine mist hovering over everything as Marcel rode down the cobblestone street, heading out of town. There was a slight nip in the air, too. He wished he’d remembered to wear gloves. But he just pedaled harder, relying on his own body to create warmth and power. That was what the riders in the Tour de France would have done. Every victory they achieved came from their own personal sense of determination.

Once Marcel had reached the outskirts of town, he turned left, away from the direction of the bridge. This was a different route, not one he usually took. But this was the direction his father had outlined in his instructions. The road here was very bumpy. It was also slippery from the rain, and from all the wet leaves that were plastered everywhere.

As he rounded a curve, the bike went over an especially big bump and the loaf of bread flew out of the basket, flipped over, and landed right smack in the center of a shallow puddle. Zut! Marcel jumped off the bicycle and hurried over to inspect the damage. The muddy water had seeped through the white cloth and into the bread. He peeled away the cloth and blotted the loaf against his pants. Then he remounted and continued on his way. As he rode, he looked down at the contents of his basket. The bread still looked all right. Thank goodness. Besides, he had the pain d’épice if he needed something to offer.

Soon he found himself on the main road into town. The central square was filled with people coming from church. Many of them were on bicycles as well.

But the square was filled with something else, too, something terrifying. Rolling right up the main street was an armored truck! The soldiers driving it were clearly German.

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