The Boy with the Star Tattoo by Talia Carner

Author:Talia Carner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2024-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

Whatever Carlos had done to obtain the tickets, he returned quickly. He handed Claudette the tickets and informed her that she would have to change trains in Toulouse and Limoges. It was unclear when or if there would be a train to Tours; the Maquis had bombed this main Loire Valley depot in November 1942 when the Nazis were about to cross the demarcation line. The Nazis had repaired only the tracks they needed to transport their troops southward, he explained.

“I wish you’d wait for the fall, when order will be restored to this mad world,” the duchess said.

“More months away from my baby?” She let Carlos help her out of the car.

While he unstrapped her valise, Claudette stood by the open door and bent to kiss the duchess’s gloved hand. “Thank you, madame, for your immense kindness and patronage.” Mist clouded her vision as she inhaled for the last time the duchess’s lavender scent and memorized the beautiful hazel eyes, the delicate nose, and the chiseled red lips of the noblewoman who had let her talent and creativity soar.

“God be with you and your child.”

Claudette sniffled. “Please keep me in your prayers.” Having the duchess pray to Jesus and Mary wouldn’t be a betrayal of the Jewish God.

Carlos elbowed his way through the crowded terminal, guiding Claudette. Disheveled people were stretched out on benches, families were huddled on the floor among their belongings, and long lines led to the ticket windows. Beggars hounded people crossing the vast pavilion with its vaulted, decorated ceiling that had been built for glory, not for this horde of humanity with their rancid stink of sweat and piss. Carlos supported Claudette’s arm with one hand and carried her valise in the other as they reached a gaping opening leading to train platforms.

“Be sure to tip the conductor so he’ll help you with your luggage,” Carlos said. “And get porters to carry it across platforms.”

Claudette clutched her heavy satchel containing food for three days—tostadas wrapped in wax paper with cheese and salami and two apples—and hobbled along the length of the waiting train, bewilderment filling her. The valise that Carlos was hefting was heavy with folded fabrics; the duchess had suggested that Claudette invest in them because none were manufactured in France and she could sell them at profit. Without Carlos, Claudette wouldn’t have known which platform was hers or what car to climb into. How would she manage two or three train changes?

This was for Benjamin, she told herself as Carlos pulled her up the steep metal steps into the car. He found her a window seat next to an old couple and hoisted her valise onto the shelf.

He touched the brim of his hat and departed. Her last protector was gone. Claudette clutched her wool shawl and two romance novels. She had no family, no friends. She was alone in the world. She had forsaken Christ and Mary. She couldn’t imagine what she would find on her arrival at Valençay.

If only she knew where Solange lived with her husband.

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