Leonora in the Morning Light by Michaela Carter

Author:Michaela Carter [Carter, Michaela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Avid Reader Press / Simon & Schuster
Published: 2021-04-06T00:00:00+00:00

The Horses of Lord Candlestick

Leonora, May 1940, Saint-Martin-d’Ardèche, France

When Max was taken the second time, there wasn’t any knock. The gendarmes strode into their home with their rifles drawn, their boots muddy. Again, it was the French who hauled him away. “You have no right, no reason,” Max said as they cuffed his wrists. “The president himself says I’m not a threat. Leonora! Get the letter!”

“Papers do not matter, Monsieur. You are a suspect,” said the man, the boy, leading him away. “You’ve been transmitting information to the enemy.”

Leonora could not move or speak. She watched the gendarme push the rifle to Max’s back and prod him down the stone stairs and into the car. She watched them drive away. Then she slid on her loafers and ran to the police station in her nightgown, hoping she’d find him there.

At his desk, the chief drank café au lait and adjusted the radio for better reception. Something about the impenetrability of the Maginot Line, the bravery of the French army, crackled through. Static cut in and he turned it off, but she was still trying to catch her breath.

“Gendarmes took Max. Have you seen him?”

He brushed the flakes of a baguette from his wide mouth. “No. It’s a different branch of the gendarmerie—specifically for enemies of France.”

“You know Max, you know he’s no enemy. You can say something!”

“It is out of my hands, mademoiselle.”

“Leonora. Martin, for God’s sake, you know me!”

He looked out the window, his cheeks flushed. “We turned over the report. We had to. To not turn it in is as good as colluding.”

“Report?”

“Jean-Pierre—the deaf and dumb son of poor Adelaide.” She stared at him. She didn’t know poor Adelaide, nor did she care. “He’s taken it on himself to patrol the town. He reported light signals sent from your house. I’m surprised they didn’t take you in, too.”

“Light signals? Probably Alphonsine out looking for snails with a flashlight. It’s what she does when she can’t sleep.”

“If it is a misunderstanding, I imagine they’ll send him home.”

“Where did they take him?”

He shuffled through papers, pulled one out. “Camp des Milles. You aren’t married, are you?” She bit her cheek, hard. “There’s nothing you can do.” He lit a cigarette. She wanted to strangle him, chief of the pig-faced idiots. He sighed. “You have family? In England? France is no place for an unmarried woman. Go home, Leonora, go now.”

Instead she went to Motel des Touristes, where she ordered a beer though it was not yet noon. The beer was warm and she drank it, to feel heavy and dull, to soften the world’s ugly edges. Max had left her once again. She ordered another, and another, and when Etienne refused to fill her glass, she tromped home through a town of traitors. She passed two farmers who stopped talking and watched her with narrow, suspicious eyes.

In her bathroom, she splashed orange blossom water over her face. This was a dream she could wake from. Only, perhaps she should drink the orange blossom water instead? Like a potion.

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