The Music Box by Elaine Atwell

Author:Elaine Atwell [Atwell, Elaine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Caroline couldn’t believe her eyes. Yet there was no mistaking it; this was the same box the Germans had presented to General Oshima last night.

“You stole it?” Somehow, even with a crowd of wild-looking Frenchmen pointing guns at them, Iris smiled.

“The Germans stole it. I rescued it.”

Max clucked his tongue in what might have been admiration or disapproval, possibly both. The Maquis leader, however, was unimpressed.

“Is this supposed to mean something to me?” he said impatiently.

“It should,” came a new voice. A young man, the only clean-shaven one among them, stepped forward. He had a head of delicate black curls, large brown eyes, and full lips, the very picture of Gallic beauty. He reached for the music box and turned it carefully in his hands. “This is Guillaume Lachet’s work, I’m sure of it. How did you get it?”

“It was meant as a gift for a Japanese general. I thought I’d return it.” This seemed to go a long way toward winning the trust of the Maquisards, but their leader still looked skeptical. Caroline spoke up.

“Look, if you were watching from the trees, you must have seen the way the Germans treated us. We’re their enemies, not yours.”

The leader eyed her closely. “You’re American?”

“Yes…” she said, uncertain of what sort of reaction to expect. He grunted.

“Come on then. The Germans will be sending reinforcements when their men don’t come back. I’m Gaspard, by the way,” he said, extending a large, calloused hand to each of them in turn.

“I’m Luc,” his fresh-faced companion chimed in. He also shook Iris’s and Max’s hands, but when he came to Caroline, pulled her lips to his for a brief kiss. “And you are?” Before she had a chance to answer, Iris stepped in, scowling.

“This is Vivienne, he’s Klaus, and I don’t give a damn what you call me. Now let’s move.”

They trekked off in double file to the edge of the clearing, where Gaspard ordered a few of the men to stay behind and burn the vehicles. Max objected to this, but Gaspard overruled him.

“You’ll never get to Paris on that road now. They’ll have more checkpoints set up the whole way. Besides, if we burn the car maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll think you’re dead.” With that strange sentence ringing in her ears, Caroline entered the forest. But now that she was in it, she found that it was unlike any forest she’d ever seen. The trees—beeches, she thought—were formed into odd curlicue spirals, reaching to heaven as twisted as corkscrews. Iris and Max were gazing at them too.

“What’s wrong with them?” Caroline wondered aloud.

“Nothing’s wrong with them,” Gaspard barked from the front of the column. “They’re growing, aren’t they?”

“Don’t mind Gaspard,” Luc said, falling into step beside her. “His family has lived here for ages, so he’s very protective of his trees.”

“Why do they grow like that?” she asked, passing one as bent as a crone. Luc shrugged.

“You’d never heard of the Forest of Verzy?”

Caroline shook her head.

“The Germans are scared to come in here.

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