He walked me home after, our fingers twined warmly. I don’t think my feet touched the ground the entire way. When we reached the door, I fumbled with my key, my hands suddenly damp. Finally, it slid home, but as I reached for the knob, he caught my hand, and his eyes found mine in the darkness. He whispered my name, touched my face, then pressed his lips to mine with maddening slowness.
The night fell away as I swayed into him, until there was only his pulse and mine—his echo and mine. It felt like déjà vu, like finding something I didn’t know I had lost. And I never wanted it to end. It had to, of course. There were rules for good girls. But the touch paper had been lit in earnest.
By the end of the summer, I was in love with Anson Purcell. And he was in love with me.
NINETEEN
SOLINE
To ensure a happy ending, a bride must be willing to give her whole heart to the man she marries. Her spine, however, must at all times remain her own.
—Esmée Roussel, the Dress Witch
14 August 1943—Paris
Things have been getting tighter and tighter at the hospital. Food has begun to dwindle, despite the supplies the Americans continue to send. Our numbers swelled horribly as we entered the summer months. Nearly five hundred counting wounded and staff—all needing to be fed three times a day.
The mood has changed too. There are growing concerns that we will be shut down, our patients sent to the camps—or worse. The Germans are becoming impatient, suspicious that somehow the hospital—Dr. Jack in particular—is involved in aiding the Resistance to help soldiers and French Jews evade capture.
Things got worse last month after an entire unit of American airmen managed to avoid capture when their planes were shot down. The Germans stepped up their efforts, mounting a sweeping search of the area, but the men appear to have vanished. Rewards are now posted for anyone having knowledge of groups or persons suspected of aiding them. Neighbors have begun turning on one another, offering up information—some of it true, much of it false—in exchange for a franc or two.
Even the hospital has fallen under suspicion. Rumors spread through the corridors like a brushfire, and suddenly the subject no one has wanted to talk about—the suspicious number of sudden deaths and empty beds—is all anyone can talk about, though only in hushed tones. We’re all on edge. Collaborators are everywhere these days, snooping for information that might earn them a fat reward. There’s talk of a spy in our midst, someone pretending to fight for the cause who’s actually in league with the Nazis. And so we’re all on our guard, for fear one wrong word will land the Gestapo on our doorsteps.
It’s whispered that Dr. Jack will be arrested any day and that he keeps a suitcase packed, so he’ll be ready when the time comes. Meanwhile, we do our best to go about our business—because what else is there to do? The soldiers keep coming, every day, a steady stream. Wounded. Broken. Hollowed out.
We’re all frightfully tired, and time passes slowly despite the bustle. Perhaps it’s how infrequently I see Anson these days that makes me feel so restless. After weeks of deliciously clandestine moments—breathless kisses stolen in the storage room or the back row of the cinema, quiet dinners and endless talk about what we’ll do when the war ends—he has suddenly grown distant.
I understand that his job is critical. The war never stops—not even for young lovers—but lately, Anson’s work has been keeping him away from the hospital for longer and longer stretches. And then, when I do see him, it’s impossible not to mark the change in him. He seems edgy and distracted, always glancing over his shoulder, as if he expects to find someone on his heels. He’s become evasive with me, vague and even distant. And he’s begun to disappear for days at a time. When he finally reappears, he offers some flimsy excuse, and I do my best to believe.
But this morning, I saw him talking to one of the nurses. Elise is her name. She’s older than I am and a good deal more worldly, with full lips and a deep, throaty laugh. They were huddled together on the stairs, their heads bent so close her mouth nearly grazed the side of Anson’s neck as she slipped what looked like a note into his jacket pocket. I must have made some sort of sound, because he turned suddenly and saw me watching.
He stepped away, but it was too late. I couldn’t unsee what I’d seen. Or hide my tears from Adeline when I came around the corner and careened into her. She didn’t seem surprised when I told her what I’d seen. She said she always thought him too handsome for his own good and that it was best that I learn the truth before things went too far. But for me, things have already gone too far.