“This is Denise.” Nicole nodded first to the dark-haired woman, then to the one with curls. “And Josette.”
Josette came around the table and clasped Elaine’s hands in her warm fingers. “We are so glad to have you join us, Elaine. And now I am no longer the newest member.”
Her cheeks flushed with color, and the kindness in her green eyes indicated her remark was not one of malice.
“You were enlisted by Gabriel?” Denise asked, using Etienne’s Resistance name.
“Oui,” Elaine replied as Josette released her hands.
Denise nodded slowly in what Elaine thought might be approval.
“Come now, Denise,” Nicole scolded. “Do not scare her off on her first day.”
Denise sniffed. “The Bosche will do that for her if her nerves are not strong enough.”
“My nerves are just fine no matter what the Germans do,” Elaine said before either of the other two women could try to rush to her aid. “Or I wouldn’t be here.”
Denise’s eyes narrowed slightly, but Elaine refused to be cowed by the directness of her assessing stare and lifted her chin in challenge.
“Then why are you standing there and not over here learning this code?” Denise shifted over to make room for Elaine at her side.
As she took her place beside Denise, her code crafting education with the Resistance officially began.
The process of breaking down and reconstructing the words was not an easy one. The foundation was based on a poem written over a hundred years ago, selecting words from the stanza to create a code that was then used to configurate the message. This was further complicated by the poem itself, which changed to a new poem every week.
“Don’t worry,” Josette said in Elaine’s ear as the confusing lesson came to an end. “I will show it to you again later.”
Elaine gave her a grateful nod.
“This is our typewriter.” Nicole indicated the glossy black Royal typewriter on the table with Aristocrat in gold letters on its shiny plate.
Elaine regarded the glass-faced keys, noting the unusual order. Most were in the same location she recognized from her years as a secretary, but the Q, W, A, Z, X, and M were in different places.
“It’s British,” Denise said matter-of-factly. “Many of the items we use in the Resistance are provided to us by British agents. Some of our courier work will even involve going to the outskirts of town where the Maquis will meet us with goods received from air drops.”
The Maquis, named for the underbrush in which they hid, were men who were too young to fight at the start of the war, but were ordered in recent months to relocate to factories in Germany to work for the compulsory labor service. Many opposed this rule and instead chose to live in the dense forests rather than be slaves for the Nazis. These men fell back on the guerrilla warfare tactics of their Frankish ancestors, using the land to their favor. And from what she gathered from the ladies, the British agents were there to help.
The world wanted Hitler to fail, and Elaine was proud to finally be doing her part.
“We use silk for some of our messages,” Josette said.
Nicole lifted a pale yellow scrap. Her nails were lacquered with the same vivid shade as her lips. Between that vibrant red and her white sweater and blue skirt, she had completed the forbidden tricolors of France. No doubt her fashion choice was intentional. And if it was, the show of French loyalty was quite clever.
She folded the square at the corners before pinching the middle to make a small flower. “These bits of silk would make such a lovely decoration for a hat or one’s hair.” Her hold on the silk released and the glossy fabric unfurled into a ragged square once more. “But unfortunately, they are all needed for messages. Silk rolls very thin and can be sewn discreetly into clothing if need be. It also burns fast, so it is disposed of quickly and easily after the recipient has read the message or if they suspect they might be caught.”