Elaine took her sorted stack from the pile on the table and slipped them into the false bottom of her shopping basket, just as she had been shown.
“Josette and Nicole will go together. You come with me,” Denise said.
The noonday bells chimed, their cue to leave. Elaine followed the ladies down the stairs. Josette and Nicole melted into the myriad other Frenchwomen strolling the streets of Lyon with their shopping baskets on their arms. Then it was Elaine and Denise’s turn, going in the opposite direction. No one would question their baskets, as they were a common sight these days as women remained desperately hopeful they might come across a store with a new shipment of food.
Despite the distribution of ration cards, there was no guarantee those items would be available for sale. More often than not, their allotted rations were impossible to find on any given day, particularly meat. And of the goods that could be found, the prices were exorbitant by comparison to the prewar years, some even soaring as high as four times what it cost previously. The recipes Elaine had been forced to learn were dismal, ones centered around Jerusalem artichokes and rutabagas or trying to stretch a tin of sardines or a single egg as far as possible.
Meager though they may be, the very thought of those meals tugged at the empty place within her that was never filled, and her stomach gave a snarl of complaint.
With the force of her will and regular practice through the duration of the Nazi occupation, Elaine now was able to push aside her hunger. She was even able to set aside her unease at her new task and focus wholly and completely on what needed to be done.
Denise and Elaine worked carefully through Bellecour, a dangerous neighborhood in the heart of Lyon where the Nazis congregated. The Germans lingered in the streets with a comfortable leisure the French themselves could no longer enjoy, sitting in cafés and sipping from porcelain cups filled with precious coffee, milk, and sugar. They marched into the finest hotels, which they draped in swastikas, and they sullied what had once been fine food with the foulness of their gluttony and hatred. Even the beauty of the art in the museums was made ugly by their constant presence.
However, Bellecour was also the area where Elaine had lived in her time before joining the Resistance.
While curiosity and a longing for the normal lured her toward the familiar street, she refrained from temptation and let Denise deliver the newspapers instead.
Elaine had bid farewell to the little apartment over two weeks ago after having spent so many months there resenting the home. It remained locked up, her key nestled behind a loose brick in Etienne’s building. Now, after sleeping in various locations and safe houses, she found herself yearning for the simple life she once shared with Joseph.
Suddenly she was glad she had allowed Denise to take the deliveries on her former street. Not only to ensure Elaine wasn’t recognized, but also to spare her the pain of being so near home. How she missed the cool, smooth sheets of her own bed, the couch cushions that were worn soft with age, and the way the bathroom held a spice of Joseph’s aftershave long after he’d left for the day.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to march down Rue Sala, keeping her gaze purposefully turned from the street placard of Rue du Plat that implored her to turn into its embrace.
Denise regarded her carefully when they met up once more to return to the apartment near the bookstore in Croix-Rousse.
“Our life is not an easy one.” Denise adjusted the false bottom of her basket, securing it over the hidden area once more. “That was probably difficult for you, being so near your former home.”
“I managed.” The aroma of cooking food from restaurants serving the Nazis flavored the air with a savory aroma that made Elaine’s mouth water.
It was impossible to smell and not recall the taste. Ham with the edges slightly crisped, the meat tinged black in spots where the heat seared a second too long.
It was impossible to recall the taste and not crave it with every ounce of her longing to sink her teeth into that tender morsel, free of gristle and stringy fat. Just lean, juicy meat.