“Montluc is not a place easily broken out of.” Denise glanced about as she spoke. “Do not confuse your bravado for stupidity.”
Elaine stiffened at the derisive comment. “What would you do if your husband was in prison?”
“I certainly wouldn’t put him further at risk by going to him with a false name and trying to break him out.” She lifted a brow and gave a little shake of her head. “You will both end up shot. You are better off leaving his freedom to Gabriel, who has the devil’s own luck.”
Gabriel. Etienne. No matter what name he went by, she was correct. He had not only emerged from the Great War unscathed, but always managed his way out of scrapes now as well.
Elaine was not so swiftly placated. She stared deep into the other woman’s dark brown eyes. “I don’t think you would do that.”
“No,” Denise confirmed. “But I am better trained than you.”
Her words stung, but sadly they held truth. Denise possessed a steeliness in her gaze, her time with the Resistance evident in the way her hands never once trembled and how easily she ignored the Nazis walking past.
They climbed a steep set of stairs and the conversation between them dropped with nothing more left to be said.
Elaine’s shoulders relaxed as they turned into the Croix-Rousse area of Lyon where pockmarked walls were littered with peeling signs and alleyways held the lingering odor of rubbish. There was less fear of patrolling Germans who seldom deigned to walk through the workmen’s district.
When Elaine and Denise entered the apartment, Nicole and Josette were already there, gathering envelopes for the second half of their deliveries.
“Bonjour,” Nicole called cheerfully. “We have this last bit and we are finished.” Her gaze lingered on Elaine for only a moment when she declared, “What if Josette goes with you, Denise. And, Elaine, I’ll show you around here.”
“I would like to become more familiar with the area,” Elaine agreed.
After they refilled their baskets, she allowed Nicole to lead her back down into the streets. The other woman wore an outfit similar to her last with a navy skirt like the day before, this one falling slightly below the knee, which she paired with a blue-and-white-striped shirt that called attention to her slim waist. With her red lips and nails, it was yet another clever application of the French tricolor. This time Elaine was certain the color choice was not by accident.
Of the four of them, Nicole always upheld a fashionable appearance. Denise was utilitarian in her attire with simple dresses and flat-soled shoes. The style was not much different from Josette’s who was partial to neutral colors that kept her from standing out, her only adornment a small gold cross that lay on a glittering chain below the hollow of her throat. Elaine’s own manner of dress was up to the standards of any housewife, her clothes clean and well-cared for despite the soap shortage, and her hair curled and swept back at the sides.
Nicole strode through the street with confidence, her wooden heels striking the ground with sharp clicks that made Elaine recall the song “Elle avait des semelles de bois” （“She Had Wooden Soles”） that Henri Alibert put out after rubber and leather became too hard to find. The catchy tune called out the click-clack sound young women made as they sauntered down cobblestoned streets in their ration-altered footwear.
“You mustn’t let Denise bother you.” Nicole waved Elaine into an alleyway where they slipped into a covered alcove and discreetly deposited several envelopes into the wall of letterboxes. “She’s like that with everyone.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I think that’s how it often is with communists.”
Elaine’s brows rose in surprise. Communists were some of the first groups cleared out by the Germans sent on trains and never seen or heard from again. A shiver slid down Elaine’s spine. “Denise is a communist?”