This was the fourth item she had relocated from one of the three garages where the burdensome pieces were stored. The Grande-Blanche hospital came into view, meaning she was finally close. She adjusted the heft of her shopping basket from one hand to the other and tried to avoid leaning too hard away from the drag of her cargo. It wouldn’t do to bring attention to herself, especially so near the destination.
Denise approached from the opposite direction with a pram that sagged deep into its frame. She shoved her burden toward the sprawling white building with “35” inscribed above the entryway.
Elaine rushed ahead to open the door for Denise who expertly maneuvered the buggy into the entry, the wheels protesting the angle with a high-pitched squeal.
“Printing plates,” she explained.
“Where did you get the pram?” Elaine closed the door behind them, its bang loud enough to echo in the long, empty hall.
“It’s mine.” Denise’s knuckles were white as she steered the teetering baby carriage toward the warehouse within. “I have a daughter.”
Elaine’s shock must have shown on her face for Denise scoffed. “Don’t look so surprised. It is why I am fighting so hard against this occupation. I do not want my Sophie to grow up in this world without enough food and even less freedom, to be told her only purpose is to be a uterus and her husband’s housekeeper.”
“Does she stay with you?” The question escaped Elaine before she could stop it.
“She is with my mother.” Denise stopped before another closed door, which Elaine also pushed open for her.
There were so many more questions Elaine wanted to ask, prying ones about how long it had been since Denise had seen her daughter or how painful the separation must be. But they all had enough bruising on their hearts to know better than to prod at tender topics.
As Denise passed through the entryway, she paused. “My Jacob is Jewish. Pierre created all of our papers, including the one that keeps my daughter alive and safe every day.” The sharpness of her stare relaxed with unspoken gratitude. “My husband and child are not the only Jews Pierre has saved in these harrowing times.”
Joseph had been a hero to so many. The understanding left a pang of longing in Elaine to have him back. His loss was palpable always, an ache that could never be soothed.
Denise navigated her way through the open doorway without another word, as though the entire conversation had never happened. But to Elaine, the admission made an indelible imprint upon her that she knew would remain forever.
A man with dark hair closely cropped against his head like a soldier squatted by a pile of machinery with a rag loosely held in his hand. Elaine recognized the parts he pensively surveyed as the various items she and the other ladies had painstakingly transported.
Some had been fitted together and rose from the ground like a skeletal demon, its dark bones glossy with an iridescent sheen of oil. The man stood as they approached and strode toward them, their footsteps all echoing in the vast empty space amid the grating screech of the overtaxed pram wheels. A deafening silence fell over them as they came to a stop.
Grease stained his fingers with its dark smears, and its odor hung thick in the air.
“I’m Marcel.” He extended his hand, then grimaced and wiped at it with the dirty cloth. “Thank you for your help in relocating the printing press. I’m aware it is quite the arduous job.”
Elaine examined the beast he was assembling. “No more so than building it, I assume.”
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It will probably take a month or two to complete with so many components.” He hefted the plate from Denise’s pram. The baby carriage jolted up several inches, coiling tight its springs after the cumbersome strain.
Elaine relieved her basket of the roller instrument and carried it to the partially built mechanism, adding the object to the errant spread of machinery. Curious, she studied the beginnings of the printing press and considered where certain parts might go.