CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
July 1942
By Sunday, Charlotte knew her parents wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon.
“They’ve already been sent to Drancy,” Ruby told her gently that morning. “Laure has spoken with a few people who saw them just yesterday. They’re in decent spirits, sweetheart.”
Charlotte nodded, trying hard not to cry. She wanted Ruby to confide things like this in her; and she was afraid that if she broke down, Ruby would revert to treating her like a child. “Where will they go from Drancy?”
Ruby hesitated. “There’s still a chance they’ll be released. But I don’t want to get your hopes up. Realistically, they may be headed east, to a work camp.”
“A work camp,” Charlotte repeated flatly.
“Your parents are both healthy. It will be difficult for them, but there’s every reason to expect that they’ll be fine.”
But nothing was fine anymore, and Charlotte was certain Ruby knew that as well as she did. The world had changed overnight.
When Ruby had explained the idea of drawing up false papers to identify her as Ruby’s adopted daughter, Charlotte had begun to cry. Ruby had pulled the girl into her arms, explaining over and over again that it was only a ruse, that it was just to protect her until her parents came home, which would surely be soon. But Ruby had taken it wrong—that wasn’t what Charlotte was crying about. She was sobbing because she knew it was a dire measure, one that Ruby wouldn’t take unless she truly believed Charlotte was here to stay. And there was a part of her that was crying because she knew how lucky she was to have found a home—even under such strange and terrible circumstances—with the bravest woman she’d ever known.
“I won’t be replacing your parents,” Ruby had said firmly as she embraced Charlotte. “Not at all. I would never try to do that. But from now on, Charlotte, I hope you know I’m your family too.”
“But won’t I be putting you at risk by staying?”
“No.” Ruby’s answer had been firm.
“What about the escape line? Can I help you with it now?”
“Absolutely not. I don’t want you involved.”
“But—”
“No, Charlotte. It’s too dangerous.”
Samuel had departed a day earlier, leaving just past dawn with Laure. And Ruby had left at noon for a meeting with some of the others on the escape line, leaving Charlotte at home by herself for the first time since the roundups.
She was walking around the apartment in a daze, trying to imagine how this place could ever feel like home, when there was a knock at the door. She froze. What if it was the police? Then again, perhaps it was a pilot seeking refuge. Maybe she could prove to Ruby that she was capable of helping after all. She tiptoed across the room and peered through the peephole.
She saw a boy around her age, maybe a year or two older, standing in the hall. He had black hair and wore ragged clothes, and despite the fact that his face looked young, he had the broad shoulders of a man a decade older.
Charlotte took a step back, unsure of what to do. He didn’t look like he could be working with the police, but he wasn’t a pilot either; he appeared too young—and too comfortable in his grimy outfit. She was about to turn away when he knocked again.
“I can hear you in there, you know,” he said through the door. His accent was most definitely French, and his voice was deeper than she’d expected. “I mean you no harm. I have a delivery for Fleur.”
Ruby’s code name. Charlotte knew that much from the eavesdropping she’d shamelessly done on her neighbor over the last several months. So was this boy a part of the escape line?
“Please just let me deliver my package, and I’ll be on my way,” he said when she hadn’t moved.
Charlotte still wasn’t certain that it was the right thing to do, but she suddenly had a desperate urge to be face-to-face with this stranger. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. She could see the questions in his green eyes. He was wondering who she was and what she was doing here. But was he searching for something else in her face too? She found that once she had locked gazes with him, she couldn’t look away; he had the kind of eyes that looked too bright for his face—for any face, in fact.
“Good day,” he said, breaking the silence. “I’m looking for Madame Fleur.”
“She’s not here. But she’s my cousin.” Charlotte could scarcely believe she’d just said that. It was part of her new cover, of course, but it felt like a betrayal of Maman and Papa. “I can take a message, if you like.”
The boy studied her, one corner of his mouth curling up slightly. “I see. Well, then, please tell your cousin that I’ve delivered your papers. Forged them myself.” He held up an envelope.
Charlotte’s cheeks grew hot. He knew she’d just lied to him. “You forged them?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It was nothing.”
“But how old are you?” Charlotte realized right away that it hadn’t been a polite question.
“Fifteen.”
“Oh.” She felt silly for asking and didn’t know what to say next.
“I learned to forge from my dad,” he said finally. “But he’s dead now, so I had to take over. I’m pretty good. Take a look.”
Charlotte took the envelope from him and slipped the papers out. She didn’t know what birth certificates and adoption papers were supposed to look like, but these appeared very official, with stamps and seals and everything. “Nice work,” she said, trying to sound like she knew what she was talking about.
His smile widened a bit. “Thank you.”
“Maybe—maybe I could help too.”
He looked confused. “You want to forge papers?”
“No. I mean, maybe, though I don’t know that I’d be any good at it. But I want to do something. I’m tired of just watching things get worse and worse and not doing anything.” If Ruby wouldn’t let her help, maybe this mysterious boy would.
He studied her for a minute. “How old are you?”
She drew herself up to her full height. “Nearly fourteen.”
“Are you brave?”
“Oh yes.” She wanted to believe it was true. After all, she hadn’t broken yet.
The boy searched her face again. “Well, I suppose you could be useful. Let me talk to some of the people I work with. I’ll be in touch.”
“Really?” She could scarcely believe it.
“Why not?” He shrugged, then turned to go.
“Wait!” she called after him. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“It’s Lucien.” He held her gaze for a moment. “The papers say you’re named Hélène. But who are you really?”
She hesitated. “Charlotte. But I’m not sure I’ll ever be her again.”
“Charlotte’s a beautiful name. But so is Hélène. Whoever you decide to be, I’m glad to know you. I’ll see you again.”
And then he was gone. Charlotte stared after him as he disappeared down the stairs of their building, confused by the way her heart was still pounding and the fact that her face felt like it was on fire.