Page 26 of Love in the Shadows

“This is a difficult time, my child. We all find ourselves doing things we wouldn’t have expected in our other lives. If you are doing God’s work, there is no sin in that. Still, it pays to be vigilant of your neighbours. You should go and light a candle, in your search for clarity and comfort.”

Another coded message. “Yes, Father.”

She left the confessional and went to the opposite side of the church, to where the unlit candles were. She glanced around to confirm that no one was paying her any attention, then plucked a short thin candle from the box. To the side was a small block of wax with no wick. She picked it up and put it in her pocket. She lit the candle and placed it on the altar table, bent her head, and prayed for her family still living, then headed back to the cottage. She put the block of wax in the cupboard and went across to the house.

“You’re late,” Müller said as she entered the kitchen through the back door. He straightened his back and towered over the threshold to the dining room, his gaze intense.

Mamie’s hands trembled as she scrubbed potatoes in the sink. She didn’t look up.

Anger gripped Fabienne but she could not react to him. “There was a checkpoint on the road, Hauptmann Müller. I had to wait in line for a long time.”

He strode towards her, grabbed her hair, and tugged her head backwards. “Don’t lie to me.” His breath reeked from nicotine and stale alcohol. Her stomach roiled. He flung her backwards, smacking her head against the countertop. “Now get to work.”

She picked up the wood basket and went outside, her head ringing. She felt the swelling prickle at the roots of her hair. Putain. She took her time retrieving the wood, calming her anger.

When she returned, Frau Neumann was standing in the kitchen and Müller had gone. Mamie still didn’t look up as she worked. A tight knot remained in Fabienne’s stomach. “What can I do for you, Frau Neumann?” she asked as she stoked the stove.

“Could I get a coffee? I can make it myself. And a glass of berry cordial for Astrid. I made some earlier. It’s in the fridge.”

“I can make the coffee. Shall I bring the drinks through to the dining room?” She regretted the curtness in her tone that had nothing to do with the woman standing in front of her.

Frau Neumann avoided making eye contact. “Yes. We will be at the piano.”

As she left the kitchen, Fabienne turned to Mamie. “Did anything happen while I was away?”

Mamie turned to her, revealing the cut beneath her left eye and the blue-and-black bruising that had already blossomed across her thin skin. “I fell, Fabienne.”

Fabienne gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and froze. If she moved, she would hunt him down and do something stupid. “Putain de Boche.”

“Leave it, Fabienne. Don’t give him the satisfaction,” Mamie whispered.

“I have to do—”

“Yes, you have to make coffee and take in the cordial.” Mamie put her hand on Fabienne’s arm.

The halting sound of musical scales filtered into the kitchen and Fabienne took the drinks through on a tray. Astrid was practising, her tongue poking from her mouth, prodding one key at a time with her index finger. Frau Neumann watched her daughter, pride emanating from her warm smile.

Looking through to the foyer, there was no sign of Müller. “Where shall I put the drinks?”

Frau Neumann held onto the smile as she looked towards Fabienne, and they stared at each other until the discomfort registered and Fabienne broke eye contact.

“On the table, please.”

Astrid jumped down from the piano stool and went to the table. She drank the cordial without pausing. “Can I go and play with Lakritze now?” She put the glass back on the tray.

Frau Neumann nodded. “Just for five minutes and then you must get back to your studies.”

Fabienne waited until Astrid had left the dining room, and long enough to be sure that Müller wasn’t going to pounce on them. “She plays well,” she said, the anger still roiling inside her.

Frau Neumann gave a small laugh. “She tries hard, but she’s not a natural pianist. That gift I seem to have given my son, Ralf.”

She looked towards the photograph on the piano.

The image of Fabienne’s family came to her. “We have all lost things precious to us.”

Frau Neumann sipped her coffee and cleared her throat. “Yes.” She held Fabienne’s gaze. “What did you do before the war?”

Fabienne was thrown by the question. It was nice to be asked; it made her something other than the enemy or the house servant. It surprised her, cutting through the anger as it did. “I’m just a dairy farmer. The business has been, I mean was, in our family for three generations.”

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