Page 289 of Of Sins and Sacrifice

“But I want to.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Tell me.”

He smiles indulgently at me.

“There are some events in our lives that define us—that make us who we are and prepare us for who we are meant to be. I may hate the fact that you interfered with your fate. But that in itself is perhaps part of your fate.”

“Isn’t that circular logic?”

“Ah, my Minnie is so smart,” he coos as he pats my head affectionately.

I push his hand aside and punch him lightly—he’s human, after all—in the shoulder.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“How about I pause it then? We’re at the border.” He nods to the militia cars waiting up ahead.

“Will we have any issues? We don’t have any papers.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He drives to the barrier and stops. A couple Frenchmen dressed in military uniform come toward us, and one of them knocks on the window.

Mine lowers it and smiles affably at the soldiers.

“Bonjour,” he drawls in perfect French. Just how many languages does he speak? His German was perfect, too.

I pay close attention to his words, managing to understand some of what he’s saying.

He claims we got robbed and we lost our papers, but he has proof of his identity. When the soldiers ask about the proof, Mine only says to call his superior, who then should call his superior until he reaches the Army General and say Lucien de Vitry is asking for safe passage into France.

Skeptical, one of the soldiers walks back to his outpost to make the call. The other soldier waits by our car, surveying us suspiciously.

“And she? Who is she?” He points at me.

“My wife.”

I preen at the words.

“Oui, je suis sa pousse,” I say in a haughty voice in French. I might not be fluent in it, but I am quite good at it since I happen to love French cinema too.

Mine turns to look at me, blinking repeatedly.

The soldier stares at me, too.

I frown. “What?” I mouth to Mine.

“Elle est anglaise,” Mine adds apologetically as he turns to the soldier. He starts laughing and nods at him.

“No, I am not,” I blurt out.

The soldier stops laughing, his eyes widening. His hands are suddenly on his rifle and he gets into position.

“Non, non. Vous n’avez pas besoin de dégainer votre arme. Elle est juste très mauvaise en français et n’a pas compris,” Mine quickly says. “Right, Minnie? You only speak English.”

Mine glares at me and I slowly nod. “Yes,” I say in my best English accent. “I only speak English. I apologize if I said something wrong.”

The soldier does not seem convinced.

“Sortez de la voiture,” he barks out. “Mettez les mains où je peux les voir.” He takes a step back and points his rifle at us.

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