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Love's Rescue

By Linda Shenton Matchett

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Paris, August 1944

Chapter One
Rolande Bisset ducked her head and pulled the brim of her starched cotton sunhat lower over her face, not so much to block the sun’s glare, but to avoid the merchants’ ogling and shoppers’ sneers. She hurried past the darkened shops, most no longer operating since the Germans arrived four years ago. Would she ever smell freshly-baked croissants or peruse a succulent collection of vegetables again?
A scorching breeze sent her hat’s veil dancing. Perspiration trickled between her shoulder blades and threatened to ruin her cobalt-blue silk suit. Her pumps had seen better days, but thanks to leather rationing, a new pair was not in the offing. The Occupiers needed the material for their boots.
Intent upon reaching her destination, Rolande failed to see a rotund woman approaching. They collided, and the woman’s elaborate chapeau slid from her upswept hair and poked Rolande in the face before landing on the pavement.
“I beg your pardon, madam.” Rolande bent to retrieve the confection of flowers, birds, and ribbons.
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Watch where you’re going, collaborateur.” She snatched the millinery masterpiece from Rolande’s grasp and drew her skirts close. Looking down her nose, she plunked the hat on her head and marched down the sidewalk.
Heat suffused Rolande’s face, and it had nothing to do with the day’s temperature. Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes. She blinked them away and stiffened her spine. She couldn’t let anyone see how the women’s words sliced her heart and her conscience.
No longer hungry, she continued down the avenue past Aux Cerises Café where the outdoor tables were filled with German soldiers. One of the men whistled and smirked, his Aryan features marred by a long scar that ran from his eye to his jaw. Her stomach clenched, and nausea threatened.
Pigs. Men were all pigs.
She continued along the avenue until she came to the tiny market her older brother owned. He never acknowledged her presence in the shop, but neither did he forbid her to enter. His wife typically looked at her with a mixture of pity and contempt.
The brass bell jangled above her head as she pushed open the door and stepped inside. Vacant shelves greeted her, and she sighed. Most patrons were smart enough to come first thing in the morning for the best selection, but she had been entertaining.
Little did he realize, Standartenführer Wilhelm Wagner was one of her most reliable sources for information. Tipsy when he arrived; before he left at the end of the evening, he was deep in his cups. With minimal prodding, he’d told her about the anticipated invasion by the Allied troops. Sure, the rumor had been circulating among civilians, but to hear it from a military man made the possibility plausible.
Liberation, at last.
“I set this aside for you.”
Rolande’s head whipped around.
Her sister-in-law, Louise, stood behind her, a brown-paper package in her hands. She looked toward the door then shoved the parcel into Rolande’s arms. “You are later than usual, and I was concerned there’d be no food remaining. There are a few potatoes and carrots in the bin, but nothing else.”
“You’re very kind.”
“It’s nothing. Now, hurry before Henri returns.”
“Je vous remercie. Why are you doing this?”
Louise waved her hand and frowned. “There is no time. He is due any moment. Give me your ration book.”
Rolande handed her the book. Her sister-in-law tore out the required stamps, then pushed the pamphlet back into Rolande’s hand.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. We are famille, no matter how Henri acts.”
For the second time that morning, Rolande’s eyes filled with tears. She was getting soft. That would have to change for her to survive the Occupation. Dipping her head, she tucked the package into her canvas bag then threaded her way through the shop to the front door where she came face-to-face with Henri.
Visage dark, he scowled. “Did anyone see you come here?”
“The whole world, Henri. It is a public street. Would you like me to wear a disguise in the future? Perhaps sunglasses and a wig.”
“Non. What I would like is for you to find somewhere else to purchase your food.”
Louise gasped. “Henri. She is your sister.”
His lips compressed into a thin line, and he crossed his arms. “She is dead to me.”
Rolande drew back as if he’d slapped her. He’d always been condescending, but to declare her dead…the words cut through her.
“Fine. I will not bother you again.” She pushed past him into the stifling heat. Where would she find food? Two other shops in town had already refused to serve her.
j
Oblivious to the deprivation and sadness in Paris, birds chirped and flitted in the branches above Rolande’s head in the Jardin de Champs Élysées. She sat on the scarred wooden bench listening to the water pour over the Fontaine du Cirque. Listless yellow and purple blooms nodded at her from the fountain’s base. At least with the Germans’ love of art, they hadn’t destroyed the nearly three-hundred-year-old park.
Rolande closed her eyes. Are You there, God? Do you exist like the priest in the café said? If You are real, You have no reason to answer me, an unworthy woman of ill repute, but why did You allow this terrible war? Are the rumors accurate that the Allies are on their way?
If only it was true. Would they take her with them to a land of freedom and democracy where she could start a new life? Tears coursed down her cheeks. She was fooling herself to think she had skills that would enable her to get a real job to support herself. No country would let her across their borders.
Footsteps sounded behind her then the bench groaned in protest as someone sat next to her. She peeked through slitted eyelids at a large body squeezed into a German SS uniform. Swallowing a curse, she forced a smile and opened her eyes. “Wilhelm, I would ask how you found me, but your men are everywhere.”
Wilhelm ran his forefinger along her jawline. His smile transformed his boyish face into a rapacious demeanor. “Ja, we patrol in order to keep you safe. What are you doing here in the middle of the day?”
“I was shopping, and it didn’t go…well. My brother has forbidden me to frequent his market any longer. I came to consider my options.” Despite the heat, her hands were chilled and stiff. She rubbed them together before sliding them into the folds of her skirt. “I only have a few tins put by.”
“You should have come to me. As your special friend, I can ensure that you are provided for. You know that.” He drew lazy circles on her shoulder.
She stifled a shudder. “You have been most generous, but I hesitated to bother you with something so petty.”
“Silly Liebchen, I wouldn’t let my beautiful Schmetterling waste away.” He puffed out his chest. “It is my duty to ensure you and your countrymen are taken care of. Life is better now that we have arrived. Surely, you see that.”
“You’re right. I should have asked you.”
He leaned toward her, a wolfish gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps I should come to you later. I will bring provisions, and you can prepare a delicious meal, compliments of the Third Reich. Then we can enjoy each other’s company. Ja?”
Bile rose in Rolande’s throat. His sweaty bulk combined with his arrogance disgusted her. There was nothing about him she enjoyed, but perhaps he had news. If she got him drunk enough, he’d share what he knew, then fall asleep before any physical contact was required.
“I would be happy to entertain you, Wilhelm, and I will wear your favorite dress. Be sure to bring wine. What I have is not fit for someone of your importance. Shall we say eight o’clock?”
“Why so late?” He frowned. “Will you be seeing others?”
“I have more errands to run, but yes, I will have visitors. You said it is helpful to your cause if I am able to ferret out information.” Hopefully, he would never know how much of what she passed along was contrived in her own mind. She patted his cheek then drew back her hand. “I’m doing my part for the war effort.”
He grabbed her wrist and held it in an iron grip. “As long as that is all you are doing.”
It was useless to struggle when he became possessive, bullying her like he did everyone else, and it was dangerous to taunt him, but she couldn’t resist a dig. “These men mean nothing to me. Besides, the war will be over soon, Wilhelm. The Americans will come, and you will return to Germany, your wife, and your son. I will be a distant memory that brings an occasional smile to your lips.”
His face darkened. “What do you know of the Amerikaners?”
“Only what I hear in the streets; that they landed on the Normandy beaches and are headed this way. I am not looking forward to a clash on Parisian streets.”
“They will not make it to Paris. We will stop them. They are not strong like us.”
Rolande turned her gaze toward the sky. Dear God, don’t let that be so.
Would the priest’s unseen God hear her?

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