The Last Time I Saw Paris - Lynn Sheene [89]
She closed her eyes and heard only the cawing and fighting of crows in the field. She slid down the gnarled trunk to a seat in the grass, felt the cool strength of the tree support her. The sun’s rays soaked into her skin as her mind wandered, lighting here and there on single moments or sensations: the feel of Grey’s arms enveloping her, translucent flower petals against the light streaming in the flower shop windows.
The farm behind her was deserted. The girls asked to “wash clothes” this morning. Claire knew they were wading and throwing rocks into the deep pools of the stream, but she let them go. She needed to be alone.
She’d waited for Grey’s return all yesterday, trying to work, trying not to snap at the girls. By this morning, she gave up on appearing unconcerned and came to watch for Grey as soon as the girls were out of sight.
What then?
The way Grey looked at Claire with his slate eyes burning, his smile as he watched Anna play. There was a warmth there. A depth. God, but she wanted to believe he was coming back.
The rumble of a heavy diesel engine startled Claire. Her eyes jerked open and she stumbled to her feet.
An army truck slid to a stop in the farmyard. The doors opened and three soldiers piled out. They wore feldgrau but the twin lightning bolts on their helmets and collars caught the sunlight and revealed them as Waffen-SS. An officer, in SS collar patches and shoulder stripes, stepped on the running board and hopped onto the ground.
Two soldiers rushed toward the house, rifles at the ready. The officer stood by the truck. He lit a cigarette while the soldier at his side fiddled with his gun and peered into the dark doorway of the barn.
Claire slid behind the tree, her heart thudding in her chest. The girls were noisy, splashing in the river. You could almost hear them from the house. Crouching low, she slipped backward off the crest of the hill, then threaded along the base, submerged in the grass. Scrambling over roots and rocks, she circled the yard toward the tree line.
A shout echoed and Claire dropped to her stomach, her breath held. After a long moment she peered through the grass. The soldiers came out of the house. They conferred with the officer and turned toward the barn.
She scurried on hands and knees toward a fallen tree near the edge of the forest, cursing as her shins scraped against a splintered branch. Breathing fast, she scanned the clearing. Two soldiers disappeared into the barn. The officer faced the house. The remaining soldier was gone. Claire measured the distance with her eyes.
A shrill cry behind the house and her body froze. The girls. They’d come back. A burst of sobs, frightened and thin. A smothered crying in the yard, then a scuffle. Claire recognized the high-pitched sobbing. Anna needed help. Anna needed her.
A current of heat ran through her, a sensation so fierce Claire wondered at it. Rage pulsed inside like her body would explode. She stood, pulled back her shoulders and strode toward the soldiers.
They turned to her, fingers pressed against triggers. Anna was a sobbing pile in the middle of the yard. A soldier towered over the girl, his hobnailed boot raised to stomp. The officer leaned against the truck; the two remaining soldiers stood at the edge of the clearing, facing the river.
“Bonjour.” Claire hurried into the clearing, hips swinging. Her voice was low and welcoming as if a handsome neighbor had come to visit.
The officer spoke a command. Except for the soldier standing over Anna, they converged around Claire. She stopped and arranged a pose. One foot forward, hands on cocked hips, a half smile pulling at her lips.
The officer was trim, in fighting shape, dark hair combed back in a perfect wave. Bored eyes and thin lips turned down in a displeased sneer. He barked a command in German. Claire didn’t respond. He backhanded her across the