15.
FABIENNE HAD MANAGED TO retrieve three knives from the burnt-out shop.
Madame wouldn’t need them for a while since her injuries would prevent her from working in the foreseeable future. The schoolmaster had offered Madame a room in his house in the meantime. She would at least have the illusion of his protection, which was better than nothing at all, and if she stayed indoors, Müller might even assume she had died in the fire. He was unlikely to be bothered to check. And, anyway, concealing Madame was a short-term problem because within a few days Müller would no longer be a threat to anyone.
It gave Fabienne huge satisfaction to use Madame’s smallest knife now to cut into small pieces the brown webcap mushrooms that would stop Müller for good. She put them in the pot on the stove with the garlic and wild onions and added a little water. The basket of wild mushrooms she’d also picked earlier sat on the kitchen surface, ready to take across to the house, where she would make the safe version of the soup for the kommandant’s dinner guests.
“Are you sure about this?” Mamie asked.
Fabienne had never been more certain. “The main symptoms will take days or even weeks to show and it will be impossible to trace anything back to the mushrooms. They will think he died of the flu, or some alcohol-related disease. God knows he drinks like a hungry pig eats.”
Mamie sighed. “I pray you are right.”
Fabienne took the cooked webcap mushrooms from the stove and tipped the small portion into a cup and set it inside the basket. Mamie took Fabienne’s hand and massaged it with a tenderness that spoke of sorrow, though Fabienne had hardened since losing her parents. Still, there was always a tug from inside the emptiness. She couldn’t think about the consequences of failure, only about what she must do to help those who couldn’t help themselves, like Madame.
“Nancy will come to the house later, at around nine-thirty. I will offer to manage the kitchen so that you can get away.” Mamie started washing the pan. “I suppose Nancy will have Cleo for company when you go back out again.” She looked towards Fabienne. “She will ask questions.”
The kitten wasn’t going to be any help protecting Nancy, but it would be a distraction and a comfort. “Cleo will entertain her until she falls asleep. She is used to us not being there and if she thinks it’s a bit of a game, she won’t worry too much. She knows I have deliveries to make at odd times of the day. She will be fine, and they should be finished with the meal by eleven-thirty, so you’ll be back then.”
“Nothing is ever that simple, Fabienne.” Mamie sighed.
“But it’s better that we are trying to help rather than doing nothing. I could never live with myself if I just sat back and waited for the end of the war. We owe it to the people we’ve lost to fight in their memory.”
Mamie stroked her cheek. “I know. I am proud of you, but I am also afraid you will—”
“No.” Fabienne drew her close and kissed her forehead. “Don’t think that. I believe we make a difference and that is what matters,” she whispered.
She had helped twenty-six escapees to cross the border in the last year. She hoped that would count for something, but she wanted to do more, and rescuing the Jews on the train was exactly that. Mamie’s eyes were glassy with tears when she pulled away from her.
“And now Nancy is involved,” Mamie said.
Fabienne had wanted to keep her cousin away from everything to keep her safe, and if there had been another way she would have taken it. “Does she know the truth?”
“I told her you were tired and needed a break and they wouldn’t give you one because of the guests coming, so she’s going to pretend she is very ill and needs one of us with her.”
They had to have a good reason for Fabienne to be released from her duties during their Good Friday dinner, even though Mamie could manage the kitchen perfectly well on her own. The German officers wouldn’t want a sick child anywhere near them, they were paranoid about getting ill, and there wasn’t anyone else who could take care of Nancy. “If Frau Neumann refuses to let me go, I’ll sneak out,” she said. “Will you be okay to tell them I took Nancy to the doctor before curfew and that I will be back?”
“And if they go to the house to check?”
“They won’t.” She didn’t know for certain, but she had to hope that the dinner would take their attention away from the annoyance of a sick French child. “As long as they are being well fed and entertained. Plenty of wine and brandy will help.”
“And we will pay the price later,” Mamie said.
Fabienne couldn’t look at her because the honesty stirred up thoughts and feelings that she worked so hard to suppress. “Frau Neumann isn’t like the officers. I don’t think she’s a pacifist, but I don’t think that she supports the war either.” She had been kind to them, protected them as best she could from Müller, and allowed Nancy to play with Astrid. She loved her daughter and challenged her husband. Fabienne was as convinced as she could be that Frau Neumann would not deliberately cause them any trouble.
Mamie poured a small glass of milk. “She doesn’t appear to be, but you can never be sure, Fabienne.” She started towards the door. “I’ll just take this to Nancy.”
Fabienne nodded.
Being in Frau Neumann’s company made Fabienne feel something that was neither simple to explain nor easy to argue against. She recalled Maurice asking if the kommandant’s wife was hot. She had laughed at the time, and he had made the point about desire not following the rules of war. Hearts didn’t know the rules either, it seemed. She’d needed to get close to Frau Neumann to do her job, but she wanted to be close to her because of how she felt about her.
She should detest her for being German, but if she did that it would make her no better than Hitler who hated people for being Jewish, or communist, or homosexual, or just for being different than the Nazi perception of how people should be and live.
Fabienne wouldn’t have thought of herself as naturally fitting into the Resistance movement before the war, she’d been a simple farmer who worked the land to produce food, and yet she had slotted into her role as if it were second nature. The losses she had known would always be with her, but she held Hitler and the Reich responsible for them, not Frau Neumann just because she was married to a German commander.
Can you ever be sure of anyone? the voice in her head asked.
War had taught her that events changed people, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worst. Everyone did what they must to survive. Everyone. She was convinced Frau Neumann was vehemently opposed to the war, or at least to the cruelty that the German soldiers were inflicting. But could she be trusted?
Mamie returned to the kitchen. “She is giving the milk to Cleo,” she said, and smiled. “Bless her.”
Fabienne went back to her rambling thoughts.
What was also evident was that there was little Frau Neumann could do about anything, and especially if her husband decreed otherwise. She was trapped by the necessity for obedience that was demanded of her. What Fabienne didn’t know was whether the kommandant’s wife would do something if she could see how. Fabienne could help Frau Neumann if that was the case, but for that, Fabienne would need to trust her. While in her heart she wanted to believe in her, her head wouldn’t let her. Not completely.
“You’re still thinking about her,” Mamie said.
Fabienne ran her fingers through her hair and rubbed her eyes. “She doesn’t like Müller any more than we do.”
“She doesn’t much like her husband either.” Mamie put her hand on Fabienne’s arm. “If you are going ahead with this plan tonight, make no mistakes with him, Fabienne. Don’t give him a second chance.”
If Müller became aware she had to leave her duties, he would involve the kommandant in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t be a question of whether Frau Neumann wanted to help; she wouldn’t be able to intervene. Both men would be of a mind to make Fabienne stay even if it was to the detriment of a child, and even without the pressure of the senior German officers who would expect the Neumanns to be fully in control of their household. No, if Müller found out, her plan to leave the house would be thwarted and that would impact the mission. She would put enough webcap mushrooms in his soup for him to become preoccupied with stomach cramps during the evening and to not wake up at some point within the coming week. “I will, Mamie. I will.”
She couldn’t let go of her thoughts about the kommandant’s wife’s leaning regarding the war. She had a strong inclination that Frau Neumann would do something to help them. She hoped she was right, because if, as she assumed, Frau Neumann was intelligent enough to work out how Müller had died, then she would also know who had poisoned him. The answer as to the kommandant’s wife’s loyalties would be confirmed soon enough. Either she would become a silent conspirator, or Fabienne would be shot along with Mamie and Nancy. But the alternative was to let Müller live, and Fabienne couldn’t do that. Not after everything the evil putain de Boche had done.
“Frau Neumann won’t be able to help us if Müller finds out, but that doesn’t mean she supports the war.”
Mamie sighed. “No mother in their right mind could want to see their husband and children taken from them, never to return. That doesn’t mean she is on our side either.”
Fabienne knew Mamie was talking about the loss of her two children, Fabienne’s mother and Nancy’s father. Fabienne had the hurt of having lost the people she loved the most, but she knew it was nothing compared to a mother losing their children before their time. She eased Mamie into a gentle embrace, reaffirming the promise she’d made to herself at her parents’ graves. “That is why we must fight until the end,” Fabienne whispered, ignoring Mamie’s comment that Frau Neumann might not be on their side. Given the discussion she’d had with Frau Neumann, Fabienne was sure she was on the side of justice and fairness and goodness. That was as good as she could expect. She hoped it was enough. “Now we must go to the house and prepare dinner.”
***
Fabienne and Mamie entered the kitchen to a bounty of food.
Mamie unwrapped a parcel to reveal a large slab of meat. “This will need braising.”
Fabienne checked off the other items: artichokes, potatoes, two tins of peaches, eggs, milk, a small packet of Italian coffee, flour, sugar, butter and cheese. “Anyone looking in might think the war has ended,” she said.
“That would be a treat.” Mamie beat the meat with a rolling pin and set to work making the stew.
Fabienne prepared the vegetables and put them in a pot so they would be ready to boil later. She took the mushrooms out of the basket, leaving the cup of poisonous mushrooms hidden under a towel. She chopped the ingredients and made the soup, adding a splash of white wine for flavour.
“I’ll stoke the stove,” she said, and added some wood. She took the basket outside and filled it with logs, then lit a cigarette and stood staring out over the garden. She turned at the click of the kitchen door opening.
“It’s a beautiful sky this evening. It’s nice when the sun goes down later in the day,” Frau Neumann said.
Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed, her fair skin blotchy, as though she’d been crying. Fabienne studied her, wondering what had caused the sadness, drawing down on her cigarette. She blew the smoke into the air. It seemed they both needed a distraction. “We used to lay on the lawn stargazing late into the night in the summer months.”
“I used to enjoy going to my mother’s house in the countryside just to see the stars so clearly.” Frau Neumann said. She released a long breath. “How are the preparations going for supper? Do you have everything you need?”
Fabienne stubbed out her cigarette. “It will be a feast. There is enough food to feed an army.”
Frau Neumann frowned. “Really?”
“Well maybe not an entire army.” Fabienne smiled.
She didn’t want to have a poke at her when it was the kommandant’s privileges and the captain’s contacts that had given them access to supplies that others could either only dream of or be killed for in the process of navigating the black market. “You look like you could do with one of these,” she said as she took the Gauloises out of her pocket. She presented the packet.
Frau Neumann stared at them longingly, and sighed. “I had given up,” she said as she pulled a cigarette free and put it to her lips.
Fabienne struck a match and cupped her hand around the flame as she lifted it to the tip.
Frau Neumann leaned forwards, cupped her hand around Fabienne’s, and drew down. She didn’t appear to notice the subtle contact that left Fabienne’s skin tingling. Fabienne shook the match to extinguish it, dropped it to the ground, and put her hand in her pocket.
“My husband informed me that our son, Ralf, has been selected to join the 12th SS Panzer Division. He leaves for Belgium today.” Frau Neumann tilted her chin upwards and blew out a stream of smoke.
“Not a good day, then,” Fabienne said.
“Gerhard seems to think it’s a wonderful day.”
It was the first time she had used her husband’s name in front of Fabienne, and she was sharing information she probably should not. Her shoulders sagged, defeated. She could be French in the way she looked right now. She wrapped her arm across her body and held the cigarette poised at her lips. In the light of the stars, she carried the elegance of a film star, or a model, and yet she looked forlorn. Fabienne was even more confident in her judgement of Frau Neumann. Her heart skipped a beat. How she wished they were alone and without the war. She would have offered her an embrace, comforted her.
“I fear I will never see him again,” Frau Neumann said.
Fabienne leaned against the wall. At least she didn’t have to go away to fight, but the dangers were there all the same. She didn’t worry about losing her own life so much as she feared losing the only two people who mattered in the world. “I can imagine the pain,” she said.
Tears welled in Frau Neumann’s eyes. “I don’t know which is harder. Thinking that he will die, or that he will become someone I won’t recognise.”
“The war changes us all,” Fabienne said. Frau Neumann stared at her like a newly born foal unsure of itself or its surroundings. The cigarette trembled in her hand as she drew down on it.
“God, how awful it all is,” Frau Neumann said.
Movement in the shadows close to the arch caught Fabienne’s attention. She moved as far back against the wall as she could, hoping that if someone was spying, they would only see Frau Neumann. “I have to get back to work,” she said. She picked up the basket of logs and went into the kitchen.
“The meat is cooking. I’ll start on the crème,” Mamie said.
Frau Neumann entered the kitchen and walked through to the dining room without speaking.
“I’ll make the pastry for the tart,” Fabienne said. Mamie wouldn’t quiz her, not here, but she would ask questions later. She stirred the mushroom soup and tasted it, added more salt.
Nanny came to the kitchen table early with Astrid. Fabienne gave them their bowls of soup and a thick chunk of freshly baked bread. They ate in silence and when they left, Fabienne breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t like Nanny’s sternness or that Astrid was unnaturally subdued around the older, intense woman. She didn’t trust Nanny one bit, even though she hadn’t done or said anything specifically to cause Fabienne to be wary of her.
Mamie whisked the eggs and added milk and a little sugar. She set the bowl on the heat and stirred gently.
Fabienne set the table for Hauptmann Müller. She took the cup of poisonous mushrooms from the basket, put it on the surface close to the pot of soup, hidden amongst the cooking utensils, chopping board and pans of uncooked vegetables.
She cut a large chunk of bread and a piece of cheese and set them on the table, along with a glass and a bottle of wine from the fridge. He wasn’t supposed to drink while working, but that hadn’t stopped him in the past.
When he entered the kitchen, her heart raced. He sat at the table and started on the cheese. She stood over the large pan soup with her back to him, stirring it slowly, her eyes closed, rehearsing the simple plan in her mind.
“Guten abend, Hauptmann Müller,” Mamie said, while stirring the crème.
“Hurry up. I haven’t got all night,” he said.
Fabienne kept her back to him as she tipped the chopped webcaps into a bowl and added two ladles of hot soup from the pan. She stirred the dish and placed it in front of him.
The repetitive clacking of his spoon against the bowl brought a wry smile and a wave of relief that was quickly swept away by an urgent hammering on the main door.
Müller cursed, stood up, and strode out of the kitchen.
Fabienne turned and stared at the table. The bread and cheese had gone, but more than half the soup remained. Should she leave it in case he returned?
“Clear it away,” Mamie said, as if reading her thoughts. “He might not come back and if he falls ill, we don’t want any evidence.”
Fabienne took the bowl and tipped the contents down the sink. There were too many webcap pieces, she was sure of it, and she tensed in anger.
“Don’t, Fabienne,” Mamie whispered. “Perhaps it was enough.”
Fabienne wasn’t convinced, but there was nothing she could do about it now, and if it wasn’t enough to do the job, then she would just have to find another way.