a milder tone. “You weren’t supposed to go beyond the road. You should follow Curel’s orders and stop trying things on your own.”
“I made it back, didn’t I?” he asked indignantly, already recovering enough to argue with her.
“Just barely, by the look of you,” Laura replied. He winced as Laura ripped his ragged sleeve down to the wrist and examined the cut.
“Very nice,” she said grimly. “You’ll be lucky if this doesn’t infect. And I wonder how you’ll explain that to your ‘advisors’ down at the factory. I think they’ll notice a cutter with a bum arm, don’t you?”
“What am I supposed to do, go to drinking parties with them like my father?” he burst out, and Laura was sorry she’d been so hard on him.
“I’m not saying you should stop scouting the garrison,” she clarified gently. “You know I don’t want that at all. I’m only asking you to be careful. You take too many foolish risks.”
“I do what I have to do,” he said stubbornly, and she sighed. She inspected the jagged edges of the wound silently.
“How does it look?” he asked tentatively.
“I don’t know if it needs stitches,” Laura observed. “Brigitte should be doing this.”
That reminded Alain of his sister’s presence in Bar-le-Duc and he said, “I don’t like her being at that hospital all the time, with the boche night and day. I wish she’d come home.”
“She wants to finish her training and I think that’s very wise,” Laura said, removing an old sheet from the bureau next to the door and tearing it into strips. “The Germans have disrupted our lives enough.” She got a bottle of antiseptic and poured some into a basin, setting the bowl on the table. “Now hold still while I try to clean this up.”
Alain submitted to her ministrations, allowing her to wash and dress the wound. As she was finishing he asked in a low tone, “Where is Papa?”
Laura looked at him closely for a moment, and then answered just as quietly, “Sleeping upstairs.”
“Are you sure?”
“He was a little while ago.”
“Go and check. I have something to tell you.”
Laura obeyed. When she returned and nodded that he might speak, Alain whispered excitedly, “The American is coming.”
Obviously the very thought was a restorative. The color was back in his cheeks and he had recovered his usual animation.
“What do you mean?” she said. “Of course he’s coming, we’ve known that for a while.”
“No, I mean now. Tomorrow night, late. I just got word to meet him at the old abattoir in the Bois d’or. I’m to go there at midnight and wait until he comes. And you’re going to translate for him. That’s the job Curel mentioned to you.”
Laura didn’t answer, her mind on the danger to her young brother-in-law and her unknown countryman. So the American was about to arrive and help them implement their plan.
“What’s the matter?” Alain asked teasingly, seeing her expression. “Worried about me?”
“Of course,” Laura answered smoothly, going to the stove to move the kettle from the hot center to the edge of the iron cover. She was always aware that Alain’s crush on her could escalate into something more serious with little encouragement. She treated personal remarks neutrally, careful to keep him at a distance without actually hurting his feelings.
But tonight Alain was easily distracted, his mind on the imminent arrival of her compatriot. “I don’t see why we have to import this American to do the job,” he said petulantly.
Laura stared at him. “I thought that you were happy he’s coming.”
“I’m happy we’re getting started, but we could handle it ourselves, without him.” He bent his injured arm at the elbow to test the dressing.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Laura replied, more sharply than she had intended. “He’s being specially trained with explosives, Curel told you that. Where could we find anybody with that expertise? Stop griping about
“I made it back, didn’t I?” he asked indignantly, already recovering enough to argue with her.
“Just barely, by the look of you,” Laura replied. He winced as Laura ripped his ragged sleeve down to the wrist and examined the cut.
“Very nice,” she said grimly. “You’ll be lucky if this doesn’t infect. And I wonder how you’ll explain that to your ‘advisors’ down at the factory. I think they’ll notice a cutter with a bum arm, don’t you?”
“What am I supposed to do, go to drinking parties with them like my father?” he burst out, and Laura was sorry she’d been so hard on him.
“I’m not saying you should stop scouting the garrison,” she clarified gently. “You know I don’t want that at all. I’m only asking you to be careful. You take too many foolish risks.”
“I do what I have to do,” he said stubbornly, and she sighed. She inspected the jagged edges of the wound silently.
“How does it look?” he asked tentatively.
“I don’t know if it needs stitches,” Laura observed. “Brigitte should be doing this.”
That reminded Alain of his sister’s presence in Bar-le-Duc and he said, “I don’t like her being at that hospital all the time, with the boche night and day. I wish she’d come home.”
“She wants to finish her training and I think that’s very wise,” Laura said, removing an old sheet from the bureau next to the door and tearing it into strips. “The Germans have disrupted our lives enough.” She got a bottle of antiseptic and poured some into a basin, setting the bowl on the table. “Now hold still while I try to clean this up.”
Alain submitted to her ministrations, allowing her to wash and dress the wound. As she was finishing he asked in a low tone, “Where is Papa?”
Laura looked at him closely for a moment, and then answered just as quietly, “Sleeping upstairs.”
“Are you sure?”
“He was a little while ago.”
“Go and check. I have something to tell you.”
Laura obeyed. When she returned and nodded that he might speak, Alain whispered excitedly, “The American is coming.”
Obviously the very thought was a restorative. The color was back in his cheeks and he had recovered his usual animation.
“What do you mean?” she said. “Of course he’s coming, we’ve known that for a while.”
“No, I mean now. Tomorrow night, late. I just got word to meet him at the old abattoir in the Bois d’or. I’m to go there at midnight and wait until he comes. And you’re going to translate for him. That’s the job Curel mentioned to you.”
Laura didn’t answer, her mind on the danger to her young brother-in-law and her unknown countryman. So the American was about to arrive and help them implement their plan.
“What’s the matter?” Alain asked teasingly, seeing her expression. “Worried about me?”
“Of course,” Laura answered smoothly, going to the stove to move the kettle from the hot center to the edge of the iron cover. She was always aware that Alain’s crush on her could escalate into something more serious with little encouragement. She treated personal remarks neutrally, careful to keep him at a distance without actually hurting his feelings.
But tonight Alain was easily distracted, his mind on the imminent arrival of her compatriot. “I don’t see why we have to import this American to do the job,” he said petulantly.
Laura stared at him. “I thought that you were happy he’s coming.”
“I’m happy we’re getting started, but we could handle it ourselves, without him.” He bent his injured arm at the elbow to test the dressing.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Laura replied, more sharply than she had intended. “He’s being specially trained with explosives, Curel told you that. Where could we find anybody with that expertise? Stop griping about
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