understood her brother’s involvement. Hitler’s ambition and ideology tore at the very fabric of her family. She lifted her eyes to Max. “How can Hitler—just one man—harbor such hatred, yet inspire so many?”
Max shrugged helplessly.
“Why did Jean-Claude share this with you?”
“I know someone in Portugal, in the government. They provided Katrina’s family with documents.”
Danielle wiped perspiration from her upper lip. Her entire world had changed in a matter of days. Her family and home were under siege, and now her brother was in the underground.
She hugged her arms to herself, reality dawning on her. “Are you involved with this secret organization?”
“No, I haven’t had time. But now, we have no choice. Perhaps Jean-Claude can get a message to Mother.”
Hope surged in her heart. “I just want to know that they’re all right, and if we can get them out of Poland. If we can, oh darling, I’d never ask for another thing as long as I live. Let’s wire Jean-Claude right away.”
She hugged him, warm tears spilling onto her cheeks, and she prayed it was not too late.
Max buried his face in her hair. They held one another for a long time, exhausted, listening to the clock’s measured rhythm, the minutes marching on.
After such a long, tumultuous day, Danielle felt herself drifting to sleep in his arms.
But still, something gnawed at her, and she felt a strange sense of terror gathering in her chest.
What had Max meant about a plan with the British government?
4
Danielle pulled up the shades in their suite at the Leibowitz home. At night, all of England was under strict orders to darken windows. As she stood at the window, thin rays of morning light warmed her face, though the moist smell of rain felt heavy in her nose.
Outside, leaves had fallen from the autumn trees. She pressed her fingers against the glass, her heart laden with memories. The sun quickly faded, and moments later raindrops began to dot the windowpane; in another minute heavy rain sluiced across the glass, permeating the room with dampness. She sighed and closed her eyes, longing for the warmth and beauty of the south of France, where she had spent so many summers at her uncle’s home in Grasse and in his laboratory, blending perfume, developing her nose and her honing craft. As children, she and her brother had frolicked in fragrant fields of lavender, just as she and her darling little Nicky had done a few weeks before she and Max had left for New York.
Danielle massaged her aching temples. They’d received a letter from Jean-Claude, but still, there was no trace of Sofia, Nicky, or Heinrich. They’d vanished like dew in the midday sun.
How long would they have to wait for news? She tried to hold out hope, but her spirits were sagging.
Not knowing anything
, she thought,
that’s the worst of it.
A knock sounded at the door. Danielle adjusted a quilted pink satin robe Libby had given her over her expanding belly. “Come in,” she called.
Libby opened the door. “Thought you might like to share breakfast, what with Max away at his meeting.”
Danielle arranged a smile on her face, truly grateful for Libby’s companionship. “I’d love to, Libby.” Behind Libby stood Sarah, who wore a crisp white apron and held a tray. This upstairs breakfast had become a ritual whenever Max went out early. It began when Danielle was too queasy to take breakfast downstairs, but thankfully, her morning sickness had passed.
Sarah placed the tray on the Queen Anne table in front of the Georgian-mantled fireplace, then turned to revive the fire.
In an instant, Danielle sensed a familiar aroma, but no, she thought, shaking her head, it couldn’t be. She tried to push the memories of Grasse from her mind. Sometimes her memories and dreams were so vivid, she could actually sense aromas, like the sweet, buttery scent of the
boulangerie
in Grasse where they bought croissants, or the bountiful aromas in the perfume laboratory, or
Max shrugged helplessly.
“Why did Jean-Claude share this with you?”
“I know someone in Portugal, in the government. They provided Katrina’s family with documents.”
Danielle wiped perspiration from her upper lip. Her entire world had changed in a matter of days. Her family and home were under siege, and now her brother was in the underground.
She hugged her arms to herself, reality dawning on her. “Are you involved with this secret organization?”
“No, I haven’t had time. But now, we have no choice. Perhaps Jean-Claude can get a message to Mother.”
Hope surged in her heart. “I just want to know that they’re all right, and if we can get them out of Poland. If we can, oh darling, I’d never ask for another thing as long as I live. Let’s wire Jean-Claude right away.”
She hugged him, warm tears spilling onto her cheeks, and she prayed it was not too late.
Max buried his face in her hair. They held one another for a long time, exhausted, listening to the clock’s measured rhythm, the minutes marching on.
After such a long, tumultuous day, Danielle felt herself drifting to sleep in his arms.
But still, something gnawed at her, and she felt a strange sense of terror gathering in her chest.
What had Max meant about a plan with the British government?
4
Danielle pulled up the shades in their suite at the Leibowitz home. At night, all of England was under strict orders to darken windows. As she stood at the window, thin rays of morning light warmed her face, though the moist smell of rain felt heavy in her nose.
Outside, leaves had fallen from the autumn trees. She pressed her fingers against the glass, her heart laden with memories. The sun quickly faded, and moments later raindrops began to dot the windowpane; in another minute heavy rain sluiced across the glass, permeating the room with dampness. She sighed and closed her eyes, longing for the warmth and beauty of the south of France, where she had spent so many summers at her uncle’s home in Grasse and in his laboratory, blending perfume, developing her nose and her honing craft. As children, she and her brother had frolicked in fragrant fields of lavender, just as she and her darling little Nicky had done a few weeks before she and Max had left for New York.
Danielle massaged her aching temples. They’d received a letter from Jean-Claude, but still, there was no trace of Sofia, Nicky, or Heinrich. They’d vanished like dew in the midday sun.
How long would they have to wait for news? She tried to hold out hope, but her spirits were sagging.
Not knowing anything
, she thought,
that’s the worst of it.
A knock sounded at the door. Danielle adjusted a quilted pink satin robe Libby had given her over her expanding belly. “Come in,” she called.
Libby opened the door. “Thought you might like to share breakfast, what with Max away at his meeting.”
Danielle arranged a smile on her face, truly grateful for Libby’s companionship. “I’d love to, Libby.” Behind Libby stood Sarah, who wore a crisp white apron and held a tray. This upstairs breakfast had become a ritual whenever Max went out early. It began when Danielle was too queasy to take breakfast downstairs, but thankfully, her morning sickness had passed.
Sarah placed the tray on the Queen Anne table in front of the Georgian-mantled fireplace, then turned to revive the fire.
In an instant, Danielle sensed a familiar aroma, but no, she thought, shaking her head, it couldn’t be. She tried to push the memories of Grasse from her mind. Sometimes her memories and dreams were so vivid, she could actually sense aromas, like the sweet, buttery scent of the
boulangerie
in Grasse where they bought croissants, or the bountiful aromas in the perfume laboratory, or
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