Page 62 of The Moonlight Healers

Horror washed over her. As awful as the occupation had been for her family, she couldn’t fathom the experience of Irene’s family. Helene’s mother and grandfather chose to put themselves at risk, but Irene was at risk simply for being herself.

“She knew she didn’t have much time. There was a priest in our town who knew about the sisters, who knew they had been able to help people like me… I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

Helene’s chest ached for her friend, and she pulled her into her arms. “You have no reason to be sorry,Irene,” she whispered into her ear.

“I only told you that so that you would know it’s okay,” Irene said as they drew apart.

“What is?”

“What you have to do. My father was a watchmaker. He waskind. He followed every rule, because he thought people were better than they are. Even when they wanted him to turn himself in to the police station, he went believing the best. He kissed me, and my mother, when he left the house that morning, and he told us he’d be back soon.”

The more Irene spoke, the more Helene’s purpose for being there took hold.

“They don’t think we’re real people,” Irene said, loud enough that Helene had to check around to make sure no one awoke. “They’ve taken everything. And they won’t stop. They’ll keep taking until there’s nothing left of any of us. Vogel is in the medical ward. Pneumonia. He was admitted last night with a fever.”

Helene’s pulse quickened. She hadn’t fully formulated her plan when she left Honfleur. She had to get to the German ward, find Cecelia after, convince her to disclose where Thomas had been taken, but she hadn’t thought of exactly how to go unnoticed.

“The guards will stop me. I’m not assigned.”

“Then be someone else.” Irene extended her uniform to Helene. “Anne is assigned to that ward. Since the landing, no one pays much attention to shift times, so you can go now.” Helene followed Irene’s gaze to where Anne slept soundly. “She’ll be asleep for at least a few more hours. She won’t even know.”

“What about the other sisters? The other nurses? They’ll know Cecelia sent me home.”

“Tell them she asked you back. They won’t question it until it’s too late.”

* * *

After supper, as the shadows lengthened on the walls of the convent and the chimes of Église Sainte-Madeleine rang out to signal nine o’clock, Helene left the refuge of the lavatory. As Elisabeth instructed, she emerged as someone else entirely, no longer Helene Paré but Anne Corbin.

When she entered the medical ward, Marie, the ward sister, approached her immediately, arms laden with a tray of pill cups.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. She was one of the older sisters there, white haired and wrinkled, but she was soft-spoken, often singing as she worked the gardens on her days off. “Where is Anne?”

Helene lifted her chin and tried to maintain her composure. “Anne is sick. Sister Cecelia told me to cover her assignment.”

Marie pursed her lips. “Sister Cecelia said nothing to me about this.”

“It only just happened.” Her heart raced as the eyes of the men and the other nurses on the ward seemed to turn their way. “Anne came down with a fever this morning.”

Marie shifted the tray as a female voice called out. “Sister, I need your help.”

Another cry for help rang out, a doctor this time. “We’re full tonight. There’s a fever going around. Help where you can. I’ll speak with Sister Cecelia in the morning.”

Moments later, Aimee, a middle-aged lay nurse, thrusted a tray of thermometers at Helene. “Are you here to help or not? Start at the back. Work your way forward. Record each one on their chart.”

Helene nodded absently and reached for the metal tray.

Take something from them.

Helene clung to Irene’s words like a guidepost as she moved among the rows, stopping to examine the patient in each bed, a blur of strange, unfamiliar faces, men brought in from other parts of France to fight during the failed landing. Many of them were asleep, their skin flushed with fevers.

She found Vogel at the back of the ward, in a quiet corner with no other patients immediately nearby. He sat partially upright, his eyes trained on the ceiling, a book propped open against his chest. With a small movement of his head, he caught her eyes.

He seemed unsurprised to see her, as if he had been waiting for her, as if he knew all along that their paths would cross again. And she felt it too, that it had always been inevitable, that whatever had started between them on the rocky beach of Dieppe, as Helene pleaded for Thomas’s life, was unfinished. There always had to be a conclusion. But as Helene stood there, she understood that, for the first time in weeks, for the first time in years, her fate was not in the hands of a man in a uniform.

This time, she was in control.

Vogel covered his mouth as he let out several deep, barking coughs. When it stopped, he leaned back against the pillow, his eyes glassy.

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