A Coming Evil (6 page)

He asked something, and she had to have him repeat it. He added gestures this time, pointing to her, then indicating their surroundings. Most likely, "Why are you here?"

"My parents sent me here, to get away from the Nazis in Paris."

He looked at her blankly. It probably meant he was more than ten years dead, if he didn't know about Nazis.

"The Germans," she said.

Still he didn't understand. She remembered her history lessons and reevaluated. If he didn't know about the Great War with Germany, he was more than thirty years dead. If he'd
never heard
of Germans, he was older than she wanted to think about.

"War," she said.

That he understood.

"We're at war with the Germans, and my parents thought I'd be safer here."

He started to say something, changed his mind, reworded it, changed his mind again, and finally asked—she was sure because, of course, it was the only logical question—"What year is it?"

"1940," she told him.

Could ghosts pale? She was sure Gerard did. It wasn't that he became transparent or less solid. If anything, he seemed less see-through than the previous day. But his face went—Lisette suddenly understood the expression—ghostly white. He sank to his knees and covered his face.

Instinctively, Lisette reached out to touch his shoulder, but there was only the sensation of cold. She crouched down beside him. "I'm sorry," she said, not
knowing what she was sorry for, except that she had hurt him.

He looked up at her, still obviously shaken.

She took a deep breath, and
she
asked
him
the only logical question, which was still: "What year is it?"

He took a steadying breath, but she couldn't make out his answer.

She brushed a clear spot on the dirt. "Write it," she said.

He gave his head a brusque shake, barely a twitch.

He didn't know how to write, Lisette realized. That pushed his time back even farther.

"Say it again more slowly," she told him. He did. "One thousand..." He nodded. "
Three?
hundred..." Again the affirmative. "Fourteen?"

She moved from her crouch to a sitting position. No wonder he'd had the breath knocked out of him. 1314. More than six hundred years ago. For some reason, his being a ghost was easier to imagine than that he had been alive six hundred years ago.

He once again rested his face in his hands.

From down below she heard Cecile's voice call, "Lisette! Maman says it's time to help with lunch!" Even from this distance she could tell by Cecile's tone that Cecile was stomping her feet. "Maman says
now,
Lisette!"

"I'll be down in a minute!" Lisette yelled back.

Gerard jerked upright, startled, and she went cold all over.

"You didn't hear her?" she asked. "Did you?"

And, as if she wasn't sure enough already, Gerard glanced the wrong way—back into the trees on the hill rather than down the slope—before cautiously shaking his head. "Hear?" she could see his mouth form. "Her?"

Lisette watched Cecile run toward the house. She was aware of Gerard following her gaze, then looking back at her. Why was this happening?
What
was happening?

"I have to go back," she said. "I'll try to come here again tomorrow." As an afterthought she added, "If you want."

This time he wasn't so quick on the charm. He hesitated a moment before inclining his head in a short bow and mouthing the word "Please."

Lisette stood—too abruptly, it turned out. Her right foot had gone to sleep and she pitched forward, right over the edge of the hill.

"Lisette!" Gerard cried, lunging forward to grasp her arm. His fingers passed through her like a chill just as she caught hold of an exposed tree root. She'd only slid down a few feet and was more dizzy from the fact that Gerard was standing on thin air a good two feet beyond the edge of the hill than from the tumble she'd just taken.

She scrambled back up to the top of the hill and motioned Gerard to get back onto solid ground.

He did, but he looked as queasy as she felt. "It
appeared the earth just swallowed thee up," he said.

"Yes," she said, concentrating on making sure her skirt was down all the way around because she had to do
something
with her hands. "Well. It looked to me as though you were standing in the air. And here's something else to consider: I can hear you."

"Thou can hear me?" he echoed. "For how long has this been?" He had a definite accent, and some of his sentences sounded stiff and old-fashioned.

"Starting from when you called my name just now."

He sighed. She could hear that, too, a definite exhaling of what certainly sounded like breath, and he crouched beside her. "Are thou injured?" He caught himself before touching the ankle she was massaging.

"I'm fine," she said.

Gerard looked from Lisette to the edge of the hill and back to her again.

"What do you see," Lisette asked, "when you look down there?"

"The ground extends"—he paused to calculate—"a spear length or so beyond thee. Then the hill slopes gently down. There are many trees." He shrugged. Unsure of what she wanted, he added, "Elms ... maple..."

Whatever a spear length was, it was probably longer than the handbreadth she could see. "You don't see the farmhouse or the barn?"

Calmly, warily, he said, "No."

"The fields?"

"No."

"I have to go." Lisette got to her feet more slowly this time. Her foot felt tingly but it could support her weight.

"But—" Gerard said.

"I have to go," Lisette repeated more emphatically. Part of it was that she couldn't afford to have Cecile and Aunt Josephine angry with her again, not two days in a row. And part of it was that, deep inside, she was very, very frightened. "I'll be back tomorrow," she mumbled, not sure yet if she meant it.

She didn't look at Gerard as she started down. And when she did look back—about halfway down—he was looking down the hill after her, but not quite in the right direction.

If she'd been home, Lisette would have talked about the ghost to her father, or even to her mother. But Aunt Josephine didn't seem the kind of person who would take this sort of news well.

So Lisette didn't say anything about Gerard during lunch, or during the diaper-changing/diaper-washing session that followed. ("Lisette should do it," Cecile suggested sweetly. "She's used to babies and probably feeling homesick." But Aunt Josephine insisted they take turns.) Still, Lisette thought, if the opportunity arose during the bicycle ride to or back from Sibourne, she planned to ask about ghosts, since Cecile had mentioned them. She just wasn't sure what the opportunity would look or sound like.

She rode Aunt Josephine's bicycle, since Cecile's was too small for her and Uncle Raymond's too tall. That left Aunt Josephine riding Uncle Raymond's bicycle, which meant she had to wear a pair of Uncle Raymond's trousers, and she'd obviously hoped Lisette would be the one to do that.

"What we have to do," Aunt Josephine said as they rode side by side down the road that led to the town, "is buy a little bit here and a little bit there. I got two extra ration books through the black market, an adult's and a child's. But as far as anybody knows, there's only the three of us, so we can't use more than one adult and two children's coupons in any one place."

Lisette nodded. She wasn't used to all these hills and she was saving her breath.

"The hardest thing has been getting enough milk. Rachel, of course—she's just beginning to have solid foods. But the other small ones, too, they really should have milk every day. I don't get milk with the adult books, so I've been giving Rachel what she needs and watering down what's left for the others. Are you willing to give up your allotment?"

"Fine," Lisette said, although she thought it wasn't fair: she was a child, too.

And two extra ration books for four extra children, not including Rachel. So much for her parents' idea that she'd eat better here than in Paris.

But Aunt Josephine must have guessed what she was thinking. "Don't worry. We have the vegetable garden, and I've done well trading my cigarette
coupons for grapes and peaches. There's always somebody who knows somebody." She must have guessed that Lisette still needed cheering, for she added, "Want to share a secret?"

Lisette nodded.

"You may have noticed that Cecile likes to keep everything. She doesn't know it, but I sold one of her outgrown dresses for yesterday's chicken." She put her finger to her lips to indicate not to tell and almost fell off the bicycle.

Lisette knew it was mean of her to let this news lift her spirits, but somehow it did.

Aunt Josephine and Lisette went to several stores to get their little bits of milk and flour and the one egg each that they were allotted for September, except that they only got two because it was so late in the day and most merchants had sold out already. Still, it
was
better than in Paris, where there were long lines for everything, and if you didn't get there early, you might as well not even wait because there'd be nothing left.

However, Aunt Josephine was self-conscious and grumpy about having to wear Uncle Raymond's trousers. Sure that everybody was staring at her, she felt she had to explain to clerks and other customers in every store how she normally wouldn't dream of wearing pants but that she was using her husband's bicycle and it was impossible to ride a man's bicycle and look modest at the same time with a skirt.

Lisette didn't think anybody cared, and for a while it seemed as though Aunt Josephine's embarrassing embarrassment would be the worst part of the trip. But as they were getting ready to start back, making sure that their baskets were secure on their bicycles, two German soldiers stepped out of the restaurant directly across the street from them.

One said something to the other in German. They both laughed, then the second man answered, then they laughed again.

Even Lisette thought they were looking at Aunt Josephine.

Aunt Josephine's face turned bright red. Lisette couldn't tell if she was more angry or mortified. In any case, her hands were shaking, and she suddenly became clumsy, unable to manage the bindings. Just as the Germans crossed the street, still talking and laughing, the package containing the noodles slipped out and dropped to the ground.

Lisette, Aunt Josephine, and one of the Germans all leaned down to get the parcel. Lisette picked it up first, and Aunt Josephine snatched it away.

The German who'd tried to help—a lieutenant, by his uniform—straightened and smiled. "Hello,
Fräulein
," he said.

"I'm not a
Fräulein
," Aunt Josephine said, readjusting the packages, refusing to look at him. "I'm not even a
mademoiselle.
I'm a
madame.
"

"And a very pretty young
madame
," the German said. "My friend and I, we thought you were sisters."

For the first time, Lisette looked up. Her father was the oldest of the Beaucaire children, and Aunt Josephine was the youngest, with almost twenty years in between, but Lisette had never thought of her aunt as being young. Now, however, seeing the appraising expression on the German lieutenant's face, Lisette glanced at Aunt Josephine and reevaluated everything. She
did
look younger than her thirty years; and, with her light brown hair ruffled by the breeze and her blue eyes made brighter by her blush, she
was
pretty. Lisette could see why the German would look at Aunt Josephine the way he was.

Feeling unsettled, Lisette glanced away to the second German soldier, who wore a captain's insignia. But that made things worse, for he had much the same expression as his companion and he was looking at
her.
Lisette pretended she hadn't noticed. She looked at her feet, hunched her shoulders, and folded her arms in front of her.

Aunt Josephine had seen what was going on. "I'm much older than I look," she told them. "And she's much younger."

The lieutenant said something to the captain in German, possibly translating. Whatever it was, they both found it amusing. Then, to Aunt Josephine he said, "Here, let me help you." Short of hitting his hands away, there was nothing Aunt Josephine could do. He tied the packages to the basket so that they couldn't bounce out.

"Mine's fine," Lisette said as he turned to hers.

He checked anyway. "Quite a bit here," he told them. "You must have a big family,
madame.
"

Was he suspicious, or just trying to make conversation? He was still smiling. But Lisette thought her aunt wore a guilty expression, and
she
probably did, too.

"Much of this is ice to keep the milk cold," Aunt Josephine said. "And our neighbors are elderly, so I do their shopping, too."

"Ah," the man said. "Kindhearted as well as beautiful."

"Thank you for your help," Aunt Josephine said. "Come, Lisette."

What a good spy she'd make,
Lisette thought.
She's gone and given my name away.
But she didn't say, "Yes, Aunt Josephine." She just got on the bicycle and started pedaling.

The lieutenant called after them, "Perhaps we'll meet again,
madame, mademoiselle.
"

The captain blew a kiss. Lisette wasn't looking, but she could hear it.

As they reached the outskirts of the town, with no sign of the Germans following, Aunt Josephine regained her composure. "That was a rather exciting marketing trip, wasn't it?" she asked, sounding light-hearted and—in the end—flattered by the attention.

On the whole, yes,
Lisette thought. Except that the memory of the way that man had looked at her made her shiver despite the warmth of the sun on her arms.

Back at the farmhouse, Lisette and Cecile took the clothes down from the laundry line. While Aunt Josephine started to prepare dinner, the girls did the ironing. Lisette knew how to iron, though at home in Paris her mother had one of the new electric irons, and Aunt Josephine only had the kind you heated on the stove. Cecile was only good at flat things: dinner napkins and handkerchiefs and some of the skirts, which left Lisette with shirts, blouses, dresses, pleated skirts, and the boys' pants.