but he wasn't there now. The door to the bathroom stood ajar, and she craned her neck for signs of movement but all was silent inside.
Dressing quickly in the bathroom, she returned. The Canadian and French soldiers both sat with their backs against the wall. Claudine had come in with five plates and a serving bowl of oatmeal with no accompanying milk.
The German guard who had come in with Claudine barked for her to put the tray down and leave the room. She cast an apologetic look at Emma, but there was clearly nothing she could do. Before this they had been getting the same meals as the soldiers but now apparently they were to be fed prisoner's rations.
"The soldier on the bed is injured," Emma told the guard in German.
"I will tell the colonel," he replied as he left with Claudine.
A few moments later, Colonel Schiller arrived. "He's been shot," Emma told him.
"I am aware. I shot him myself," the colonel replied.
"He needs help."
Colonel Schiller glanced at the other two soldiers and then turned back to Emma. "We tended to your husband because he is not the enemy. We do not owe this soldier anything. If he dies, he dies."
The Canadian soldier swore at him, but it only made the colonel laugh. "Spies take their chances and deserve what they get," he remarked. "Speaking of which, we shall have a talk later about your recent trip to the market." He gazed around the room. "Where is your husband?"
No handy story came to her lips this time. She hadn't the slightest idea where he had gone or how he had done it. It was as though he had just vanished!
"Your husband?" Colonel Schiller pressed.
The air filled with tension as she again failed to answer. With darting eyes she looked to the soldiers for aid. Had they seen where he'd gone? With the smallest of movements, they shook their heads and lifted their eyebrows, indicating that they couldn't help.
"Ya, you right. That faucet knob is stuck tight, honey pie," Jack said, stepping out of the bathroom as if they'd been engaged all along in a dialogue regarding the plumbing. "I can't turn it either."
Emma forced herself to be bright. "See? I told you, dear."
With an annoyed cough, Colonel Schiller left. Emma immediately rushed to Jack. "Where were you?"
Without answering, he returned to the bathroom and took her net grocery bag from the linen closet, handing it to her. It contained milk and a hunk of cheese, a small round loaf of bread. The things she'd brought back from the market were already gone. These were new. Had he made a trip all the way to the market to replace them? How would that have been possible? "Where did you get these things?" she asked.
He grinned. "Louisiana magic."
"No, really?" She insisted on knowing, following him into the bedroom.
"You don't have to believe me if you don't want to," he said.
"Tell me," she demanded.
"Claudine left the back door to the kitchen open," he revealed in a reluctant whisper as he lifted a small bundle tied in cloth from the string bag.
"What's that?" she asked, coming alongside him.
As he untied the bundle a foul stench poured out of it. It reminded Emma of a dead animal decaying.
"Oh! Awful!" she cried, recoiling. "What is it?"
"It's exactly the magic that Kid, here, needs." Jack inhaled as though it were an apple pie baking, closing his eyes with delight. "Mud, lichen, and, best of all ..." Reaching into the bag he pulled out something brown and shriveled. "Bat wing," he said, crushing it into powder over the bag's opening. "There's all sorts of good minerals and healing aids in there."
"You can't be serious!" Emma cried.
"I most certainly am serious. Do you know what a prize this is, a wonderful piece of luck? I found the poor little fella lying on the ground. My mam believed bat saliva could prevent a stroke or a heart attack. She read to me about a fella named Pliny in ancient Rome who believed that if you put bat blood under a woman's pillow at night, she'd wake up and be in love with you."
"That's
Dressing quickly in the bathroom, she returned. The Canadian and French soldiers both sat with their backs against the wall. Claudine had come in with five plates and a serving bowl of oatmeal with no accompanying milk.
The German guard who had come in with Claudine barked for her to put the tray down and leave the room. She cast an apologetic look at Emma, but there was clearly nothing she could do. Before this they had been getting the same meals as the soldiers but now apparently they were to be fed prisoner's rations.
"The soldier on the bed is injured," Emma told the guard in German.
"I will tell the colonel," he replied as he left with Claudine.
A few moments later, Colonel Schiller arrived. "He's been shot," Emma told him.
"I am aware. I shot him myself," the colonel replied.
"He needs help."
Colonel Schiller glanced at the other two soldiers and then turned back to Emma. "We tended to your husband because he is not the enemy. We do not owe this soldier anything. If he dies, he dies."
The Canadian soldier swore at him, but it only made the colonel laugh. "Spies take their chances and deserve what they get," he remarked. "Speaking of which, we shall have a talk later about your recent trip to the market." He gazed around the room. "Where is your husband?"
No handy story came to her lips this time. She hadn't the slightest idea where he had gone or how he had done it. It was as though he had just vanished!
"Your husband?" Colonel Schiller pressed.
The air filled with tension as she again failed to answer. With darting eyes she looked to the soldiers for aid. Had they seen where he'd gone? With the smallest of movements, they shook their heads and lifted their eyebrows, indicating that they couldn't help.
"Ya, you right. That faucet knob is stuck tight, honey pie," Jack said, stepping out of the bathroom as if they'd been engaged all along in a dialogue regarding the plumbing. "I can't turn it either."
Emma forced herself to be bright. "See? I told you, dear."
With an annoyed cough, Colonel Schiller left. Emma immediately rushed to Jack. "Where were you?"
Without answering, he returned to the bathroom and took her net grocery bag from the linen closet, handing it to her. It contained milk and a hunk of cheese, a small round loaf of bread. The things she'd brought back from the market were already gone. These were new. Had he made a trip all the way to the market to replace them? How would that have been possible? "Where did you get these things?" she asked.
He grinned. "Louisiana magic."
"No, really?" She insisted on knowing, following him into the bedroom.
"You don't have to believe me if you don't want to," he said.
"Tell me," she demanded.
"Claudine left the back door to the kitchen open," he revealed in a reluctant whisper as he lifted a small bundle tied in cloth from the string bag.
"What's that?" she asked, coming alongside him.
As he untied the bundle a foul stench poured out of it. It reminded Emma of a dead animal decaying.
"Oh! Awful!" she cried, recoiling. "What is it?"
"It's exactly the magic that Kid, here, needs." Jack inhaled as though it were an apple pie baking, closing his eyes with delight. "Mud, lichen, and, best of all ..." Reaching into the bag he pulled out something brown and shriveled. "Bat wing," he said, crushing it into powder over the bag's opening. "There's all sorts of good minerals and healing aids in there."
"You can't be serious!" Emma cried.
"I most certainly am serious. Do you know what a prize this is, a wonderful piece of luck? I found the poor little fella lying on the ground. My mam believed bat saliva could prevent a stroke or a heart attack. She read to me about a fella named Pliny in ancient Rome who believed that if you put bat blood under a woman's pillow at night, she'd wake up and be in love with you."
"That's
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