Then the farmhouse came into sight. There was the body of the American by the water trough. Farther off, Hauptmann Fischer still lay slumped across the low stone wall where they had lain in ambush. Otherwise, the farmhouse and surrounding barnyard appeared quiet and untouched.
As he approached the house, he was still fifty meters away when Lisette's old dog spotted him and barked a warning.
Inside the cottage, Lisette had been trying to calm everyone down. Just twenty minutes before, the two American soldiers had gone walking out the kitchen door, only to be shot at.
"Do you think that the soldiers are still out there?" Madame Pelletier asked, clutching the front of her sweater in one hand.
"No, I saw them run off."
Madame Pelletier did not look relieved. She sank into a kitchen chair, apparently with no thoughts of returning to her own home down the road. Who could blame her, now that the war had come to their little corner of the countryside?
"I should be going," Madame Pelletier said half-heartedly, as if reading Lisette's mind.
"Please stay here and help with the children," Lisette said, knowing full well that the old woman would accept. "In a little while, we shall have something to eat."
Lisette had no doubts that it had been Rohde who had ambushed the Americans. He had stopped by yesterday, looking for her, and unwittingly, old Madame Pelletier had informed the German that she had received a phone call informing her that Lisette would be back in the morning, escorted by two American snipers. Armed with that bit of intelligence, he must have laid his trap.
It was small consolation that a dead German lay across the stone wall on the other side of the barnyard. One of the Americans was now dead, lying in the dirt beside the water trough. The other soldier, named Cole — the one with the cold eyes — had escaped through the trees beyond the barn. From a distance, she had seen the German sniper pursue him. It had to have been Rohde.
She had not gotten a glimpse of his face, but there was something about the way that he moved that looked familiar. She and Rohde had been lovers, after all.
A shudder of revulsion ran through her at the thought.
The children did not appear overly concerned about events at the farm. They seemed to view it all as a big adventure. Even Leo seemed not too worse for wear, given all that he had been through. Children were more resilient in some ways than adults. It helped that the American GIs had spoiled him with attention, not to mention chocolate and chewing gum.
"Tante, we are hungry!" Sophie said. "Did you bring us something good to eat?
Lisette took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, ignoring that fact that there were two dead men in her yard. The Americans had, in fact, given her a few tinned goods to bring home, along with some more Hersey's chocolate. Sharp-eyed Sophie must have noticed.
"Yes, let's have something to eat. We may need our energy before the day is through."
She busied herself unpacking the cans, and handed Madame Pelletier a can opener. She noticed that the old woman's hands were shaking.
That's when she heard the dog begin to bark.
She had forgotten the dog was out there. He had run off at the sound of gunshots, but must have returned.
"What now?"
Leo was already at the door, and opened it before she could stop him.
Almost immediately, he slammed it shut. He turned to Lisette, his face ghostly white.
"The German sharpshooter is here!"
Rohde had returned. Did it mean that he had killed the American?
Lisette felt her blood run cold. She struggled to remain calm for the children's sake. Behind her, Madame Pelletier gasped.
What could Rohde want? Considering what he had done to her, and to the Americans who had helped her home, it could not be anything good.
A wave of emotions washed over Lisette, from shame to fear. Shame that she had allowed herself to become involved with the German sniper in exchange for food — and if she was honest with herself, to satisfy her own desires and expel her loneliness. Fear, because Rohde's return could only mean nothing good.
To her surprise, the emotion that she settled on was anger.
Rohde had come back to her house? To harm her niece and nephew? How dare he!
"Get under the table," she ordered the children. There was no time for them to hide anywhere else, but the thick tabletop would stop a bullet if the German came in shooting. "Now!"
Desperately, she looked around for something to defend herself. She realized that she still held a wooden spoon in her hand. She tossed it away.
In two steps, she was at the door into the hallway, which was normally open. Behind it, she kept the ancient shotgun that Henri used to scare off foxes. She grabbed the shotgun now. For safety's sake, the shells were kept on a high shelf, out of the reach of the children.
The shelf was higher than eye level, so Lisette reached up, but felt nothing but dust.
Her heart hammered in fear. Where were those shells?
Her hand searched farther back. Out in the yard, the dog barked more furiously.
She heard Rohde shout her name. He must be right outside the door.
There. She touched the scattered shells, knocking them to the kitchen floor in the process. Lisette practically dove after them.
She saw the children huddled under the table with Madame Pelletier. The old woman had taken refuge there as well. She had her eyes closed, and her lips moved silently. The old woman was praying.
Lisette picked up the shotgun. Her hands did not shake at all as she worked the lever to open the breech, just as Henri had taught her. She slid a shell into each barrel, and snapped the gun shut.
Then she opened the door.
There was Rohde. He staggered toward the house. He was bleeding heavily from an ugly wound in his belly. There was so much blood that his tunic looked black. The circle of dark blood was big as a dinner plate. He was a dead man walking. She felt no pity, but only anger at what he had done to her and to Leo.
Lisette screamed at him and leveled the shotgun.
Rohde had not expected a warm welcome. He had thought that he would force himself inside and take the medical supplies that he needed. It had not occurred to him that perhaps he would not get inside at all, if that stout cottage door was locked against him. He knew that he lacked the strength to break it down.
Rohde was hurting now, getting weaker. He looked behind him and saw that he was leaving a trail of blood across the muddy farmyard. He was leaking that much.
He need not have worried about the door.
The thick door opened and Lisette stepped out. In her hands, she held the ancient shotgun she kept around to ward off foxes and hawks. Her face looked hard and set.
She held the shotgun at hip level, and pointed it right at him.
"Lisette?"
"Batard!" she screamed again.
With weakening hands, Rohde hurried to unsling his rifle.
As if in a daze, Lisette watched Rohde raise his rifle, practically falling down from the effort. Was he actually going to shoot at her?
Rohde shouted something at her in German, but the words were unintelligible.
He was swaying wildly as if blown by some unseen wind, but managed to get the rifle to his shoulder.
Lisette realized, with a sense of shock, that he was going to pull the trigger.
He fired.
The bullet struck the stone wall near her head and ricocheted away. Rohde really was trying to kill her.
The recoil of the rifle made him stagger. Reeling like a drunken man, covered in blood, Rohde was struggling to bring the rifle to bear once again.