Emily’s eyes opened, and she nodded, lines of fatigue etched on her face. She climbed to her feet, grabbing her satchel and tossing it on the bench. One by one she pulled out articles of clothing and put them on. “Too bad it’s not winter when I’d be carrying bulky sweaters and coats.” A wry smile smoothed her expression.
“All you gals want to be thin. See, there are benefits to being…uh…more rounded.”
“You’d think considering all the potatoes we’ve eaten since arriving in France I would be.” She patted her flat middle. “Hopefully, my clothes will do the trick.”
Gerard eyed her figure, now swathed in layers and began to peel off his jacket. “Put this on.”
“No, you need the padding, too. Remember, I’m not going to carry you if you bust a leg or twist an ankle.”
He snorted a laugh.
Her eyes sparkled, and she grinned. “Let’s get this over with.” Uncertainty crossed her face. “Okay, Mr. Instructor-partner, let’s review technique. I’ve only got one chance to do this correctly.”
“It’s best to jump while the train is either slowing or moving uphill, and according to the map the approach to the next station has a curved hill, forcing the train to slow down. We should scan the area for debris, so we don’t land on anything that can injure us. A grassy area is ideal, and I think we may be good there. This area of France isn’t known to be too rocky.”
Elbows bent, he pressed his arms to the side of his skull. “Be sure to cradle that pretty, little head of yours to prevent getting knocked out. Your landing form should be similar to that of parachuting. Roll onto one shoulder then into a ball. Not like a somersault.”
She squatted. “I start out like this, right?”
“Yes. That will give you the best trajectory as you leap away from the train. Be sure to jump perpendicular to the car so your momentum doesn’t carry you toward the wheels or the tracks.”
“Okay.” She gave him a thumbs-up and huffed out a loud breath. “Another skill to add to my résumé for after the war.” She tapped her finger on her chin. “Oh wait. I can’t tell anyone I was running for my life in France, so I had to jump off a moving train. It would be more fun if I could keep the incident in my repertoire of stories.”
He snickered. “You can tell me all about it. I promise to be impressed.”
“Yeah, it’s not really the same, but thanks.”
“Follow me, Madame Boucher. We’ll jump from the connection between the cars.” Before he could change his mind, he pulled her to him and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. Her skin was warm under his lips. “For luck.”
Her eyes widened.
Releasing her, he slid open the wooden door and moved into the aisle, Emily close on his heels. At the end of the car, he shoved open the hatch. Wind whooshed past, and he ducked his head. He stepped onto the jostling, metal platform and planted his feet against the motion. His heart pounded, and sweat slicked his palms. A chasm separated the training manual from his current reality. Had the bloke who wrote the chapter actually performed the act?
“I’ll go first,” Emily shouted above the clanking of the couplings. “If I see what it’s like for you, I might lose my nerve, and I don’t want to be stuck on this contraption full of Nazis.”
“Don’t lollygag. I won’t either.”
Her face pale, she grabbed the railing and crouched, her eyes closed for a brief moment.
Gerard squeezed her shoulder. Dear God, please keep her from injury. He held his breath.
Eyes wide, she cradled her head and launched herself from the train. She landed on a sandy embankment three or four yards away from the tracks.
The door to the carriage opened, and he vaulted off the platform. His body slammed into the ground. Rolling. Rolling. He grunted at each contact with the hard soil then came to stop.
“Halt! Hände hoch oder ich schieße.”
He lifted his head and looked toward the receding train. A uniformed figure of an SS soldier pointed his gun in their direction, a scowl twisting his features. They’d jumped none too soon.
The train rounded the curve and disappeared from view.
Muffled footsteps sounded. He grabbed for his pistol and turned.
Emily limped toward him, her satchel hanging from one shoulder. A triumphant smile lit her dusty face.
He returned her smile. “We’re alive, but you’re hurt.”
“Not seriously. Just tweaked my ankle a bit. I’ll wrap it before we go.” She knelt by his side. A quick intake of breath, then she caught her lower lip in her teeth. “What about you?”
“Black and blue by tonight, no doubt, but otherwise okay. We’ve got to get out of here. One of the SS men saw us.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yeah.” He climbed to his feet, muscles screaming with each movement. “He’s probably already got a call into the next station to be on the lookout, so let’s bypass the village and head straight for Paris.”
“What do you think he knows?”
Gerard hiked one shoulder. “Hard to say, but the fact that we got off the train in such an…uh…unorthodox manner makes us appear guilty. I’m not sure he saw you or whether he’d be able to recognize me, but I suggest we ditch these clothes as soon as possible and assume your guise of looking poor and haggard.”
A dog barked within the trees, and Gerard whirled, hand on his gun. His stomach roiled. Were the Germans already searching for them?
Rustling. A whistle. Bushes moved, and a boy of perhaps ten years old emerged from the woods, his walking stick gripped in a gloved hand. Behind him, a large, shaggy dog appeared, tongue lolling. Leaves clung to the canine’s heavy, white coat.
Gerard sagged and stuffed his weapon into his waistband. “Salut. Your dog is beautiful. Is he friendly?”
“Oui.” The boy nodded. “Are you lost?”
“Non. We are on our honeymoon.” Gerard held out his hand, palm down. The dog trotted over, sniffed his fingers then licked them before turning his attention to Emily.
With a tilt to his head, the youngster narrowed his eyes. “Why are you wearing so many of your clothes?”
“Well…”
Emily stepped forward with a smile and stroked the dog’s head. “It’s a long story. One I’ll tell you if you help us out. Do you live far from here?”
“Just through those trees. I come to watch the train every day, but Maman had extra chores for me, so I was late. That’s when I saw you jump off the train. Do you not have a ticket? My older brother used to do that. He liked trying to pull one over on the conductor.”
“He sounds smart, too. Why isn’t he with you?”
The boy’s face fell. “We haven’t seen him since the Germans came to our town. Phillipe is fourteen, so they put him to work in the labor camps. Maman cries at night when she thinks I’m asleep.”
“And your father?”
“He died when I was a baby.”