Pierre and his daughter exchanged quick glances. Pierre put a hand protectingly on his son’s shoulder. “We thought it might save trouble if you didn’t know,” he said. “But now it’s done.”
“But why shouldn’t I know?” André demanded stubbornly. “He’s the man with the bandage who came in the car a few days ago, isn’t he? I talked to him. And I like him.”
“You must be sure not to give us away,” André’s father ordered sternly. “Say nothing about this man to anyone. Do you understand?”
André promised, and he laid his trumpet beside the lamp. “I found him up there when I went to the attic to get this. I must bury it outside somewhere before the Nazis come snooping around.” Then he gasped. “But won’t they find Ronald?”
His father said, “Your sister and I are looking out for him. Now, about this trumpet...?”
The horn had to be hidden before another morning.
“I’ll bury it near the fence beside the lane,” André whispered as he edged out into the stormy darkness.
An eerie stillness hung heavy on Marie and her father when André had gone.
After a few moments Marie whispered nervously, “I don’t think I can sleep until this is settled, Papa. Don’t you think you could slip out and see Father Duprey tonight?”
Pierre frowned. “What about this cursed curfew? I do not want to be caught. However, it will not be my first night job for the Underground.”