Violins of Autumn (33 page)

“I’ve missed you too.” The words I wanted to say months before outside the Commodore come back to me. “Robbie, please don’t leave.”

“I don’t want to leave, I really don’t.”

“Then stay here with me.”

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” he says. “But I have to go, Adele. The other fellas from the camp are waiting for me. I snuck away because I had to see you again.”

With his supportive arms around me, my body doesn’t feel weak and fragile, and when we separate from the hug I immediately long for another. Robbie hasn’t left yet, and already I’ve started missing him. I understand why he has to go, but what if after he walks out my bedroom we never see each other again? I don’t want this day to be our final memory.

He gently brushes strands of hair from my tear-streaked cheek. “I was hoping to get your address, so I can contact you when life settles down. If that’s all right, of course.”

“I don’t know where I’ll be, but please write to me.” I jot my aunt’s address on a slip of notebook paper and tear it free. “My aunt will make sure I get your letters.”

Robbie tucks the folded paper in his pocket. “Thanks, Adele.” He leans over my bed to kiss my cheek. He picks up my hand and holds it for a moment. “I guess this is good-bye again.”

I bite my lip, fighting tears. “Bye, Robbie.”

At the door, he turns to wave.

“This isn’t the last you’ve seen of me,” he says with such confidence I let myself believe he’ll do whatever it takes to find me again. “That’s a promise.”

Denise lowers the book I’m reading by candlelight.

She brings her hand out from behind her back, balancing a small flat box on her palm. “A belated birthday gift.”

I mark the page with a turned-down corner and put the book on the table.

She sets the gift in front of me. “Open it.”

I slowly lift the top of the box. “But it’s my charm bracelet.”

“Have a better look,” she says, dangling the strand in front of my face.

New charms have joined Uncle Edward, Aunt Libby, Philip, and Paul.

My gusty laughter almost extinguishes the candle. “The handbag! Is that you?”

“However did you guess?” Pinching the next silver charm, the Eiffel Tower, she says, “This one represents your friends in France.”

“What about the heart charm?”

“I think you know it’s the boy who holds your heart.”

Fingering the final charm, I say, “And the acorn. Who is that?”

“Well, that’s you, of course.”

I fixate on the charm Denise chose for me. Why the acorn? The answer is probably so obvious, but it just isn’t coming to my mind.

Tilting her head, she says, “Do you not see? Everything the small, unassuming acorn needs to grow into a mighty oak is within it.”

Like an acorn, I fell to earth. I landed in the right place at the right time. The charm represents transformation and the potential for greatness. I sit taller, smiling, puffed up with pride, straightening the silver strand on the tabletop to line up the charms. Two heartfelt gifts have come together as one. There are people who care about me deeply enough to believe I deserve such a gift.

“Thank you. I really love it.”

“I’m so glad. I hope it wasn’t presumptuous of me to add to your family like that.”

My family
.

I go so far as to shake my head and say, “No, Denise—” before I realize there’s no reason at all to correct her. I smile at the tiny trinkets. “No, Denise, it’s perfect.”

She begins to sit on the chair next to mine, but then springs into the air.

“Listen!”

Somewhere in the city, church bells ring. The distant clanging is music to my ears.

Denise clutches the sleeve of my nightgown, tugging on my arm as she bounces in place. “Do you know what that means?”

“The Allies. They’ve made it. They’re approaching the city!”

Holding hands we jump in a circle, like kids playing a high-spirited game of ring-around-the-rosy.

I drop into my chair short of breath but laughing. Denise dances the jitterbug right out of the room. In moments she’s back, carting a bottle of champagne and two glasses. She fills both glasses to the brim.

I raise my glass. “I never thought we’d share another glass of champagne together.”

“Well, my friend,” she says, wiping her smile clean with the back of her hand. “There’s plenty more where that bottle came from. Dr. Devereux hid a secret stash from the Germans.”

I watch my champagne swirl round and round. Who knew the prospect of leaving would feel this bittersweet.

“It won’t be long now before the Allies have freed Paris. We’ll be off for home,” Denise says. “But don’t worry, we will keep in touch.”

“I hope so, Denise.”

“Call me Sarah.”

I glance up in surprise. When I look at her face, it’s as if I’m seeing her for the first time all over again. “Your real name. It’s Sarah?”

“It is. But if you know Denise, you know Sarah just as well. We’re astonishingly similar.” With a laugh, she adds, “Sarah has better shoes.”

“Sarah. The name suits you, but it might take me some getting used to.”

“And you, Adele? Who are you really?”

“Betty.”

“Betty.” Denise draws my name out, trying it on me for size. Judging by her cockeyed expression, it fits about as well as an old sack. “No, no, you’re my friend, Adele.”

I tip my glass toward Denise’s. “Here’s to Denise and Adele.”

Our glasses meet with a melodious
clink
.

Friends till the end.

August 29, 1944

“Here they come!” Denise bends to catch her breath. “Adele, I may toss my cookies.”

“I can’t believe this is truly happening,” Marie says, clutching the bars of chocolate she brought as gifts for the most handsome soldiers.

I squeeze my body through a break in the crowd to look down the Champs Élysées. I have a clear view all the way to the Arc de Triomphe. It seems the entire city has come to welcome the Allies.

Army jeeps and tanks, loaded down with soldiers, roll through the avenue. A cheer erupts from the crowds, the joy deafening.

The tears streaming down Marie’s cheeks set off some waterworks of my own.

“At long last, liberation has come,” she says, and I vow to always remember how purely happy she sounds. “We are free.”

A look passes between Denise and me.

“We are free,” she says.

I hold my breath when a column of soldiers at least twenty men abreast, spanning from one side of the avenue to the other, marches into view. Row after row, they seem to go on forever.

When I clap alongside Denise, silver charms jangle at their rightful place about my wrist—my mischievous cousins, my loving aunt and uncle, my friends in France, and Denise and Robbie.

I came all this way, searching for my place in the world, believing that I was stranded and alone. That I had no family. Nothing could be further from the truth.

At the beginning of our journey together, Denise asked me what I would do once I got back to regular life. Where would I go from here?

I still don’t know the answer. But I do know one thing for certain. My place in the world doesn’t matter nearly as much as the people who open their hearts to me while I’m there. And wherever I am, as long as they’re by my side, I’ll be home.

The idea for this book came from my husband, Steve. Throughout the seven years of research and revision that followed, I occasionally cursed him for planting that idea in my head. Now, I thank him from the bottom of my heart. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to Steven Chudney for never giving up the faith. He put the book into the hands of its perfect editor, Mary Kate Castellani. Many thanks go to her, Stacy Cantor Abrams, and the entire team at Walker.

Writing novels can be a lonely experience, and I’m so grateful for my wonderful friends in the online writing community. Their encouragement and understanding kept me from throwing in the towel. A special thank-you goes to my sister, Andrea, who read several drafts of this book and loved it from the get-go. Thanks to Shelley, Adam, Brian, Kiri, Bailey, Ken, and Mom for your excitement and support. And, of course, thank you to my biggest cheerleaders, Kate, Erin, and Brenden.

Copyright © 2012 by Amy McAuley

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

First published in the United States of America in June 2012
by Walker Publishing Company, Inc., a division of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.

Electronic edition published in June 2012
www.bloomsburyteens.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to

Permissions, Walker BFYR, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McAuley, Amy.
Violins of autumn / by Amy McAuley.
p.       cm.
Summary: When World War II breaks out, seventeen-year-old Betty, an American studying in England, trains as a spy and parachutes into German-occupied France to join the Resistance, but after meeting a young American pilot she begins to realize fully the brutality of the war and their dangerous position.
[1. Spies—Fiction. 2. World War, 1939–1945—Underground movements—
France—Fiction. 3. Americans—France—Fiction. 4. Air pilots, Military—
Fiction. 5. France—History—German occupation, 1940–1945—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M478254Vio 2012          [Fic]—dc23          2011034634

Book design by Regina Roff

ISBN 978-0-8027-2304-8 (e-book)