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his word. His thin, spotted hand trembled. “I’ve decided to take on an apprentice.”
    “An apprentice?” Aubrielle exchanged a guarded look with Tante Mae. “Papa, people are too frightened of war to spend what little money they have on a new chapeau .” She shook her head. “How will we pay an apprentice?”
    “Any boy who wants to learn a trade will work for free.” Papa’s dark eyes glared disappointment at her. The spots on his bald head showed stark against his white skin in the overhead light.
    Aubrielle huffed in annoyance. “We would need to house and feed him.” She lifted both hands in despair and shrugged her shoulder. “How would we feed an apprentice? Where would he sleep?”
    Mae settled at the table and folded her hands. Her soft black hair, highlighted with several silver strands had been pulled back into a tight bun. Hazel eyes closed and she bowed her head and spoke loud enough to still the heated conversation. “May God bless this food and all who share his bounty. Amen.”
    “Amen.” Aubrielle’s head came up. She pushed her thick dark hair over her shoulder and picked up her fork. “I only sold one bouquet today.” She stirred the turnips on her plate and eyed her father as he ate.
    “That reminds me,” Mae said. “The young man you buy your flowers from came by earlier today.”
    “Henri?” Aubrielle looked up from her plate. “What did he want?”
    “He didn’t say.” Mae’s eyebrow rose. “It could be about your flower order.”
    “I don’t like that boy,” Papa stated, never raising his eyes. “A boy his age should be in the military defending our borders, not selling flowers to young girls in the park.”
    “There won’t be new merchandise this month,” Aubrielle said. “Greenhouse flowers are too expensive.” She took a small bite of beef, chewed and swallowed. “I still have last week’s flowers, and they won’t last much longer.” She shook her head and raised an eyebrow at Tante Mae. “When the flowers are too wilted to sell, I’ll be finished selling until next spring.”
    “Perhaps that’s for the best.” Mae nodded. “Two young women have been attacked in the hedgerows beside the park. It may be time for you to stay home with your Papa.”
    Aubrielle lifted one shoulder. “I’m not concerned.”
    They ate in silence and listened to the Radio Normandie , broadcast in English, a mixture of news and American band music.
    Aubrielle rose and carried her plate to the kitchen sink. “I’ll clean up.”
    “Don’t bother,” Mae said. “I’ll take care of the dishes. Your Papa and I haven’t finished yet.” She waved Aubrielle toward the hallway. “Go on, with you. Set your curlers. The kitchen won’t take but a moment to tidy.”
    Aubrielle paused in the hall and looked back at her loved ones. Sometimes, Papa acted as though he didn’t remember who she was. At least tonight he hadn’t called her Marguerite, her mother’s name.
    In her small room, she put her hair in rollers in front of her spot-stained mirror. Outside, the rain beat against the roof. It would be clear again by morning, and the tarp would keep her flowers safe.
    Her dark eyes stared back from the mirror. There had been whispers in the park about Hitler’s Mein Kampf , and she’d felt the burden of antisemitism before, even in Paris. Her dark hair and eyes, along with the surname of Cohen, labeled her and Papa as Jewish, regardless of her faith. If the Germans came, they would be detained, or worse.
    She blinked at her reflection and put another roller in her hair. Concern over Hitler would have to wait. Henri Vogl would insist she purchase more of his greenhouse flowers, and she could not. She took the few coins from her sale today and set them on her dresser. Little enough to buy meat and bread. She intended to repay Tante Mae’s generosity before purchasing any more of Henri’s flowers.

 
     
     
    CHAPTER 6
     
     
     
     
    Dark, turbulent clouds hung low and