The leaves made soft rustling sounds on the courtyard cobblestones as Marie hushed passed the hanging willows and pushed through the door into the sacristy. As she made her way to the the small altar, she often wondered who would pick up the messages she left. She suspected it wasn't the priest. It would be far too dangerous for them to pick someone she actually knew. Once or twice she'd been tempted to stay and watch, but she never actually dared such an act. She lit a candle, knelt for her prayer and slipped back outside to continue her daily walk. All a matter of routine, even the visit to the sacristy. That way anyone observing her would notice nothing untoward. That was all part of the art of the underground. Everything had to look perfectly normal.

Even her recruitment come about in a most unsuspecting way. After news came of Ron's death, she'd not known what to do. At least she had the house. Maybe she could put that to good use. That was when Pete came to see her... and told the truth about Ron. Never in her life had she imagined him as part of the resistance. He'd always been on the side of the pacifists; even spent several months in jail for it. To learn now that he'd actually taken part in an underground training camp came as a shock. It was Pete who came up with the suggestion of turning their abode into a small but exclusive boarding house. Finding guests would be no problem. Pete would take care of that. She must just learn to be discrete; take the money and ask no questions. Then in the morning she'd find a message in the hollow cavity of one the bed posts. The message had to be delivered to the church within the hour.

Tears came to Marie's eyes every time she took out the message. The bed had been Ron's wedding present to her. A genuine four-poster, wonderfully decorated. It had taken him months to make and the pride in his eyes when he presented it to her was enough to illuminate the whole village. Had he even then...? Marie refused to ask herself this question. She was just glad of this one link she had to her fallen husband. Thousands of times she had asked herself, why she was doing this? For what reason did she keep on putting her life at risk? And the answer was always the same. Not patriotism , nor heroism. Her only reason was Ron.


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