The sound of something hitting the ground startled me. I looked and saw that it was my pencil. I yawned, stretched, and picked it up. Then I closed my sketchbook and put it away for the night.

  I had just gotten back into bed when I heard a small noise downstairs.

  “Really, mice?” I muttered.

  Then I heard it again, and I realized that whatever it was, it was too big to be a mouse. I tiptoed over to the edge of the hayloft and looked down.

  “Julien? What are you doing here? What time is it?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Maybe midnight, I guess. I’m sorry—did I wake you?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t sleep,” I admitted.

  “Good!” he replied. “Can you come down?”

  I hesitated. “I’m in my nightgown,” I told him. It was Vivienne’s hand-me-down nightgown, and it was the perfect weight for spring nights in the barn. Provided I was under my blanket, that is—the night air itself had quite a chill, even in spring.

  “Put on your sweater,” Julien directed. “And shoes. I’ll explain when you come down.”

  You mean boots, I thought. My pretty red shoes were mouse-shooing devices now. Not to mention they were no longer pretty and no longer fit. The soles of my feet had gotten tough from all the time I spent barefoot, but the Beaumiers had given me a pair of hand-me-down work boots to protect my feet from the cold and the errant nails on the barn floor.

  “Okay, hang on,” I said, pulling on my cardigan and yanking on my boots. Back home, I would have called them clodhoppers. In my new life, the way they looked didn’t so much as cross my mind. I put them on without a moment’s hesitation. All I thought was Why do I need a sweater and boots to come down? Had Julien invented some new sort of variation on the magic flying chariot game? And why couldn’t it wait until the next day—not that I was complaining!

  I lowered myself down from the hayloft.

  “Okay, here I am.”

  “Great—are you ready? Let’s go.”

  “Go? What are talking about?” I asked.

  “We are going for a walk…in the woods,” he said.

  I stared at him. “Are you crazy?” I asked. “What about the Lafleurs?”

  “That sleeping powder is powerful stuff,” he assured me. “Just now, when I snuck out, I could still hear them snoring through the walls.”

  “But what if they wake up?” I wrapped my arms around myself, even though the sweater kept me warm enough. I felt nervous—not just about the Lafleurs, but for many reasons. Who knew what awful things could be waiting for us outside? Spies, Nazis, wolves…they all lurked in the dark, and these monsters were real, not the stuff of a young girl’s imagination.

  Julien put a hand on my arm and looked into my eyes. “Trust me, Sara,” he said. “It’s safe. I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise. We won’t be out for long, I promise. But this may be our only chance for a while. And I want you to see something.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked. I meant: about our safety. But I also meant: about us. I felt like his response would tell me everything I needed to know about our future together.

  “Trust me,” he said. “It will be worth it.”

  And so Julien held the barn door open. I took a tentative step forward. Then I did the thing I had been dreaming of for more than a year: I walked out of the barn.

  * * *

  —

  “It was such a magical night.” Grandmère took a sip of her wine, letting the memory wash over her.

  “I’ll bet,” said Julian. “I still can’t believe you went a whole year without chocolate! Isn’t your motto ‘One should never go a day without chocolate’?”

  “C’est vrai,” she replied, smiling. “To this day, it was the most delicious cake I’ve ever eaten in my life!”

  “So, okay, after you left the barn, what happened? What did Julien want you to see?”

  “Nothing. Who remembers such things? The moon, probably.” She smiled.

  “Grandmère,” said Julian sternly.

  “What?”

  “You said you would tell me the whole story.”

  His grandmother sighed. “I suppose I did. Let’s see now, where was I?”

  “ ‘It was such a magical night…,’ ” Julian prompted.

  “It was,” she agreed.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The moon was out, thank goodness, since it was the middle of the night. Julien and I slipped around the side of the barn, and he led the way down the path into the woods.

  “Come on, slowpoke,” he teased, because I was so distracted by, well, everything. The chill breeze on my face, the sounds of the insects, the silhouettes of the trees swaying…it had all been right there, but I hadn’t been with any of it, out in the world, in so long. I wanted to linger, to just stop time and drink it all in, but Julien was urging me forward toward whatever it was he wanted me to see. What could possibly be so important? I wondered. But all the same I tried my best to catch up and keep pace.

  I stuck my hands in my sweater pockets to keep them warm and was surprised to find something in one of them. I pulled it out and discovered it was the carved bird Julien had made for me. I clutched it in my fist as we stumbled along, massaging its little wooden body to calm my nerves.

  The path was dark and—I’ll admit it—a little scary. Having Julien there with me helped, though a few times I tripped over roots and nearly knocked him down in the dark. We tried to keep quiet, just in case we came across anyone else using the path. But thankfully, we saw no one. Julien took me deeper into the forest, and I started to worry that we might not be able to find our way back out.

  “Julien, do you—”

  “Shhhh,” he replied, then whispered, “We’re almost there. Look.”

  I turned to see where he was pointing. I could barely make it out, but my jaw dropped at the bizarre and yet familiar sight.

  “Bluebells!” I cried.

  Julien nodded. “I stumbled upon them a few weeks ago, when they were just starting to bloom, and I remembered your story. I figured if they kept going, they might be at their peak right about now. I was planning to pick some and bring them to you, but tonight I realized I could give you something even better.”

  “You have no idea what this means to me,” I told him. It was like stepping into a memory and a dream all in one. The forest floor was literally sparkling in the moonlight, every flower petal glowing magically. “It’s…perfect.”

  “I’m glad,” said Julien, smiling shyly.

  Together, we walked around the glade.

  “When I got home, I couldn’t fall asleep,” Julien confided in me. “I was so happy.”

  “Me too,” I said. “I can’t believe the end of the war is in sight.”

  “Yeah,” said Julien. “It’s not just that, though. It’s feeling like…”

  His voice trailed off, and I turned and looked at him. As the moonlight reflected in his eyes, I finished his thought. “…like we can dream again,” I said.

  “Exactly!” We were standing face to face, and—

  Hooo! Hooo!

  The owl’s cry startled me, and I grabbed for Julien’s hands. I thought about letting go once I realized there was no danger. But I didn’t, and neither did he.

  “And I just want you to know,” he continued, his eyes locked on mine, “that…in the future I dream for myself…um, well, I just want you to know…you’re always part of it.” He swallowed and looked down, as if he had been concentrating so hard on his words that he had just realized we were holding hands. “You probably know I’ve always had a crush on you,” he said.

  Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Had my heart always been this loud? Or was I suddenly suffering from some strange new condition?

  “And I’m wondering,” he continued, “do you think, after the war, we—”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Julien smiled. “Yes? I haven’t even asked the question yet.”

  “But I know the answer,” I said boldly. The truth was, I had a hunch. But also, “Yes” was my answer no matter what question he might have been asking. “Yes,” I repeated.

  And then I closed my eyes, leaned forward, and hoped I had guessed correctly.

  His lips softly touched mine. I felt a rush of relief—Hallelujah, I was right!—and a burst of excitement. I was kissing Julien! He was kissing me! We were kissing each other! Right now, standing in a field of blooming bluebells, the magical fairy garden of my dreams! It was better than fainting and being carried. It was even better than chocolate cake. It was still going on, and I hoped it would never end.

  It was just one kiss.

  One very long kiss.

  One very long and wonderful kiss.

  We walked back to the barn hand in hand. We talked, but so many things had happened in twenty-four hours that I probably babbled like a fool. If I did, Julien was too sweet to point out that I wasn’t making any sense. All I could think was Julien! And I! Just! Kissed!!!

  “So, here we are,” said Julien after we slipped back into the barn. This time we went through the hole in the back wall, just in case the Lafleurs had woken up from their unexpected nap.

  “Here we are,” I echoed.

  He smiled and squeezed my hand. “Good night, Sara,” he said.

  “No, wait!” On the walk back, something had occurred to me. Julien had given me so much—his gifts for my birthday, of course, but so much more—and I wanted to give him something special in return. But what? I had nothing to give. All I had in the world was his family’s used clothing, some random pieces of secondhand furniture, and a pile of dog-eared old books.

  And, I suddenly realized, one more thing.

  I pulled myself up to the hayloft, rummaged around, and returned carrying a package.

  “Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” I told Julien, happy to finally be able to reverse our roles. “No peeking.”

  “Says the queen of peeking,” he teased. But he did as I asked.

  I placed the parcel in his hands. I had quickly wrapped it in one of his father’s old work shirts.

  “Okay, you can look now.”

  Julien opened his eyes. He looked amused at my wrapping job and carefully peeled back the fabric.

  “Your sketchbook?” he asked. “Really?”

  I nodded happily. I couldn’t wait for him to look through it and discover that I’d filled every page with pictures and words, many of which were inspired by him. I had poured my heart into my sketchbook, so it brought me joy to give it to Julien.

  He hugged it to his chest. “I’ll treasure it forever.”

  “Just like I’ll treasure my little bird,” I told him, pulling it out of my sweater pocket and stroking its carved feathers.

  “Well, I guess I should probably go home and try to get some sleep,” he said.

  “Yeah, me too. Wait for me to climb up?”

  “Of course.”

  He watched as I pulled myself up to my perch.

  “Good night, ma chérie,” he called.

  “Good night, Julien,” I replied.

  As I waved goodbye from the loft, he removed his cap and gave me a little salute.

  “Vive l’humanité!” he called. Then he slipped out of the barn.

  I got into bed, still wearing my sweater. There was no way I could possibly sleep after all that excitement, yet my eyelids felt heavy, so I closed them. I soon noticed that my mattress had melted away and I was once again walking peacefully in the forest among the bluebells. I looked around for Julien, but before I could find him, a little bird flew down and landed on my shoulder.

  “Hello,” I said to it. “Have you seen Julien?”

  “We will take you to him,” the bird answered.

  “We?” I asked.

  Just then I noticed another small white bird. And another. And another. Until the sky was dense with them. I had never seen anything like it—a flock of white birds, swooping down from the sky. But for some reason, I wasn’t afraid. I knew I could trust them.

  So I let them surround me.

  And I felt them gently lift me up.

  And the next thing I knew, I was flying.

  * * *

  —

  “I can’t believe I’m talking with my grandmother about kissing,” said Julian.

  “Pourquoi pas?” Grandmère asked, raising an eyebrow. “Kissing is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I know, but…I dunno. You’re my grandmother. It feels a little weird.”

  “It was not weird,” she told him. “It was wonderful. I will remember that kiss forever.”

  “Okay!” said Julian, embarrassed. He cleared his throat and attempted to change the subject. “Did you ever regret giving him your sketchbook?” he asked.

  “Oh yes,” she replied quietly. “But not for the reasons you’re probably thinking.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I woke up the next morning with a start. Bright sunlight was seeping through the cracks in the walls and window boards, indicating that it was later than my usual wake-up time. I used my bucket, poured a little fresh water into my basin, and rinsed my hands and face. Next, I went to look for my sketchbook and could not find it. It was only then that I remembered where it had gone.

  Julien has my sketchbook, I realized with concern. Certainly, it had plenty of drawings of birds and flowers in it. But it also had pages and pages of my romantic ramblings, documenting my growing obsession with a certain boy. The boy who now had those very pages in his hands.

  Julien has my sketchbook! was my next thought. Because the truth of the matter was, I secretly wanted him to read them, even when I wrote them. And especially now that I had confirmed that his feelings for me were every bit as strong and as deep as mine.

  I pictured him sitting at the breakfast table, reading the words from my diary entry after the surprise birthday party:

  Such a beautiful night, with such beautiful people! How blessed am I to have the Beaumiers in my life! Thank you, life, for all your wonders. Thank you for all you have given me. Mostly, the belief I now have that all human beings in this world are somehow connected to each other. Maybe I always knew this, but from my little window inside my little barn, I can actually hear the secrets of the world in the still of the night. I swear there are even times when I can hear the planet spinning! I can hear in the chirping of crickets, the faraway sounds of people talking in cafés. I can hear in the flutter of bat wings, the quickened heartbeats of the maquisards hiding in the mountains. I can hear in the soft cooing of the night owls, my papa, somewhere, calling my name. Funny, I used to be so afraid of the night. But now I see it as my time for listening to the soul of the world telling me its secrets. And tonight it whispers, over and over again like a song: “You love Julien.” Yes, I answer, I know. I love Julien.

  I could picture a secret little happy smile creeping onto his face as he read these words. Vivienne would probably come in and notice it, too. She’d probably even comment on it.

  Bonjour, Julien! You look very bright and cheery this morning, she might say. Any particular reason?

  Yes, indeed! Sara is in love with me. And I am in love with her!

  I burst out laughing at the very idea. There was no way Julien would do that. He would be very respectful and discreet, I was certain. He’d probably respond with something like Nope. No reason. I should head out now. Don’t want to be late for school. À bientôt, Maman! Arrivederci!

  I pictured him giving his mother a sweet exaggerated bisou on the cheek with a loud sound effect: Mwah!

  Vivienne would probably laugh. She always liked it when he played around or acted silly. Oh, go on.

  I grinned at the scene I had concocted in my head. I snuggled in under my blanket. It had been a long night, and while I had slept well, I had not slept long enough. I closed my eyes to rest a little. I felt glad I had given Julien the sketchbook. It was like a love note between the two of us, and even though I had not asked him to, I hoped that he would do his best to keep it private.

  I opened my eyes suddenly, and the light falling across my face made me realize I must have dozed off. For how long? I wondered. I thought perhaps I had heard a motorcycle outside, backfiring in the street. Or maybe it was the bats, though it was not their active time of day.

  Then I heard movement downstairs, which would be Vivienne, obviously. I almost called out her name. But as was our rule, I waited for her to first call out to me.

  When she didn’t, I wasn’t sure what to do. Curiosity got the better of me, so I crawled over to the wall of hay, careful not to make a sound.

  I looked through an open space in between the bales of hay. And I saw him.

  Vincent.

  In his dark green Milice uniform, with a matching dark beret atop his head.

  And a sinister black rifle in his hands.

  I watched him looking around, his eyes unaccustomed to the darkness in the barn. He squinted, scrutinizing every corner before he silently moved forward. I wished this were just a bad dream, but I was all too keenly aware that I was awake and staring down a real threat. A scream lodged in my throat, and I swallowed it hastily. I was terrified that even that gulp, or my breathing, would give away my location. I held my breath, praying he would leave. If I were downstairs, I would be dead already. But in the hayloft, with the wall of hay, I felt I stood a chance of survival.

  That is, until the clouds outside shifted and a ray of strong morning light streamed in between the boards across the window. The bright sunbeam caught his eye, and to my horror he turned to see where it was coming from. The window was behind me, so he looked straight at the spot where I was hiding. I felt like I was onstage in a theater, bathed in the spotlight. That sunbeam felt like a beacon announcing where I was! And I was trapped, unable to move for fear of shifting the hay that was still barely concealing me, and making it worse.