One Hundred Stones

The fragment of ruby glistens in the center of my palm; a rich and bold crimson. As it grows it begins to make its way down my hand, leaving a faint red trail as it weaves its way between the creases. Just as it reaches the cuff of my sleeve, the sound of my name awakens me from my trance.

“Elora? What are you doing?”

Clenching my hand into a fist, I silently curse myself for being so careless. For all I know, my short daydream may have cost me my income for the day. An empty dinner table in exchange for a minute of rest is not my idea of a fair trade. I casually tuck my stained, white sleeve behind my back and turn around to face my definite punishment.

“I’m sorry Ma’am, it won’t happen-”

I break off as I catch sight of Mabel’s chiseled face. We are both eighteen-years-old, but the resemblance stops there. Her stocky build and close cropped hair gives her a distinctly masculine image.

“Oh, it’s you. Why are you still here? I thought you had to tend to Monsieur Chevalier at nine?”

“I do. I was just on my way when I saw you admiring your palm as though it were Clark Gable, and thought I might, too, enjoy a glimpse of his face after an exhausting day at work,” she responds, grinning cheekily. I wince as she grabs my hand and turns it over, exposing the torn flesh.

“Oh, my. For goodness sake, staring at it won’t stop the bleeding. Hold on, I think I have a towel in my bag.”

Just as Mabel bends to open her satchel, Madame Dupont appears at the open doorway, carrying a basket of linens.

“Miss Mabel, stand up properly and adjust your skirt. Did I not give you your payment and dismiss you ten minutes ago?” she asks, her thick eyebrows furrowed with disapproval.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“If you wish to keep your franc, it would be in your best interest to follow my orders.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Mabel repeats sheepishly as she picks up her satchel. Glancing at me apologetically, she turns and walks swiftly out the door. Left alone in the center of the room, I force myself to straighten my shoulders and meet her piercing brown eyes evenly.

“Miss Elora, if you have nothing better to do than trifle with a man who claims to be a woman, then you can deliver these laundered linens to the soldiers in Section E,” she says, her voice laced with contempt.

I let out a faint sigh of relief. I was safe. “Right away, Madam Dupont,” I respond.

Hiding my bloody sleeve on the base of the basket, I quickly leave the room before she changes her mind. I glide noiselessly through the narrow corridors, slipping soundlessly through openings and passages until I reach a bolted, metal door. Pushing the rod aside, I am greeted with a blast of frigid, November air. The German flag waves wildly in the wind, the sound of the flapping fabric echoing through the barracks. The scene is disturbingly similar to a night in 1942, a little more than a year ago.

I stood shivering in the darkness, wearing nothing apart from a faded blue dress, to which the number 79 had been hastily pinned. A long line of women stretched both ahead and behind me, yet the only sound in the courtyard was the lonely howl of the wind. Alone for the first time and overcome with grief, my mother’s final moments flashed before my eyes.

“Elora, my child. There are difficult times ahead, but you mustn’t give up. The new military bases will soon be in need of maids. If you are careful, it should be enough to support you until your father comes,” she rasped, clutching my hands weakly.

Blinking back tears, I asked, “But how can Papa come? He rarely gets any breaks, and even if he did, the cost of coming all the way to France from America is exorbitant.”

“What goes around, comes around, doesn’t it? If he left, then he will come back.”

“But Maman, you know that doesn’t make any sense-” I protested.

“Hush, dear. Nothing good will happen if you don’t stay positive.” Her coughs sounded as though nails were being dragged across her lungs. “You have to be strong for your brother, too. Julien only has you now. Promise me, so that I can leave this world peacefully.”

I can no longer prevent the salty tear droplets from cascading down my face. “I promise, Maman, and…. I love you,” I manage to choke out.  

She smiles weakly and closes her eyes. “I love you more, Elora.”

The slam of a door in the distance wakes me from my reverie. My thick, blonde curls dance around my face as I hurry across the sparse tufts of grass. Just as I reach the concrete walls of the barrack, the thud of heavy boots against the ground approach quickly behind me. Before I can react, a rough hand clamps over my mouth and I am drawn into a tight, uncomfortable embrace. The familiar scent of Les Désirables laundry soap hits my nose. It must be one of the soldiers.

“Filthy maid. How can you work for the foul, German scum? Have you no shame? They walk in and take over our government, pitting us against our allies and all you do is lay down and let them walkover you,” a hoarse, male voice whispers into my right ear.

                I writhe and kick at his legs, trying in vain to free myself. What does he want? He can’t have only come to lecture me.

                “I’ll give you a chance to make amends. I can free us of the German hold and restore France to its original strength.”

                I stop struggling, because my effort seems to have no effect on him. I was opening my mouth to bite his fingers, but his next words make me pause.

                “I don’t intend to harm any commoners, only the German officials. If I can eliminate them, then it will leave a clear path for the French soldiers to take over. Everything will run smoothly from there. If you get me the access key to the seventh arsenal, I will reward you with one hundred euros.”

                One hundred euros. That would be enough money to pay for two tickets to America. I could take my brother to the United States and live with my Father. It was too perfect to be believable.

                “I will be waiting in the barrel room sharply at 10:00 hours. If you present me with the key, the money shall be yours to do with what you want. But if you fail-”

                In the distance, a door springs open, and my captor instantly releases me, melding into the shadows. I spin around to see nothing but an expanse of gravel, dimly lit by the light of the half-moon.  My heart pounding, I turn back to face my new company. As the figure draws nearer, I recognize the feathered, Tyrolean hat and immediately kneel in a curtsey. The head of the tactics sector is one of the few people I can stand, and he seems to have grown fond of me over the past three months.

                “Miss Elora? Why are you still here? It isn’t safe for such an attractive young woman to be wandering around at this hour.” Mr. Brauer rumbles, his voice thick with a heavy German accent.

                I manage to stammer a reply. “Madame Dupont requested that I deliver these fresh linens to the soldiers in section E.”

                He nods and resumes walking. “Alright, but don’t delay.”

                “Yes, sir.” I reply, and curtsey once more to his retreating back before hurrying towards the door. By the time I finish, the wind has died down, leaving a sense of serenity in its wake. I make my way towards the village, the crunch of my footsteps amplified in the silence. Our once bright and bustling town had become dull with the effects of the war and the German invasion, choked by the solitary, grey buildings and the waving green flag.

                I look up as I pass by a tall building with an arching roof and spiral pillars. Two men stand guard at the front door, fully geared and armed with Fusil rifles. The one on the left cocks his head in my direction and grins lazily. By this time tomorrow, if everything goes according to the mysterious soldier’s plan, their ashes would be scattered on the stairs below. Even if I did manage to secure the access key, was that what I wanted? How would I be able to live with myself, knowing that I killed so many people?

 The wind had started up again, breaking the eerie silence. I lower my head and quicken my pace, cutting across the courtyard of the old library. It’s the last wooden building in the military district, preserved for its historical significance. Within minutes, I am standing on a tattered, orange doormat, sliding my feet across faded letters that once spelled “Bienvenue”. It was one of the few possessions that my brother and I managed to save from our house before I was forced to sign it over to the government.

Soft, rhythmical snores escape from a lump under the covers of my bed and bounce off the basement walls, morphing into an almost musical harmony. I drape my shawl on the table and undress, taking care to smooth out the wrinkles and creases, just as my mother once did for me. As though it were a reflex, my hand automatically jumps to my neck, searching for the silver chain. I breathe a sigh of relief as my fingers close around the metal pendant, and I carefully place my great grandmother’s necklace back in its box. With my routine complete, I slide into soft, worn sheets and kiss Julien’s forehead. He grumbles in protest and pulls the blanket over his face. For a moment, I just watch him, comforted by the continuous rise and fall of his chest.

“Maman,” I whisper, “You warned me that it would be hard, but this is impossible. What should I do? Within the next two months, we could be lulled to sleep by the gentle lapping of the Pacific Ocean. Julien’s future would be secured, and we wouldn’t have to live in a war zone. Perhaps, even I could go to school.”

                Julien shifts his position again. I know I am disturbing him, but I continue, pouring out my thoughts to the empty air. A small part of me wants to believe that my mother is listening, wherever she may be.

                “Maybe we could free ourselves of the Germans, but at what cost? What about the guards and the other innocent workers inside the building? Many of them are working to support their families, just as I am. If they died, it would be my fault. I would be a murderer.”

                My voice catches in my throat, but I press on. “But if I don’t give him the key, we will have to leave the town or I will surely be killed. And then where would we go? Oh, Maman… I don’t know what to do.” I close my eyes, and a dry sob escapes my throat. As if to comfort me, Julien’s small foot digs underneath my leg. I snuggle into his shoulder and pray for sleep to relieve me of my turmoil.

                The dark, grey sky betrays nothing about the time. Even in the morning, it looks hardly any different than it did last night. Balancing on the tip of my toes, I take the white cloth and wipe the corners of the last window, taking care not to leave any smudges. Picking up the soap dish with my un- injured hand, I reluctantly turn away. The door to the next room stands ajar, revealing a vacant office. I glance around me, but there is no one in the hallway either. I swiftly enter the room and shut the door behind me before making my way towards the large, wooden desk. Setting the cleaning supplies down on the table, my eyes travel over the cluttered surface, searching for one item in particular. Disappointed, I begin pulling out drawers at random until I find it, nestled on top of a set of handkerchiefs. It looks identical to the one he showed me on the day that he was made Head of the Department.

                “I got them today, you know. All the important people get them. I’m important now, you see.” Mr. Brauer boasted as he opened the case, and pulled out a ring of keys. “This is mine. All mine!” He laughed and slumped on my shoulder, his breath reeking of alcohol.

                I pried open the black prescription glasses case and my memory was confirmed. Tucking the golden key ring in between the folds of my apron, I placed the case back on the top of the pile and closed the drawer. Above the desk, the hand carved clock showed 9:45am.

                “Early is on time, but on time is late,” I murmured to myself.

                “And late is inexcusable.” A familiar voice adds. I whipped around to see Mr. Brauer standing in front of the desk, smiling slightly at my shocked expression. “Where are you off to now, Miss Elora?” He questions.

                “Oh, I was just, uh,” I mumble incoherently. When had he entered? More importantly, what had he seen? “Actually, I was just about to meet Madame Dupont regarding my, um… my wages.”

                “Ah, is that so?” He glances around the room. “But you will be back, I presume, to finish cleaning?”

                I have to make a conscious effort not to look at or touch the bulge on my side where the keys are hidden. “Yes, sir. If you will excuse me, I shall get going. I mustn’t be late, as you so rightly stated.”

                He pulls out his chair and waves me away. “Off you go,” he chuckles.

                As soon as I am out of his sight, I take of running at full speed, fingers clenched tightly around the bundle of keys. My heart beats along with the pounding of my feet as I sprint down the hallway and out into the courtyard. A pair of soldiers watch me curiously from the far side, but I don’t stop until I reach the heavy double doors of the barrel room. With a massive tug, I pull them open and burst inside the dark room. Breathing heavily, I wait for my eyes to adjust. Did I miss him? Was I too late?

                “You’re more foolish than I thought. Did it not occur to you that a maid with a bandaged hand running at top speed might look a bit suspicious?” I could not see the owner of the voice, but it seemed to be coming from the opposite side of the room. “Walk with your hands where I can see them, and leave the key on the barrel in the center of the room,” The voice instructed.

                I clear my throat. “Show me the money first,” I demand, though my voice is not as confident as I intended it to be. My eyes have begun to adjust to the darkness, and I can now see the outline of a man standing in the furthest corner of the room.

                I am rewarded with a sneer. “And why do you think an armed and fully trained soldier should follow the orders of a flimsy maid? You have ten seconds to give me the keys, or I will shoot.”

                Left with no choice, I take a step forwards. If he doesn’t have the money, I hope he will be kind enough to at least accept my death request. 

                “Hands out!” the voice barked.

                 I thrust both hands in front of me and make my way towards the center, keeping my eyes fixed on the figure. His features became clearer with each step. I could make out short, dark hair and a lithe body, but his face was still hidden in a shadow. Upon reaching the center, I pulled the key ring out of the folds of my apron and set it on barrel top. My fingers brushed against soft leather, causing my heart to jump to my throat. The bag was heavy, and it clinked against the side of the barrel as I brought it down. Not daring to hope, I backed away slowly, alert for any sudden movements.  

                “Good luck,” I called into the darkness. There was no response.

                I tuck the bag into the waistband of my skirt before slipping back out into the courtyard. Even with the grey sky, the sudden brightness almost blinded me as I retraced my steps back to the main building, fueled with new energy and excitement for the future. My “American dream” suddenly seemed to become a reality.

                But as the day wears on, I become increasingly tense. Every sudden noise sounds like a gunshot, causing me to jump half a meter in the air. The earlier rush of excitement winds itself into a knot of guilt and slowly sinks to the bottom of my stomach like a stone. By 2:00 in the afternoon, I begin to worry. I am on my knees, washing the marble floors with Mabel at my side, but I’m not in the mood for a conversation.

                She pauses and glances up at me. “Elora, you’ve been scrubbing the same spot for the past three minutes. In fact, you’ve been acting a bit strange the whole day. What is the matter?” she asks, genuinely worried.

                Keeping my eyes trained on the floor, I remain quiet for a moment. “Mabel, I just wanted you to know-”

                

            And then it happens. The wail of the sirens pierce my eardrums like a sharpened knife. The building erupts into a state of complete chaos as doors bang open and panicked faces appear, seeking guidance and instruction.  With one look at each other, we take off running down the hallway. My long legs easily overtake hers, and by the time I reach the doorway, Mabel is almost a full ten meters behind me. Just as she catches up, the explosions begin. A series of short, controlled bursts occurring one after the other with almost perfectly spaced intervals. Mabel and I crouch behind the door along with the small crowd of people who were beginning to form. As I listen to their anxious conversations, I find myself subconsciously counting the blasts. Three, four…

                “I heard that several soldiers went missing from their barracks this morning. Do you suppose… No, it can’t be them. Can it?” a maid asks anxiously.

                A red headed soldier shakes his head. “There are no traitors in our army. Our blood runs clean.”

               I press my palms over the lids of my eyes. Six, seven, eight…

              “Apparently the government was warned of a possible bombing threat before the attack. I hope they were able to evacuate in time,” another soldier adds as he repeatedly ties and unties the laces on his boots.

 Even though I should be angry, a part of me still hopes that they were able to escape. Then I realize that it has become silent. I strain my ears, expecting to hear the next onslaught of explosions, but I am met with a foreboding silence. The redheaded soldier is the first to rise and unlock the door. He pushes it open a crack to peer cautiously outside before beckoning us forwards. The nearby buildings remain untouched, uniform and pristine as they always were. But in the distance, a thick haze of black smoke hovers over the licking orange flames like an ominous rain cloud. How many families had I destroyed? How many loved ones stolen? How many friendships had I broken? But more importantly- was it all worth it?

We walk in silence. Frightened, yet not to wanting to take our eyes off the destruction. The fire has spread to the library, tearing at the wooden structure with its barred fangs. The ancient roof creaks and bends before collapsing in defeat with a mighty roar. For a second, the smoke at the entrance to the library clears, and the sight makes me stop dead in my tracks.

            “No…” I whisper.

The young children exit the library in waves, coughing and spitting in the thick of the smoke. A tall, dark haired man desperately tries to count the heads of the children as they pass him, his lips mouthing inaudible instructions. It was Julien’s third grade teacher.

 Mabel grabs my forearm just as I spring forwards. “Elora! You can’t help them, and it’s not safe-”

Her words are cut off by a sonic boom. The sky turns blood red as we are thrown backwards with the force of the explosion. I feel the wind knocked out of me as my back slams against the ground, but within moments I am on my feet, stumbling towards the remnants of the buildings till I stand directly in front of the blazing inferno. The fires blaze relentlessly, but the tiny flame of hope inside me has been extinguished. I can’t even make out where the library stood before.

“I killed him.” I gasp.

The tears that stream down my face do nothing to cool my scorching skin.

“Papa…Maman…Julien. Julien, Julien…” I sob, my body convulsing as I double over.

My knees buckle and I fall forwards, dragged down by the weight of the leather bag, still strapped to the side of my waist.