Claudette stared balefully out the window of her small bookshop, watching the groups of Nazi soldiers pacing through the streets. Business had taken a turn for the worse since their occupation of her city in France. Wars were always hard times, but even her wealthier patrons had ceased coming to her shop because she was unable to procure the new literature. Instead, she was forced to stock piles and piles of the Fuhrer's
Mein Kampf
. Sighing, she fingered through her copy battered of
Cyrano de Bergerac
.
Herr Fredrick Ziegler stood at the streetcorner, staring into the small bookshop. He had passed it several times this week and found himself quite taken with the proprietress. She was petite, brunette, and quite pretty. Her bright green eyes always seemed to be roving the pages of some book or observing the streets. It was clear to him that she was quite intelligent and curious and he wished to make himself known to her.
"Herr Ziegler!" Colonel Wolff barked, snapping Fredrick out of his thoughts.
"Colonel Wolff," Fredrick saluted, standing to attention.
"Go into that bookshop for me," Colonel Wolff ordered, lighting up one of his cigarettes, "It will be my wife's birthday soon and she enjoys reading French poems. See if they don't have something that would suit her," he scoffed before turning on his heel and continued down the street.
Fredrick nodded before heading towards the bookshop. Inhaling deeply, he turned the burnished doorknob and stepped into the small, but nice space.
"Good morning," Claudette greeted the officer in French, a bit surprised at his presence.
"And good morning to you, madame," Fredrick bowed, "I am Herr Fredrick Ziegler," he introduced himself, extending a gloved hand towards her.
"I am Claudette Deschamps. Are you looking for something?" she asked skeptically.
"I was sent to find a book of French Poems for the Colonel's wife," he admitted sheepishly, "Though I have been interested in your store for quite some days."
"And why is that?" Claudette asked, befuddled smile playing across her rosy lips.
"I enjoy good literature and I find you to be quite beautiful," Fredrick answered honestly. Claudette didn't speak, but simply raised her eyebrows before turning to scan across her dwindling collection of French poems.
"I'm afraid the war has made it hard for me to keep my usual stock of French poetry," she told him over her shoulder as she plucked a few titles from the shelves, "But for your Colonel's wife, I believe one or all of these would be appropriate. A book of love poems, a poetic drama, and some poems about dead dogs," she told him sarcastically.
Fredrick found himself frustrated at her nonchalant attitude. He was used to being hated, but her flippant lack of caring annoyed him.
"I will take the first two and pass on the poems about the dogs," he replied politely, reaching into one of his pockets for payment. Claudette smiled a weak smile and reached for the brown paper and twine she used to package books. As she did so, she regarded the soldier with some interest. He was tall and towered over her with light brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a pleasing face. But he was a Nazi and she could never be interested in him no matter how handsome he might be.
"Here you are, Herr Ziegler," she said as she handed him the neatly bundled package. He grabbed it, purposefully brushing his fingers against hers.
"Thank you Mademoiselle Deschamps," he bowed to her again, "I hope to see you soon," he told her, staring at her intensely before exiting the shop. Claudette furrowed her brow as he left, puzzled at his farewell.
...
Over the next weeks, Fredrick found himself constantly passing the store, sometimes popping his head in to say hello and other times simply waving at Claudette through the frosted glass of her windows. She was confused at his behavior, why would a Nazi soldier have any interest in her? She was neither Jewish nor Aryan, and heavens knew she wasn't rich. She was simply a girl trying to get by during a war-torn time.
"Hello Claudette," Fredrick greeted her cordially as he entered her bookshop. She had ceased to be surprised at his frequent visits. Truth be told, she had started to look forward to them, even if they were somewhat confusing.
"Hello Herr Ziegler," she smiled, perching herself a bit straighter on her stool. "How does this day find you?" she asked, noticing that he seemed to be particularly excited about something.
"Quite well, Claudette," he responded with a mischievous smile playing around his lips, "Though I do have something for you," he grinned, bringing his hands out from behind his back and presenting her with a delicate box from the patisserie.
"What's this?" Claudette asked, lifting an eyebrow.
"I was walking by the patisserie today and noticed that they had financiers and lemon cakes for sale. And I recalled that you favor those pastries, is that correct?" Fredrick looked at her, suddenly nervous that he had misremembered.
"It is," Claudette smiled widely, reaching towards the box to undo the twine with her delicate fingers. "These look lovely," she commented, looking at the treats. "Do you have time for tea?"
"I absolutely do," Fredrick nodded, beaming inside that she'd invited him to stay. Claudette smiled genuinely at him before disappearing into the back room to set a pot on the stove. As the water boiled, she rummaged around for her nicer set of china and prepared things for the tea. Some minutes later, the kettle began to whistle, and she removed it from the flames and poured boiling water into the teapot. Smiling softly, she carried the tray back out into the store and set it on the counter where she usually sat.
"Do you take sugar? I apologize, I haven't had milk in quite some time," Claudette commented as she poured the amber liquid into two teacups.
