The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah

Sophie had had a restless night, so Vianne let her sleep. She went downstairs to make coffee and
almost ran into Captain Beck, who was pacing the living room. “Oh. Herr Captain. I am sorry.”
He seemed not to hear her. She had never seen him look so agitated. His usually pomaded hair was
untended; a lock kept falling in his face and he cursed repeatedly as he brushed it away. He was wearing
his gun, which he never did in the house.
He strode past her, his hands fisted at his sides. Anger contorted his handsome face, made him
almost unrecognizable. “An aeroplane went down near here last night,” he said, facing her at last. “An
American aeroplane. The one they call a Mustang.”
“I thought you wanted their aeroplanes to go down. Isn’t that why you shoot at them?”
“We searched all night and didn’t find a pilot. Someone is hiding him.”
“Hiding him? Oh, I doubt that. Most likely he died.”
“Then there would be a body, Madame. We found a parachute but no body.”
“But who would be so foolish?” Vianne said. “Don’t you … execute people for that?”
“Swiftly.”
Vianne had never heard him speak in such a way. It made her draw back, and remember the whip
he’d held on the day Rachel and the others were deported.
“Forgive my manner, Madame. But we have shown you all our best behaviors, and this is what we
get from many of you French. Lies and betrayal and sabotage.”
Vianne’s mouth dropped open in shock.
He looked at her, saw how she was staring at him, and he tried to smile. “Forgive me again. I don’t
mean you, of course. The Kommandant is blaming me for this failure to find the airman. I am charged
with doing better today.” He went to the front door, opened it. “If I do not…”
Through the open door, she saw a glimpse of gray-green in her yard. Soldiers. “Good day,
Madame.”
Vianne followed him as far as the front step.
“Lock and close all the doors, Madame. This pilot may be desperate. You wouldn’t want him to
break into your home.”
Vianne nodded numbly.
Beck joined his entourage of soldiers and took the lead. Their dogs barked loudly, strained forward,
sniffing at the ground along the base of the broken wall.
Vianne glanced up the hill and saw that the barn door was partially open. “Herr Captain!” she called
out.
The captain stopped; so did his men. The snarling dogs strained at their leashes.
And then she thought of Rachel. This is where Rachel would come if she’d escaped.
“N-nothing, Herr Captain,” Vianne called out.
He nodded brusquely and led his men up the road.
Vianne slipped into the boots by the door. As soon as the soldiers were out of sight, she hurried up
the hill toward the barn. In her haste, she slipped twice in the wet grass and nearly fell. Righting herself