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By the time the German was due to arrive, her father had returned to the farm. There was no word of where he had been or what he was doing, but as soon as he entered the house, he hobbled his way to the upstairs landing and peered to the ceiling, observing the obviousness of the enclosed entrance.
The entryway to the next floor was a simple hole in the roof, covered by a wood cut out that had been painted white to match. At the time, the hadn't been able to afford much else and the weak loft floor had been over layered with extra floorboards in an attempt to make it more stable. It didn't work, a week after as Lucille had been tidying, her foot hand fell straight through the floor, leaving a gaping hole in the ceiling of her father's room that had to be avoided.
"You better pray he doesn't notice it." Her father said shortly, as his eyes pierced along the tiny hole between the two materials. To Lucille, it was unnoticeable, even if you were staring straight at it. But her father had a gaze like a hawk.
She was surprised to hear that it was all he had to say- his nature eerily calm. As he walked away, Lucille listener to his uneven footsteps. She could tell by the sound of his feet that his leg was getting bad again. With a worsening health, Maron had a tendency to turn to alcohol, and Lucille couldn't imagine that a drunken, old Frenchman and a German soldier could ever mix without violence.
An abrupt and harsh knock at the door started Lucille. They all knew who it was. The whole house seemed to still in anxious anticipation. The shuffling stopped above and the clinching of glasses in the kitchen stilled. Even the chickens in the yard seemed to stop their flapping.
She waited for her father to get the door. There was another impatient knock on the wood, and upon realising that no one would answer, she hurried down the stairs and pulled the door open.
The soldier stood intimidatingly in front of her in his uniform. He was old, though not as old as Maron, and held a sneer that multiplied the deep trenches of wrinkles that creased his face. He stepped forward with a click of his shoes, and Lucille in turn stepped backward, her lips stuttering.
"Madame Angellier, I am oberleutnant Alfred Von Falk. I am expected. You were told that I require a bed, place to work and food?" He said, ending in question. His voice came out in shouts, sounding more like commands.
"Yes?" He asked, upon noticing her quivering lip and lack of response
"Yes." She uttered, being brushed to the side as he barged passed, making a pathway to the clock in the hallway.
It was her grandfather's clock- the time hadn't been changed since the day it had been built. It hadn't needed to. But as the soldier advanced upon the old clock, she could almost sense her fathers resentment, seething and boiling within him. She felt it too anger for the enemy, but fear all the same.
The soldier nodded mockingly after turning the hands of the clock and walked toward the kitchen.
"I'll be damned if they think I'm living by German time." Maron hissed, before heading out the opposite way, leaving his daughter to follow after Von Falk.
The soldier had made his way to the kitchen, and after a displeased inspection, had found the cigarette drawer. He stood at the with one freshly lit in his hand and sneered as he took a breath in.
"Can't find anything but this weak shite." He exclaimed to himself, the accent sounding strong and out of place.
"You're room is upstairs." Lucille said boldly, standing taller as he turned to glare.
"Leave the door open and I will find it myself." He said, as he flicked the cigarette away dismissively and headed out the back door.
Lucille sighed, letting a breath that she had held in fright of offending him some way. She was just glad her father hadn't said something- they all knew what would happen if he did.
