That’s when she’d heard the sound of something breaking inside, and Michel had rushed off, cursing Inès under his breath.

Twenty minutes later, Céline and Theo were working side by side in the cellars, riddling bottles in silence, when there was the sound of a car engine roaring to life overhead.

“Is Michel going somewhere?” Theo asked without breaking his rhythm. With both hands, he continued to turn two bottles at a time an eighth of a revolution to the right, barely disturbing them in their pupitres, their wooden A-frame racks.

“I don’t think so.”

“Would you go check?” Theo didn’t look at her as he continued to turn bottles at lightning speed. She envied his effortless skill—though she tried to keep up, she felt like a novice in comparison.

Céline brushed her hands off on her pants as she rose. She grabbed her overcoat and hat from the bench by the door and hurried down the main passageway of the cellar toward the stairs, emerging aboveground just in time to see the Citro?n pulling down the drive, its taillights reflecting off the narrow patches of snow that hadn’t yet melted. Michel was staring after it, his fingers laced behind his neck.

“She’s leaving again,” Michel said. They watched the car until it disappeared around the bend. “Merde,” he muttered. “After last night . . . Christ.”

Michel’s jaw was set in anger, and for once, Céline didn’t know what to say to him. She wondered what had happened between Inès and Michel the night before, but it wasn’t her place to ask. “I’m sorry,” she said, knowing it wasn’t enough.

“I just—I thought she was different.” Michel said the words quietly, almost as if talking to himself.

Céline understood exactly what he meant, for it was how she felt about Theo these days, too. “War has a way of revealing who we really are.”

He looked at her, surprise in his eyes. “Yes. It does.”

They held each other’s gaze until they were interrupted by the sound of an approaching engine in the distance. Had Inès’s conscience kicked in? But it wasn’t her; there was a dirt-streaked farm truck turning from the main road through their front gates. It rattled noisily toward them, sputtering from its makeshift fuel.

“It’s Louis,” said Michel, starting down the drive.

As the man parked beside Michel and got out of the truck, slamming the door behind him, Céline recognized him as the son of one of the vignerons they had been buying grapes from for years. He glanced at Céline, and without exchanging pleasantries, he began to speak to Michel in low tones. It was clear that she had no part in the conversation. She had just turned to retreat back to the cellar when Michel called out for her. “Céline, could you please come here?”

She looked back and saw both men watching her. Something about their impassive expressions made her stomach twist in fear. “Is something wrong?” They didn’t answer, so she walked over to them hesitantly.

Michel put a hand on the small of her back, his touch so light she could barely feel it. Still, it comforted her. “Céline, do you know Louis Parvais?”

The other man, a bit younger than Michel with thick black eyebrows and an impressive beard, nodded at her, his dark eyes somber.

She nodded back. “I believe we’ve met briefly. Bonjour, monsieur.”

“Bonjour.” He seemed to be waiting for Michel to say something.

“Céline,” Michel said. “Louis has brought news. He, ah, delivers messages from time to time.”

Céline glanced quickly at Michel and then at Louis. Was he the messenger Michel had told her about? “What is it?” she asked.

“It’s news from Burgundy,” he said, glancing at Michel once more before his gaze settled on her. “I’m afraid your father and his parents have been arrested.”

Céline’s knees felt suddenly weak, and she swayed on her feet. Michel steadied her, his hand firm on her back now. “It will be okay,” he murmured, but she knew it wouldn’t be.

“What happened?” she managed to say.

“Your father was picked up along with a few other men—all Jewish—on suspicion of conspiring to undermine the Germans.”

Céline could feel her eyes widen. “But—”

“Obviously false charges,” Louis said quickly. “But nevertheless, your father has been taken to prison. His parents—your grandparents—were taken a day later.”

“No,” Céline whispered. “None of them were involved in anything. I know they weren’t.”

“I’m sure you’re right. The Germans have begun arresting Jews on flimsy accusations. There’s someone from the local council making inquiries, and it’s our hope that your father and grandparents will be released.”

“And if they’re not?”

Louis exchanged looks with Michel. “They are sending Jewish prisoners east on transports to Germany and Poland, madame. But we will do our best to ensure that your family is not removed from France.”

“You can’t give up hope, Céline,” Michel said. “If Louis says there is a chance, it is true.”

“Please, tell no one what I’ve told you today,” Louis warned. “I will bring more news when I have it.” He climbed back into his farm truck and rumbled away before Céline could say another word.