Now in paperback, from the two-time Newbery Honor-winning author of <The War That Saved My Life< and <Fighting Words< comes a middle grade novel set at the border between freedom and fear in World War II France, at the Chateau de Chenonceau, where a Jewish girl who has lost everything but her life must decide whether to risk even that to bring others to freedom.

<&ldquo;We don&rsquo;t choose how we feel, but we choose how we act.&rdquo;<

It&rsquo;s 1942. German Nazis occupy much of France. And twelve-year-old Miriam, who is Jewish, is not safe. With help and quick thinking, Miri is saved from the roundup that takes her entire Jewish neighborhood. She escapes Paris, landing in a small French village, where the spires of the famous Chateau de Chenonceau rise high into the sky, its bridge across the River Cher like a promise, a fairy tale.&nbsp;

But Miri&rsquo;s life is no fairy tale. Her parents are gone&mdash;maybe alive, maybe not. Taken in at the boarding school near the chateau, pretending to be Catholic to escape Nazi capture, Miri is called upon one night to undertake a deadly task, one that spans the castle grounds, its bridge, and the very border to freedom. Here is her chance to escape&mdash;hopefully to find her parents. But will she take it? One thing is certain: The person Miri meets that night will save her life. And the person Miri becomes that night could save the lives of many more.

In her return to the era of <The War that Saved My Life< and <The War I Finally Won<, Kimberly Brubaker Bradley brings a new and different story, one with a mystical twist, that explores a little-known slice of World War II history, a highly unusual friendship, and the power of choosing courage even when&mdash;especially when&mdash;there are no good choices to be had.

Autorentext
Kimberly Brubaker Bradley (she/her) is the author of Newbery Honor winners Fighting Words and The War that Saved My Life. The sequel to the latter, The War I Finally Won, appeared on many state-award and best-books lists and was described as “stunning” by The Washington Post and “honest” and “daring” by The New York Times. Kimberly and her husband have two grown children and live with their dog, several po­nies, a highly opinionated mare, and a surplus of cats on a fifty-two acre farm in Bristol, Tennessee.

Zusammenfassung
Now in paperback, from the two-time Newbery Honor-winning author of The War That Saved My Life and Fighting Words comes a middle grade novel set at the border between freedom and fear in World War II France, at the Chateau de Chenonceau, where a Jewish girl who has lost everything but her life must decide whether to risk even that to bring others to freedom.

“We don’t choose how we feel, but we choose how we act.”

It’s 1942. German Nazis occupy much of France. And twelve-year-old Miriam, who is Jewish, is not safe. With help and quick thinking, Miri is saved from the roundup that takes her entire Jewish neighborhood. She escapes Paris, landing in a small French village, where the spires of the famous Chateau de Chenonceau rise high into the sky, its bridge across the River Cher like a promise, a fairy tale. 

But Miri’s life is no fairy tale. Her parents are gone—maybe alive, maybe not. Taken in at the boarding school near the chateau, pretending to be Catholic to escape Nazi capture, Miri is called upon one night to undertake a deadly task, one that spans the castle grounds, its bridge, and the very border to freedom. Here is her chance to escape—hopefully to find her parents. But will she take it? One thing is certain: The person Miri meets that night will save her life. And the person Miri becomes that night could save the lives of many more.

In her return to the era of The War that Saved My Life and The War I Finally Won, Kimberly Brubaker Bradley brings a new and different story, one with a mystical twist, that explores a little-known slice of World War II history, a highly unusual friendship, and the power of choosing courage even when—especially when—there are no good choices to be had.

Leseprobe
Chapter One

July 10, 1942—Paris, France
I could hear sirens. Sirens meant trouble.
“Nothing to worry about, Miri,” Mama said, in her usual soft Yiddish. She didn’t look up from mending the pocket of my other dress.
“You don’t know that,” I said.
Her eyes flicked toward me. “It’s a fire engine, not a police sedan.”
“You can tell the difference?”
“I can.”
I knew she meant to reassure me, but I didn’t quite believe her. To me the two sounded the same. Ever since Monsieur Rosenbaum had been taken away, nearly two years ago now, the sound of sirens made my stomach hurt and my vision swim. Mama thought she understood. I let her think she did.
Now I took a deep breath. Released it slowly. Far below, the sirens continued. “I’m going up,” I said.
My mother pressed her lips together. Papa insisted she let me climb onto the roof, but she hated it when I did. Our apartment was on the sixth floor of our building, so if I did fall I would splatter, but I never feared falling. The roof was the only place in Paris I felt safe. Nothing could touch me there.
I moved our red geranium in its clay pot away from the window. I stretched one foot onto the top of the metal grille that kept things from falling out our window, grabbed the window frame, and heaved myself up so I was standing on the grille. From there it was easy to scramble up the slate tiles, still cool in the morning sun. Our window was a dormer on the top floor: It had its own little roof like a hat. I straddled the hat with my legs and let my head and shoulders rest against the main roof. I turned my face to the blue summer sky.
Sirens still wailed, but I could breathe easier now.
It had been my fault the Nazis took Monsieur Rosenbaum away. No one else knew that. I didn’t have the courage to confess it, not even to my mother.
It happened not long after the Germans invaded Paris, in the summer of 1940 when I was ten. I’d been walking through the crowded streets of our neighborhood, the Pletzl, on my way home from school when I saw our neighbor Monsieur Rosenbaum standing in front of two German soldiers on the sidewalk just ahead of me. Monsieur Rosenbaum was talking to them, though I couldn’t hear his words. Suddenly the soldier with a dark mustache grabbed Monsieur Rosenbaum by one arm. With his other fist he punched Monsieur Rosenbaum in the face.
Monsieur Rosenbaum’s head snapped back. Blood sprayed from his nose. I screamed. I ran forward and threw myself between him and the soldier.
The soldier pushed me sideways, hard. I fell to the pavement, scraping my knees and biting the inside of my cheek.
The other soldier looked down at me and said, “Is this your father, little girl?”
I looked up at the three men. I tasted blood inside my mouth. My arms and legs, my entire body, froze. Only my head could move, and I shook it, to say no.
I shook my head.
“Well, then.” The first soldier kicked me aside. He and the other soldier shoved Monsieur Rosenbaum into the back of a police van parked on the street. The van drove away, siren blaring.
We hadn’t seen Monsieur Rosenbaum since.
I should have said yes, he was my father. I should have jumped to my feet. I should have fought them.
I should have done anything but what I had done.
I ran home breathless and threw up in the toilet at the end of our hall. Mama tucked me into her bed and I lay with my face against the wall, weeping. Before I could bring myself to tell my parents what had happened, n…