It shouldn’t have surprised me that Brohammer spoke so crassly. My body screamed internally. Please, please don’t let them notice anything.
The driver said, “It sounded like a . . . baby, a baby’s wail.”
A long moment of silence. I remained motionless and flat on the ground, and I could see only a line of moonlight between the bottom of the car and the street. Then four boots broke the line. They stood just inches away.
Laughter and then, “Haven’t you heard coyotes sound like babies? Maybe there’s some coyotes in the woods. That’s probably all you heard, a coyote.” Brohammer laughed again.
“No,” the driver said slowly. “There ain’t no coyotes here. Besides, it was more like a . . . cat.”
Brohammer hissed and laughed again. “Me-owww. Mountain lion.”
“Hey, don’t joke about mountain lions. No, sir. I’m from Colorado, and I know me a bit about mountain lions. They can kill you like that”—I heard the snapping of his fingers—“but I don’t think none of them’s here, neither.” What sounded like genuine fear and nerves cracked his voice.
“Maybe there are. And oooh, I’m so scared. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty . . .” Laughter. “Kitty, kitty, come get some fresh meat.”
The driver, sounding resigned, finally said, “I guess it ain’t nothing. Ain’t nothing here.”
“Let’s go.”
One set of feet turned and scraped away, and then after long minutes the second set went away, too.
My body wouldn’t move at first. True, I was no sleuth, but I had escaped discovery. I had to congratulate myself. Right under Brohammer’s nose, I’d found proof of his treachery, and he didn’t even know it.
I couldn’t imagine why Brohammer and his driver had stayed awake so late at night. It had taken but a few minutes for them to arrive. Where had they billeted, and did it sit close by, where they’d see me before I could slip away? Common sense told me to leave as soon as possible. Flee. Forget this mission and disappear before I could be discovered. But I had a job to finish. My body returned to my control along with my determination.
Hearing no other sounds, I shimmied out from under the car and quickly reached into the crate. And pulled something out. A cutter. About six inches long with rubber handles and very sharp blades. So Jimmy’s suspicions were correct. Tools, not issued by the army, in unmarked crates in an engineering officer’s motorcar. The cutters and gloves couldn’t be intended for Brohammer’s men. Engineers didn’t need them; the infantry did. And as Jimmy had pointed out, an officer of the engineers had the freedom to move around when others didn’t.
I slid the cutter back inside the crate and took almost an hour getting the lid nailed shut again silently, and then I shifted the crate back to where I’d found it. Afterwards I crept back along the same route. Some guiding and benevolent spirit must have looked down on me fondly. I’d made it; I had done it. Once back inside the château, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. But all I’d done had left me too wound up to sleep.
I found our room empty. Cass had gone out again, so she had to know I’d gone outside, too. But our missions had nothing in common.
The exhilaration of succeeding left my heart still racing, and now as far as I knew, I was the only one outside Brohammer’s ring that had laid eyes on evidence, evidence that could prove his crime.
The thrill quickly dissolved. Should I have felt proud that I’d discovered something important? Flooded with feelings, none of which was pride, I let thoughts run around in my mind. I hoped that all of a person’s actions and choices meant something, and Brohammer’s crime would catch up to him. I wanted to believe that one day everyone would have to stand face-to-face with themselves.
How would I face my own dishonesty? My scheming? The things I had done—leading on a man, kissing him when I hated doing it, and sneaking around in the middle of the night to uncover his secrets. What of me?
In the morning, on the first day of September, a cool rain pounded the ground and sluiced down the steep sides of the château’s roof. Falling like little pellets, rainwater had already gathered in shallow puddles that reflected the dull-gray sky above. Perhaps I truly lived under a lucky star. The weather would ruin my picnic plans. I wouldn’t have to go out with Brohammer again after all.
Chapter Nineteen
When I left my room that same morning, I heard the news. Poppy, the sweet, adorable boy who’d stolen all of our hearts, had developed a mysterious fever, and so far, it showed no signs of breaking. A silent gloom had settled over the hospital in Neufmoutiers. Poppy was bedridden and groggily refusing to ingest anything other than a few sips of water offered by his mother.
The nurses sponged him to reduce the fever, and although all the doctors looked in on him, Dr. Logan took charge of Poppy’s care. Wearing my street dress in preparation for the day ahead, I translated for the mother while she talked to Dr. Logan. Of course the woman wanted to know how her son’s health had so rapidly taken a turn for the worse.
Dr. Logan explained that sometimes an infection could set in, even in a bone that appeared to be healing well, and no one knew why. When the mother asked about treatment, Dr. Logan said that other than trying to keep him cool and hydrated, we could do little else. Her hope, she said, was that Poppy’s own healing capabilities would soon turn the tide.
Poppy’s mother never asked if her son could lose his life to the infection, but I saw it in her eyes—a question she would not ask. She knew the possibility existed but didn’t want to put it into words.
After the meeting ended and Poppy’s mother left for home for some rest, I joined the other ambulance drivers at the table for some morning sustenance, but no one ate much except for Eve. Eve, who by all appearances loved the boy the most, kept insisting that all was well and Poppy would be up and about again in no time.
“He’s too ornery to let anything get the best of him,” she said as she finished eating. Her voice sounded determined, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes, and I doubted she allowed anyone else to see inside her, either. Sweet Eve, who still looked like a child herself, couldn’t face even the possibility . . .
The nurses who weren’t working with Poppy prayed their rosaries, and I saw Beryl, holding an umbrella high over her head, escape down the road in the direction of the church. Beryl, who’d once told me she had no faith. Whenever Dr. Logan appeared, we all studied her expectantly, but she did nothing more than sadly shake her head.
And soon I would have to face Brohammer. As Cass and Lottie prepared to drive two of the doctors to one of the dispensaries nearby, I decided to go for a walk down the road toward the village center. I located an umbrella and took it, although for a moment I considered walking in the rain and letting it drench me. Maybe it could wash away the awfulness around me now.
Halfway to the village center, in the hammering rain, the purr of an engine made me halt. I turned to see Brohammer in his car, smiling hugely at me from the driver-side window. Gleaming and gorgeous in his uniform. His scrubbed and shaven skin radiant as if the sun were out, and his hair looked freshly pomaded, as usual. “Too anxious to wait for me, I see,” he said. His smile reminded me of the cat that had swallowed the canary.
I shook my head. “That’s not it.”
“Get in,” he said. “I’ve completed my search mission and have found everything we need for today.”
“But the rain . . .”
“Phooey on the rain,” he said. Then again, “Get in.”
After walking around to the other side of the car, I collapsed my umbrella and slid into the seat beside him. It didn’t escape me that now I sat just inches away from wartime contraband that represented just how depraved this man was.
I forced a tight smile and said, “You couldn’t possibly think about a picnic now.”
His smile fell a notch, but he kept his poise. He also didn’t drive away; therefore we sat in the middle of the quiet street by ourselves, the engine running, steam rising off the hood in the pouring rain. “This
is no way to start our day together, my dear. How are you today?”
I pushed drooping hair off my forehead. “To tell you the truth, dreadful. A boy we’ve all become quite attached to has been recovering from a broken leg, doing well. Then out of the blue, overnight, he developed a fever, an infection in the bone, and I’m not sure now”—I had to pause—“if he’ll even make it out of there.”
“Hmmm,” said Brohammer. “All the more reason to get away and have a wonderful day together.”
I turned to face him. “I shouldn’t go now. I’m about to jump out of my skin waiting for news, and I might need to translate for his mother.”
The smile left altogether. “They can find someone else, and let me tell you something—waiting around isn’t going to make something happen any faster.”
“I know that . . . but I don’t want to leave the others while this is still going on. Please understand.”
He turned away from me then and stared through the windshield. “I have wine, bread, some good cheese, berries . . .”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Do what you promised. The picnic was your idea.”
I smoothed my skirt across my lap. “I’m aware of that, but circumstances have changed. Look at the weather.”
“We can have a picnic inside the car, sweetheart, or we’ll find someplace under cover. Trust me. I’ll find the perfect spot. I always do.”
I stared down at my muddied boots. “It’s a slick mess out there.”
He remained silent, and I dared a glance at him. His jaw clenched, released, and then clenched again. Apparently noting my attention, he shifted his gaze over to me, and I found his eyes such a cold, hard, and utterly clear blue they reminded me of ice, so smooth and slick they reflected me like mirrors.
Keeping his voice under control, he asked, “So which is it? You can’t go because of the boy, or you can’t go because of the weather?”
The small amount of food in my stomach froze. “In truth, it’s both. I’m sorry, but I just can’t go today.”
“I stayed over for you. You asked me to. And I went to a lot of trouble.”
“Again, I know, and again, you have my apologies. But no one expected this horrible development, and no one realized the weather was going to change, either.”
He turned back to face the windshield and said, “Do you enjoy making a fool of me?”
“I haven’t made a fool of you. Plans change all the time, don’t they? We’re in a country at war. Besides, who would see you as a fool? Who knew of this planned outing?”
“My driver, for one.”
“So share all that good food and wine with him. That’s sure to make him happy.”
A snorting sound escaped him. Then silence. Still staring out beyond the windshield, he said in a rather seething manner, “If I ever find out there’s someone else . . .”
I sat up straight. “Are you threatening me?”
Finally he looked at me again, and the rage on his face answered my question. No longer trying to hide his fury, he said smoothly, chillingly, “You think this is threatening? Girl, you have no idea. When I pose a threat, you’ll have no doubt about it. You don’t have any clue what I’m capable of.”
It sat on the tip of my tongue—I do know what you’re capable of. Profiting off our deserving soldiers, giving some men and not others life-saving advantages, and the evidence is just behind me. But thankfully I kept silent. If he knew, no doubt he’d probably get rid of the evidence quickly, and who knew what else.
I grabbed the door handle.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “You’re staying put.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Think better of it.”
“I already have.” Then I proceeded to open the door and step out.
“Don’t walk away from me, Arlene,” he said as I slammed the door.
But I did walk away from him and never once looked back. To my surprise, however, he gunned his engine, and the tires spat a fine spray of mud and a few larger clods of gunk on my dress as he turned around and drove past me. I didn’t look up then, either, just stared down at my now-soiled dress. After his engine noise died away, I stumbled upon a bouquet of fresh flowers lying in the mud beside his tire tracks.
I’d clearly made an enemy, and I’d never known the feeling before. The weight of knowing someone out there in the world—and so close by—might wish me harm felt new, unsettling, and frightening as it sank in.
Back at the hospital I learned that Dr. Logan had called a meeting of all AWH staff in an hour, and it made me nervous. All of us wondered what she had to tell us. Maybe something about our next assignment. Or an update on Poppy. That hour passed like molasses, and everyone stood silent, stoic, as we waited in the parlor, where Dr. Logan usually made announcements.
She soon appeared and told us that the morning after next, we would relocate to a hospital in Luzancy near Château-Thierry. We would occupy a lovely old château that had served as a hospital for most of the war, first by the Germans, then the French, and finally the Americans, who had made it an evacuation hospital for the Château-Thierry and Belleau Wood fronts. Large and with abundant hot water, it would support our cause very well.
The Germans had abandoned Château-Thierry and left it in shambles, she also told us. The retreating and defeated Boche had made sure to destroy the interior of every home and every piece of personal property in the town as they fled. Now, French refugees were returning to the area en masse and finding everything they’d owned in ruins. Many of them sick, hungry, and defeated. We would probably take care of some men of the French Sixth as well.
We would leave two doctors, one driver, and three nurses behind in Neufmoutiers to run the dispensaries. Once in Luzancy, however, we would soon welcome the second, larger wave of arriving AWH personnel, along with another ambulance that had been brought over and adapted, too. A second unit, AWH Hospital No. 2, would soon open in La Ferté-Milon, and the Red Cross had asked for six more units. Our operation was growing.
My first thought: Cass should stay behind. She seemed so much better in this place, but I didn’t know who would make that decision. On the other hand, despite our friendship feeling broken at the moment, I still needed to look after her.
Dr. Logan told us we had only one full day to ready everything for moving. She made no mention of Poppy. She acknowledged what we were going through, however, by ending her announcement with a simple statement: “It’s best to stay busy.”
That night I wrote a letter to Maman and Luc, telling them we would move again to another location and asking how they were. So far, I’d received only one letter from Maman, and I didn’t know why. Perhaps our unit was difficult to find, or the mail service had worsened. Or maybe Maman simply hadn’t written. I didn’t feel that no news was good news; instead, the absence of news made me think that for some reason, they wanted me left in the dark.
The next day, with still no news on Poppy, everyone went to work disassembling hospital beds, beating mattresses under the eaves to avoid the rain, packing medical equipment of all sorts, and gathering up our meager possessions.
In the early afternoon, one of the nurses appeared and tearfully told Cass and me that the infection in Poppy’s leg had entered the bloodstream, and yes, it had killed him. As she told other waiting groups, who paused in their packing to hear the news, we could hear gasps, some sobbing, and also periods of utter silence. But when the nurse reached Eve, a scream full of anguish pierced the air, and then Eve tore out of the château into the rain.
“Someone should go after her,” I said to Cass, whose eyes looked muddled by a combination of disbelief and shock. “Kitty or Lottie? Do you know which one she’s closest to?”
Cass shook her head. “I’ll go.”
“How kind of you—” I began to say, but Cass had already started walking briskly toward the exit, grabbing an umbrella on her way out.
An hour later she returned and told me she’d ne
ver found Eve.
Burying my concern, I continued to work on moving preparations while Cass stared into the empty courtyard, now battered by rain that fell even harder than the day before. My heart went out to Eve. Perhaps she hadn’t suffered a personal loss before this one. How would she fare from here on out?
Soon Dr. Logan called a meeting and told us she had spoken to the family, and in her own words she relayed what had happened. She said she knew how sorry we must have all felt to have witnessed this tragedy. As she finished, Eve, dripping from head to toe and wiping her face, which was so wet it was impossible to tell where the raindrops ended and the teardrops began, appeared in the back of the room.
She called out in a voice I didn’t recognize, “When is the funeral?”
I had to steal a glance over my shoulder. One of the nurses put a jacket around Eve’s quivering shoulders.
Dr. Logan answered as I faced forward again, “Tomorrow afternoon.”
Eve cried out, “We all must go to the funeral!”
Dr. Logan’s shoulders fell. “My dear, it’s imperative that we leave in the morning. We won’t have time—”
“We must go!” Eve shouted, looking around the room for support. But no one else would openly defy Dr. Logan.
“We shall not delay. Hundreds and maybe thousands of people await us,” Dr. Logan replied calmly.
“We cannot wait another day?” Eve exclaimed, and I glanced over my shoulder again. The nurse who’d wrapped the jacket around Eve now held her close to her side. I perused the group for Beryl. Why wasn’t our Dr. Rayne intervening, at least defusing the situation?
Finally I spotted her, staring ahead and unmoving.
After a long pause, Dr. Logan, looking ever so serene and untouchable, said, “We shall not wait another day. I’m sorry to have to say this, and I do know how most of you probably feel. But another most difficult truth to face is that we shouldn’t attend villagers’ funerals. If we attend one, then we have to attend them all, or else we show favoritism. Other villagers have perished, and we—”
Mercy Road Page 18
