Mercy Road

by Ann Howard Creel

  One day I had an hour to spare and took a short walk in the nearby woods, which seemed far away from everything and reminded me of the shimmering fall colors I would be enjoying this time of year in Kentucky. Autumn, my father’s favorite season.

  My feet came to a halt as I remembered. Six months had passed since Papa’s death. I couldn’t believe half a year had gone by, and it left me breathless. I had not seen him during the most remarkable period of my life, and never would I be able to tell him about it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The following morning, Beryl told me to take half the day off as she would be busy operating and enough of the other drivers were on duty. Thrilled to have a few hours to myself after working for four weeks straight, I decided to search out the gasoline I needed. I left Luzancy just as the eastern sky blazed amber and transformed the river into a silver-pink snake, and drove to Château-Thierry as I’d heard I could probably find fuel there and I wanted to see more of the city, which was slowly inching and crawling its way back to life. I had to bargain American cigarettes to get gasoline from a local man, but I managed to fill the tank and had several hours to spare.

  I walked into the old city’s narrow cobbled streets and witnessed the random damage from heavy machine-gun fighting and artillery fire. Bullet holes pockmarked walls, and most of the windows lay in shattered pieces on the ground, but here and there, one house would appear untouched while the next had disintegrated into heaps of stone, lumber, and tile.

  Most of the wreckage from inside the houses, shops, and cafés had been carted off and discarded by then, but some piles of broken family belongings still huddled in the streets. I walked past one garden stacked with broken chairs, a crushed grandfather clock, and a few oil paintings with slash marks through them. Signs of life caught the eye in some of the homes, while others remained unnervingly still and silent. The sound of my footsteps echoing off the ancient stone walls rang lovely but also lonely.

  As I climbed the winding streets toward the town hall, life in the village became more apparent on this, a Friday market day. In the old covered market area, some of the area’s farmers again offered produce for sale from makeshift stands or baskets on the ground. An old woman offered me butter wrapped in grape leaves. Gladly I bought some, along with a few eggs she retrieved from deep inside a basket, where they had lain protected in a nest of lettuce.

  Small groups of army men milled about, and a few of them wore the uniforms of ambulance drivers. My pace quickened as I approached two men taking up the rear of their pack, and I asked if they knew Jimmy Tucker.

  They exchanged glances, and then the taller man said, “Sure, we know him. But you’d be wasting your time with that ole country boy.” He bowed exaggeratedly, almost fell over, and then managed to straighten. “Corporal Peter C. Connor at your command, miss.”

  The other soldier beside him chuckled sloppily. Although it was still morning, the men had apparently started drinking, or maybe they’d been up all night.

  “Are you in the same company as Jimmy?” I asked.

  The tall man swayed on his feet and blinked against the light, as if fighting to stay conscious. “We could be,” he slurred.

  “Would you be able to give him a message?”

  “A message?” the tall soldier asked. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “I need to let him know where I am—Luzancy. I’m Arlene. Arlene Favier. Tell him I’m nearby, and I have some important information for him. Tell him ‘Arlene is in Luzancy and needs to speak with you.’” I spoke every word slowly and clearly, praying one of them would understand me and could pass the information on to Jimmy. “Do you have that?”

  The men seemed too drunk to remember anything I said. Instead of relying on their memories, I decided to write a note.

  The tall man blinked hard again, and I turned to his companion, a shorter, gristlier man who badly needed a shave but appeared less intoxicated. “Would you happen to have any paper and a pencil on you?”

  He stared into my eyes in a more comprehending way, but he said, “Pete here”—he slapped Pete on the back—“just asked you why you’d want to send Jimmy a message . . .”

  I glanced about. The other men who’d walked ahead of these two were close to leaving my sight. Perhaps I should just abandon this attempt and go after them instead.

  But then the gristly man said, “You don’t need us to send him a message. He’s right here in Chatty Terry.”

  Heat immediately flushed my neck and cheeks. I hadn’t felt his presence. “He’s here?” I touched my face and glanced about again. “Where?”

  The gristly one rubbed his eyes. “Last I saw him, he was down near the quay.”

  “Thank you,” I said and then walked briskly away. With one hand I raked the hair off my face and tried to smooth it down in back. How long since I’d taken a real bath or put on some makeup? Outside a tiny but intact house stood a tired-looking village woman holding a baby on her hip, and after I greeted her in French, I put the eggs and butter in her free hand. She stared down at the food.

  I heard her call out “Merci” as I sprinted away.

  At the quay, a crowd of townspeople had gathered, likely to watch for a supply boat slated to arrive. I tried to catch my breath and swept the area with my eyes.

  Before I could find Jimmy, however, he found me. His hands on my shoulders, he spun me around to face him and pulled me into a quick hug. Then he held me back at arm’s length. “I was hoping I might see you,” he said joyfully—or did I imagine the joy?

  “Jimmy . . .” It slipped out of me like a plea. He looked so tanned and robust you’d think he’d just returned from a vacation on the Riviera. Still winded from running, I managed to say, “I-I can’t believe it. You’re here. I’m working nearby. Do you know I’m now in Luzancy?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I received that message from Meaux, and as soon as I left here, that’s where I was going. I hoped I might see you today, but I never expected to run into you in this town.”

  I stood before him as helpless and vulnerable as a chick fallen from its nest, whereas he seemed as pleasant and calm as always. “It’s my first time here, other than passing through. I came for gasoline and then took a walk. I can’t believe . . .”

  He touched my upper arm. “Do you have time for a bite to eat?”

  I didn’t know the exact time, but the sun hadn’t reached its apex in the sky, so I nodded.

  “Just a little ways.” He pointed toward a slanted street that ended where the ruined old stone bridge connected to the bank. “I know a place where we can sit down for a spell.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  A very short walk took us to a café with a battered exterior. The proprietor had somehow managed to get ahold of some tables and chairs, which he’d set out in the sunlight against a latticelike, vine-climbed wall. We sat across from each other on tiny round chairs at a tiny round table while the sun poured down perfection.

  For a moment we sat in silence. Dazed by his presence, I didn’t know what had come over him.

  Then I started to ask “How are you—” while he said something similar at the same time. It had the effect of interrupting each other, and we both smiled.

  I said, “You go first.”

  Jimmy gazed at me in that observant, unwavering way of his that left me longing, and he leaned forward with his elbows on the table and wove his hands loosely together. “We’ve been working in the Argonne and got here on leave late yesterday.”

  “Yes, I met some of your companions.”

  He straightened his back and scoffed in a humorous way. “No telling what they said . . . or did.”

  I shrugged. “It’s no matter. They told me where to find you.”

  He dropped his hands and sat back, looking pleased, looking at me. “So here you are. Here we are.”

  As a waiter wound his way through the closely placed tables toward us, Jimmy turned his head, and I could see his profile—the olive skin of his
neck, short stems of darker hair lying against it—and suddenly it hurt to breathe.

  Jimmy turned to face me again and said, “We came here for dinner last night. You have a choice of an omelet or an omelet.” He smiled as we waited, and I stared at him, tongue-tied and a little nervous, like someone who has just come upon a person they haven’t seen in ages but who roams their dreams every night.

  When the waiter approached, I said to him in French, “Two omelets, please.”

  The waiter nodded and asked, “Vin blanc?”

  I nodded back, and Jimmy said to me, “To drink, they have white wine and white wine. They’re making it easy on us. No decisions necessary.”

  I smiled. How wonderful to see him again! I should’ve held on to him a long time ago, and that truth had never hit me as hard as it did in that moment.

  “No decisions,” I said. “That sounds about right.” My thoughts immediately flew to the decision Jimmy had made about ending us.

  I saw a touch of sadness in his eyes; it seemed he’d had the same thought.

  How I wished he would reconsider and let me into his life. But keeping his voice light, he said, “You might not believe it, but this was once the prettiest town in France.”

  It felt clear to me then; he meant to engage in nothing more than a friendly conversation. “I’ve heard.”

  “We came here before on leave, and we wanted to come back and see with our own eyes what the Germans had done to it.”

  “Terrible,” I said.

  “But enough of that,” Jimmy said. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” I answered quickly. My pulse had quickened, and my breaths had shallowed—it seemed Jimmy took notice, but then I remembered why, other than feeding my heart, I had needed to see him. “I don’t have a lot of time, and I must tell you about Brohammer.” How ironic was it that Brohammer had provided me with a bridge to Jimmy.

  His smile fell. “What about him?”

  “He came to see me as I predicted he would, and I snooped in the crates he’s been ferrying around in the back seat of his car. Jimmy, I found cutters, probably wire cutters, exactly as you said. They’re new and probably not army issue. Besides, supplying things to the soldiers doesn’t fall under the duties of an engineer, right? Those tools must be the ones he sells.”

  He sat breathing very quietly for a few moments, and each release of air touched me like the briefest of embraces. Here and then vanished. Now he’d turned completely serious. “I told you not to do any investigating, to leave it to me.”

  I shook my head. “An opportunity presented itself, and I couldn’t pass it up. Anyway, what of you? You had a plan, as I remember.”

  Lowering his voice, he said, “I’ve done my share of snooping, too, and the only thing I’ve learned is that at least one of the men he uses for collecting the money and distributing his wares is an engineer.”

  I clutched my skirt underneath the table. “That puts a spotlight on Brohammer, doesn’t it?”

  Pensively, he answered, “I went to one of my COs, and I told him about the soldier’s cutters, what you overheard, and also what I’d learned about the engineer delivery guy.” He paused while the waiter brought our glasses of wine and set them on the table. “He told me it won’t hold up. He can’t take it up the chain of command based on such flimsy evidence. We need incriminating evidence. What did you do with the cutter?”

  I gulped. “I put it back.”

  He stared down as his hands encircled the wine glass. Then he lifted it and smiled wryly as he gazed into the drink. On top floated a little drowned bug. He glanced up. “I suppose the waiter will expect a bigger tip for providing this charming little gift.”

  Lifting my own glass, I looked into it. “He didn’t give me one.”

  Jimmy said, “I’m happy to share.”

  “Would you, please?”

  “Anything your heart desires.”

  I held out my glass to Jimmy. “We’ll drink this one.”

  When he reached to take it, his hand brushed mine, and it was an end-of-time moment, electricity as old as the ages in his touch. When I glanced up, I could see him holding his breath, but he quickly took the glass and then a long sip of the wine. Surely Jimmy felt something, but it looked as if he was trying hard not to show it.

  After he set the glass back down, I gripped the edge of the table so fiercely and shakily that the table juddered, and both our drinks danced a little jig. Brohammer invaded my thoughts again. I had botched yet another opportunity.

  Jimmy quickly flattened his hands on the tabletop to steady it. “Are you alright?”

  I raked both hands through my hair. “Yes, but I messed up again; it’s just so obvious, what I should have done. With the cutter. I should’ve taken it. I had it right in my hand. I can’t explain why I didn’t; it just never occurred to me.”

  “It’s alright, Arlene. Do you know how many were in the crate?”

  I shook my head. “It wasn’t full, but I have no idea how many. It was dark. The middle of the night.”

  “The middle of the night?” Then, shaking his head and looking aside for a moment, he followed that up with “I have a feeling I don’t want to know the rest of this story.”

  “It’s so clear to me now. I should’ve taken it.”

  Gazing at me again, he replied, “No . . . you did the right thing. What if Brohammer keeps count and figured out one was missing? He’d know someone was onto him, and then he’d end up even harder to catch. He might have suspended his operation.”

  “But it’s probably operating now, even as we speak. He’s done this for how long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe I’ll have another chance . . .”

  He leaned in very close. “Please don’t say that.”

  “But we need that evidence. All signs point to an armistice soon. If we don’t catch him now, he’ll get away with it.”

  “I’ll get the evidence another way . . . ,” he said, his voice trailing off.

  I focused on the ground, where the sunlight through the lattice made diamond-shaped shadows, so that I could hold still, and my heart could try to.

  Gazing back into his face, I whispered, “Thank you, Jimmy, for your kindness. I’ll never forget this . . .”

  With a changed light in his eyes, he grasped my hand across the table with sudden firmness, then lifted it and pulled me to stand along with him. He fished out way too many coins from his pocket and left them on the table before he steered me out to the middle of the street. There he drew me in close. And then kissed me—his mouth of smoke and heat and hope and happiness—my shallow breaths completely lost, and my heart helpless to do anything other than fall even harder.

  Until I pulled back and searched his eyes. “You said you didn’t think it best for us . . .”

  “I still don’t.” He then raised his hands as if in surrender, dropped them, and grabbed me again as he said through the most beautiful smile, “Oh, to hell with that.”

  He kissed me a second time, and then he anchored me at his side to walk me away.

  “Mademoiselle, monsieur,” we heard from behind. The waiter stood at our table holding two plates in his hands. Steam rose off the omelets.

  “Don’t worry,” Jimmy said to me. “Someone will eat them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  That night just before midnight, I slipped out of bed, threw on the only street dress I’d had a chance to launder, and eased out the bedroom door.

  As I tiptoed down the sweeping staircase of this grand old château-turned-hospital, I imagined how many ingenues might have gracefully taken these same steps down into a ballroom or into the waiting gaze of a young man intent to woo her. I imagined the sounds of the orchestra playing, but I heard the door to our room creaking open. Maybe I had awakened Cass, and now she was creeping out onto the balcony and looking down. Or maybe she was getting ready to take a midnight jaunt, too.

  I never turned my head to check. It was my turn tonight t
o slip out and away from all this. It was my night for love.

  Outside, the crisp night air seeped past my skin and rose into my chest. I felt like a girl again, creeping out in the middle of the night to curl up with a foal in the soft sawdust of its stable, or maybe to run my hands on the velvety muzzle of my favorite mare. I had loved those nights with only the horses and the hay and the stars and my love for those most elegant animals.

  I had suggested the rendezvous. Tearing myself away from Jimmy in Château-Thierry had left me close to tears. When the time came and I absolutely had to leave, I’d asked him, “When will we see each other again?”

  He pulled in a profound breath as he held me, and the rise and fall of his chest synchronized with mine. I didn’t know how I would manage this goodbye. I wanted to stay as close as humanly possible to him for the rest of my days.

  He said, “We’re on a short leave. We have to go back tomorrow.”

  I looked up into his face. “I have to drive this afternoon, probably into the late evening. But what about tonight?”

  “Can you come back?”

  I frowned and tried to think of an excuse I could invent, but nothing came. “I don’t see how. I might offer to take another of the ambulances here for gasoline, but Cass or someone else might ask to come along. Can you get to Luzancy?”

  “I had planned to come there today, just for a little chat in the middle of the day. I figured no one could frown on that. But all that’s changed now.” He kissed me again. “You know I want to come tonight. But wouldn’t that put you in a precarious position?” Without waiting for my answer, he went on: “My feelings on that subject have not changed, Arlene. I don’t want you to do anything that could bring disgrace on you here or result in you being reprimanded or even getting an unfavorable discharge from your service.”

  I breathed out heavily and laid my head back on his chest. “I understand what you’re saying, and I’m trying to act sensibly as well.”