When he was almost ready to give up, he saw two large sheds, apparently deserted. Leading the horse forward, he stopped and looking inside saw they were empty. Evidently they had been used for chicken houses for the smell was still strong, even in the freezing weather. He went back and brushed the straw from Adam, picked him up, and carried him inside. He wrapped him up in the blanket and then moved back outside, thinking, Got to get this cart out of sight—and the horse. He drove the horse down the road, unhitched the animal, then dragged the cart, by force, off into the bushes. Stripping the harness off the horse, he gave him a fond slap on the flank. “Go on, boy—go find a warm place.” The animal turned and ambled away, and Clint moved as quickly as he could back to the shed. He found Adam still unconscious and sat down beside him, praying and waiting for daylight. The night was cold and bitter, the temperature dropping. Clint stayed close to Adam, wrapping up with him in the blanket so that the heat from his own body would offer some protection. His own teeth chattered, and he knew that tomorrow he would have to do something.
Finally he dozed off and slept fitfully until a thin pale line of light appeared under the door of the shed. Stiffened with the cold, he arose and stepped outside the door, noting that the snow was starting to fall again. He half turned to go back inside when a voice came from his left, catching him off guard.
“Halt!”
The unexpectedness of the command hit Clint with a sudden force, and he whirled to see a young woman, wearing a fur jacket and a cap down over her ears, looking at him.
But it was not her dress that caught his attention so much as the two barrels of the shotgun that she pointed at him!
Despair hit Clint almost like a bullet, for he knew that he had failed. The eyes of the young woman were determined, and he knew that here the last chance had been taken and that he could do no more. Slowly he held his hands up and said numbly, “I surrender.”
ANGEL IN BLACK
Clint noted at once the steadiness of the dark blue eyes of the woman. He straightened up and would not have been surprised if she had pulled the trigger of the shotgun. A silence fell over the scene, and he was vaguely aware of a blackbird making a harsh, guttural call somewhere close by. The moment ran on for what seemed like a long time as he stared at the steadiness of the woman’s weapon. A line of light ran down the blue barrel, and the certainty of her grip was reflected in the fact that it did not waver. She’s got nerve! Clint thought with a sudden flash of admiration and then asked, “Do you speak English?”
“Yes.”
The brief monosyllable came curtly, and Clint studied the face of the woman carefully, knowing that perhaps his life and Adam’s lay within her keeping. She was a tall woman dressed in a black skirt with a dark-colored fur jacket. A strand of ash-blonde hair curled out from beneath a rich-brown fur cap. Her face was oval, and the blue eyes were large, well-shaped, and steady as they observed him. There was a calmness about the woman that was almost unnerving, and Clint let his breath out slowly saying, “I’m glad you didn’t shoot without asking questions.”
The barrel of the shotgun suddenly lowered, but the woman still held it loosely, trained on him. “I suppose you were shot down over Berlin.” It was not a question but a statement, and the calm tenor of her voice matched the cool expression on her face.
“Yes, and I have a friend inside—my lieutenant. He is wounded.” Clint waited for the woman to reply, but she still said nothing. I can’t figure her out. If she was going to shoot me, she would have done it already. Aloud he said, “I suppose you’ll turn us over to the army?”
“Step inside. Let me look at your officer.”
Surprised at the woman’s curt command, Clint blinked, then shrugged and turned to move back inside the hut. When he got inside, he turned and saw that the woman followed him and said, “It’s his leg. He took a piece of flak or maybe a bullet, I don’t know. It’s infected.”
“Move back against the wall!” The woman watched carefully until Clint backed up into the angle of the wall, then stepped over to look down at Adam, who was staring up at her with fever-bright eyes. She said nothing but studied him carefully, holding the shotgun generally in Clint’s direction.
Adam was in that condition of a severe fever patient when it was almost impossible for him to tell reality from the dreams that came and went like ghosts. He had awakened during the jolting trip and had been only vaguely aware of Clint moving him around when the pain of his injured leg ripped through him. He stared up at the woman, and in the darkness of the shed he seemed to see a pale, oval face of a woman dressed entirely in black. He was only mildly interested in the shotgun, for a thought came to him and with dry lips and a raspy voice he said, “Well—an angel—I never thought of an angel in black.” He began to cough and cried out involuntarily as the convulsions made him jerk his wounded leg.
Somehow the statement seemed to affect the woman. Clint was watching her, and when Adam said “an angel in black” something flickered in her eyes that Clint could not understand. He said, “I haven’t been able to do anything for him. He needs some sort of medicine to get to that infection or he’ll lose the leg.”
“And he may die.” The woman made the statement calmly, but there was a difference in the tenor of her voice. She hesitated for one moment, then with what seemed to be a sudden decision, lowered the barrel of the shotgun and eased the triggers off. The twin clicks sounded very loud in the silence of the shed, and Clint felt himself heave a sigh of relief. He thought of telling her about Adam’s identity but then decided that that was not his secret. “Let me show you the wound,” he said. “Is it all right if I move?”
The woman had made her decision. She leaned the shotgun against the wall, and her lips made the very briefest of smiles. “It won’t do you any good to shoot me,” she said. “You’d be caught at once.” She did not wait for him to move but knelt down and loosened Adam’s belt. Pulling the trousers down, she studied the wounded leg and said quietly, “He’s very close to blood poisoning.”
“I know,” Clint said. “He should’ve had attention before this.”
“Why didn’t you give yourself up to the authorities?”
Clint hesitated. “I don’t know. I suppose all of us have some idea of escaping.”
“You would never make it through Germany. The authorities are very conscious of pilots who bail out. Most of them are captured at once.”
Clint said, “Can you help us? Not me, but I’m worried about my friend.”
Again, there was a brief silence, and Clint saw that something was going on inside the woman’s mind. Her eyes were so dark blue they seemed almost black in the gloom of the shed, and her face reflected the struggle that seemed to be going on. He waited until she finally conceded, “I can’t do anything here. Can you carry him?”
“How far?”
“About three hundred meters.”
“Yes, I can manage that.”
“Pick him up then.”
Clint said suddenly, “My name is Clint Stuart and this is my cousin, Adam Stuart.”
“You are relatives serving together?”
“Yes, what’s your name?”
“Maris Richthofen.” She studied him to see if the name meant anything, but Clint kept his face passive despite the slight shock that ran through him. This might be Adam’s relative, he thought. Aloud he said, “Miss Richthofen, I appreciate your kindness. I thank the Lord for it.”
The woman named Maris turned to face him squarely. “You are a Christian then?”
“Yes!” Suddenly Clint’s eyes narrowed, and he studied the young woman. “Are you a Christian, Ma’am?”
“Yes, I am.” Just this single, blunt statement, but for some reason it gave Clint hope that he had not had before. “Pick up the lieutenant. My cottage is right over there.”
Clint stooped and got Adam on his shoulder. He moved as easily as he could, but he felt Adam tense with the pain and then suddenly go limp. “He’s passed out,” he said.
Clint followed the young woman to a cottage that lay almost concealed within the circle of some tall evergreens. It was a small cabin, built of logs and stone, with a steep roof. Smoke was coming out of the chimney, and Clint glanced around, seeing no one close by. He was breathing hard by the time they reached the door. The young woman opened it and said, “Come inside.” Clint stepped in and the woman said, “If you can get up the stairs, that would be the safest place for you to hide.”
Clint suddenly turned. “You’re going to hide us and help us?”
“Don’t ask questions!” Maris Richthofen said. She appeared to be no more than twenty-one, but there was an authority in her bearing and in her voice that told Clint that she was accustomed to being obeyed. She motioned toward the stairs along one wall that went to a room upstairs. Clint made his way up, and when he got to the top she passed him and stepped to a door, then opened it. “In here,” she said.
Clint stepped inside, and saw by the one large window at the end that it was furnished with a green rug, a large bed, a heavy dresser, and a desk. It did not seem to be in use, and as he moved toward the bed, Maris stripped the covers down and said, “Set him on the side of the bed.”
“All right.” Carefully Clint took Adam from his shoulder and kept him from slumping. The woman began removing the stained uniform and soon had stripped Adam down to his underwear. Carefully, she lifted his leg as Clint eased him into the bed, onto the pillow.
“I’ll have to be gone for a few minutes. I have to go get something to stop that infection.”
“Into the village?”
“No, we have some things at the house.” She looked at the leg and shook her head. “It’s not going to get better until that metal comes out of there.”
Clint hesitated. “If you have to get a doctor, get one. It doesn’t matter if we’re captured. All I want is for Adam to live.”
“There may be another way. Wait here!”
The woman left and Clint sat down, astonished to find that his hands were trembling. The shock of being apprehended caught up with him, and he sat on the chair beside the bed watching as Adam breathed roughly in a rather shallow fashion. His face was pale, except for two fever spots on his cheekbones, and Clint reached over and felt his forehead. “Fever coming back,” he muttered and shook his head. He glanced toward the stairs, wondering who would come back up. Maybe she’s got a member of the family who’s a doctor. But he may not be so quick to welcome enemy soldiers as she is.
Adam suddenly spoke as he looked up at Clint, then cast his eyes around the room. “Where are we?” he whispered.
“A woman found us. Her name is Maris Richthofen. Did you ever hear of her?”
Adam was still struggling with the fever but was conscious enough to think slowly. “No, I haven’t. Is this her house?”
“Not the big house where the family lives. Sort of a cabin, maybe for servants, I don’t know. She’s gone to get something for your wound.” Clint leaned over and touched Adam’s shoulder with a gesture of reassurance. “I think it’s going to be all right, Adam. She’s gone to get some medicine and maybe somebody to take that iron out of you.”
“A doctor? He’ll turn us in.”
“She didn’t say so. Don’t worry about it though. She’s a Christian. She told me so.”
Adam’s eyes opened somewhat more widely, but he did not respond. He lay quietly drifting in and out of sleep. From time to time, Clint got up and looked out the window. He could see over the top of the trees the three turrets of the Richthofen lodge and, despite his assurances to Adam, felt somewhat nervous. Finally, he saw a dark figure outlined against the snow and was relieved that Maris Richthofen was coming alone. She had, he saw, a small dark bag of some sort in her hand, and he turned and moved back to Adam. “She’s coming, and she’s all alone. It’s going to be OK!”
Adam did not answer, but the two men waited, and when the woman came in she had taken off her jacket. She wore a black wool sweater underneath it, and as she set the bag down, she stripped the sweater off over her head. Underneath she wore a white blouse with long sleeves, cut like a man’s shirt. She rolled her sleeves up and came to stand over the wounded man. Her eyes were unfathomable, and Adam had time to note that she had a classic beauty that seemed to be found in many German women. Her hair was not dark, but an ash-blonde color such as he had not seen often. “I want to thank you for not turning us in,” he said.
Ignoring his words, the woman reached out to touch Adam’s forehead. Her hand was cool and firm and steady. “Your fever’s high. It won’t go away until we get that leg cleaned up and fill you with medicine.”
“You didn’t call a doctor?” Adam asked in alarm.
“No, he would at once report you to the authorities.” She hesitated for a moment and said, “I have served with doctors many times as a nurse. I can try to take the metal from your leg, but I can make no promises. I’m not a surgeon. The choice is yours.”
Adam did not even hesitate. “Take it out, Miss Richthofen.”
“You’re certain? I am not skilled, and it will be very painful.”
“Do it!” Adam said, nodding firmly.
“Very well.” Maris turned and said, “We will need some boiling water to sterilize the instruments.”
“How do you happen to have medical instruments?” Clint asked curiously.
“My cousin was studying to be a doctor.”
“What was his name?” Clint asked.
“Manfred.”
A shock ran along Adam’s nerves, and the woman saw him flinch. She thought it was pain, however, and said, “I’ll go get the water to boiling.”
As soon as she left the room, Clint said, “Aren’t you going to tell her about your father?”
“No, it may not be best. She seems to be sympathetic, but we don’t know how the rest of the family would be. As a matter of fact,” he said slowly, “have you noticed that she hasn’t offered to tell anyone else we’re here?”
Clint nodded slowly. “I thought of that. She brought us here and is hiding us. I think she might be afraid that someone here might turn us in. Anyway, God’s brought us this far.”
Adam was not a great believer in the providence of God, but he said slowly, “It does seem like it, doesn’t it? Out of all the places we could have gone down, we land just a few miles from the home of the Richthofens—and the one person that finds us, for all we know, is the only one who would help us.” His eyes closed, and he whispered, “Maybe you’re right—maybe God is looking after us.”
Thirty minutes later, Maris came in bearing a basin of water. Steam was rising from it, and putting it down on the table beside the bed, she removed some instruments from the small bag and placed them in it. Then she removed a hypodermic needle from the bag and carefully filled it with a clear-looking fluid from a bottle. Approaching, she came and held it over Adam’s arm. Looking down at his face she hesitated, “This may be deadly poison,” she said, an odd look in her eyes. “Aren’t you afraid?”
Adam had passed that stage. He smiled up at her, and despite the fever, he looked rather winsome as he said, “An angel wouldn’t do that, Miss Richthofen.”
“I’m no angel, but I will try to help you all I can.” She plunged the needle into his arm carefully, pushed the plunger down, then withdrew it. “This will make you sleep,” she said.
Clint watched as the medicine took effect almost at once. Within five minutes, Adam was breathing very shallowly, and Clint said, “That was powerful stuff.”
“My father died a month ago. He had a tumor of the brain, and he was in much pain.” The memories turned the face of the young woman still as if she held herself under firm control. “We kept him at the house, and I nursed him through his last illness. This was the medicine we used when the pain was very bad.” She held her back straight, and there was a fragility about her, for all of her strength, Clint saw. She was looking down at Adam, and her face softened. �
��I could not help my father—perhaps I can help your lieutenant.” Then her jaw tightened, and she moved over to pick some instruments out of the boiling water with a set of tongs. She sprinkled something over her hands and said, “I wish I had some rubber gloves, but I do not.” Then she moved down to the leg and said, “Remove the bandage, Sergeant; then hold the leg as still as you can.” A trace of anxiety showed in her fine eyes, and she showed one moment’s hesitation. “I wish I did not have to do this, but there’s no one else.”
Clint removed the bandage and looked at her. “I don’t believe you’re an angel, Miss Richthofen, but I think you’re the one God has sent to save Adam’s life.”
A flush came to the young woman’s cheeks, and she studied the tall soldier before her. She had seen pictures, drawn by the Nazi propaganda movement, showing Americans as vicious thugs that one would expect to find in prisons, but there was a leanness about this man’s face and a calmness in his eyes and a goodness that somehow reassured her. She allowed herself one moment’s smile toward him, then turned and began to work on the wound.
Adam had been drifting in and out of sleep for what seemed like years. Time had ceased to become a factor for him, and once he thought, Why, the Pyramids could be built while I’m in some of these deep sleeps! At other times, time seemed to race by. He was aware of Clint and had learned to recognize the roughness of his hands as he changed the bandages, as he had learned to recognize the gentleness of the woman’s touch. More than once he had awakened in a sweat to see the face of the woman who called herself Maris over him. Now, as he came out of the sleep, he was aware that there was a coolness on his face and on his neck and chest. He opened his eyes to see, by the sunlight that filtered through the window and lay in pale, yellow bars across the room, that it was morning. He was aware that the young woman was bending over him bathing his face with a cool cloth.
“Ah, you’re awake,” she said. “That’s good!” She sat down, put the cloth back in the basin, and then looked at him. “How do you feel?”
Winds of Change Page 29
