Beneath the Dover Sky

by Murray Pura

  “I’m astonished and flattered. But was it just the eyes that brought you to me, Skitt?”

  “You know it wasn’t. You have a beauty like a starry night, yes. But a spirit just as brilliant.”

  “Ah, now that’s sweetly said. As good as anything from your friend William Shakespeare.”

  “I don’t have anything else to add. Will you marry me, Montgomery?”

  “You know I will.”

  She held out her hand, and he slipped the ring over her finger. It was loose.

  “Arrr,” he growled. “It doesn’t fit proper.”

  She twined her arms around his neck. “There are ways to fix that.”

  “I don’t want you fat. I love you exactly the way you are.”

  “I have no intention of getting fat.” She ran her lips over his. “Enough talk. We’re to be married. Let’s kiss to that for the rest of the night.”

  Gloom descended on Skitt once again. “What good is all this, Montgomery? We can’t do anything about it. How can we be married if we can’t even live together?”

  “You must pick up the habit from the Danforths. They seem to be very good at that sort of thing. The husband’s in the one place and the wife’s in the other. Like Ben in Africa and Victoria here. Or Kipp in Jerusalem and Caroline pining away for him at Dover Sky.”

  “I don’t want to be good at that sort of thing. I want you in my arms every night.”

  “And I want to be there. Now no more of this.” She began to plant short, sharp, fiery kisses on his lips and cheeks. “We shall be happy, you and I. Something will work out, my lovely man.”

  “I don’t see how.” But Skitt closed his eyes and responded to the sparks landing rapidly on his face and mouth with pleasant stings.

  Terry showed up at Dover Sky the day before Guy Fawkes with bags of sweets and strings of firecrackers for everyone at the estate. As far as children went, with Caroline and Kipp living in London, only Jane remained, who at fifteen thought of herself as a woman, not a girl. Nevertheless, she grabbed candy and firecrackers with a squeal, popping the first in her mouth till her cheeks bulged and tossing the others all about her as they exploded overhead and in the grass.

  “Skitt!” Terry called as the butler stood on the front porch of the manor. “Harrison is busy with pruning. Will you give me a hand with the effigy?”

  He and Skitt, a rough tweed coat over his black and white uniform, stuffed large pants and a large gray coat with straw, filling both sleeves, as well as a tall hat that bulged to reveal a head with button eyes and a button mouth. Keeping Guy Fawkes upright with a long wooden pole they ran through his back and up to his neck, they placed him in the middle of a large mound of brush that Harrison had been collecting all week as he cleaned up hedges and groves and thickets.

  “Do you think it needs anything else, Skitt?” Terry asked.

  “Well, Commander, perhaps if we could find logs and some thicker limbs the bonfire would burn a great deal longer.”

  “Good idea. Let’s fetch a barrow and see what we can find.”

  As Skitt pushed the barrow along, twice having to take it back from the naval officer dressed in corduroy pants and coat and shirt, Terry clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Libby tells me you’re engaged.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s wonderful news. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you very much, Commander.”

  “Now that you’re settled on Montgomery and I’m settled on Libby, perhaps we can let the Catherine business go the way of the wind. What do you think, Skitt?”

  Skitt’s face quickly turned scarlet. “Lady Catherine was a young man’s fancy and folly, sir.”

  “And I was the unwelcome rival.”

  More blood filled Skitt’s cheeks and he kept his head down, pushing the barrow ahead with renewed vigor.

  “I don’t mind, Skitt. Lady Catherine is a fine woman. But I’m head over heels with Libby’s ginger-blonde hair and ocean-blue eyes, just as I expect you can’t get enough of Montgomery’s shining black locks or flashing dark eyes.”

  Skitt couldn’t keep himself from smiling. “Aye, there you have it, sir.”

  “I have a proposal for you. Once we’re living close to the Royal Navy docks, I shall be entertaining considerably. Captains, commanders, leftenant commanders, commodores, even the odd admiral. There will be some busy seasons when I’m ashore. Too much for Libby to handle on her own, and Montgomery will have her hands full with Jane turning sixteen and seventeen and, eventually, twenty-one, Lord help us. What do you say? Is butlering that sort of crew something that piques your interest at all?”

  “What, sir?”

  “Do you want to work for me, Skitt? I could use you, and heaven knows I trust you with the lives of everyone in my family. You can think it over if you’d like, but I’ll be shipping out in a couple of months and it would be nice to know how you feel about it one way or the other before the Hood weighs anchor after New Year’s Day.”

  “Think it over?”

  “Certainly. We’re not going to be one of the large Danforth estates you’re used to serving, but you’ll still have a lot to look after, not to mention—”

  Skitt dropped the barrow handles and seized the commander’s hand, forgetting for a moment where he was and who he was. “With all my heart! With all my heart, sir. Montgomery and I shall be married and serve your family together with pride and distinction. It’s a brilliant plan if you don’t mind me saying so, sir. Absolutely brilliant.”

  Terry laughed and pumped his hand. “Why, then, the bargain is sealed…sealed and done. You’re a Royal Navy butler come Easter, Skitt. A butler in the tradition of those who served Nelson and Rodney and Jellicoe, though I am a minnow compared to those leviathans. You shall have an outfit suited to your station—dark-navy trimmed with deep burgundy all set off by the crisp white of your shirt. How does that sound?”

  “Capital, sir, capital! May I leave you for a moment? Only for a moment, mind. I must run and tell Montgomery. She is just on a walk with your daughter along the northern boundary of the estate. I must catch them up. I must tell her what’s happened.”

  “By all means, go, man. Faint heart never won fair lady. Run as if your life depended upon it.”

  “I will do, sir. Thank you. Bless you!”

  Terry saluted as Skitt vaulted the barrow and raced for the stone fence to the north of them. “England expects every man to do his duty!” he called after him.

  British East Africa, Kenya

  “May I open my eyes now, Ben? Honestly, we’re not youngsters in the stables anymore playing our silly games.”

  “Just a moment. I have to position you just so. There. All right, Lady Victoria, you may take a good look.”

  She opened her eyes to a tall mountain peak rising out of the jungle and grasslands white with snow at its summit. She put her knuckles to her mouth.

  “My heavens, Ben! How high is that?”

  “More than 19,000 feet—almost four miles.”

  “It’s magnificent. I never expected something like this. And what are those beasts moving across the fields? Not giraffe?”

  “What other creature has such a long neck?”

  “I’m amazed. Utterly shocked and amazed. Have the boys seen this yet?”

  “Not at all. They’ve been with the bishop—Stevenson. He’s introducing them to some of the African children. I wanted us to look at Mount Kilimanjaro together.”

  “Kilimanjaro. What a beautiful name. What does it mean?”

  “I’ve heard so many stories about that: mountain of caverns, mountain of whiteness, mountain of greatness. I prefer mountain of greatness.”

  “Of course you would.”

  He put his arm around her. “Though calling it mountain of whiteness ties in with the name Whitecross much better.”

  “Can it be climbed?”

  “It can. One day we shall do it. For now it’s good to gaze at it and to think of God and give thanks.”

 
She leaned into him and took his hand. “Only you would do this. Only you would bring me here. I didn’t want to come to Africa even though I acted as if I did. I didn’t want another ‘Ben Whitecross and God’ adventure that involved airplanes and skies and dangers known and unknown. But now I’m so grateful. This is a spot of extraordinary beauty. And truth be known, I feel much safer here than I did back in Europe and England.”

  “Really? Why do you say that?”

  “That Hitler fellow taking over as chancellor of Germany. Dad’s in a flap about it and his old friend Baron von Isenburg joining the Nazi Party. Mum is terrified and wants Catherine and Albrecht to get out of Germany with Sean and Angelika before something happens.”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “I don’t know, really, but everyone is expecting something to blow up. I hate all the rumors and gossip. Nasty memories of when I was young and the Great War started: you disappearing to the Western Front, Folkestone being bombed, and Mr. Seabrooke getting killed. I feel much safer here among the lions and gorillas and snakes actually.”

  Ben laughed. “I’m glad to hear it. I must thank Herr Hitler for his part in making Kenya so amenable to you. Half my battle’s won because he’s created such a threatening environment in Europe.”

  “Don’t joke, Ben Whitecross. The Europe situation leaves me with an ugly feeling.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t worry, Vic. Nothing in the world is going to happen. Europe and Germany and Britain will sort themselves out like they always do. We already had our world war and no one wants another. So while the great leaders of the great nations huff and puff and move pieces about on the checkerboard, you’ll be here serving God and gazing at Kilimanjaro every morning and evening. Think of the sunrises and sunsets on that peak. Think of how it will bless Ramsay and Tim to live in a magical world with magical beasts far from the English rains and fogs.”

  She smiled. “When you put it that way it fills me with peace. I never thought Africa could do that.”

  21

  May, 1933

  Germany

  Ten-year-old Sean Hartmann locked his fingers around Albrecht’s hand. “I don’t feel comfortable with you going to Berlin, Papa. I feel like Herr Hitler is watching you whenever you set foot out of Tubingen.”

  “I am not so important, son. No one is wasting time putting binoculars on me, I assure you. But I promise to watch what I say at the university. There will be no politics, no rants, no roars.”

  “You roar like a lion at the dinner table.”

  “The dinner table is a German man’s pulpit, podium, and lecture hall. But there the roaring stays. What I do at the table, I will not do at the university. Don’t fret. Instead pray and, of course, while I’m away you must take care of your mother and baby sister. Especially your sister. She is almost three and gets into everything. And she wanders off! Angelika will go out the door and walk all the way to Berlin to see the tigers at the zoo if you let her.”

  Sean laughed. “I won’t let her, Papa. I’ll watch her like a hawk.”

  “That’s my knight. What color is your horse today?”

  “Still dapple gray.”

  “A good color. Ride well. Make sure the sword is large enough. Nothing less than a two-handed broadsword will do.”

  “That’s what I have. Don’t be afraid for your family, Papa.”

  A cable arrived for Albrecht as he kissed Catherine and Angelika goodbye. He placed it in his coat pocket and pulled it out to read as the cab darted in and out of traffic on its way to the train station.

  ALBRECHT

  WHETHER YOU READ THIS OR NOT ONCE YOU SEE IT IS FROM ME I DO NOT KNOW. I IMPLORE YOU TO BE CAREFUL ABOUT WHAT YOU SAY AT HUMBOLDT UNIVERSITY. BERLIN IS BERLIN AND NOW THAT HITLER HAS COMPLETE POWER ARRESTS AND DEPORTATIONS OCCUR DAILY. THIS INCLUDES ACADEMICS SUCH AS YOURSELF. THEY KNOW WHO YOU ARE. THE GESTAPO WILL MOST CERTAINLY ATTEND EACH OF YOUR GUEST LECTURES. DO NOT GIVE THEM ANY EXCUSE TO REPORT YOU. THINK OF YOUR WIFE AND CHILDREN. STAY WITH TOPICS LIKE THE ATTRIBUTES OF GOD AND THE VIRTUES OF THE CHRISTIAN LIFE.

  WHETHER YOU BELIEVE IT OR NOT I REMAIN YOUR FRIEND AND GUARDIAN. HEIL HITLER.

  GERARD

  On the train to Berlin, Albrecht opened a newspaper that summed up and praised the events of the twenty-third of March, the day the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act. It gave Hitler and his Nazi Party broad, sweeping powers. “All for the good,” the paper crowed. “Look at how well off the nation is six weeks after the fact.”

  “So Goebbels, minister of propaganda,” murmured Albrecht so other passengers couldn’t hear him, “tell me why dictatorship is better than democracy.”

  The article didn’t immediately weigh in on why a strong man at the top was the best form of government. Instead it printed parts of Hitler’s speech on the day the Act was passed and he became absolute ruler of Germany:

  By its decision to carry out the political and moral cleansing of our public life, the Government is creating and securing the conditions for a really deep and inner religious life. The advantages for the individual that may be derived from compromises with atheistic organizations do not compare in any way with the consequences that are visible in the destruction of our common religious and ethical values.

  My Government will treat all other denominations with objective and impartial justice. It cannot, however, tolerate allowing membership of a certain denomination or of a certain race being used as a release from all common legal obligations, or as a blank check for behavior that is difficult to punish, or for the toleration of crimes.

  My Government will be concerned for the sincere cooperation between Church and State.

  My struggle against materialistic ideology and for the erection of a true people’s community serves as much the interests of the German nation as of our Christian faith.

  The national Government, seeing in Christianity the unshakable foundation of the moral and ethical life of our people, attaches utmost importance to the cultivation and maintenance of the friendliest relations with the Holy See.

  The rights of the churches will not be curtailed; their position in relation to the State will not be changed.

  Why, Herr Hitler, Albrecht thought as he folded the newspaper and put it away, “you have become a theologian.” He watched the trees and fields and towns slide past. We must meet and write a book together on the German Jesus. What would he look like, I wonder? Would he wear a swastika or a cross?

  Humboldt University, Berlin

  Albrecht always liked walking up to Humboldt University by crossing the large plaza to its front and taking in the stately buildings and columns and statues. But something had changed. He’d expected to see the Nazi flags with the swastika draped over government buildings around Berlin. He didn’t expect to see them flying from flagstaffs on the university campus. Nor did he expect to see students wearing swastika armbands or faculty members giving one another the stiff-armed Nazi salute. With a tightness in his stomach, he made his way to the office of the head of the Faculty of Theology.

  “Dr. Mueller,” Albrecht said as he bowed his head and offered his hand, “it is good to see you again.”

  “Ah, Professor Hartmann.” The large man, a head taller than Albrecht and twice as heavy, pushed himself away from his desk and rose to grip Albrecht’s hand. “I’m glad you arrived safely. How are you?”

  “I’m very well, Herr Doktor. How is your wife?”

  “Splendid. I trust your wife and children are in good health?”

  “They are, thank you.” Albrecht set down his briefcase and unwound the red scarf from his neck. “I was surprised to see the university had become so…politicized.”

  “Hmm? Oh, you mean the flags. There is a cultural event tonight. Goebbels is giving a talk as well. The student body is quite excited about it. So is the faculty, truth be told.”

  “But these are Nazis, Dr. Mueller. They are not in support of free thought or free speech.”

  “They are our
legal government, professor.”

  “Why the armbands? Why the Nazi salute?”

  Dr. Mueller smiled. “You have been around students long enough to know how quickly they jump on bandwagons and rally around causes.”

  “And their teachers?”

  “The salute is Roman in origin. Jacques-Louis David’s Oath of the Horatii inspired it, I suppose, based on what he knew of Ancient Rome. No doubt that is why the Italians are so comfortable with it.”

  “Excuse me, Herr Doktor, but few faculty members should be comfortable with that salute. Many of them have read Hitler’s Mein Kampf. You have read it. You told me when it came out that it was the worst thought the German mind could produce.”

  Dr. Mueller’s face grew rigid. “I never said that.”

  “I have it in a letter.”

  “Then I ask you to destroy that letter. I was in error when I wrote it.”

  “Dr. Mueller—”

  “Professor Hartmann, the Nazi Party is our legal government. Adolph Hitler is our greatly esteemed leader. There will be cultural events at universities across the nation tonight that are inspired by good Nazi ideology and theology. I trust you will linger long enough after your evening lecture to take part in ours. Now, let me escort you to the lecture hall where you will be giving your first talk at the top of the hour. Heil, Hitler!”

  “Hitler is a high school dropout, Herr Doktor. He has always despised deeper thought and intellectuals. And his stormtroopers are even worse. How many of them have had a university education? They scorn us.”

  “Heil, Hitler!”

  Albrecht retorted, “Hail, Caesar!”

  “What!”

  Albrecht hesitated and then responded in full. “Hail, Caesar, we who are about to die salute you.”

  Mueller’s eyes almost spat fire.

  Albrecht smiled. “Merely an academic exercise, Herr Doktor. Ave Caesar, morituri te salutamus. Weren’t you just talking to me about Ancient Rome?”

  Mueller brushed past Albrecht on his way to the door and into the corridor. He marched ahead of his guest to the lecture hall. When they arrived, Mueller took Albrecht’s arm. Dozens of students were already seated and waiting. Two men in black leather coats sat at the back.