“I was coming after you, Katrinka. I had to do my job, but then I was coming after you.”
She quavered, “I am so cold.”
He moved fast, putting his arm around her shoulders, and guided her into the building. He led her up the stairs and into a small room. Her knapsack was there, and he’d found an old mattress to put under her bedroll. Placed beside it on the floor was a cracked vase filled with wildflowers. She sank onto the mattress and Rolf jumped from her arms, burrowing next to her.
“Is Wills here?”
“Yes, he’s doing reports. It’s pretty busy right now.”
She nodded.
“Trink, what happened?”
“With Wills?”
“Yes, that too.”
“Lie down with me, and we can get warm.”
“In a minute. I need to let the major know you’re back.”
“Why should he care?”
“He was worried about you Trink, I need to let him know. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Get into bed.”
Katrinka had undressed down to her slip when Wolfe returned. She watched as he took off his boots, and threw his jacket and trousers onto the floor, leaving his shorts on. She knew he had a fear of being caught by surprise. He hardly ever took them off, even when they were in bed together.
He slipped onto the mattress beside her, and she wrapped an arm and leg around him, resting her head on his shoulder. With a sneeze, Rolf curled into a ball at their feet.
Farr commented, “I’ve never seen the major angry with you.”
“I think it must have been what I said.”
“What was that?”
She sighed. “Before I met him, Wills had a dog. He’d found it in the marketplace in Bristol. It was a straggly, gray thing with a broken tail. He named him Billie. He brought Billie with him when he came back to the ship to work for Papa again.
“One summer, right before the war, he invited his fiancée and her mother to join us on the ship. Billie was old then, and having a hard time.”
“Wills—I mean the major—was engaged?”
“Yes, Sofia was a Spanish archeologist, an intern really. They met on one of Emerson’s supply runs into Spain. Wills brought Sofia and her mother onboard Le Flâneur that summer. They were going to Marseilles to be married.
“One night, there was a bad storm. Sofia was on deck looking for Billie. A big wave hit Le Flâneur, and Billie was washed over the side. Sofia ran to the railing, screaming, and we all came running. Another wave washed onto the deck and pulled her in as well. Wills vaulted over the side before anyone could stop him. You could hear him calling above the wind and waves. Calling and calling her name. My father and Santos finally got him back in the raft, hours later. He was half-drowned.
“They never found Sofia. Or Billie. Grief destroyed her mother. She accused Wills of letting her daughter die.”
Wolfe was silent.
“That night, there was no noise from his cabin. I was worried he would… I tried to comfort him, but he sent me away. He stayed in his cabin for two days. When he came out, he told my father to drop him off at the nearest port. He said he was through with the sea.”
“That must have been tough.”
“I don’t believe he has ever quite gotten over it.”
Wolfe was quiet for so long, she thought he must have gone to sleep. Then he asked, “Trink?”
“Yes?”
“Who was this Josef? How did he know you?”
She turned away from him then, facing the wall.
“Katrinka?”
“He was a soldier I met on the road. We shared an apple.”
He was silent, waiting, but she said nothing more. He moved closer, sliding one arm under her and wrapping the other around her breasts, pulling her into the curve of his body.
After a minute, she snuggled her backside into him, his hardness pressing against her in a way that was comforting. She felt herself growing moist in response.
She murmured, “Do you want to have sex?”
“Yes.”
“I’m too sleepy, but you can do it if you like.”
“You sure?”
There was a smile in her reply. “If you do all the work.”
Wolfe didn’t respond. Leaning away from her, he reached across the floor to his pack. She heard a rustling of foil, and then he was fumbling with the fly on his shorts, rolling the rubber down his penis. He pulled her close again, slipping one hand up between her legs, while keeping the other wrapped around her breasts. Then he pushed his way into her slick wetness. He was kissing the back of her neck with his warm, scratchy lips. His hot breath on her skin, and the friction of his cock moving in and out gave Katrinka a tingly thrill. She decided she was not that sleepy. She lifted her upper knee a bit, giving him a better angle, and he pushed more deeply into her. She shivered with pleasure.
After a few short movements, he made a half-strangled, inarticulate sound, his fingers splaying convulsively across her breasts. Then it was over, and he slipped out of her.
“Are you done?”
“All done.”
“But I was just getting started. What about me?”
“You said you were sleepy. You said I could do it if I did all the work. You said—”
“But now I’m awake—”
“Baby, it’s over for a while.”
She laughed as he wrapped both arms back around her, kissing the nape of her neck and nibbling her ear.
She asked, “Did it feel good?”
“It was good,” he replied thickly. “Damn good.”
She gave a small purr of pleasure and nestled back into him. They slept.
* * *
Later, Nye knocked on the open door to Katrinka’s room. He watched as Farr got up from the bedding, dressed only in shorts. The two soldiers stared tensely at one another in the dim light. He could simply order the man out or Farr could refuse him entry, and it would all go to hell very quickly.
Farr turned for his boots and trousers, and quietly took his leave.
Nye’s voice was hoarse. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
Katrinka sat up on the mattress. She watched him approach, her eyes raw.
“May I talk with you a moment, Trinka.”
She gathered the dog in her arms as he drew near. “Get out. I hate you.”
He flinched at her words, but he did not move.
“You grabbed Rolf… you threw him.”
“I was wrong to do it.”
Her eyes watered and she swiped them furiously. “You grabbed me and swore at me. Don’t you ever—”
“No. I won’t.”
He stared down at her, but he was unable to speak. Unable to move. So he stood there, arms dangling at his sides, a stocky man with graying hair and a grieving face.
He saw the anger vanish from her eyes, replaced by tears. “Trinka. I—”
“Oh Wills, I don’t know why I said that to you. It wasn’t your fault Josef died. And it wasn’t your fault Sofia died either. You couldn’t have done anything.”
He hunched down next to her then; a large man on a small bed. “I’ve never understood it, you know.”
“I know.”
He bent his head, digging his fingernails into his hairline, drawing blood. She pulled them away.
“I looked and looked. It was so cold… so damn dark. I couldn’t find them.” His words came in convulsed spurts. “I let her die.”
“That isn’t true. You did everything you could. We almost lost you as well.” She rocked him in her arms as he struggled to get his breathing under control.
Eventually he sat up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
She handed him a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, and he blew his nose loudly, causing Rolf to dive for the covers.
/> “Farr gave me hell. Was threatening to go AWOL to go and find you.”
“I would not have wanted him disciplined for my actions.”
“We sent out a message to a nearby SAS team. I was worried there might be retaliation against you by the Maquis.”
“For Josef.”
“He was a German. And he seemed to know you.”
“I told you. He stopped me on the road. He was hungry, and we shared an apple.”
“He was a German. These French have seen—”
Her voice tightened. “Yes, I can imagine what they have seen.”
She shifted her arms, and part of the rumpled bedroll slipped from the mattress. It smelled of recent sex, and it angered him.
“I think he was hungry for something more than food. And I think you gave it to him.” Jesus, was he really saying these things to her?
Her brows snapped together and she gave him a sharp push, apparently all sympathy gone.
“Yes, and why shouldn’t he have it?” she cried. “I was his first, and now his last. Look at you. So easy for you to sit there and condemn. You, who’ve made love your whole life, and will make more love. One time. That’s all he had. He knew he was going to die, he told me so. Besides, I wanted…” She stopped.
“What did you want?”
She turned away but he held her shoulders, peering into her face.
His voice was soft now. “Tell me, Trinka.”
She faced him, but did not meet his eyes. “I just wanted… I wanted to make sure it was all right again. With men.”
Nye drew back. He could see then that he’d failed her in the worst possible way. He should have immediately sent her to the village doctor like Farr suggested. She should have had someone to talk to, perhaps another woman. He’d made a mess of it completely.
And Josef. The boy had told her she was his first. She probably was. Now he was dead, with nothing but a letter, a small white glove, and a bedraggled animal left behind. She had seen his need, not only for the food, but for something much deeper. Yet here he was, slinging sex at her, like some soiled bed sheet.
He cupped her chin in his hand, and the hair swung back from her face. “My darling, I am so sorry. You were right. You always are, in matters of the heart. It seems I shall never learn.”
She looked at him then, those startling blue eyes now warmed with love. “Dear Wills. You have always understood me, haven’t you?”
He squeezed her hand. He’d no right to have her back, but it seems he did. He rose and walked silently from the room.
Chapter 6
France, 1944
After a few rough weeks of assimilation, Katrinka settled in as Farr’s courier. Being skilled at blending in, she attracted little notice. Carrying messages hidden in the handles of her bicycle, she continued to rendezvous with the Maquis hiding in the surrounding hills. At other times she helped to find safe houses for agents and downed pilots. Her job on the road involved risks every time she faced a roadblock or was stopped for a spot check. During longer missions, she would be out until late in the evening, or occasionally for a few days, returning to wherever their camp had moved to. Sometimes, there was a real bed for her in a room in the house of a Resistance member. Other times, she curled up in the back of a farm outbuilding or under the stars in a makeshift shelter.
Valentine worked to keep their battered equipment running, and he would often send her out to pick up much-needed parts. Nye and Raphael plotted with the Maquis to make devastating blows against communication and railway lines, supply depots, and passing German troops.
There was always danger of the mobile German radio direction finder stations, tracing Farr’s whereabouts, so he kept his radio operations far away from the team’s camp. An RDF could pick up a signal and track down their exact location in less than fifteen minutes. It was necessary to keep moving, and imperative to keep the messages short. Nye and his team had to be ready in an instant to take up whatever equipment they had and find a new location. Farr called it his PFFU strategy: plan for fuck-ups.
One afternoon, Farr came in with newly transcribed messages to find Nye studying a report, his brow furrowed. He glanced up and indicated Farr should sit.
“There was another incident last week, close to Trois Cloches. The Gestapo raided a safe house killing all the occupants.”
Farr felt the familiar chill of apprehension. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t think Bouchard was the only leak.” Nye threw the report on a box. “Any ideas would be welcome.”
“After we got Bouchard, things quieted down.”
“Yes, well, it is beginning again. There have been rumors in Ange de Feu concerning Bouchard’s son. He disappeared the night of his father’s death.”
“Bouchard had a son?”
“And a wife. She’s disappeared as well. I don’t like it, Farr. Keep your eyes open and look for anything amiss.”
“Will do, sir.”
* * *
The grim retaliations continued. The German soldiers, angered with French sabotage, responded with violence. Two days later, a small patrol stormed a nearby farmhouse where Nye’s team had previously stayed. When the old couple refused to answer questions, the patrol set their dogs on them. Then they strung what was left of their bodies from scaffolding, and posted a sign forbidding the villagers to take them down for twenty-four hours.
Raphael and Katrinka stumbled onto this carnage when coming back from a delivery. Horrified, Katrinka scrambled from the car, fumbling for her knife.
Raphael bolted after her and grabbed her arm. “What do you think you are going to do?”
“Let me go! Don’t you see… let me go! Do you think we can just let them hang there? The birds—”
He shouted over her. “Listen to me, you foolish child. Do you want another retaliation? Do you not see that, for every action, there is reprisal? How many others will die because you have not the stomach for this? We must leave, and quickly.”
Driving back to camp, Raphael glanced at the girl next to him. Trembling, she kept her face averted.
He tried to make amends. “There are many terrible things. There will be many more. That is what we are fighting for. That is what we must remember.”
She turned to him, her face ashen. “Please stop the car.”
“What?”
“Please stop now. I’m going to be sick.”
Raphael pulled to the side of the road as Katrinka clambered out, lurching for the bushes. He heard her retching and envied her ability to still feel. For him there was no more pain, just the relentless progression forward, to the end.
Presently, she came back to the car, and they drove the rest of the way in silence.
* * *
With reprisals escalating, the team avoided all attempts at more permanent shelter, living in the forest under makeshift canvas slung across ditches, and moving almost daily. It was a grueling existence, and their diet suffered as they scrounged whatever food they could find, to supplement the scant rations.
Most of the time, Nye sent Katrinka to the local markets for supplies. She was growing thin and dirty, and the constant hunger wore her down. She took Rolf with her, riding along in her basket. He would brace his forelegs, leaning out over the wired rim like the tiny masthead of a ship, barking at stray cats or anything else that drew his attention. During spells of inactivity, Farr taught the dog to deliver her notes, filled with very suggestive comments. He trained Rolf to perform silly tricks, which the dog delighted in. And it was Farr the dog curled up next to, on those rare occasions when he and Katrinka had a night together.
Farr had scheduled radio transmission times, and times he spent coding and decoding messages. Between these chores, boredom often set in. He was an avid reader and obtained as many ASEs as he could find.
Their rare nights together were spent m
aking love and talking. Katrinka wanted to know about his childhood in North Dakota, his parents, and the volatile relationship he’d had with his father. He was more eager to tell her of his future plans. He would not always be a soldier.
Once, in a break between his transmissions, they shared a meal of rations with chocolate, and a bottle of wine.
“When the war ends, I want to settle down. Use that new GI Bill of Rights to go to school. Then I’ll save up enough money to open an electronics repair shop.” He paused, noticing her silence. “What are your plans, Trinka?”
She gave him a quick look. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? Call you what?”
“Trinka.”
“But I’ve heard the major call you that. It’s a nickname, right? Am I saying it right?”
“Yes, but that’s his name for me. No one else uses it, except sometimes Papa.”
Farr was incredulous, and a little hurt. But then people were strange with names. He had rules about his own as well, and had already instructed her about them. She had never called him Wolfgangus.
He shrugged and repeated the question. The intake of alcohol had made her chatty and affectionate. He was amazed at how much she could consume. Even so, he had to prod for an answer.
She was evasive. “Oh, I want to be like Emerson—an explorer.”
He smiled. “Going looking for caves?”
“No. I want to find something. Someone.”
“Who do you want to find?”
She hesitated. “Amelia.”
“Who?”
The words tumbled out. “Amelia. They never found her. I know she’s out there. She knew what she was up against. She knew the risks. I’m sure she had another plan, just in case. She wouldn’t have waited till—”
Farr held up his hand. “Slow down. Who the heck is Amelia? Some relative?”
She stared at him with astonishment. “No. Amelia Earhart. You remember. She and her navigator disappeared right before the war.”
Stunned, Farr sat back. “The aviatrix? Is that who you mean? The one who went down in the Pacific on her round-the-world flight?”
Just Another Girl on the Road Page 10
