by Tricia Goyer
Laughter burst out at her table and the sound carried around the room. Other soldiers quieted and looked their direction. They all eyed Betty as if they wondered what was so funny. Betty sat back in her seat, feeling heat rise to her cheeks and wondering if she’d already turned three shades of pink. Her throat felt tight and she felt like a little girl sitting at a table with professionals. She glanced over at Frank. His jaw was tight and anger flashed in his eyes. Yet he didn’t speak. She could tell he was holding back his words, which she appreciated. After all, she had to work with these people.
“Sweetheart.” Irene reached across the table and patted Betty’s hand. “There were times we dodged bombs and sang in hospital wards where injured men were contemplating how to write their girls back home and tell them they’d be returning minus a limb or an eye. I don’t think you can understand how hard it really was unless you were here.”
“Yes, but I don’t think you understand what things were like back in the States either.” Betty jutted her chin. “It’s not like everyone back home wasn’t sacrificing and working their hardest for the war effort—everyone back there made this win possible too. Do you know that some women—like my mom—worked twelve hours every night and then took care of their homes, their families, and tended their Victory gardens during the day?” Betty paused, seeing that not only the eyes of everyone at the table were on her, but also others from around the room. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but—things were hard there too.”
“She’s right.” Frank spoke up from beside her. His voice trembled slightly, as he controlled his tone. “Everyone did their part. We all worked together to win this war.”
“If anyone should know how hard things were here, Frank, it’s you,” Billy said. “You have the pictures to prove it. I knew I recognized your name when Mickey introduced you yesterday. I went over to headquarters and checked out some old copies of Stars and Stripes and saw your photos. It was sad to hear what happened to the Klassy Lassy.”
Betty glanced at him, wondering what Billy was talking about. She’d have to ask Frank later. They had many things to talk about.
“It was painful, I’ll admit that. But just because one person’s experience was hard doesn’t make another’s situation any less difficult.” Then Frank smiled and turned to her. “Betty, you look a little tired. I’d be happy to give you a ride back to your quarters when you’re finished here.”
“Yes, I’d like that.” She wiped her face and took another sip from her coffee.
Frank stood.
“But…” She glanced at him. “I need to talk to Irene about something first. It will only take a minute.”
“No hurries. I’ll be waiting outside. It’s a little stuffy in here.” He ran his finger under his shirt collar. Then, without a word to anyone else at the table, he turned and strode away.
“Gee, talk about Mr. Unsocial. Did it seem to you like he was trying to cut our party short?” Dolly asked.
“Maybe he has a lot on his mind—you know, stuff that happened in the war.” Billy warmed to his subject like a reporter delivering the news. “I read a little about him in the Stars and Stripes. There was a short bio to go with his photos. The article said he lost a sister back in the States. She was one of those WASPs and crashed her plane. Then—well, I don’t want to be one who spreads rumors.”
“What? What happened?” Dolly prodded, scooting her chair closer to Billy’s.
Betty felt her stomach tightening, as if someone were twisting it into knots. She didn’t like this. Didn’t like how they were talking about Frank now that he was out of earshot, but she had to admit she wanted to know.
Maybe I’m rushing into things too quickly. Frank wanted to talk about us spending more time together, but I didn’t even know he had a sister—or that he lost her. I know nothing, in fact. Nothing except that I think he’s handsome and kind. Surely a relationship had to be based on more than that.
“Well, the article was about the loss of a whole B-17 crew,” Billy said. “Although, as a photographer, Frank wasn’t assigned to a crew, this was the crew he flew with most of the time.”
“The Klassy Lassy,” Betty said. “Was he with them? Was he the only one who made it out?”
“No, nothing like that. It was his plain luck, really. The article said Frank had leave coming or something like that. He was supposed to go up that day with the bombing crew—to photograph their run. The pilot—his good friend—told him to sit this one out. If he didn’t take the leave, he’d lose it. The paper said the crew never made it back. Their B-17 crash-landed. No one saw any chutes. Ten men gone, just like that. Frank missed the right flight.”
“How sad. No wonder he seems reserved and withdrawn,” Irene pouted.
Betty pressed her fingers to her temples and a sharp pain shot across her forehead. “He’s not always like that,” she spouted. “And even if he was, do you blame him?”
“No, I don’t blame him, especially since he’s lost all credibility as a photographer,” Billy added.
“What do you mean?” Another shooting pain hit Betty’s forehead.
“I mean just three months ago he was taking photos of battles and concentration camps, and now it’s of showgirls and jazz bands. Got to be a gut punch to one’s ego.”
“It’s nothing I’d be crying about,” the soldier sitting next to Irene said. “It might mess up his career, but he’s gotta be looking forward to going to work every day.”
Betty stood, not wanting to hear anymore. First Kat’s news, then her friends’ offhand dismissal of her work on the home front. And now this news about Frank. It was too much to take. “Irene, can I talk to you—for a second?”
“Sure, kid.”
Irene stood and Betty took her hand, leading her to the far corner of the room where the music wasn’t quite as loud. Betty felt tears rimming her eyes.
“Listen, you didn’t take that joking to heart, did you?” Irene’s eyes searched hers. “I understand how hard things were for you all back home. And I think that singing in a canteen is perfectly adorable.”
Betty placed her fingers to her lips, hoping to hold her emotions inside. Then she fanned her face. “No. It’s not that. None—none of those things matter now. I’m just thinking about Kat—and the fact that I lied to Frank about what’s wrong. I hate not mentioning Edward’s death. Frank knows something’s wrong. I can tell.”
Betty looked away. She looked to the door, realizing that she was going to have to walk out there and smile and act like everything was fine—that she didn’t feel sad for her friend or that she didn’t know about everything Frank faced, including the fact the he most likely wished he could be taking photos anywhere else. And then, when she made it through all that and got back to the estate, she’d have to face Kat. She’d have to see Kat’s luggage packed and maybe even listen to Kat cry into her pillow through the night. Her stomach ached just thinking about it.
“I feel so bad about Frank—but more than that, what am I going to say to Kat when I get back to Wahnfried? I just don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, honey.” Irene pulled her into a hug. “I don’t think you’re going to have to talk to Kat about anything. I think it’s going to mean a lot to her just that you’re there.” Irene stepped back and held Betty at arm’s length. “And don’t worry. We’ll be leaving here soon. I just want to grab a quick snack. I always get hungry after a show.”
Betty nodded and started to turn, but then she paused as Irene’s hand touched her shoulder. “Wait, there’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“Whatever you do, you can’t tell Frank about Edward, no matter how bad you feel. No matter how hard it is.”
“I know, that’s what Mickey said.” Betty bit her lip.
“No—I mean you really can’t tell him, Betty. You can’t even tell him and then ask him to keep it a secret. Frank is a photographer. He works with the papers and stuff. He no doubt has photos of Kat rushing off the stage.
This is big news. Big. If he knows and the word gets out, everyone will want those photos.”
“You think Frank would—would tell?”
“Well, think about it. Like Billy said, he’s most likely not too happy about taking photos of singers. But this could be his big break. If he’s the first one to report the story about Edward, then his photos of Kat would be in big demand.”
“I don’t think he’d do that.” Her throat felt raw and thick. “But I won’t tell. For Kat—for her peace. I won’t tell until Mickey gives the okay.”
Betty sighed then hurried outside. Frank was standing by the jeep, chatting with an MP. The wind was cold, but the crisp breeze against her face wasn’t as sharp as the pain she carried inside. Betty wiped her eyes and forced herself to smile. She’d lied to Frank enough today, and she didn’t want him asking why she was crying.
She walked up to him. “Thanks for waiting.” Then, so she didn’t have to look him in the eyes, she turned to the MP. “I wish you could have come inside, Howard.” She rubbed her arms, trying to warm them. “It’s cold out here.”
“Oh, I have strict orders not to leave my jeep, unless I have another MP watching it. We’ve been having problems with people siphoning off our fuel. More than one jeep has run dry far earlier than it ought.”
“I bet that’s not the only thing that’s being stolen around here,” Frank commented. Then he helped Betty climb inside. “Sometimes it’s hard to figure out who to trust.”
Betty felt the sting of those words. More than anything, she wished she could tell the truth, to earn Frank’s trust.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Frank took the seat next to Betty and glanced at her. She was quiet. Disheartened. Something had happened, and he had a feeling it was more than Kat getting emotional. He just didn’t know what. She was a different person than the one who’d entered the Festspielhaus all smiles only hours earlier.
Betty’s probably worried about Kat—about her breaking down on stage and leaving.
That made the most sense, but another thought trailed close behind.
Or maybe Betty’s changed her mind. Maybe she’s had time to think about wanting to spend time with me. Frank knew if Betty decided that, keeping an eye on things around the Festspielhaus would be harder.
“ Listen, Betty, I really need to apologize.”
She glanced over at him. “Frank, no…”
“Earlier—you know, when you got to the Festspielhaus. I shouldn’t have teased you about getting a ride with those guys, and I shouldn’t have forced my feelings on you like that.”
“Frank, wait.”
“No, let me say it. We promised to talk, but maybe it’s happening too fast. I want to treat you right. I don’t want to mess things up—with us.”
Betty nodded. “Okay, I understand.”
The MP glanced at them over his shoulder, as if listening, and Frank wondered if this was how things used to be in the olden days when all dates were chaperoned. Frank wanted to say more, but he thought it would be better to talk to Betty when she didn’t have so much on her mind. He needed to be around the Festspielhaus as much as possible, and Betty was his ticket to doing that.
They drove through the quiet, dark town, and Frank noticed MPs in rain slickers policing the streets—more patrols than he remembered, most likely because of the gas being siphoned off. The whole place seemed darker than usual. Clouds had blown in, blocking out the moon. He wished it were brighter, wished he could get a better look at Betty’s face. The evening hadn’t turned out as he’d hoped—not even close.
Wahnfried was dark when they arrived. A breeze had picked up, blowing dry leaves off the trees that lined the drive. The leaves carried on the wind across the dead lawn and potholed driveway.
“That’s strange. Kat didn’t turn any lights on.” Betty’s voice was heavy with concern.
“I should go in with you—to check on things.” The jeep stopped, and Frank jumped out. Something felt wrong. He pulled his small flashlight out of his jacket pocket and turned it on. The yellow beam stretched to the front door, and he too wondered why Kat wouldn’t have turned a light on.
“You can come in, but you know what Kat said.” Betty’s lips smiled, but her eyes looked just as worried. “You can’t go any farther than the foyer.”
“Sure, that’s fine. I’ll wait there, and when I see that Kat’s here and everything’s okay, then I’ll head out and let you get some rest.” He attempted to make his tone light. “I’m a modern man, but there’s no way I’m going to let a beautiful girl enter a haunted house alone—in the month of October.”
Another smile—a real one this time—curled on Betty’s lips. “Yes, it is the month of October.”
They walked to the front door and found it locked.
“I’m not surprised. If I was a woman home alone I’d do the same.” Frank knocked.
“I wonder if Kat walked home alone. I feel bad if she did.”
“Surely she wouldn’t do that. This isn’t Kansas.” Frank knocked again.
“She says she walks back and forth all the time. Remember when we got here that first night and she was already back? Well, the next morning she told us something had really scared her on that walk. She said there were some kids trying to spook her. She said there were footsteps or something following her, but she never saw who it was.”
Frank stepped back and eyed the house, looking for movement in the windows, but didn’t see anything.
“I don’t think Kat’s here, Betty,” he finally said. “And if she was here, she’s not anymore. Maybe she got a ride and went for a midnight drive—to get one last look at the place. Or maybe she decided to meet up with your friends over at the canteen after all. Do you have a key?”
“No. I didn’t even think to ask for one.” She shook her head. “Back home our house doesn’t even have a lock.”
“Yeah, my parents’ house doesn’t either. Or at least if it has a lock I’ve never used it. Do you know where they’d keep a key if they were going to hide one around here?”
“Well, if it was my guess…” Betty glanced around. Then she moved down the steps toward the shrubbery. Frank followed her with the flashlight beam. She squatted and lifted up a palm-sized rock. Nothing was there so she did it again, lifting up the next one. Finally, after the third rock, she smiled, stood, and held up a key.
Frank felt tension in his gut. He wished he’d known about Kat walking alone. He would have made sure she had an escort. He wished he would have known about her getting scared on the trail. Maybe whoever had spooked Kat was sending a warning. Maybe since the letters hadn’t done their trick, more drastic measures were being taken. Please let Kat be okay.
“Great job.” Frank glanced back at Howard, signaling the MP to join them as Betty unlocked the door. Stepping inside, Betty turned, seemingly surprised to see Howard walking up the steps.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Well, Kat’s not here, and if we’re going to wait until your friends get home, then I don’t think it would be polite to let our friend sit out in the jeep.”
“I’m just here for backup, miss,” Howard said. “To—chaperone.” He winked.
“That would be understandable if Frank were staying, but there’s no need. I’m a big girl. I traveled halfway around the world alone. You really don’t need to stick around.” She found the light switch and flipped it on, flooding the foyer with light.
“Well that’s a surprise,” Howard said. “It’s amazing the lights still work, especially when half the building is gone. Someone must have worked on it. If I knew who, I’d like to talk to him. We’re still without electricity at our place in town, along with most of our block.”
“I don’t know who it was, but I’m thankful,” Betty said as she hurried down the hall.
“Kat,” she called. “Kat!”
Frank stepped forward, following her. His footsteps echoed on the floor.
Betty paused and shook a finger at him,
stopping him cold. “I don’t think so. Not a step farther. I’m not going to get on Mickey’s bad side, remember?”
“Kat!” she called again.
Frank stood at the entrance to the hall and watched Betty disappear into a door at the end.
It took thirty seconds for Betty to reemerge. Her white face was the picture of puzzlement, and as she approached, Frank noticed her hands were shaking.
“Betty, are you okay?”
Instead of answering Frank, she turned to Howard. “Can you do me a favor, please?”
“Sure, miss.”
“Can you go back to the canteen and get Irene and Dolly and tell them Kat isn’t here? Or, better yet, can you ask them to bring Mickey too?” She turned to Frank in defeat. “I—I can’t believe that I’m so ill-prepared. I don’t even know where Mickey lives. I don’t know—” She turned to Howard. “I don’t even know how to find someone like you. I mean, if I’m in trouble or someone is in trouble—in the future. I wouldn’t even know where to look for help.”
“Wait.” Frank held up his hand, stopping the MP. “There has to be a good reason why Kat isn’t here. Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard sending for Mickey?”
Betty crossed her arms over her chest and stared at her shoes. “It’s really not good. I knew I should have followed her,” she mumbled.
“Betty?”
She lifted her head and looked at him.
“Is there something in the room? Is there something troubling you?”
“Yes—I mean there’s nothing different about the room, and that’s what’s troubling. Kat’s supposed to fly home tomorrow. I can’t imagine her not having everything packed, or at least working on it. I can’t imagine why she’d want to be out, driving around or whatever…”
Frank reached out for her arms, gently touching them, hoping to stop their trembling. “Yes, but just because you don’t know where Kat is doesn’t mean there’s trouble. Is there a reason why you think Mickey needs to be here? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
