Songbird Under a German Moon

by Tricia Goyer

  Betty swallowed hard. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Frank reached for her hand and then changed his mind and pulled it back. “I think you should leave. There’s nothing for you here. You’ll never be anything but a back-up singer. And”—he lowered his gaze, but not before she saw sadness there—“I don’t want you staying around for me.”

  Betty hid her trembling hands under the table. “Yes, well, thank you for telling me the truth.” It was just like Kat had said. She looked away, hoping the tears wouldn’t come. Then she stood. “I need to go now. I have work to do. And…” Her voice rose. “And even if I’m never anything more than a back-up singer, it will be enough. In—in time, God’s plan will…” She covered her mouth with her hand and hurried away.

  It will work out. God’s plans will work out, she thought as she hurried outside. But even as she thought that, pain filled her.

  This is not how it’s supposed to be.

  Lord, I can’t handle any more.

  Who do I have now? Who do I have besides You?

  Frank strode home, not looking to the right or the left. He’d sat in class that morning, but he hadn’t learned a thing. His thoughts had been on Betty. Finally, just before lunch, he’d decided the most logical thing to do would be to let every romantic thought of her go. No—more than that, he needed to force her away. It had seemed like a good plan at the time. No family needed to go through the pain of losing a daughter, a sister, like his family had gone through with Lily. Now he wasn’t so sure about his decision.

  She needs to leave. Needs to go where it’s safe. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to her.

  Yet, if that was the right choice, why had he felt so bad about what he’d said? The pain showing in Betty’s eyes had obviously cut to her heart, and seeing that made him wonder if he’d done the right thing.

  Frank approached his house, pulled the key from his pocket, and unlocked the door. Then he strode up to his room to get his camera. He was halfway across the room when he noticed something on his bed. A white envelope.

  Did Art get into my things? Did he pull out the letters and read them?

  Frank hurried over and opened the envelope. He recognized the script, but the words were new.

  The singer may be just first. A warning of what is to come. Her death is sad mystery. The new Songbird holds the knowledge of the answers, if she looks upon the photographs. She will see truth.

  How did this get here? Frank’s heart pounded in his chest and his hand reached for his gun. Was the mysterious messenger still around?

  He was right about one thing—Kat’s murder was perhaps just the first. He knew something else too. Songbird—was this note saying that Betty might have the answer? Was it possible that Betty would see something he missed by looking at the photos? Frank had never shared top secret information before, but this seemed like a shot worth taking.

  I need Betty. She’s a key to this somehow. If this is correct, I need her to look at the photos.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Betty watched Oskar as he set up the stage for the evening’s events. He seemed lost in his own world as he hoisted the large wooden backdrop and set it in place. As Betty watched, she wondered what she was doing here. She wondered why God would do this to her—make her go through all this pain. She had already faced so much, and now she had to face Frank’s rejection. He didn’t care about me. He just cared about using me to get to the others.

  “Do you think we should run through the numbers?”

  Betty turned at Dolly’s voice.

  “The band’s getting all set up,” Dolly continued. “And from what I hear, Mickey’s landed in Nuremberg and is on his way.”

  Betty nodded, remembering that drive. Had it only been a week since she headed here with stars in her eyes? That didn’t seem possible.

  “I’m game for practicing. I want to do as good a job as I possibly can.” While I’m still here— she wanted to add. Maybe Frank was right. Maybe she didn’t have anything to stick around for.

  Betty looked around. She saw the band, dressed in white suits and blue shirts, but she didn’t see the third wheel of their trio. “Where’s Irene?”

  “Probably hiding in the orchestra pit, smooching with Billy.”

  “Billy? Are you kidding? I didn’t know they were sweet on each other.”

  “Oh, I think he’s liked her for a while, but it’s only recently that she started liking him back. I think Kat’s death, and her feelings for Edward, have made all of us want to have someone special in our lives.”

  “I can agree with that.” Shirlee piped in from where she had been practicing her dance steps on stage. “I’ve been with the USO for two years, and even though I’m used to the word obey, I hope sometime when I use it in the near future it’ll have a ‘love, honor, and ’ in front of it.”

  Betty chuckled, surprising herself, and then she stepped forward to the edge of the stage and looked down into the orchestra pit. It made her stomach quiver to see the big cavern. It was as if a cave existed under the first row—and it was dark beyond that.

  “I’m not sure I see anyone,” Betty said.

  “Not there, underneath,” Dolly pointed. “The pit goes way back, under the stage. I heard from Oskar that the Ring orchestra needed over one hundred and fifty musicians.”

  Then, remembering Oskar was on stage, Dolly turned to him. “Is that right, Oskar—one hundred and fifty?”

  “What? Oh, yes.” Oskar finished setting up the scene, and then moved to them. “It was a sight to behold.”

  “Don’t say was—I’m sure it’ll happen again. Maybe after we leave, some of the old performers will come back.” Dolly placed her hand on her hips. “Things aren’t going to be like this forever. Believe it or not, we will go home someday.”

  Oskar’s eyes narrowed. Then he lowered his head. “I wish that were the case, but I do not see this happening. The world has changed.” His lips pressed together into a thin line, and Betty could tell he wanted to say more, but held back.

  “I bet it was magical,” Betty whispered, looking around the auditorium. “The music must have been overwhelming. I can imagine it moved the listeners deep inside their souls.”

  Oskar nodded. “Wagner alone knew how to use the music and the words to change people. Those who watched, listened—left different. That is why they came—so many came—faithfully over the years.”

  “I can imagine the singers and musicians enjoyed the experience equally as well.” Betty dared to take another step, her toe touching the edge. “How did the musicians get down there?”

  “There is no need to go down there.” Oskar’s voice was firm. “There is no need.” With that, he turned and walked away, back behind stage.

  “I think Irene is going to get in trouble if she’s caught,” Betty whispered to Dolly. “I guess that leaves out me asking him for a tour.”

  “That’s strange,” Dolly said, her gaze following Oskar. “He’s always been eager to show us around before—but you’re right. Let’s hope Irene doesn’t get caught.”

  Betty was pacing backstage in her red velvet dress and black satin pumps when Mickey showed up fifteen minutes before the show was set to start. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes looked puffy, as if he hadn’t slept all night.

  Seeing his weariness, Betty wanted to work harder—wanted to prove that bringing her on hadn’t been a mistake. Made her want to put a smile on his face and maybe help him forget for a few minutes that he’d just buried Kat. It was the least she could do before she flew the coop, which she was beginning to consider more and more.

  The rest of the performers must have had the same thing on their minds, because everyone seemed to be in top form. Betty noticed the sweet grin Irene gave Billy as their trio walked on stage. It made her think of Frank, and she searched the crowd looking for him. She found him, sitting up in the box that she’d heard had, at one time, been Hitler’s private box. She noticed he was looking at her,
watching her, and she quickly looked away. A sadness filled her, joining with a thousand other sad thoughts that she’d been collecting lately.

  The first set of songs and dances went off without a hitch, but halfway through the trio’s second number the lights went out. The stage lights, the auditorium lights—everything dropped to a black so thick it almost felt alive. The rest of the musicians and singers stopped, and Betty’s voice rang out, the note carrying clear and bright as a songbird, through the hall. She stilled and the silence seemed to breathe. Everyone held, waiting, as if wondering what to do.

  “The army must not pay its bills either,” Betty said, projecting her voice. “What do you think, Dolly? Irene? Should we take up a collection?”

  Men’s laughter carried around the room.

  When the lights still didn’t come on a minute later, Betty heard Irene sigh.

  “Sorry, I’m afraid we won’t be able to go on,” Irene said.

  “I can help with that.” The beam from one soldier’s flashlight hit the stage near Betty’s feet. It was amazing how one little light could do so much to break the darkness.

  “Yeah, I can help too.” Another flashlight clicked on, followed by dozens more.

  Betty looked to Dolly and Irene, then the band, noticing the large smiles on their faces.

  “Okay, boys, I’ve always been a sucker for spotlights,” Betty said. “What do you think, Wally? Can you take this one from the top?”

  “Sure can, Songbird.” With that, the band started. At that moment, it didn’t matter that Betty was singing as part of a trio. Or that Frank didn’t care for her as she cared for him. She was singing under the light of flashlight beams and to the applause of nearly two thousand men. She was where she was supposed to be. And she knew things were right, really right, because in her heart—for the first time—she felt as if God were right there—clapping along.

  After changing into her USO uniform, Betty scanned the faces of the others backstage, wondering if Frank would be there. She felt a cold chill move up her arms when she saw him, standing in the back corner of the practice area talking with Oskar. She tried to look away, but Frank’s eyes met hers and he motioned her over.

  Betty cocked her head, unsure if she’d just seen that. But then Frank did it again, motioning her over with a wave of his hand. Betty approached, but instead of acknowledging Frank, she turned to Oskar.

  “So I assume you’re the hero who got the lights back up and running?” she asked.

  Oskar shrugged. “Yes, well, it was only a minor problem—the electrical board is getting tired.” He chuckled. “Both of us have been around this place more years than we know.”

  “I’m glad you got it working, but I have to admit it was sort of fun singing with those spotlights.’”

  “Yes?” Oskar nodded. “I can arrange again.”

  “Well, maybe not.” Betty laughed.

  “It did look like you had fun.” Frank winked. “Maybe I’ll have to join you up there one day.”

  “You sing?” Betty cocked an eyebrow and anger built inside her. How could he tell her what he’d told her earlier and then act as if nothing had happened?

  “No, but I could pretend, if it would get me in one of those fancy white suits.” He ran his fingers down the lapel of his olive drab uniform. “I clean up well.”

  “What are you doing?” The words spilled from her mouth. “You told me today that you were using me, that you don’t really care about me, and now you want to act like nothing is wrong? Do you expect me to forgive you? To be your friend and pretend that nothing’s wrong? To let you use me some more?”

  From the corner of her eye, Betty realized Oskar still stood there, watching the scene. A pained look colored his face. Had he ever been married or fallen in love? Maybe he’d lost his love too. Maybe the war tore him apart from the woman he loved, as so many others had experienced…

  “Betty, can I talk to you for a minute?” Frank lowered his voice and led her toward the back door. “I know you usually go to the canteen, but I need to talk to you. I need your help.”

  “Now you need me, huh? You want to use me again?”

  “It’s not like that. I said what I said because I was hoping you would leave.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you were hoping I’d leave?”

  Frank continued, unfazed. “I lied about my feelings so that you’d go home where it was safe.”

  “Where it’s safe?” She focused on him, considering his words. “Are you serious? Because it sure sounded like you were telling the truth.”

  “Please, Betty, there’s too much to explain now. All I can say is that I was lying. About everything. I need you. I need your help in figuring out what happened to Kat. I can’t do it without you.” He looked around at the other performers who pushed their way past them. Then he leaned forward. “I have the photos of Kat’s body,” he said barely above a whisper. “I need you to look at them. And I’m actually passing up another invitation because I need your help.”

  “You really need my help?” She studied his face, hoping to see that he was telling the truth. And she could see that either he deeply cared for her or he was a better actor than Humphrey Bogart. “Okay, I trust you—I think.” She placed a hand on her hip and cocked her chin up at him. “So what was the other invitation?”

  “My roommate invited me to this German club. He has a friend—a girlfriend who used to sing opera here. She said she wanted to talk to me about something.”

  “That sounds interesting—curious too. I’d like to be there—hear what she has to say.”

  “Sure, okay. I want to meet with her soon. I’ll let you know when. But first…”

  “The photos.” She whispered. “I’ll try.”

  Betty’s stomach ached just thinking about it, but she could tell from Frank’s tone that he really did need her.

  “But there’s one more thing I need to know. Are you sure you said all those things because you were worried about me—and wanted me to go home where it’s safe?”

  He leaned down, his face close to hers. “Yes, Betty, that’s the truth.” His face was gentle, yet protective also. As if he did care—really care for her.

  They strode outside, and Betty was pleased to see it was warmer than she had expected. She wrapped her arm in his. “You might have your personal MP again, but do you think we could walk? I’ve been shuttled around and cooped up for three days.” Even as she spoke, Betty wondered if deep inside she was stalling what was to come. She couldn’t imagine having to look at Kat—that way.

  “Sure. I haven’t seen Howard since he drove you home the other day anyway.”

  The night was dark, the moon half-hidden behind large, gray clouds. The parking lot around them was full of GIs. Others, like them, walked down the road to town.

  “Sometimes I find it hard to believe I’m really in Germany. It’s like a little America here,” she said, trying to act like everything was normal. “I shop at the PX and eat at the mess. I’m not sure if I’ve even had a conversation—or tried—with a German citizen since I’ve been here, other than Oskar.”

  “I think we get too comfortable. We forget. I have to remind myself of the buddies I lost. I have to remember the photos of the concentration camps. Remember there was one here in town. I have to remember the fear of being a target.”

  “Tell me what it was like, the war. We’ve talked about many things, but not that.”

  “I was an aerial photographer attached to headquarters of the Ninth Air Force.”

  “So you shot photographs from the planes? Like you did during our flight?” She reached for him. He slipped his hand around hers and smiled, pulling her closer to his side as they walked.

  “I took photos—among other things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The B-17 crews loved it when we photographers were on board. And there were times, when we were in a sticky situation, when I manned the waist guns.”

  “That
sounds dangerous.”

  He shrugged. “It was our job, what can I say?”

  “Did you get to fire those guns?”

  “Only a few times. We were also often escorted by American or British fighters—so they kept the bad guys at bay.” He chuckled. “It wasn’t always exciting. We’d also take photos of the ground crews with their individual aircraft. And we were always on the flight line when a mission took off and returned. The worst feeling was when a plane landed and it shot a red flare as they taxied down the landing strip. Then we knew wounded were on board.

  “Once when that happened, we found out the waist gunner had been hit. He died a few hours later. After that, I talked the captain into getting permission for me to fly with the crew as a temporary waist gunner. The crew that I flew with ended up being my favorite—I wasn’t assigned to them, but I flew with them as often as I could. I think I went out with them thirty times—maybe forty.”

  Betty looked up to the night sky and tried to imagine what it would have been like to live there at that time—hearing the roar of the planes and knowing what was to come. “Is it strange, being here now?”

  “It is.” He chuckled. “And, if I’m honest, the hardest thing I’ve faced since being in Europe is this assignment. I used to shoot the war, and it was a big boost to my ego. I’ve chatted with God about it, and He’s assured me I’m exactly where I need to be. Still, it’s not really something that’s going down in history.”

  “What about the photos you took of Kat? Those made the news.”

  He sighed. “I’d give that fame back if I could.”

  They neared the bottom of the hill and moved into town. MPs and soldiers patrolled the streets. Except for small clusters of people who slept in the shells of bombed buildings, and the various baroque structures that still stood, one would think they walked on a military base.

  Betty noticed many of the soldiers had girls on their arms, and she was thankful she had her USO uniform on. Glad no one would think she was a German girl, trying to bum her next meal.