Over the next hour, Hendrick shuffled through four large filing cabinets … but with no success.
He slammed the last one shut, curses flowing from his lips.
Does Lydia have the file already? Does she assume the worst?
Hendrick’s heart pounded, and his legs felt as if they were going to give way. On the radio that someone had left on down the hall, German marching songs played over the airwaves, as if all were well in the world.
“I have to travel down there again. There’s no time to waste.” Hendrick strode from one end of the room to the other and back again. “To find my son. And to do so before the Americans push any farther north.”
While the extent of the enemy’s advance was not mentioned much over the state-run stations, Hendrick knew the truth. The Allies were pushing to the north, advancing more day by day. Bombers never ceased to find their way over Belgium, and more German-run factories were getting knocked out by the week.
With one glance back over his shoulder, Hendrick eyed his office for the last time. Eyed the photos of the children, stopping on the captured images of Sabine and Stella.
He’d given his skill, sacrificed his time and energy, to reclaim Aryan blood. Now it was time to leave it all behind and recover his own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The barn door slowly opened, and Mary shielded her tired eyes from the morning light filtering in. She yawned and shifted her hip once again. She’d tried all night to get comfortable, at least comfortable enough to sleep. Finally, she gave up and just listened to Eddie’s breathing and the pig’s snorting. She’d snickered, imagining they were talking to one another. Hey, boy, don’t get too comfortable. This is my hideout, she imagined the pig was saying.
But her mind couldn’t help replaying all that had happened—from the early morning briefing to the late-night hog cohabiting. Gone were her notebook and the camera. Come on, memory. It’s up to you now.
Roger, like a black shadow against the gleaming dawn, stepped through the doorway.
“I bring food.”
Mary scooted to a sitting position as the rugged farmer handed her two sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper. “Eddie, wake up. Sandwiches.”
“Is that eggs I smell?” He stirred beside her.
“Didn’t you hear those dang roosters? Real eggs, not those wooden ones you’re used to on base. Can you sit up? I’ll help you eat.”
“I be back.” Roger grabbed a bucket from the wall. “I bring water for drink.”
Eddie sat up, favoring his bad arm. His short hair was plastered down on his head, his eyes were still heavy from sleep. “But this man, he’s so thin. I can see the hunger in his eyes. He shouldn’t be feeding us.”
“True, but there’s something else in his eyes too. Appreciation. You represent freedom for him and his country.”
Suddenly a soft whistling sounded from across the field. Seconds later they heard voices, shouts, and dogs.
The Germans.
Roger ran into the barn. “Hide!” He pointed to the loft. “Go. Go!”
Mary helped Eddie to his feet and pushed him toward the ladder. He climbed the best he could with one arm.
“Hurry, faster,” she whispered, hearing the voices growing louder, closer.
Eddie climbed onto the loft and Mary followed, scampering behind him to the far corner, diving next to him under the loose hay and punishing her hip in the process.
Then she remembered the blankets, the sandwiches she’d tossed aside, and the stain on the ground where blood from Eddie’s arm had seeped. They’ll know. They’ll find us. She placed her hand over her mouth to stop the trembling.
Even louder than the shouts of the German soldiers came the sudden squeals of the pig. Eva. Roger shouted something to her, and sounds of wrestling filtered up. Her squeals increased, and then there was silence.
The dogs’ barking grew louder. Next came sounds of the barn door being kicked open.
“What’s going on in here?”
“Sir, I am slaughtering my pig,” Roger said in German. “To feed my family, of course. It has been a hard winter, even though it has just begun.”
Mary could hear the quiver in the farmer’s voice.
“Are you alone in here?”
“My wife is in our house, sir.”
“I mean in the barn.”
“Yes, well, me and this dead pig. You are free to look around.”
Eddie’s hand took hers, and Mary squeezed, holding her breath.
“What is up there?”
“Nothing much this time of year. I store some hay, but everything has been lean this year.”
The German cursed. “Stupid dogs, come. Do you not know the difference between man’s blood and that of a pig? Carry on, imbecile. But know I’ll be back. Tell your sweet wife pork roast is one of my favorite meals.”
“Yes, sir. We will have dinner waiting, sir.”
And only after the sound of the barking dogs filtered into the distance did Mary let out a slow breath. In soft whispers she translated what had just happened.
“Mary, how do you know German?” Eddie’s brown eyes were still filled with fear.
“I grew up in a German neighborhood in New York. I learned some German words even before English—at least in song.”
“We’ve gotta get out of here.” Eddie’s voice was raspy. “It’s too dangerous.”
“But you’re injured. I don’t think you’ll have the strength to make it.”
“You’re the one who told me the German said he’d be back. We don’t have much time.”
Lee rose from the chair, leaned forward, and placed both hands on the polished wood of the commander’s desk. She’d been packing to leave Paris for the front lines in northern France when she’d heard the news. Within an hour, she was on a plane to Bassingbourn, England—the home airfield of Destiny’s Child.
“You know their plane crashed somewhere in Belgium, but you have no idea if any of the crew survived? No idea if Mary Kelley is dead or alive? Excuse me for being so blunt, sir, but I just can’t accept that.”
The commanding officer cleared his throat and leaned forward, folding his middle-aged hands on the desk in front of him. His light blue eyes looked weary; puffy bags hung below them. The vein in his neck thumped so hard she could see it, just like her father’s.
“I’m sorry. But I told Miss Kelley this would in no way be a safe situation. If she went up, she would be doing so at her own risk. These crews deal with extreme combat on a daily basis. We prepare them as much as we can, but once they leave our field they are no longer under our control.”
“But someone has to know something. Did another plane see them go down? Were there chutes reported?” She paced to the window and looked out to the tarmac where more Forts were lined up. A new day. A new mission.
But not to her. She wasn’t going to let this go as easily.
“We’ve briefed all the other crews involved, but no one was close enough in the vicinity to give us any more information than what I’ve already told you. We’ll simply have to wait until we get word.”
“From the German POW camps? Is that who you’re expecting to hear from?”
The CO shrugged. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Surely there are underground workers in the area. We both know what I’m talking about. Can they get word to you?”
“We don’t discuss these things openly, Miss O’Donnelly.” The man stood, pushing aside his chair with his foot. “If we receive word, we’ll let Mary’s father know.”
“Excuse me, Colonel, but this is a different situation. We’re talking about a female correspondent here—surely, this is a unique case. Surely someone knows something.”
“I can tell you this,” he finally answered. “Sometimes we get requests—to check information, to ensure that the people who are being helped are not Germans attempting to infiltrate the escape system.” He sighed. “But I can say no more. Again, I’m sorry. We’re just going to have to
wait and see.”
Lee placed her hands on her hips, her gold bracelets jingling. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid if I can’t get help from you, I’ll find it someplace else.”
The man shook his head, and a surprised chuckle escaped his lips. “You are your father’s daughter, aren’t you? I’d recognize that stubborn set of your chin anywhere.”
“Yes, and my mother’s daughter too. And … if you remember, my mother pushes and pushes until she gets what she’s after. Good day, sir. You’ll be hearing from me again … and if you get a letter from my mom, tell her I’m fine. And that I’ll contact her after I find my friend.”
Roger’s wife, a red-cheeked, plump woman with calloused fingertips and bitten-down nails, had thrown civilian clothes into the barn fifteen minutes after the Germans had left. Roger now led them along a dirt road toward who knew where. It grated on Eddie’s nerves not to know his exact location at all times.
He glanced up at the German planes circling overhead, and it took everything within him not to continue to watch them as they looked for signs of him and his crew.
His arm ached, but he refused to use the morphine. If it wasn’t sewn up soon, infection could set in. Then … well, he didn’t want to think about it, but then he might need the morphine more.
On the outskirts of town, Roger led them to a small shed. A young couple peered from the window but did not come out to welcome them.
Could they be trusted? Was this place safer than the barn? Eddie wasn’t sure, but what could he do? His head was spinning, and his legs felt weighed down as if by concrete boots. He had no choice but to trust. Lord, You know. You see all. Only You can hide us under the shadow of Your wings.
“Wait here. I come back after dark. After dinner.”
“And if you don’t come?” Eddie searched Roger’s tired, sad eyes.
“Then someone else will. Yes. I promise this.”
The door closed behind him. Eddie slid to the ground, leaning against a lumpy bag of potatoes. There wasn’t room to extend his legs, so he pulled them tight to his chest. Mary sank down beside him.
“And to think I gave up my lovely room with private bath in the Hotel Scribe for this. I could be sharing drinks with Ernest Hemingway right now.”
Eddie stretched his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m not Hemingway. I can’t compare when it comes to charming the ladies, but I am awfully cold.”
She slid next to him, tucking her head under his chin. “Yeah, navigator. If it weren’t for your quivering I’d think that was simply a new pick-up line—one that would make Hemingway proud.”
He felt his eyes growing heavy, and he let his chin rest on the top of her hair. She smelled like the hay from the farmer’s barn. Her closeness made his heart pound faster, despite his aching arm.
“Poor Eva,” Mary whispered. “Roger loved that pig.”
“Yeah, I knew we’d be safe then. I mean, if he was willing to sacrifice that …” He let his eyes close and felt his body relax. “I wonder where they’ll take us next?”
“I just hope we won’t be stuck in dark places like this for weeks, or maybe even months.”
“Could be.” He blew at a strand of her hair that was tickling his nose. “Just as long as we get out.”
“It doesn’t matter how long it takes…. We’ll make it, Eddie, I know we will.”
Eddie sighed, wishing he were as confident. Lord, please.
Just when they’d found a content place—asleep in each other’s arms—Roger had returned to lead them on another night excursion. But that was hours ago. Now the edges of dawn threatened to spill over onto the cold earth as they walked over the hard-packed snow. She could tell by Eddie’s shuffled footsteps that he wouldn’t be able to make it much farther. They came across a large rock wall, and Mary glanced up. How are we gonna get over this big boy?
Roger tugged at her arm. “This way. We follow the wall to the gate.”
Mary turned to Eddie, noticing the sweat pooling at his temples from pain. “Can you make it?”
“My arm’s throbbing. I really need to lie down. But, yes, I’ll do my best.”
When the gate opened up, they came upon a narrow road. In the spots where the snow had melted was pavement. They had walked a few hundred feet when the road turned and a large shadow loomed in front of them.
Mary paused at the sight of a huge structure rising up from the snow. It may have just been her imagination, but the fortress—or whatever it was—looked as if it would take up an entire New York City block.
She gasped when she spied Nazi flags still fluttering from the first row of windows. They’d been betrayed. They’d trusted this man, and he’d led them straight into the hands of the enemy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Get out of bed. Now!”
A screech and a flood of light interrupted Eddie’s sleep. He blinked. A woman with waist-long gray hair glowered over him in the antique bed he’d been so grateful to collapse into last night. The slit through the heavy curtains showed that it was still dark out.
“Did you not hear me? Out of bed now!” Although she spoke in English, the accent was strong. He thought she sounded French, but couldn’t tell if she was from France or Belgium.
In the doorway stood a broad-shouldered man, his frame blocking the view to the hallway.
Eddie scanned the room—tidy furnishings, Turkish rug, private bathroom. Where am I now? He tried to sweep the cobwebs from his memory. It had been dark when Roger led them away from the shed, but even that memory was blurred by the pain.
The castle. The kindly nun who welcomed us in. And Mary …
“Mary!” he shouted, struggling to his feet. “Where’s Mary! What have you done with her?”
The woman’s outstretched hand and intense gaze stopped Eddie in his tracks. “Nem.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said nem!”
The man from the doorway, fists clenched, took a step closer. Eddie, struggling to stand and meet the threat, hardened his face and straightened his shoulders.
“Don’t touch him!” Mary squeezed under the big man’s arm. Darting into the room, she ran to him, protectively standing in front of his injured arm.
This was it. They’d been captured. Unless …
Suddenly it hit him: He was being interrogated. He knew the procedure—what information to give and what to hold back—but he dared not glance at Mary. Lord, keep her silent.
“Lieutenant Edward Charles Anderson. 0-565390.”
The woman nodded. “Base? Squadron number?”
“I’m sorry, I cannot give that information.”
“Do you not realize? I am Magda. You have heard of me, yes? I have come to take you on the next leg of the journey, but I cannot do so without your base and squadron number.”
“I’m Lieutenant Edward Charles Anderson. 0-565390.”
“Squadron?”
Eddie tightened his lips.
“Base?”
He dared to fix his gaze on the woman’s dark brown eyes. “I cannot!”
“Do you not understand? I am here to help, but I cannot do so unless you give me the information I need.” She motioned to the man standing behind her.
“Eddie, please.” Mary took his hand. “Tell them. They’re here to help.”
“Quiet. This does not concern you.”
“Yes, Miss Kelley. We know who you are.” Magda pulled a folded newspaper from her pocket. The words had been torn away, but Mary’s face smiled up at them.
“At least tell us this. When is the day of your birth, Edward Anderson?”
“July 12, 1923. But you have to leave Mary out of this … she is no use to you.”
The woman’s face broke into a smile, as did the face of the large man standing behind him. “You are checked out, yes. This line has been infiltrated by German spies before, and we must ask these questions, you see? True American flyers know never to answer those other questions, and good thing you did not … for
we would have to kill you.”
The woman’s laughter filled the room, and she unwrapped her heavy coat, revealing a black dress with a patterned red scarf she used as a belt.
“Eddie, I need to talk to you. Alone.” Mary tugged on his good arm.
“Not now,” he said through clenched teeth, still unsure if he could trust the woman standing before him. When he tried to move Mary out of the way, pain shot through his arm, and he pulled it tight to his chest.
He approached the woman. “Where is the nun?”
The woman motioned to her bodyguard. “In the dining hall. In case we were forced to kill you. We would hate to have a bride of God witness such a thing.”
Mary’s thin hand grasped his forearm and squeezed. “Eddie …”
He turned and noticed Mary’s wide eyes, realizing she was serious. “Can you excuse us?”
“But of course.” Magda playfully glanced between the two. “I never want to intrude on lovers’ conversations.” She motioned to the man, and they stepped out and shut the door.
Mary sank onto the bed on top of the sheet still wrinkled from his sleep.
“That scarf. I know that scarf.”
“Excuse me?”
Mary ran her fingers through her matted hair, and Eddie couldn’t help but grin at her wide-eyed expression. Her fingers played on her lap, as if she were attempting to type out the right words across her mind.
“Eddie, I know this sounds nutty, but that scarf. There’s this friend—rather, a fellow reporter I know. She owned that very scarf. How could Lee have made this connection with the Resistance? Still, I wouldn’t put it past her.” She stood and clasped her hands in front of her chest. “We have to see if Magda can get word to Lee. She can help us.”
Arms of Deliverance Page 21
