Arms of Deliverance

by Tricia N. Goyer

Lee crossed her arms over her chest. “Really? Think so?” She turned to the building and smiled. “Yeah, well, I’m sort of taken by him too. I’ll keep my end of the bargain if you keep yours.”

  Eddie nodded. “It’s a deal.”

  With a wide grin, Lee reached in and shook Mary awake. “Hey you, lazybones. There’s some bigwig inside who wants to debrief you. But first, we need to get you out of those clothes and into something with style.”

  Mary opened her eyes, kissed the top of Samuel’s head, and stretched. She climbed out of the backseat. “Speaking of style, you wouldn’t happen to be assisting some certain French people, would you?”

  Lee felt her jaw drop. “How did you know? You are a good reporter.”

  “It was a scarf. One of the underground workers had this red scarf that she used as a belt. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was from you. I just knew you’d found a way of helping.”

  “What? I don’t get it, Mare. I did have an orange-and-yellow scarf. But I gave it to this lady. She approached me in Paris, you see, told me her sister and her children were nearly starving. She wondered if I could make a few … how can I say it? … donations to their cause.”

  Mary’s eyebrows furrowed. “So your stuff didn’t go to the underground?”

  “Well, there were a few things I carried over for the underground, but all my personal things went to the family.”

  “And you didn’t have a red scarf?”

  “Nope.” Lee wrapped her arm around Mary’s shoulder. “But hey, whatever worked to put me on your mind, I suppose.”

  “God works in mysterious ways,” Eddie chuckled. “You see … I told you it was too much of a long shot to be true.”

  “Yeah, but you have to give me credit. I got us out of there.”

  “Ah-hem? Who got you out of there?” Lee squeezed Mary’s shoulder tighter.

  Mary laughed. “You’re right. Thanks, friend. I owe you one.”

  It wasn’t until she was safely back in her room at the Hotel Savoy, back in England, that Mary remembered the envelope that Sister Clarence had given her. It was the letter from Samuel’s mother.

  Dear Eddie and Mary,

  My words cannot express how difficult it is for me to ask Sister Clarence to pen this letter. During the month after his birth, I prayed for arms of deliverance for my son. Unable to even lift my own arms to hold him, I prayed for loving ones to carry him away where he would be safe and would have a hope for the future.

  As Sister Clarence told you, I almost lost my life—twice. Yet for some reason my loving God spared me.

  My father and mother gave me a chance to live when they placed me into the hands of another to care for me. And I know the extent of their love, as I am now doing the same with my son, Samuel.

  My son is named after my father. In the following pages is a short list of our family history. As far as I know, I could be the last of my family’s bloodline. Please let Samuel know that he comes from a long line of people who served God with all their hearts.

  Sister Clarence assures me you are loving people. Thank you for caring for Samuel as you would a child of your own flesh. And know that every day that passes, I will be lifting you in my prayers.

  It is with tears streaming down my face that I ask Sister Clarence to close this letter for me. Tears of missing my baby, but also tears of hope. And perhaps someday, if my heavenly Father chooses to heal me, I will come and see my son again … see the good man I know he’ll grow to be.

  With all the love a mother’s heart can hold,

  Rebecca

  Mary wiped her face where her own tears had already begun to fall. She couldn’t imagine such a sacrifice. She strode to the cradle and knelt before it. May I be found worthy. May I be the mother this child deserves.

  Samuel slept in the small cradle Mary and Eddie had purchased for him. Since Eddie’s arm was still being cared for at the base hospital, they agreed Mary would take care of the baby until after his discharge. Then … Mary didn’t know what would happen after that, but she hoped they’d find a way to be together. And although he didn’t say it, Mary could see from Eddie’s teary-eyed gaze as he gave them one last kiss good-bye that he felt the same.

  She knew she’d be able to raise Sammy with help. From her mother. From Eddie. Auntie Lee had even volunteered to baby-sit now and then, after she made it back from the front lines. And then there was Paul and … her father.

  She’d already talked to Donald twice since making it to safety. And a smile filled her face as she realized they both hoped to move past the “what should have been,” focusing instead on “what can be.”

  She unfolded the newspaper article she’d read over a dozen times already and scanned it yet again. The photo was one of her and Donald that they’d taken at the World’s Fair. As they stood side by side, posing for a guy with a camera who hoped to make a buck, Donald’s hand held her elbow. Each seemed unsure of how close the other was willing to lean in. Still, it was clear from their eyes that they were both happy … and hopeful.

  Mary touched her pendant and read the opening paragraph once more.

  A Daughter Lost

  By Donald Miller

  The old adage is true that a person doesn’t realize what he has until he loses it. And I feel that way about my daughter—the one most of this world never knew I had. I suppose fear was the very thing that kept us apart all these years. My fear I wouldn’t be the father she deserves. But now, I suppose, my greatest fear is that I will never again be given the chance to try.

  My daughter, Mary Kelley, was an ETO correspondent reporting on the bombing raid over Berlin in the aircraft Destiny’s Child….

  The article gave information about the mission, a plea for help from ground crews, and even a reward. Mary smiled, wondering just what Charlie and Howie were doing with all that money. At first, she’d insisted Eddie should get some too. He was her navigator, after all. But he’d refused.

  “You’re kidding, right?” he’d said, placing a dozen kisses on her forehead. “I have all the reward right here wrapped up in your love.”

  What a sap…. Oh, how I miss that guy.

  “Just a few months and we’ll see him again,” Mary whispered to Samuel, who was beginning to stir. “Then after that, who knows? Maybe we’ll all be together for a lifetime.” She lifted him from his cradle, and Samuel rewarded her with a smile. “Would you like that, Sammy, would ya? I know I would.”

  Eddie woke with a start, his heart pounding. Samuel, Mary, where are they? Then he remembered. They’re safe….

  They’re gone.

  Though hundreds of men still lived on the airfield, Eddie felt a huge void somewhere around his heart. He had never felt lonelier. Or more timid. I thought I was the strong one. Maybe the strength wasn’t mine all along, but Mary’s.

  “Hey, Vinny,” Eddie called, tossing his pillow across the room. “If you were to propose, how would you do it?”

  “Propose? To which one? I have a half-dozen girls I can’t live without….”

  “No, stupid. Me.”

  “You want me to propose to you?”

  “Vinny, come on. Any idea how I should propose to Mary?”

  Vinny moaned and rubbed his sleepy eyes. “I was wondering when you were going to ask that question.” He thought for a moment, then grinned. “I know. I’d re-create the first moment you met. Or the first time you knew you’d fallen for her. Get it … fallen for her …”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.” Eddie sat up straighter on his bed.

  “Think of something she’d never expect. What would mean the most to her? Is there anything special she talked about when you were together?”

  “I think you’re on to something.” Eddie rapped the side of his head with his knuckles. “Not something, but someone. Yeah, Vinny, that’s the perfect plan.”

  Vinny groaned, turned over, and pulled his blankets over his head. “Now can I go back to sleep?”

  A short knock sounded at Mary’s door, then it ope
ned. “Hey, little lady? Are you interested in a really great story?”

  Mary was rocking the baby’s cradle with her foot as her fingers busily pounded the typewriter keys. She continued a few seconds longer as if finishing a thought. Then she suddenly froze, the sound of Eddie’s voice finally wending its way to her consciousness.

  “Eddie? Is that you?” She jumped from the chair and flew into his arms. “Oh, my goodness. What are you doing here? You said now that your arm was better, you were going home. Being shipped out.”

  “Heck, I figured, what’s the use, when every thought would still remain over here with you? Now that my arm’s nearly good as new, I’ve signed on for just long enough for you to wrap things up. And maybe enough time to throw in a wedding here in England.”

  “A wedding? Eddie, are you serious? I—I don’t know what to say.”

  There was another knock at the door, and a smiling face peeked around the corner. Donald.

  “Say yes, of course. And will you give me the honor of walking you down the aisle?”

  Mary’s trembling fingers covered her mouth. “Yes—yes to both of you!” Then she swung an arm around each of their necks.

  “Thank you,” she whispered into Eddie’s ear, then kissed his cheek. “You’ve just made me the happiest girl in the world, twice over.”

  One month to the day that Mary Kelley, ETO Correspondent, had joined the crew of Destiny’s Child on a bombing raid over Berlin, Eddie stood at the altar of a small army chapel back at Bassingbourn, waiting for his bride to walk down the aisle. He knew some would question how after such a short period of time they could know for sure they were meant for each other. Yet, he knew if he and Mary could escape enemy territory with a madman chasing them and an infant in tow, then they could weather anything this world would toss them.

  Vinny, Adam, and Marty stood by Eddie’s side. Jack the Crew Chief had made it too.

  Word had it five other crew members from Destiny’s Child, including José, were “safe” in a POW camp, waiting out the war. Eddie prayed every night for the end to come quickly. He knew he’d only feel relief once he saw those guys’ faces and hugged each one—well, at least gave each a slug in the shoulder.

  The organ started, and his heart pounded as Mary appeared on her father’s arm. She glanced at Eddie adoringly; then her father leaned down and whispered something in Mary’s ear, making her smile broaden even wider.

  They’d thought about waiting until Lee could be here, but last they heard she was on the front lines reporting on the Battle of the Bulge, with no plans of heading back to England anytime soon. Still, thanks to her, the front of the chapel was so filled with flowers that Eddie and the chaplain barely had room to stand. And his bride strode forward in a satin designer gown that only someone with connections could find in war-torn London.

  He thought of his own family back in Montana, knowing they’d give a shindig like the county had never seen once they made it back. And as for Mary’s mother … well, somehow Donald had used his influence to get her across the pond for this blessed event. She sat in the front row, bouncing Samuel on her knee and beaming. Eddie couldn’t wait to pull her aside and thank her for raising such a wonderful girl. But now, his bride approached. And his heart swelled as he reached out his hand for hers.

  “My bride,” Eddie whispered, taking her hand. “My beautiful bride.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Patrick drove their jeep through Weimar—just one of many cities they’d passed through as they kept pace with Patton’s Third Army. Lee remembered reading somewhere how the German town had been known for centuries for its cultural life.

  “Did you know Goethe lived in Weimar? Bach too,” Lee said as they drove through the streets now controlled by the American army.

  “Well, if you ask me, they’ve really let the place go,” he said, glancing around at the bombed-out buildings and roads pocked by artillery shells. Following the directions they’d been given, he drove them out of town to a forested area high above the city.

  The narrow, battle-scarred road was lined with bodies—both American in their army-green fatigues and Germans in their black uniforms. Yet their faces looked the same. Boys from Kansas, California, Vermont. And the last available males from the Nazi empire.

  Lee’s heart sank to see the boys from Hitler Youth, the shining stars of the Reich, lying dead in the mud. Most looked too young to even shave. Lee thought about their mothers, sisters. Yeah, they were the enemy, but the human pain was the same.

  She took out her notepad and tried to jot things down, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the sight before her. It’s not like she would forget anything. The war showed promise of ending soon. Yet she had a feeling this was just the start of her looking at the world in a whole new way.

  She and Patrick had seen a lot already, spending hours together in this jeep. They’d witnessed German cities reduced to rubble and swarming with recently freed slave laborers—Polish, Russians, and French, whose scarecrow-like bodies were consumed with the idea of returning home.

  The two had been a little too close to the action for comfort a time or two, finding themselves in artillery barrages far worse than the one witnessed at St. Vith. And now they were on the way to a different type of horror. The nearby Buchenwald camp had been liberated only hours before, and they were being called in as witnesses for the world.

  Lee had learned to travel light and now carried only her typewriter, a sleeping bag, and a few extra clothes. She glanced down at her fingernails and grimaced, wondering what her New York manicurist would say if she saw them in such a condition.

  She wrinkled her nose, thinking of what she’d come to refer to as the old Lee. The human courage, sacrifice, and selflessness she’d seen in the scores of young soldiers and nurses had changed her. The carnage, the deaths—they weren’t simply something to investigate for a story, to prop up her career. These were real lives. Dying men, wanting nothing more than to see their mothers’ faces one more time—they had shown her that.

  Mary had shown her too. Seeing her fellow journalist waving her off from the hotel lobby, when Lee could have been setting off for the story of a lifetime, had affected her. And so had seeing Mary cuddle that small child in her arms. It caused a yearning Lee hadn’t known existed until now.

  She glanced over at Patrick Jessup, realizing how much she cared for the guy. He was a simple man but kind. A good man. One she could imagine spending the rest of her life with.

  The jeep slowed, and the new April grass and flowers seemed to fade the closer they got to the tall, gray walls of the camp. Though the sky was blue overhead, a dimness hung over the camp that was hard to describe.

  Patrick looked to her with a questioning gaze. “Sure you wanna do this, Lee?”

  Her fingers fiddled with the door handle. “Do you think it’s as bad inside as they say?”

  A heavy, putrid order filled the air, smelling of rotting meat.

  Patrick brushed away a fly that attempted to land on his face. “If that stench has anything to do with it, I believe it might even be worse than what we’ve heard.” He grabbed up his camera from the space between their seats and climbed out. Lee followed.

  When they approached the gate, a weary-looking American GI waved them forward. “You the reporters?”

  Patrick nodded.

  “Commander’s been waiting for you.”

  Lee took two steps inside the gate, and wasn’t sure she’d be able to go on. Thin bodies moved toward her, their arms outstretched. Smiles cracked on skeletal faces, and a compassion Lee didn’t know existed flooded over her. She slipped her notebook into her pocket and extended her hands to the frail man closest to her. He jabbered on in a language she couldn’t understand, yet she knew the meaning. Tears streamed down her face as his cracked lips kissed her hands over and over again. The next man did the same, and soon a line began to form.

  “I never imagined … Never thought … How am I to help the world to understand?” She tu
rned to Patrick.

  “This is what we’ve been fighting for,” Patrick answered. “That’s what you’re going to tell them. They’ve sacrificed a lot. Their sons. Their way of life for a time.”

  Lee approached the next frail prisoner in line and opened her arms, letting his head fall on her shoulder.

  The world needed to know, and she would be the voice to tell them. There was no pride in that. She’d been through too much to believe she was anything special. But there was honor in knowing that she’d been chosen, despite her frailties and fears.

  Or maybe because of them.

  “Rebecca, you’ve received a letter. It’s from Mary Anderson.” Sister Clarence hurried into the side room of the church—Rebecca’s room—the fabric of her habit swooshing with every step. She stopped at the side of Rebecca’s wheeled chair.

  “She’s sent a photo of Samuel, all the way from Montana, America. Look, he’s sitting on a pony!” Sister Clarence pulled another slip of paper from the envelope. “And here’s a newspaper clipping too. It looks like she’s an editor of a paper in Montana. She’s translated it for us. Would you like me to read the story?”

  Rebecca tilted her head so the light from the window kissed her cheek. Outside the maple leaves were beginning to turn into golden red, and as they dropped from the trees they danced like the ballerinas that used to perform at the National Theater in Prague. Running through the leaves was a group of ten Belgian children, laughing and shouting.

  “Or would you like me to read the letter? Oh, look, Eddie wrote a short note too.”

  “I can’t wait to hear the news, but we’d better wait until after story time,” Rebecca laughed. “I don’t think the kids will be patient enough to wait. But can you prop Samuel’s photo up on this table so I can see it better? I do think he has my smile.”

  Rebecca’s throat grew thick, and she felt her eyes filling up with tears, until the smiling face of her son was no longer clear.

  She closed her eyes, and Sister Clarence brushed her tears away. In her mind’s eye Rebecca remembered her father’s hand in her own. And remembered how he had released it, sending her away.