by Diane Moody
As she swept the last specks of dust into the shallow pan, she heard voices coming from the front of the pub. Raised voices. Or were they from back in the alley? She took the loaded dustpan to the back door, thinking she’d dump it out in the alley. That’s when she heard a scream.
Sophie!
Anya threw open the back door as a peal of thunder cracked overhead, and with it a sudden downpour. She cupped a hand over her eyes, trying to see through the rain and darkness.
Another scream. This one cut short by a loud smacking sound. A commotion in the far corner of the alley caught her eye. The dustpan clattered on the gravel as she rushed toward the two people fighting.
“ANYA!”
As she closed in on them, she could see the tall image bent over Sophie pinning her left arm to her body, the other dangling helplessly.
“HEY! Leave her alo—”
WHACK!
A fist smashed into Anya’s jaw and sent her reeling. She landed hard, sprawled in a heap on the puddled gravel as white stars danced in her eyes.
“ANYA! HEL—”
WHACK!
Sophie’s cry stopped.
“SHUT UP!” a man’s voice shouted. “Both of you, just SHUT YOUR—”
Anya pounced on his back, locking her arm in a vise around his throat. He let go of Sophie, dropping her as he straightened. He grabbed at Anya’s arm with both his hands. She clung tighter, but her rain-soaked arm kept sliding off his slippery neck.
“Get OFF ME!” he roared, spinning and bending over in an attempt to throw her off his back.
She held tight, both arms wrapped around his throat as she squeezed as hard as she could. He clawed at her, ripping her blouse, then yanking a handful of hair in a grip so hard, it sent her flying against the stone fence with a howl of pain.
“ANYA! LOOK OUT!” Sophie cried.
As she tried to stand, he was already rushing toward her headfirst. In a split second, she rolled out of his trajectory, causing him to lose his balance, unable to stop. His head smashed into the craggy stone fence. A flash of lightning showed his bloodied face as he spun around groping for her. He reached out just as she ran at him like a runaway locomotive, her head aimed right at his gut. She heard the whoosh of air leave his lungs as he fell to his knees, rocking and reeling as he fought to right himself.
She thought she heard voices calling her name, but she couldn’t stop. Not until the beast was dead. Still rocking on his knees, he was more accessible, so she locked her arm around his neck again. With every ounce of her strength, she jerked it hard one way then the other, the snaps rendering his body limp. He fell forward, landing face first on the gravel.
Charlie reached her as she scrabbled backward away from the brute’s body.
“Anya! Are you all right?” He reached out to steady her, but she jumped back, batting his hand away.
“Anya, honey, it’s me—Charlie!” He raised his palms to reassure her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She stared at him, then down at the man she’d just killed.
“Charlie!” Patrick said, his voice urgent. “Give me a hand here. It’s Sophie!”
Charlie rushed to his side, bent over Sophie in the dark corner of the alley. Anya heard them talking but couldn’t understand a word because of the pounding inside her head. She covered her ears, trying to stop it; her chest still heaving in search of a breath.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blank the image of the body just inches from her. Opening them, she forced her eyes toward her friends.
Sophie cried out in pain as Charlie lifted her off the ground. “It’s my arm.” She tried to stand on her own, looking up as Anya approached her. “Oh, Anya! Are you all right?”
Anya stared at her friend, her right eye already swollen, her blouse ripped off one shoulder. She couldn’t bear it, the thought of what might have happened. What if she hadn’t stopped to sweep that last pile of dirt in the kitchen? Hadn’t heard Sophie’s cry for help? Hadn’t stopped the beast from—
She bent over and vomited so hard, she nearly passed out.
A moment later, she did.
25
28 September 1945
Every inch of her body ached. Anya pried open her eyes, startled at her surroundings. Tiny slivers of morning light squeezed their way past boarded-up windows. That’s when she remembered where she was. The control tower beside the perimeter track on the grounds of the 390th. She’d hidden beneath a built-in counter on the second floor after running there last night through driving sheets of rain.
Grateful to find an unlocked door at the back of the building, she’d felt her way blindly through the small rooms, then eased her way up the stairs to the second floor. There she found a couple of old farm jackets among the odds and ends left behind. She rolled one of them for a pillow, and used the other as a cover against the night chill. Each carried the lingering scent of pipe tobacco; strangely comforting as she tried to stop shivering and blot out what had happened.
Taking off from the pub in the middle of the night had been rash. The memories fluttered through her mind now, leaving behind a wake of profound fear. She tried to get up, refusing to let it paralyze her for a single moment. But the effort proved excruciating, her head spinning as she lay back down, stuffing the jacket beneath her head again. Tears fell from her eyes, trickling down toward her ears as she tried to make herself relax.
Oh Danny. What have I done?
She reached for the charms of her bracelet—it wasn’t there! No, no, no! She pulled herself up, crying out from the pain of her bruised ribs. She felt around the dirty floor, searching, patting, hoping to find it here somewhere. Please be here. Please! But she knew better. More than likely, she’d lost it during the scuffle in the alley behind the pub.
Its absence grieved her, stealing the last ounce of her strength. She lay back down and curled up on her side, consumed with sorrow. Would it never end? Was the rest of her life destined to be nothing more than a series of ugly messes and constant heartache?
She shook away the thoughts and the anger roiling in her gut, unwilling to give in to them. Unwilling to let them defeat her. Unwilling to let them paralyze her. She covered her face with her hands and forced them from her mind.
Sophie!
Was she all right? Had they kept her overnight at the hospital? Had she sustained other injuries, apart from her broken arm? When the ambulance rounded the corner and came to a stop in the alley, Anya had panicked and slipped away into the darkness.
Some friend you are.
Killing the soldier had come so naturally, it terrified her. She could still feel the snap of his neck and his body going limp. And with it, the immediate realization she might never see Danny again. The authorities would never allow her on one of those war bride ships after what she’d done. Never mind that she was trying to protect Sophie. All that would matter was the fact that a Dutch girl had killed a British soldier.
Downstairs, a door creaked open. Anya sat up, the room spinning around her. She clamped her hands on her head, willing the dizziness away. As she tried to get up, she heard a muffled voice. Her heart hammered hard against her chest as she searched for an escape. No way out except by the main stairway?
The rooftop!
She crawled out, then crouched down low as she tiptoed toward the door leading outside to the tower’s rooftop observation deck. She carefully reached for the doorknob and turned, realizing her mistake a split second too late. A shaft of light blinded her as she pushed it open, her hands instinctively covering her eyes.
“Anya!”
She turned, her eyes narrowing as she tried to regain her focus.
The overhead lights flickered on. “Anya, it’s me, Charlie.”
“Charlie?”
Suddenly he was before her, reaching out to clasp her shoulders. “What are you doing here? We’ve been worried sick!”
“I didn’t … I was—”
He caught her
as she swayed, wrapping his arm beneath hers. She gasped as it pressed against her ribs.
“Whoa, take it easy. Come sit down. Are you hurt?”
He helped her over to the counter, then eased her up to sit on it. “Let me take a look at you.”
“Sophie? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. She has a broken arm, but otherwise she’s okay. The doctor insisted on keeping her overnight, but she’ll be just fine. Mostly she’s worried about you. One moment the ambulance was pulling up, and the next, you were gone. Why did you run?”
“Why do you think, Charlie? I killed a man! A British soldier! They’ll put me in prison for the rest of my life—”
“But—”
“—or ship me back to Holland if I’m found. They’ll never let me go to America, don’t you see?”
“But you didn’t kill him, Anya. He’s alive.”
She blinked. “What? Of course, I did. I felt him go limp when I snapped his neck! There’s no way he could have survived that.”
“Well sure, you temporarily paralyzed him, but you didn’t kill him. The doctors seem to think he’ll regain use of his legs at some point. And for the record, he’s not a British soldier. Why did you think that?”
“Because he was wearing a uniform. And the pub was filled with soldiers last night. I assumed he was one of them.”
“No, according to Patrick, he went AWOL over a year ago, which explains the uniform. He just showed up in town last week. He’s one of the Roberts boys from the village. His name is Clay. Mean as a snake, from what I’m told.”
“What does this mean—a wall?”
“A-W-O-L. Absent without leave. At least, that’s what we call it in the American military.”
“Is he in hospital?”
“Yes, and he’ll be there a long time.”
“But surely it’s not the same hospital Sophie’s in? Is someone guarding her? Is Patrick with her? Someone has to—”
“Anya, calm down. You need to take a deep breath and relax. Sophie’s fine. Patrick is with her until I get back. We won’t leave her alone. Roberts is on another floor, and there’s a guard posted outside his room. And since he’s unable to move, you don’t need to worry about him right now. Why don’t you come with me so we can let the doctor have a look at you?”
“No. I’m not going. I can’t.”
“But your face and arms are bruised, and your ribs are obviously injured. You’re white as a ghost, Anya. Just let the doctor check you over to make sure you don’t have any serious internal injuries.”
“I don’t know, Charlie.” She dropped her head in her hands. “I need to think. There’s just too much at stake. Are the constables looking for me?”
When he didn’t answer, she looked up and found his blue eyes searching hers.
“Yes, they are. But it’s for your own protection.”
“Somehow I doubt that. Don’t you see? If I’m arrested or accused of assaulting that man, it could jeopardize my leaving. I could be stuck here forever.” She stared at him, expecting an answer.
Then finally, “Look, you’ll just have to trust me. You’re not going to be arrested. We told the authorities exactly what happened, how you were trying to protect Sophie. When I tell you they want to protect you, it’s with good reason. This Roberts family is apparently a rough bunch of good-for-nothing thugs who like to throw their weight around. They’re bullies, always looking for a fight. Which is why the police sergeant wants to talk to you, and find somewhere safe where they can’t find you.”
Anya groaned. “I don’t know, Charlie. I don’t know. I can’t think straight, I’m so tired.”
He came alongside her and gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Then let me do your thinking for you. Let me take you somewhere safe so you can rest.”
After a long moment, she sighed. “I suppose I have no choice.” She grimaced as she stood. “Wait—how did you know where to find me?”
His dimples deepened with his smile. “I’m smarter than I look.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just figured you’d hide somewhere on the base, and where better than the control tower?”
She took a deep breath and tried to straighten her aching back. “I should have known you’d figure it out.”
“Besides, I gave Danny my word that I’d take care of you in his absence. And that means I’ll do everything in my power to get you on one of those boats sailing for America. Fair enough?”
She made no effort to smile, but appreciated his attempts to cheer her. “Fair enough.”
As he helped her walk, she paused. “Wait—I’ve lost my bracelet. The one Danny gave me with the silver charms.”
He looked around, the dim lighting not helping him search. “You mean here? You lost it here?”
“I don’t know. Probably not. I tried to find it just a few minutes before you came, but I don’t think it’s here.”
“When was the last time you remember seeing it?”
“I know I had it on while I was working at the pub last night. Do you suppose it might have come off when … when I—” He guided her toward the stairs. “When we get back to the pub, I’ll take a look out back in the alley.”
“But what if it’s not there?”
“Don’t worry about that right now. We’ll find it. If I have to get down on my hands and knees, we’ll find it.”
Anya was surprised by the kind demeanor and concern of Framlingham’s police sergeant. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the grandfatherly Sergeant William Ketner put her immediately at ease.
“As Lieutenant Janssen told you, we’re always aware of the trouble that stirs up whenever these Roberts boys show up. We’ve had run-ins with the family for years. Their mother died when they were little tykes, and their father let them run wild. He’s a drunk, and raised them to follow in his footsteps. Which is why we keep a close eye on them.
“I was told you gave Clayton Roberts quite a beating, young lady.” A slight smile edged his lips. “I’m sure he had it coming. But I’m curious. Where did a young woman like you learn to fight off a big, nasty brute like Clay Roberts?”
Anya glanced over at Charlie. He nodded, encouraging her to answer.
“I served with the Dutch Resistance for many years.”
He nodded. “I see.”
“We were taught how to defend ourselves and how to … eliminate hostiles.”
He said nothing for a moment. Then, “Mrs. McClain, I’m sure you did what you had to do. Nothing to be ashamed about. It may be the ugly side of war, but you survived. And that is something to be thankful—”
“Yes, but you see, the war is over, and I tried to kill him,” she blurted. “I wanted to kill him. It was as if I couldn’t stop myself. I hadn’t even thought it through. I just did it. As though I had no control whatsoever over my reaction, I just tried to kill him.” She moved her gaze to her hands, trying to still them. “And it scares me … to think I could do it without so much as a single thought.”
Ketner came around his desk and pulled up a chair beside hers.
“Mrs. McClain—Anya. We have all done things these past few years that we never imagined ourselves doing. You must have been quite young when the Germans occupied your homeland. It is unspeakable, the atrocities they inflicted on your country and so many others. And just because the war is over and the skies are no longer filled with bombers, or the roads cluttered with armored tanks, no one expected the trauma to disappear overnight. It takes time. For some, lots of time. But one day you will realize that knee-jerk reaction to strike out has abated, and you will once again breathe a sigh of relief in knowing you’ve overcome the hurt and the heartache you’ve experienced. Not forgotten—just overcome. Does that make sense to you?”
Anya nodded as she looked up. The compassion in his eyes had an immediate calming effect on her.
He patted her hand then stood
up and returned to his seat behind the desk. “But the immediate problem before us is this Roberts family. Once Clay is alert, we’ll read him his rights and arrest him. Then once he’s recovered sufficiently, he’ll be moved to a cell here and prosecuted for assault. And much as I’d like to, I can’t lock up his father and brothers, which means you are a potential target.”
Ketner tented his fingers and turned his attention to Charlie. “As are you and your wife and Patrick, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve had that same thought,” Charlie said. “We’ll be more vigilant, keep our eyes open for them.”
“I’ll have my men stop by more often, be more visible. Hopefully, that will keep them at bay.”
“We’d appreciate that.”
“But as for you, Mrs. McClain, I wonder if you might have somewhere else to go for a few weeks.”
“What?”
“I’m concerned for your safety. While the rest of the town no doubt applauds your efforts to take down the likes of Clay Roberts, the fact remains that he comes from a large and violent family. Short of keeping you under lock and key, I’m not altogether certain we can protect you from them. They’re a crafty bunch who’ve been able to dodge us on numerous occasions. I’d rather not risk you getting attacked, or worse. I understand you’re awaiting passage to join your husband in the United States? Do you have any idea when that might happen?”
“No, none at all. I would have thought long before now. It seems everything we hear contradicts what we’ve been told previously.”
“I’m not surprised. Quite a lot of you war brides, I’m told.”
“Anya, what about your friend in London?” Charlie asked.
