Come from Away

by Genevieve Graham

  “Son, I know what it’s like when the memories and nightmares pull you under. Sometimes you can’t fight them. They get so strong—” Danny’s voice caught, but he kept on. “Over time it’ll get easier. It will; I promise.”

  Brushing tears from her cheeks, Grace got up and knelt by Norman’s side. His hand was cool despite the warmth of the room, so she pressed it between both of hers. “You’re a good brother and a good man, Norman. And we’re proud of you. And we will always, always love you.”

  He stared at her, his eyes shining, and she wondered if she might lose her own mind while trying to save his. The source of his pain was invisible, but it was so impossibly real she could feel it with him. He sat close, but she knew he was still thousands of miles away. How could she keep him safe if he couldn’t get home?

  Then Norman smiled. It wasn’t the smile of old, flashing with challenge, seeing humour in everything, but it was a beginning. Grace held in a sob, but it rose from her heart, swelled in her throat. At last, at last she could see him: her brave, stubborn brother, fighting his way back to them.

  THIRTY

  In spite of the war, things were looking up in Grace’s world. Norman was talking a bit more every day, and Rudi had devised a plan for the generator. During his rummaging, he had found another discarded piece of machinery—a large fan—and that had given him an idea. The next time she went to see him in the barn, he enthusiastically pointed out an old shack near the plant that wasn’t being used. After a few broken sentences, Grace realized he was saying the shack would be a perfect overflow space for salting and storing fish.

  “When generator is working, I take it to there and build fan. I am fixing shed to make tables and what he is needing.” Energized by the possibilities, he gestured to the various old pulleys and ropes hanging on the walls of the barn. “These rolle—”

  “Pulleys?”

  “Yes.” He grabbed his little English book and handed it to Grace. “Please? Pulley?” then he spelled the German word for her. “Yes. Thank you.” He rolled a small rope in his fingers. “This Seil . . .”

  “Rope?”

  “Ja, ja. Rope—” He wiggled a finger at the book and she wrote it down. “Rope is for putting together pulleys and making to turn.”

  “How can I help?”

  He waved a hand towards the other buildings. “You can make people not see?”

  While she ran interference, he spent the next day in the shed, and the work was done by supper. Early the next morning, before the sun had risen and any of the workers arrived, Grace and Rudi had gone together and started up the fan. The blades made their first few tentative rotations then sped up, lifting the air and humming with determination, tickling her face.

  “You did it!”

  She took an impulsive step towards him but stopped just before she could throw her arms around his neck. He saw her hesitation and reluctantly took a step back.

  “I’ll go get my dad,” she said.

  All the way up the dark path to the house she thought about Rudi, about how proud she was of his accomplishments, about how important he had become to her, and about how completely happy she was when she was with him. She allowed herself to imagine what might have happened had she embraced him just then—would he have kissed her? Would she have kissed him back?

  Muttering something vague about surprises, Grace dragged her father from the breakfast table, insisting he come and see something. Once he was at the shack, he stared in wonder at the fan, then the generator.

  A broad smile lit his face. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  “It was all Rudi’s idea. It’s for drying the fish.”

  “I can see that,” he replied. “How’d you get the old thing going again?”

  “Is not broken,” Rudi said, showing him.

  “Huh. Gummed up needle valve.” Danny gave Rudi a warm, almost paternal look of appreciation, and Grace wondered if it affected Rudi as it always did her. Yes—she saw him stand taller, bolstered by Danny’s recognition.

  “This cool air sure will be welcome come summertime,” her father said, raising his face to better feel it. “The workers will thank you.”

  “I am happy to help.”

  “Well, that’s good, because you sure seem to know what you’re doing.” He shook Rudi’s hand. “You know, I’m real glad things worked out like they did, Rudi. You were in a pretty rough spot for a while, and a lesser man might have abandoned ship. I, for one, am glad you stayed. Not only that, you’ve been doing great work around here.” He took a step towards the door, then looked back. “And when this damn war is all over, well, we’ll find a way to work this out so you won’t have to hide away all the time.”

  After he left, Rudi shot Grace a grin, which she returned.

  “Come on,” she said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

  The curtain of night had begun to lift, revealing the soft promise of daybreak. She grabbed a blanket from the house and led Rudi up a nearby hill, then she spread the wool plaid over the brittle winter grass. From here the view of trees, ice, and endless, indecisive layers of grey seemed to go on forever.

  “Is good place here. Very quiet,” Rudi said, settling onto the blanket beside her. He tilted his head to the side, towards the old house. “What house is this?”

  “My great-grandparents built it, but it’s falling apart. No one’s lived there for a long time.”

  He took in the view around them. “Good place for house.”

  Grace had always thought that. She’d lived here her whole life and never got tired of sitting here. Sharing it with him made it even better. In the distance she saw the haunting grey profile of a navy ship, then saw Rudi was watching it too. What was he thinking? Did he see friend or foe, or was he able to see it simply as a ship?

  “Must have been scary, living underwater.”

  It took a few seconds before he responded. “I do not like live underwater. All is same.” His fair eyebrows lifted. “Is more good here. I see beautiful things.”

  He certainly knew how to twist a phrase to his advantage, she thought for the hundredth time. “Do you really think you should be flirting with me?”

  “What is flirting?”

  “Like flattering. Trying to make me like you.”

  “I do not understand. You do not like this?” His eyes were like magnets. “You do not like me?”

  She hugged her knees to her chest, letting her head fall back so the sun warmed her face. “I do. I like you a lot. It’s just complicated.” Maybe she was being too tough on him. She lowered her chin, started again. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me what you were like before. When you were little, I mean. Living in Germany.”

  “When I was boy?” He shrugged. “I was good boy. I am playing Fußball—”

  “Football?”

  “Yes, and Eishockey, and also I like Boxen.” He held up his fist, jabbed it at an imaginary opponent. “You know this? Boxen?”

  “Were you good at it? At boxing?”

  “I am very good. On U-boat—” He stopped. “Is okay I tell boxing story if is on U-boat?”

  She nodded.

  “Sometimes we are Boxen when we come to surface,” he explained. “Men are in sub long time and we need moving, so we are fighting. We say ‘he win’ or ‘he win,’ and some men win money.”

  “You were betting on fights?”

  “Yes. Betting. And I,” he said proudly, allowing himself to boast, “I win every time.”

  She smirked. “You’re that good, huh?”

  In illustration, he drew his fists together, held them in front of his chin, then twisted his right shoulder forwards. His punch shot straight out, followed by a left roundhouse, then a sharp right upper cut. He was showing off, and she loved it.

  “You’re pretty fast.” She tried to sound unimpressed. “Norman was a boxer too.”

  He leaned back on his hands, looked towards the sunrise. They sat quietly, listening to the cries from the early birds as they circ
led overhead.

  “Is your name short for something?”

  “Means what?”

  “Rudi. Is that from a different name? A longer name?”

  “Ah. Yes. Rudolph. Mein Großvaters name.”

  “ ‘Gos Fata’?”

  “Ja, uh, my Vater has Vater . . . ?”

  “Grandfather! Oh, I like that,” she said. “I like when a child is named after someone. My name is just mine. Nothing special about it.”

  “Is pretty name. What means ‘grace’?”

  “My parents say it means ‘forgiveness.’ ”

  He waited for her to explain.

  “Forgiveness is when one person says they’re sorry, and the other person says okay.”

  “Ah,” he said, considering that. “So I am ask for grace, Grace.”

  The quiet simplicity of his request won her over. “Nicely done,” she replied. “Well, I . . . I think I will give it to you.”

  Satisfaction shone in his grin, and she couldn’t help giggling.

  “You are cold?” Rudi asked a moment later when she shivered. “Sun is coming but maybe we go inside.”

  The horizon was painted a vivid purple and pink, and it would bloom into scarlet before too long. She wanted to share it with him, but he was right. Besides, the workers would be arriving soon.

  “A little cold,” she admitted.

  Rudi got to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. When she stood beside him he kept her fingers entwined in his, and his touch felt both new and natural. She never wanted to let go. Seeking permission with his eyes, he raised her hands to his lips and gently kissed the back of one. She couldn’t look away, didn’t want to.

  “The best way to warm up is with a hug,” she suggested shyly, opening her arms.

  When he drew her to him, she inhaled the familiar wool of his coat, felt the warmth of his breath, and she remembered the last time he’d held her. They’d stood in the rain and she’d clung to him, sobbing for her dear brother and all the pain she couldn’t escape, and he’d kept her safe, helped her breathe again. Now she was there for something else.

  “Umarmung,” he said, and her breath caught at the sweet intimacy in his voice. “This is hug.”

  The wind whistled around them but never between, not until Rudi let go and brought his hands to her face. His mouth was inches from hers, and Grace closed her eyes, wanting so badly to feel his kiss.

  “Hey, Grace!”

  They jerked apart as if they’d felt an electric shock, and an awful sense of dread pooled in Grace’s stomach.

  “Oh, hey Linda,” she said, stepping even farther from him. “What are you doing up here?”

  Her friend had stopped short. “Well, well, well! I can’t believe what I’m seeing.” She walked towards them, intrigued. “Remember you told me to come over this morning? You said you got a new skirt, and I wanted to see it.”

  Grace could have kicked herself.

  “But you weren’t at the house. I didn’t realize . . .” She studied Rudi. “Do I know you?”

  Grace moved to lead her friend away from him. “Linda, sometimes you have the worst manners in the world.”

  “Hold on a second. I remember you,” Linda said, sidestepping her. “From the dance. It was dark, but I’d remember you anywhere. What did you say your name was?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, and Grace interrupted. “He didn’t.”

  Linda blinked, shocked. “Why, Grace! I’m surprised! You’re carrying on with a strange man? What’s gotten into you?”

  This was going too far. “He’s not a strange man. He’s my friend. We got to know each other at the store.”

  “Got to know each other?” Linda propped one hand on her hip. “I’ll say you did! You told me he’d come by the store a couple of times, but from what I just saw, this is a lot more than just a visit!”

  “Oh, never you mind. We were just saying goodbye before I went to work.”

  Then Rudi did what she’d been hoping he wouldn’t do: he spoke. “Yes,” he said. “I go to work now also. Have nice day, Grace.”

  A pause. “Is that a German accent?”

  Grace did everything she could to appear as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “Yeah, he’s from that settlement west of here, you remember them? He’s up this way trapping.”

  Linda wasn’t going to give up as long as Rudi was around.

  “Well, have a good day.” Grace shot him a warning look. “Maybe I’ll see you another time.”

  “Yes.” He gave Linda a small bow. “Is good to see you again.”

  After he left, Linda bubbled over with questions, but Grace couldn’t afford to get caught up in any lies. She waved a hand, dismissing the interrogation entirely.

  “Mind your own business,” she said. “If I wanted the world to know what I was doing I’d have taken out an advertisement in the newspaper, wouldn’t I?”

  “Well, he certainly is handsome,” Linda replied, watching Rudi head down the hill. “He’s really German?”

  “Yes, he is. Now I’ve already said I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want you to talk about it either. With anyone. It’s my own business, not yours. Come on. Let’s go see that skirt I bought. Maybe you’ll want to borrow it sometime.”

  They passed Tommy as they got close to the house. “Hey, Linda. I guess you met our secret house guest, huh?”

  Linda swivelled towards Grace. “Oh, he’s a guest and he’s secret, huh? I can’t believe it! Were you lying to me?”

  Tommy paled. I’m sorry, he mouthed to Grace.

  “What are you up to, hiding a German?”

  Grace’s heart was going a mile a minute. “Oh, Linda. I told you. He’s just a trapper. We’re friends is all. Nothing to get in a flap about.”

  “Is that right? So why’s he a secret?”

  “To avoid exactly this kind of thing.”

  Tommy stepped up. “He’s a good fellow. We’re just giving him a little help.”

  “Sure, except you’re not telling anyone about him. In my books that means you’re hiding him.” Her eyes narrowed. “You know, we’re supposed to report people for doing that kind of thing.”

  Grace did the only thing she could think of. “It’s not just me, Linda. We all decided it was the right thing to do—including Harry,” she blurted.

  It worked. Linda cooled noticeably at mention of her fiancé. “Really? Harry approved of this scheme?”

  “We all agreed. So you have to keep the secret too. He’d be so disappointed if it got out.”

  “Well,” Linda said, sweet as cherries. “If Harry wants it to be a secret, I’ll be the best secret keeper there is.”

  Rudi

  THIRTY-ONE

  Rudi started walking before he knew where he was going. He had to get out of there. He wasn’t supposed to have overheard that last conversation, but he’d been standing just behind the barn when Tommy accidentally said the wrong thing. Grace wouldn’t tell Rudi about it; she wouldn’t want him to know that his presence was putting her family in a precarious position.

  Hadn’t he’d always known this could happen? That the Bakers were putting themselves in danger with him there? But he’d allowed it to go on because he was so happy. That kind of selfish mistake wouldn’t happen again.

  It didn’t matter what he did, how many times he rejected his former life, he would always be Rudi the Nazi to these people. He could save a dozen Canadians from drowning, build a hundred sheds, fix a thousand generators, and he would still be the German spy. He should have escaped into the wilderness after he saved Tommy, found a way back home, but then Grace had come along, challenging him, thrilling him, and he’d just about decided he could live there after all. If she could ever love him—did he dare think that way?—maybe the others might someday be able to see beyond his past.

  But that was wishful thinking. He should save himself the effort of hoping for anything. No matter how Hitler’s forces were doing, now that he was in Canada, Rudi wa
s on the wrong side of a war. He would be forever labeled a German, a Nazi. It was a tattoo that would mark him until the day he died. A year ago, that wouldn’t have mattered. He had been proud to serve his country. But so much had happened since January. His world had been turned upside down. In his heart he knew he had changed, but the others couldn’t understand.

  He couldn’t offer himself up to the authorities now that Linda knew he was there. The Bakers could be called traitors for helping him, the men’s military reputations would be destroyed, and Grace would be humiliated. That simply wasn’t an option. What Rudi needed was to disappear. Could he live in hiding the rest of his life? If that was a possibility, where could he—

  Borgles Island. Grace had said the army had already checked it; no one had survived the explosion. The only people supposedly over there were the strange German couple from years before, and Rudi would leave them alone if he found them. Encouraged by the idea, he stepped up his pace, keen to get moving.

  Then he paused. It felt wrong, leaving Grace without a goodbye.

  She wouldn’t be at work for another hour or so, but he couldn’t wait for her. He was out of time. He pulled out the little book she’d given him, wondering how to write what he felt. How could he make her understand how difficult it was for him to leave her, how much it hurt to do it? He needed her to know that he’d kept his promise to her: he’d never told another lie. And he had to make sure she knew his feelings for her were true as well.

  Would she understand this was all for her? That he’d throw himself on a grenade before letting her be harmed in any way? He stared at his book, at a loss. Where were the words he needed? Even if he knew them, would they be right? How could he say so much in a letter? When he finally figured out what to say, the words that came to him were in his mother tongue, but he translated to English as best as he could. After signing his name, he folded the paper a few times and wrote her name on the outside, then he slipped the note under the shop’s door. When it was done, he peered through the window. It had spun across the floor and landed in an ideal spot; she couldn’t miss it.