by Kate Breslin
He recapped the bottle, and the three resumed their trek, stopping twice more so Petit could catch his breath while Colin and Johanna gazed out at the panoramic view of forested rock, and farther below, the green valley.
They soon reached the cave entrance—a single wooden door embedded in rock—and Colin drew in a sharp breath. A large metal sign hung overhead: Coves de Sant Sever.
He wondered how wide the cave was inside, and as they approached the door, he saw a sign posted in both French and Spanish:
DANGER OF FALLING ROCK. CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
“We are not going in there.” Colin drew Johanna back as he glared at Petit.
“Relax, Lieutenant.” He pointed toward the sign. “My handiwork. I came out yesterday and posted the warning to keep hikers and tourists away during our meeting. I assure you, it’s nothing to worry about.”
Petit slid the rucksack off his shoulder, reached inside, and withdrew a circular-shaped disk attached to a cord.
“What is that, Mr. Petit?”
“Flashlight.” He held it up to Johanna. “The Germans call them dynamos, and they use them in the field. You slip the cord around your neck and wear the disk at chest level, like so.” Removing his hat, he slipped the corded device over his head, then demonstrated how to turn the flashlight on and off using a small pull chain below the disk.
Colin had seen the devices before. Petit retrieved two more from the rucksack, handing the first light to Johanna and the last to him. “Makes it hands free, Lieutenant.”
Taking the device, he offered Petit a grudging nod of thanks.
“You’re welcome.” Petit’s gaze held amused satisfaction. “G-2 confiscated these from our prisoners of war.”
Nerves taut, Colin barely acknowledged the comment, though he was relieved for the concession. At least now he’d have the use of his hand as well as the hook.
Once they had donned the lights, Petit opened the entrance door to the caves. “Shall we?”
Colin’s skin prickled as Johanna picked up her kit bag and turned in his direction. “Colin, are you ready?”
He nodded, not daring to speak. Petit held the door as Johanna went inside first; then he quickly followed her into the blackness.
Colin grabbed for the open door, watching the twin beams of light bounce off the rock before they disappeared from view. His feet seemed stuck and his breathing rapid. Already dampness clung to the back of his shirt.
His heart was banging in his chest as he fought to push down panic, and his mind frantically grasped for the words to the psalm he’d repeated for days in the tunnel: I love the Lord, for he heard my voice; he heard my cry for mercy. . . .
“Dear God, please help me,” he groaned, forging into the nothingness.
CHAPTER
27
BARCELONA, SPAIN
Odette sat at the vanity in her hotel room, brushing her hair to a fine sheen. It was barely nine o’clock in the morning, but with being so busy helping Johanna Reyer into the mourning clothes and then tending to Kepler in his vulnerable state, she hadn’t had time to freshen up.
Giving her hair a few more brush strokes, she considered the young woman about to meet her father. Odette knew Johanna hadn’t seen him since childhood, and she hoped for her sake that it would be a wonderful reunion.
After all, it was important for a daughter to have some precious moments with her father. Odette herself enjoyed time with her own papa, a sous-chef in Paris. They spent many happy hours together, sharing their love of cooking and playing cards.
She smiled into the mirror, thinking of the many times she and Papa had played piquet until dawn, trying to match wits!
Surely Johanna deserved such memories, too.
After setting down her brush, Odette reached for the tin of loose face powder, and using her puff, she dabbed away the dampness at her brow and smoothed out the color around her nose and chin. She was faithful about using the cold-cream treatments each night before bed, but she’d been somewhat lax with the powder, since much of the time her face had been shielded behind the veil.
But no more. Again she smiled at her reflection, turning her head from side to side, satisfied with the results. She was glad to finally be free of the shroud she’d been forced to wear over the past three months and felt empathy for those heavily veiled Middle Eastern women she’d seen in magazines.
And to think she once complained about all of her heavy stage makeup! Odette shook her head. She missed her acting terribly and looked forward to returning to the stage, where she would rise to stardom just as her amoureux had promised her. He’d told her they could live anywhere she chose—Mexico City, New York, even Buenos Aires, as he’d suggested. Whatever she wanted would be hers, and Odette knew the theater was where she was destined to be.
Closing the powder tin, she reached for her bottle of lilac water. Odette began dabbing a few drops behind her ears when a hard thump against the wall jarred her vanity mirror. She paused, listening, and another bump struck the wall, this time harder.
Odette realized the noise was coming from Kepler’s room next door.
He’d been asleep when she checked on him before, and she’d made certain to post the Do Not Disturb sign on his door. She hoped he wasn’t experiencing any further discomfort.
Another loud thump rattled her mirror, and she rose from the vanity seat. He did seem to be thrashing about, and she couldn’t let him hurt himself. . . .
She wore her dressing gown over her clothes and checked both pockets before extracting a key. Moving toward the set of connecting doors, she released the bolt on her side before using his key to unlock the door to his room.
Odette arrived to find him awake on the bed, panting from his exertions. “Miss Tremblay, thank heavens you’re here! Help me, will you? I’ve missed the train!”
She stood with her hands in her pockets, staring at him. He was lying facedown, still wearing his rumpled clothing from the night before. His arms and legs were tied behind him, trussed exactly like one of her papa’s roasted capons. “Are you in pain, Captain?”
“What do you think?” He glared at her before his eyes closed, and he groaned. “Criminy, my head feels like it’s been struck by a mortar.” Then he flailed once more against his bonds, and the headboard hit the wall harder than it had before. “Are you going to just stand there, woman? I need to find the lieutenant and Miss Reyer and get to that meeting!”
Odette heard the pained rasp in his voice. “Please do not struggle, monsieur, or you will hurt yourself. I cannot untie those knots.”
“I’ve got a pocketknife there in the drawer.” He nudged his chin toward the nightstand. “You can use it to cut the ropes.”
Odette closed the distance and opened the drawer, peering inside.
“Can you hurry it up?” He growled a curse. “This is all Petit’s doing, I know it! I checked on him. A gambler from Texas. Hah! I’m sure he learned his rope tricks from rustling cattle.”
She turned to him, disappointed by the remark. “You think Monsieur Petit did this to you?”
“Who else?” Again he fought against the knots until he lay gasping. “Odette, please . . . the knife!”
“I really must insist you lie still, monsieur.” She closed the drawer and turned to him. “And I will not cut the ropes.”
“What?” He craned his neck to stare at her. “Why not?”
“Hmmm, why not.” She extracted from her pocket the small .41 derringer, a gift from her amoureux. “Because I am the one who went to all of the trouble to tie them.”
CHAPTER
28
COLLBATÓ, SPAIN
With only the lone beam from the dynamo to guide him, Colin moved deeper into the caves. He followed closely behind Johanna and reached out to grab her arm when she stumbled forward and nearly fell.
“This dratted veil!” She stopped to peel back the dark cloth. “My father cannot possibly see us here in the dark, and I need to know where I’m going.”
“How’s it going back there?” Petit called to them from a few yards ahead.
Colin stared at Johanna.
She released a breath. “I’m ready.”
“On our way.” He had to force his lips apart in order to shout an answer. With a clearer view, Johanna increased the pace forward as Colin followed doggedly in her footsteps.
Looking straight ahead, he tried to focus on the path. When he had to turn slightly to move around an uneven section of wall, his light beam bounced off a grouping of stalagmites in the distance, the long, menacing spikes jutting upward from the cave floor.
The sweat that dampened his clothes began chilling his skin in the cavern’s subterranean temperatures, and his heart continued hammering out a staccato beat.
Petit had mentioned that Marcus and Zero were already here, and Colin agonized over how deep they still had to venture down into the caves before meeting them.
A few yards ahead, the path began to narrow.
“Stay close to the wall on the right side.” Petit’s voice floated back in the darkness. “There’s an exposed ledge on the left with quite a drop.”
As if to prove to himself the American was telling the truth, Colin glanced over the ledge and stared down into the dark abyss. His pulse skyrocketed. “Be careful, Johanna.”
“I’m doing my best.” She paused and turned to him. “Can you see all right?”
“Fine.” He gritted out the word, fighting a surge of panic. “Let’s just keep moving.”
She hesitated, then turned and continued on, keeping to the right side of the path. Colin did the same. He wiped the perspiration from his face with his sleeve. Only his need to protect Johanna kept him from turning around to beat a hasty retreat.
He ran his fingers along the cold cavern wall while he kept the hook poised at his side, ready to snag the nearest outcropping of rock should he trip or lose his balance and start plunging into the black chasm below. His breath came out in short, rapid bursts. For you, Lord, have delivered . . . my feet from stumbling. . . .
They moved deeper into the cave, and a musty smell reached his nostrils—the odor of ancient earth mixed with traces of animal scat and, he imagined, the decay of bones.
He held his watch to the light beam, dismayed to see that already ten minutes had passed. It seemed they’d barely covered a few hundred feet. He went on, keeping his gaze locked on Johanna while he mentally sought strength in more of the psalmist’s verse. That I may walk before the Lord in the land of the living . . .
Suddenly a beam of light brighter than their own shone back at them. Petit’s voice echoed, calling out some kind of code word.
At the sound of Captain Weatherford’s answering response, Colin’s relief was palpable.
A few more steps brought them to a wide, elongated rock platform where two men stood in a pool of natural light shining through an opening in the cave’s ceiling.
Beyond the plane, three narrow openings led deeper into the caves.
Colin’s breath eased as he observed the patch of visible sky above. He moved to take his place beside Johanna, who had already replaced the veil.
Marcus’s tall frame was easy enough to recognize, but Colin was curious about the man beside him. Shorter than the captain, he had a wiry frame, and his dark moustache and vivid blue eyes were set into a tanned, leathery face.
This must be Jacob Reyer. Zero.
Johanna pressed up beside Colin, and he tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his arm. Despite his own misgivings, he wanted to reassure her.
The man beside Marcus caught his action, and Zero’s dark blue eyes scrutinized him.
“Lieutenant.”
Marcus acknowledged him before turning a surprised frown on Petit. Colin watched the exchange, a new awareness causing his muscles to tense. Had Petit not informed Marcus of Kepler’s illness?
Marcus said nothing, however, as Zero advanced a few steps in Johanna’s direction.
Colin gave her fingers a light squeeze. Johanna’s moment was finally upon her.
———
“Daughter?”
Jo’s heart pounded as she eyed her father greedily from behind the veil. She was glad for the natural light above as her gaze traveled over his compact frame, the dark hair cut very short, his moustache full, and his face, angular like her own.
Her stomach churned as she released her death grip on Colin’s arm and then handed him the cloth kit bag. Drawing a shaky breath, she offered up a frantic prayer. Lord, if you are listening, please let him love me.
She moved forward, unable to tell if she was floating or walking as she closed the distance between herself and her papa. When she stood in front of him, she saw him study her from head to toe before pausing at the ring on the silver chain.
Jo cleared her throat before finding her voice. “Papa?”
At the word, his expression darkened. He turned to cast a glance at the tall man behind him, presumably Captain Weatherford.
When her father’s eyes found her again, he reached for the ring and the necklace, giving both a swift jerk. The chain broke free, and Jo let out a gasp.
“Take off the veil.”
Jo quailed at the harshness in his tone, so different from the gentle voice of her memories. She quickly raised her head toward the tall captain behind him.
“Do as he says.”
Her gloved hands shook as she slowly drew back the dark silk and revealed her face to her father. His eyes widened, and she lifted her chin, removing the veil and hat altogether, oblivious to the fall of hair that came tumbling down around her shoulders in doing so.
She could see his features clearly now. In the light, he seemed alien to her, his weathered complexion creased with age and likely hardship, wearing into the once smooth face she remembered. Yet his eyes were the same blue as her own.
And right now they were angry.
“You lied to me, Marcus.”
He tossed the accusation back at the captain, yet his gaze remained fixed on her. “Why would you act so foolishly when you know the consequence for attempting to trick me?”
Jo glanced at Captain Weatherford, whose dark hair and eyes were set against features made of stone. “I did not lie, Zero. I went to Toulouse as you requested. I verified this woman is your daughter.”
Her father barked out a caustic laugh. “Then it would seem the Americans fooled you as well.” His mouth curled. “This woman is not my daughter. She is not Jewel.”
“No, you’re right, she isn’t Jewel. She is your other daughter, Jacob. She is Johanna.”
“Johanna.” For a moment, shock erased the anger from her father’s face as he stared at her. Then abruptly his features hardened again, and he turned to the captain. “Can she prove it?”
Jo bent her head, tears brimming at the callousness in his tone. This was not the reunion she had imagined with him during those days she’d clung to Papa’s memory, the images she’d invented and reinvented over time to assuage the loneliness of growing up.
Sixteen years had passed since he’d last seen her, and Jo had changed much from the small, terribly shy child in Kilcoole. Still, she had hoped and prayed he would see through the changes and recognize her for the same blue eyes, if nothing else. Just as she knew his.
She raised her head, and the loose strands of her hair brushed against her face. Unconsciously, she removed a glove and started to reach to tuck the wisps behind her ear.
A hand grabbed her wrist in midair. Jo startled before looking up to see her father staring at the silver ring on her finger, the dove’s blue sapphire winking in the light.
“Where did you get this?”
His throat worked as he turned his face back to her. He drew her forward, beneath the cavern’s
opening so that she was in the full light. “Answer me.”
Though his words had lost their edge, Jo struggled to calm herself. “You gave it to me. When you k-kissed my palm and said you wanted nothing more in the world than—”
“Than to be your Papa.” All at once, the leathery features softened, and his blue eyes shone suspiciously bright. “I remember. Ah, my little bluebird, it is you.”
She choked on a sob. Her father pulled her to him, enveloping her in a fierce hug. Jo wept silent tears against his shoulder, while he whispered endearments in French, German, and English as he held her.
Savoring the comfort of his embrace, she breathed in the scent of his tobacco and Bay Rum, and a smell that was her papa.
It was moments before he relaxed his hold, keeping his hands on her shoulders.
“I don’t understand why you are here, Johanna. But I am overjoyed to see you after all of these years.” He reached to touch her wet cheek. “You have some of your mother’s look about you.” He tipped his head, his eyes traveling over her hair and her face. “But how could I not know you were mine?” A smile formed beneath the heavy moustache. “You resemble me more, perhaps, than your sister, Jewel.”
He turned to the captain, a slight edge in his voice. “Where is my other daughter, Marcus?”
The captain nodded in Petit’s direction. “Our American friend can explain.”
Jo hardly dared to breathe as Petit stepped into the light. It was the first time she had ever seen him looking so serious.
“Your other daughter, sir . . .” He shifted on his feet. “I regret to inform you that Jewel died from complications due to pneumonia.”
Jo felt her father sag against her, and she leaned to steady him.
“When?” His voice was hoarse.
Petit looked past them to Captain Weatherford, then back at her father. “In December, sir. Our man posing as Captain Kepler got her out of Havrincourt before she would have been taken by the Germans, but there was illness in the village at the time of the Cambrai assault.” He stared at the ground. “Kepler brought her to Paris, and we arranged for the best doctors, but . . . she was too weak by then.”
