Whisper of Freedom

by Tricia N. Goyer

  The horse's breath smelled of chewed grass. His coat glistened like newly fallen snow, and Petra wondered how she could fall in love with an animal. But she had, and she was glad. She wiped the dew from Erro's saddle and attempted to hoist it up.

  The sound of hoofbeats punctuated the air, and Petra turned with a start. She breathed a sigh of relief to see it was José on Calisto, and not an enemy soldier.

  He rode up the narrow path where she stood, then swung down from the saddle in one smooth motion, dropping Calisto's reins. There was no need to tie the stallion up; he had been trained to stay where he was unless José ordered otherwise.

  "Here, let me get that for you." José's dark eyes gazed heavily at Petra as he took the saddle from her hands, his fingers brushing against hers.

  She put a hand on his arm. "Thank you, but I need to learn to do this, especially with you gone. I was just going to ride around the hill to get my bearings. I'd like to know what's around me—more than just the inside walls of the cave and the path to the creek."

  "I'll be back." José's voice was defensive.

  "Oh, I have no doubt." She smiled and tilted her head. "It was just . . . never mind. Thank you for helping me." Petra kept her voice light and teasing, but José's frown only deepened, and she wondered what she had done wrong. For as long as she'd known him, José had been kind and sincere. It was hard to see this other side of him—a serious and worried man who seemed to frown at everything she said.

  He's just worried about us, Petra told herself. He has a lot on his mind.

  Her father had been the same way. It could be the weather or the comment of a local merchant that caused his face to redden and his eyes to narrow. Her mother told her that it was difficult enough to be the head of the family, but her father was also the protector of an entire estate. The people relied on him for harvests, wages, and wisdom. Petra only wished they had understood that. Instead they focused on his heavy hand and his requirements. They didn't realize that what they considered unfair was most of the time for their own good.

  She gazed at José, for a second seeing him as he truly was. Not as a hero, but as a man who made mistakes. Her stomach ached as she thought of it. She also thought of what his own pride had cost him—leaving his wife in the valley. Thankfully, his plan was to right the wrong. The idea of José returning with Ramona pleased her, but caused an ache in her heart at the same time. She refused to meet his gaze; instead she stroked Erro's nose.

  "Your wife—does she know you're coming?"

  "No, she does not."

  Petra watched as José cinched Erro's saddle. He glanced at her, and she clearly saw his affection for her—mixed with a tinge of guilt. She could not deny that she wondered how things would be if José were not married. He cared for her, she knew, but he was also a faithful and dedicated man. She appreciated that about him. After all, anyone of lesser character could easily have walked away—especially when Ramona refused to come to the mountains.

  "It will be a nice surprise when you show up." Petra took the reins and climbed onto Erro's saddle.

  "I hope so." José looked away before Petra could read his reaction. "I just don't know what I'll find when I get there."

  "You'll find your heart," Petra commented with a smile. And without waiting for a response, she nudged Erro with her knees, and the horse trotted away. Though the sun beat down on her shoulders, a dark cloud descended over her heart. Petra didn't want to think of what would happen if José didn't return. She also didn't want to think about what he'd do or say when he discovered she'd followed him into the valley.

  Deion never appreciated rest as much as he did the day after battle. Many had fallen due to heatstroke. Others reorganized and prepared for their next attack. They also buried thirty dead from among them. And from the crest of Mosquito Ridge, the Nationalists bombed their positions, reminding them they still held the coveted position.

  Somewhere in the midst of those days, Deion heard news he never expected.

  "They've gone and killed Oliver Law," reported a soldier. His face bore the pinched look of a man suffering from a stomachache.

  Deion had hoped that one day he would have the chance to meet the Negro officer who had become the battalion commander after the battles at Jarama, but now he never would. Battle commander Steve Nelson took his place.

  While the others cleaned their weapons and packed their supplies to return to battle, Deion gritted his teeth and pretended he didn't want to cry like a woman. And though he kept his lower jaw firmly set, his shoulders quivered like a leaf in the wind. How many days had he been in Spain? How many men had died? The days, the fighting . . . it forced Deion to lose all track of time.

  Still time, after all, didn't matter. Survival did. And with every announcement of another soldier's death, Deion knew the odds of his survival narrowed.

  He wiped his face and returned to pack his things. The next orders awaited him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The answer came while she slept. Sophie awoke to a knock at the bedroom door and men's voices. She rose from her siesta, opened the door, and rubbed her eyes against the light. A gasp escaped her when she discovered Emanuel waiting there. He had feared for them when he saw the washed-out road, and was looking for them when he happened on the old man and his daughter walking away from the house.

  The man's timing came from the hand of God. He not only reassured Walt that he wanted to help, but he'd already prepared a hiding place for the truck and had "obtained" fuel for their journey.

  Now the truck rumbled down the road, with four passengers crammed in the front seat. They neared the hills surrounding Granada, and Sophie saw a castle on a tall hill. Emanuel directed them through the mountains, but Sophie questioned every turn. The roads were no more than wide paths, winding through the hills. Eventually, just as Emanuel had promised, the narrow road opened up to a series of caves.

  "It was the long way, but it got us here." Emanuel jumped down from the truck.

  Sophie followed, with Philip's help. He took her hand as she jumped to the ground. Sadness filled his eyes.

  "Are you worried about Badger? He'll be taken care of." She gave his hand a squeeze.

  Philip pushed his hands into his pockets. "I know, I know. And that's why I agreed he should stay at the village. He'll be fine there . . . ."

  Walt parked the truck in a large cave.

  Emanuel approached Walt as he climbed down from the truck. "Although you cannot see them, there are friendly guards posted all along the road. Most of Franco's soldiers don't come in this area because it's too easy to get lost. Others don't come for the reason that those who do enter these hills often don't return."

  He smiled as he spoke, and Sophie's eyes widened as she wondered how someone so friendly could also be so fierce.

  Emanuel swept his arm in the direction of a smaller cave. "Follow me. I would like to introduce you to the others." He took two steps and paused. "They are willing to help, even though they do not know the nature of your shipment."

  "I appreciate this." Walt placed a hand on Emanuel's shoulder. "Just trust that your group will be richly rewarded for their help."

  Philip stayed back. "I can wait here." He glanced toward the truck.

  "Nonsense. We're safe. The truck is safe." Walt motioned him forward.

  Sophie entered the cave, and the first thing she noticed was a handsome man stirring a fire. The glow lit his face. He had a thin moustache, and a black and red bandanna graced his neck. A huge pistol hung from a belt over his shoulder. His face was kind, though she could imagine from his muscular frame and square jaw that he could be fierce if necessary.

  Sophie sidled up to Walt. "I don't understand what this place is."

  Emanuel answered. "It is the center of our partisan activity. We are teaching people to sabotage behind enemy lines."

  "Those on the front can only do so much, and much of their effort is thwarted because the soldiers see them coming," Walt added. "These men work behi
nd the lines—and they have great success because the element of surprise is on their side."

  "Come, I will show you." Emanuel motioned to the back of the cave. "I will teach you first to make switches. Then detonate fuses. Finally, to set them."

  Sophie turned to Philip.

  He held back a laugh. "You prayed for this, didn't you? Prayed that we'd be able to transport all the gold and use it to help the people?"

  Sophie crossed her arms and then rubbed them, as if trying to brush away the damp, eerie feeling of the cave. "Well, if I did, I surely didn't expect this answer."

  Philip placed a hand on the small of her back and led her forward. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll do fine. Your fingers are used to the delicate touch of a paintbrush. How different do you think working with thin wires can be?"

  José eased back on the reins, motioning for Calisto to stop. In the distance, dense columns of smoke rose from the town of Ca-margo. He'd witnessed the bombers descending mere hours ago and hoped the damage would be minimal . . . but the destruction surpassed his worst fears. His heart pounded as he wondered if he'd arrived too late.

  Townspeople were leaving with suitcases and bundles on their backs as they toiled in the mud from last night's rain. The feet of one man, burdened under his load, slid backward on the uphill path, and José's heart hurt for him—for all of them.

  He motioned Calisto forward, approaching a different man. "Excuse me. Is the hospital still in town?"

  "Hospital? No. There is nothing. Just an occasional patrol."

  It wasn't until Calisto trotted away that José realized he hadn't thanked the man. He hurried toward the town, staying close to hedgerows, taking advantage of every bit of cover he could find. He saw a large oak and guessed he'd get a better look into town from its branches. He dismounted, then climbed up the tree. But another sight caught his attention—Petra coming up the road on Erro.

  José cursed under his breath and then scampered down. As he ran to her he chided himself for trusting the girl. She was too strong-willed for her own good. Just like Ramona.

  "What are you doing? Do you want Erro to get taken? If the enemy sees him . . ."

  "Wait, José. Just listen. I wanted to help. I've discovered something. There is some type of truck up ahead, with nurses in it. I saw it from where I was. It is stuck in a muddy pit leading out of town."

  "Nurses?"

  "They were wearing uniforms and caring for injured men. I thought perhaps . . ."

  "Sí. You leave this to me." He nodded, hoping she understood he was thankful. He turned his horse. "Head back into the hills with Erro. I'll meet you there."

  "Can't I go with you?"

  He slowed and turned. "No. Petra, please, won't you listen?"

  "Sí, José. I'm sorry." She turned and rode the horse back up the hill.

  José watched till she disappeared from view within the covering of trees. He shook his head. He didn't know why he so easily grew angry with the girl.

  He rode in a field along the road, past a small farmhouse on the edge of town. Pink roses rambled across the dark fence. Behind him, from near the church, he could hear the crack of bullets fired. José hoped it wasn't at him, and he signaled with the sides of his calves for Calisto to pick up his pace.

  Up ahead, he noticed the truck Petra spoke of, but now there was only a driver keeping guard.

  "The nurses, where have they gone?" José asked hurriedly.

  The driver eyed him cautiously. Eyed Calisto, too.

  "Señor, one of them is my wife. Ramona . . ."

  "Ramona, yes." The driver nodded down the road. "They moved the patients there."

  José spotted a small house half hidden behind an overgrown and untended hedge.

  "Thank you." José motioned Calisto forward.

  Reaching it, he tied up the horse and walked around the corner of the house, looking cautiously through a window. More rifle fire sounded from where he'd just come. He thought about moving Calisto, finding a safer place, but he knew he couldn't waste time. Through the window he indeed spotted nurses, but Ramona was not one of them.

  José hurried to the door and entered without knocking. Before he could speak, a man—the doctor most likely—lifted a gun toward José's chest. José stopped in his tracks.

  "José!" came a voice from somewhere in the back of the room.

  A woman hurried toward him, but it was not Ramona. His heart sank. It was Ramona's friend—a bridesmaid at their wedding, if he remembered right.

  "José, what are you doing here? Why aren't you with Ramona?"

  "What do you mean? I came to find her. To take her with me."

  The woman's face scrunched into a frown. "But I don't understand. Your friend, he came to get her not more than an hour ago."

  "My friend?"

  "Yes, the American. He said you were taking care of the horses, and he had come for her. He was taking her to you."

  "Michael. Are you talking about Michael?"

  The nurse nodded. "Yes, that was his name. He said you'd been friends since you were children. He had a camera. He said he was a correspondent or something."

  The energy drained from José's limbs.

  "José? Are you okay?"

  "Tell me; did he say where they were going?"

  The woman turned to another nurse. "You heard the conversation. Did the American say?"

  "No, I'm sorry," the woman answered. "All he said was he was taking her to you."

  José hurried out of the house, trying to think of all the possibilities. He rounded the corner, then stopped in his tracks. Calisto was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Emanuel had offered only the briefest explanation of handmade explosives before he and some of the others left on a night mission.

  Though she knew she should sleep, Sophie found it hard to rest amongst a half-dozen men of various ages; plus it was difficult getting used to the strange place and hard-packed ground. She was thankful to have Walt and Philip by her side. One of them—if not both—never strayed more than a few feet away.

  Sometime in the night Sophie heard noises from outside, and the men around her stirred. The man closest to the door lit a lamp.

  Salvador, who stood far taller than the others, hunched over in order to enter the cave without hitting his head. A smile brightened his wrinkled face as he entered. "Formidable!"

  The one word told Sophie his mission must have been a success.

  The men following Salvador hauled in sacks filled with food. One man also carried an armful of rifles.

  Though it was the middle of the night, the excited voices of the men filled the air as supplies were handed out.

  Sophie scooted back and leaned against the wall, taking it all in.

  Emanuel caught her gaze. He came over and sat beside her and handed her a tin of sardines. "We are our own army of sorts, but our work is important." He pulled a bottle of whiskey from the inside pocket of his coat, took a swig, then offered it to her.

  "No, thanks." Sophie glanced around at the others. She chuckled as one man lifted another and twirled with joy over the supplies. "I'm waiting for them to sing."

  Emanuel nodded. "We get some food from the army, but little else. We must purchase our own supplies and more food. Or steal it when that is our only choice. It has been many weeks since we've been so successful. Franco's armies won't know what hit them."

  One man stood off from the rest, holding what looked like maps. With eagerness, he lit another lamp and unrolled one. Others watched him respectfully but did not interrupt.

  "That is Domingo," Emanuel commented. "He studies the positions held by both sides. Watch. His most prized possessions are his colored pencils. He marks the positions held by the Nationalist Rebels in one color and the Republicans in another."

  Even from where she sat, Sophie could tell the Rebels held far more territory. "What about the areas with no color?"

  "Those are forest and mountains. They are held by no one." Emanuel spread an arm, as i
f motioning to the hills outside the cave. "Or so they think. They have no idea what these mountains hold."

  Guilt seeped through Sophie's conscience as she thought about what else the mountains held. In the nearby cave was more gold than this part of the country had probably ever seen. She bit her lip and glanced around . . . knowing how much just one box could help fund these people's efforts. To buy them food. To give them enough supplies to make their work successful.

  She glanced at Philip and noticed he was listening to their conversation. As if reading her thoughts, he ever so slightly shook his head.

  She turned her attention back to Domingo and his maps. "So, if you know where the enemy is, why do you wait?"

  Emanuel glanced up at her with a look of pity on his face. "Señorita, knowing the right timing is just as important as the act itself. We must use our supplies well, which means timing them to achieve the greatest damage."

  Sophie wondered if he meant damage to machines or men. She had a feeling it was both. "I see."

  "I see, too," Emanuel said, studying her face.

  "I mean, I understand."

  "Sí, that is what I mean. I see anxiety on your face, and I understand you have many worries. Perhaps you cannot be of help as we first thought."

  "You doubt I can help your cause?" She brushed her hair back from her face and sat straighter, trying not to be offended by his tone.

  "No, it is simply that you worry about much. And if you are to be effective behind the lines, there is only one thing to worry about. Do you know what that is?"

  "My task. Whatever that is."

  "Sí, that is correct."

  "I think I can do that."

  "Can you? We will see. Because from what I hear you will be with us for at least a few weeks." He swept his arm around the cave. "So I have a task for you. I discussed it with Walt this evening."