Laura left quietly to wait a distance away. As she turned to give him privacy she saw Becker slip to his knees beside the bed and bend his head.
Becker looked down at Lysette’s prone form, so small and slight, and felt the unmistakable, distantly remembered salt sting of tears. He closed his eyes to hold them back. He had never anticipated that this would happen; he had done her a grave disservice by underestimating the depth of her feelings. He’d been so caught up in his own nobility, his self sacrifice in leaving her that it hadn’t occurred to him she might care every bit as much as he did. But she didn’t have his strength. She had simply been unable to live without him. Who, in his whole life, had ever loved him that much?
He brushed his wet eyes with the back of his hand. When was the last time he had cried? At his father’s funeral, he remembered. He’d crossed the line of demarcation into manhood that day and thought never to shed tears again.
He touched Lysette’s waxen cheek. It felt cold. The bandages on her wrists were covered by the bed linen but he could see the bulk they made beneath the sheet. He thought of her dragging a knife across those slender wrists, as fragile as pipestems, and put his hand to his mouth. How could he have let this happen?
Two orderlies arrived with a gurney to transfer Lysette to the private room at the end of the ward, near the nurse’s station. Becker watched as they lifted her and then followed the wheeled cart down the hall. He passed Laura but didn’t seem to notice her.
Laura saw the doctor enter the room behind them, and then emerge a few minutes later. She waylaid him in the hall.
“How is she?” Laura asked.
“You brought her in, didn’t you?” he said.
Laura nodded.
“I think she’s going to make it,” the doctor replied. “The transfusion’s taking hold, her color’s better. We stitched her up and she’s under sedation but she should be awake in about eight hours.”
Laura sighed with relief and thanked him. When she looked inside Lysette’s room she saw Becker seated next to the bed, his hat in his hand. He glanced up at her standing in the doorway and said, “You can go. I’ll stay with her.”
Laura didn’t know what else to say to him, and left. She looked at her watch and saw that Brigitte would be getting off shift in a few minutes and went to wait for her.
Brigitte smiled when she saw her. “Are you following me around today?” she asked.
“I just came from seeing Lysette,” Laura replied.
“How is she?”
“Doing better.” She put her hand on Brigitte’s arm. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said quietly to her sister-in-law.
“What now?” Brigitte said, folding her sweater and shouldering her purse. They began walking toward the lobby.
“Becker came to see her,” Laura said.
“Colonel Becker?” Brigitte replied.
Laura nodded.
“What was he doing visiting Lysette?” Brigitte asked.
“Well, I don’t know, but I can make a good guess. He seemed very upset. I saw him from the hall and Brigitte, I could have sworn he was crying.”
Brigitte stopped walking and looked at her. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Are you telling me that the two of them...that they...” Brigitte paused, whistling softly. “Is that right?”
“I think so,” Laura replied. “I think he’s the reason she’s in here. The timing coincides with his leaving.”
Brigitte exhaled explosively. “It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?” she said sagely.
“And what about Becker, the ice man?” Laura countered. “You should have seen him, Brigitte. He looked...broken. It was incredible. I think he really loves her.”
“Why do you find that so strange?” Brigitte asked. “He’s probably as capable of love as any other man.”
“Brigitte, you despise him!” Laura said incredulously.
“I despise what he did to my brother. But I don’t think because he’s German he has no feelings.”
“Oh, Brigitte, I didn’t mean...” Laura began, realizing that Brigitte was referring to Kurt.
“I know what you meant,” Brigitte said dismissively. “Forget it. Are you going to see Curel tonight?”
“Yes, why?”
“I think I’ll come with you,” Brigitte told her, taking her arm and propelling her to the door. “I have a message for him.”
They walked together out into the afternoon sunshine.
* * *
Lysette awoke around midnight. It took her several seconds to realize that she was alive, in the hospital, and not alone.
When those facts registered she began to cry, not openly but soundlessly. It was a while before Becker, sitting next to her bed in the semi-darkness, saw that she was awake. Her eyes were streaming, and when he touched her hair she turned her face away from him.
“Darling, look at me,” he said gently.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m so ashamed.”
“Don’t be ashamed,” he said, stroking her forehead. “The fault is mine.”
“You’re not responsible for what I did,” she said miserably.
“Oh, but I am. Completely.”
She did look at him then, blinking to clear her vision.
“You tried to tell me,” he said simply. “But I wouldn’t listen.”
“I didn’t want you to know about this,” she said. “I just wanted to end it. I saw the soldiers leaving and when the boy came to get me I thought you were going too.”
The speech seemed to tire her and he put his hand to her lips. “Be still,” he said. “You don’t have to explain. I understand. But you must understand me. The decision to leave you was the most difficult I ever made, Lysette. I was determined to give up what I loved in order to save it. I see now that I was wrong.”
“Do you mean it?” she whispered, drifting off. “Anton?”
“I mean it,” he said firmly. “Sleep now and get well. I will be here when you wake again.”
“But you’re leaving...” she murmured, closing her eyes.
“Not without you.”
“Promise?” It was barely more than a breath.
“I promise.”
He waited until she was sleeping again, then settled down, tilting his head back against the wall and folding his arms.
It wouldn’t be the first time he spent the night in a chair.
* * *
Hesse was waiting for Becker when he returned to his office in the morning. He stayed with Lysette until she awoke, and then walked through the halls of the hospital that had served as his home and workplace for over four years.
It already looked like a hospital again; its other function had been obliterated so completely that Becker was almost surprised to see his aide standing next to his desk with a stack of papers in his hand.
“Kleinschmitt?” Becker asked as he entered, rubbing his stubbled jaw with his hand and nodding toward the pile of notes.
“No, nothing from him,” Hesse said. “It’s Hauptmann. He’s ill and can’t lead the detachment to blow the bridge at Saint-Dizier.”
“What’s wrong with Hauptmann?” Becker said in a tone of forbearance. He glanced in the mirror and straightened his collar.
“I don’t know, fever, something. He went to the infirmary last night and I gave permission for him to go out on the last troop transport this morning.”
“You gave permission?” Becker said, smiling slightly.
“Well, sir, you weren’t here and it was obvious he couldn’t do the job...”
“It’s all right.” Becker turned and faced the younger man, folding his arms. “What do you recommend?” he asked. “Who’s left?”
“Almost no one,” Hesse replied.
“So?”
“I could do it,” Hesse volunteered.
“How many men do you need?”
“Just three or four. Grunewald can lay the charges. We’ll wait for you to come
through before we blow it.”
“Fine. Get on it.” He went to his desk and looked in a drawer for his shaving kit. “Are all the living quarters empty?”
“Yes, sir. You’re all packed.”
“Good. Since you’ll be going ahead I’ll need to make other arrangements. Set aside a truck with room in the back for a stretcher and assign a driver.”
“A stretcher, sir?”
Becker met his eyes. “For Madame Remy.”
Hesse didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, sir. Will there be anything else before I go?”
Becker came around his desk, removed Hesse’s cap, and scrubbed the young man’s hair affectionately with his hand.
“You’re a good boy, Hesse, and a good soldier. I don’t suppose I’ve ever told you that.”
“No, sir,” Hesse said, flushing.
“I should have done so long before this. Now get going. I must prepare myself to deal with the Standartenführer. I will see you at Saint-Dizier.”
“Yes, sir.”
The boy saluted and left. Becker went to the lavatory adjoining his office and shaved, brushing off his uniform and trying to look as if he had not slept in it. Whatever he thought of Kleinschmitt, the Gestapo man was still a fellow officer and the proprieties must be observed. When he was ready he got a cup of the coffee Hesse had left behind in a jug and sat at his desk to wait.
Hesse approached the nurse’s station on Brigitte’s ward and glanced around for her. The head nurse was behind the desk making notes on a chart and looked up at him.
“May I help you?” she said in French.
“Brigitte Duclos,” he said gruffly in the same language. He hated to ask for her, but he had to leave immediately and she was expecting to see him that afternoon when she got off work.
“She is in surgery,” the woman replied coolly.
Hesse swore inwardly. “How long before she’s out?”
“That is impossible to say,” the nurse replied, relishing the situation and her excuse to be uncooperative. She could not wait for these Germans to be gone.
Hesse hesitated. He couldn’t leave a message with this obviously hostile woman, who might deliberately alter it and probably wouldn’t deliver it at all. He thought of Laura but the school was still closed for the summer and she was out in Fains-les-Sources. There was no one else.
He turned on his heel and walked away.
When Brigitte came out of surgery the head nurse was waiting.
“Your boche boyfriend was here looking for you.”
“Who?” Brigitte asked, alert.
“Hmmph. You know.”
“No.
“I don’t suppose you think you’ve been fooling anybody?” the nurse said slyly. “Carrying on all this time, hiding behind doors and sneaking into closets. I know what the story is and so does everyone else. Some people will do anything for a pound of butter.”
“Are you saying one of the Germans came to see me? When?”
“About an hour ago, Miss Innocence.”
“What did he want?” Brigitte demanded, ignoring the commentary.
“How should I know?” the woman asked airily. “He didn’t see fit to tell me.”
Brigitte’s mind was racing. Something must have happened or Kurt wouldn’t have sought her out so openly.
“Where are you going?” the supervisor called after her as she walked away.
“To change,” Brigitte replied distractedly, indicating her sweaty surgical greens.
“Be back in ten minutes,” the head nurse snapped as Brigitte hurried off, trying to think of some way to find out what Kurt had wanted to tell her.
She had an inspiration while she was changing and went to Becker’s office once she was back in uniform. His door was closed but she said to the private standing outside it, “Where is Colonel Becker’s aide, Corporal Hesse?”
“Not here, mademoiselle. I am relieving him,” the boy answered, staring straight ahead.
But why? Brigitte screamed silently, her apprehension building. “Where did he go?” she tried to ask calmly.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“But you must have some idea where he went. I mean, he’s always here and suddenly he’s not. What happened?”
The boy merely looked at her and it was clear she was going to get nothing further from him. Brigitte could feel a cold panic stealing over her soul. Becker was still in the hospital and Kurt was not. Something was wrong.
She was due back on her ward, and she took a shortcut through male medical to get there faster. She noticed an Alsatian orderly she knew cleaning an empty bed with carbolic solution, and remembered that one of the men from Kurt’s unit had been in it a day earlier.
“What happened to the man who was here?” she asked the attendant. “The soldier?”
He shrugged. “They sent him out with the troop transport this morning. Becker’s aide signed the order.”
“Becker’s aide?” Brigitte said intently.
He nodded. “I overheard him telling one of the other soldiers that he would be taking over for the sick one at Saint-Dizier,” he added, spreading his hands to indicate that it was all a mystery to him.
Brigitte closed her eyes. Saint-Dizier. Kurt was going to the bridge at Saint-Dizier, where Curel’s friends would be lying in wait for him.
She skirted the edge of the metal bed and began to run.
* * *
“How many men are still here at the hospital?” Kleinschmitt said to Becker. They had completed a tour of the evacuation operation and were back in the latter’s office.
“About twenty. We’ll all be out by this afternoon.” Becker eyed the Gestapo man warily. “Where is Kluge?” he asked. “Is he still losing ground?”
“Field Marshall Kluge has asked for permission to retreat from Mortain,” Kleinschmitt said stiffly.
“And?”
“The Führer will only allow a partial retreat,” Kleinschmitt replied.
“Is it true that the Allies have crossed the Loire to the south?” Becker asked.
“Yes.”
“And still a full northeastern retreat cannot be authorized?” Becker asked, amazed.
“Are you questioning the Führer’s judgment?” Kleinschmitt shot back.
“They are standing on our doorstep, man!” Becker said to him. “In a few days we’ll be having them for tea!”
“Are you afraid?” Kleinschmitt asked him insidiously.
“Don’t play childish games with me, Kleinschmitt,” Becker answered wearily. “Refusing to see the reality of the situation is lunacy.”
They were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Becker called. He recognized the man who entered as an intern on Lysette’s floor.
“Yes?” he said.
“Dr. Laurent wanted me to tell you that Madame Remy will be fit to travel shortly.”
“Very good,” Becker said, vastly relieved.
“She will need to be kept on antibiotics for the wounds and she’s not yet ambulatory. She will have to go by stretcher.”
“Of course, I understand. I’ll notify you when to transfer her.”
The intern nodded and left.
“What is this?” Kleinschmitt demanded. His French was quite good enough to follow the conversation. “You are not authorized to transport any non-military personnel.”
“Nonetheless, the lady in question will be traveling with me,” Becker said calmly.
“Lady? What do you mean? Are you toting along some tart for your amusement like so much baggage? This is most irregular...”
Becker seized the front of his uniform and dragged Kleinschmitt onto his toes so that their eyes were only inches apart.
“Keep a civil tongue in your head or I may be forced to teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget,” he said in a dangerous tone. He released the other man so suddenly that Kleinschmitt stumbled, blanching. He backed away hastily, adjusting his tunic.
“I shall certainly report this
once I return to Berlin,” he sputtered. “Such conduct toward a fellow officer is a serious infraction of discipline, and I wouldn’t want to be in your place when...”
“You report whatever you damn please,” Becker interrupted, turning his back on him. “The woman goes with me. I’m taking her in my vehicle and I’ll shoot anyone who tries to stop me.”
He strode from the room, leaving Kleinschmitt to stare after him.
Lysette looked up as Becker arrived in her room, followed by two orderlies. She was dressed and sitting on the edge of her bed. She appeared dismayed when she saw the stretcher the attendants were carrying.
“Oh, Anton, that isn’t necessary,” she said. “I can walk.”
“Doctor’s orders, my dear,” he said firmly.
“But I’m feeling very well, really.”
He saw she was afraid he’d think her too weak to make the trip, and leave her behind.
“Relax, darling,” he said quietly. “I’ll take you with me even if I have to carry you myself.”
She smiled and said, “Where are we going?”
“North. Germany eventually, I assume. Does it matter?”
She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t matter.”
He turned to the orderlies and said, “Take her to the west wing door. My truck is waiting there.”
He watched as they assisted her onto the stretcher, and then grasped her hand when she passed him.
“Everything will be all right,” he said to her. “You’ll see.”
If she remembered his former dire predictions about the retreat she chose not to consider them now. She squeezed his fingers in response, and then let go as the orderlies moved on with the stretcher.
Becker looked after her for a moment and then went back to his quarters to pick up his things.
* * *
Brigitte pedaled her stolen bike toward Saint-Dizier at a frantic pace.
She had grabbed a scalpel from the surgery on her way out of the hospital and sliced through the lock on the first bicycle she saw. She’d chosen an alternate route to the main road to avoid the diminishing stream of German traffic leading out of Bar-le-Duc; they were almost all gone now but still monitoring the roads. She didn’t want to be stopped. Time was passing, it was late afternoon, and when she thought about what might await her she felt despair. It was all her fault and she knew it. Only her fierce determination to find Kurt kept her going.
Clash by Night (A World War II Romantic Drama) Page 32
