A Secret Courage

by Tricia Goyer

  Sure enough, a few minutes later Will returned with a large box of food.

  “It’s like Christmas!” Charlie exclaimed, peeking inside the box.

  Ruth wagged a finger at him. “Do not think you’re going to get into it all today. We must make it last, a month at least.”

  Charlie nodded, but his caretaker’s words did not diminish the sparkle in his gaze. Emma guessed he was like Will in that way. He seemed to find the small things to appreciate, even though a great big war loomed just outside his front door.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  After the meal they went out to sit under an apple tree in the orchard behind the house. The children giggled every time Emma spoke. How foreign her accent must sound to them.

  Little Victoria snuggled the closest. The young girl practically sat on Emma’s feet, which were curled to the side.

  “Why’d you come, miss?” she dared to ask.

  “It’s an awful long way,” Charlie added. “And why are you staying here instead of going back to America, where it’s safe?”

  Emma glanced over at Will, and he smiled at that statement. No place was safe in this world, not even out in the country, but they would never tell the children that.

  She thought for a moment. She could tell them she’d come because her mother was from England. She could tell them she stayed because of Samuel—to vindicate her brother’s death. They would probably understand that. And while that was the real reason, she didn’t want to lose the joy they’d enjoyed together. Instead, she remembered a story she’d read in the Bar Harbor newspaper not long before she left for Oxford.

  “There’s a story I read in the paper. It went something like this…” As she began, the children snuggled around her.

  “Many years ago, the townspeople of a small village in the Old Country held a great celebration in the public square. For years there had been no war, and they had worked hard to raise good crops. Their children had grown strong and healthy. And for this they were thankful. What better way, the mayor had asked, could they express their thankfulness than by celebrating together? So he proclaimed a holiday, asking each person to pour a bottle of wine into the cavernous cask that stood near the village fountain. This they would share together.”

  Emma smiled, seeing their gazes were all fixed on hers, and continued. “When this great day arrived, there was a man who filled his bottle with water. There would be so much wine, he thought, a little water would not be noticed. He was a good man and he meant no harm. So he stood in line with the others and poured his bottle of water into the cask.”

  The children listened, their eyes wide open with curiosity. Will’s face held a hint of a smile.

  “When it came time for the ceremony, the mayor stood next to the cask and spoke fine words of their happiness and what a great thing it was to share their joy. But when he turned the heavy wooden spigot to drink his toast, nothing but water ran into his cup. Everyone had thought a little water would not be noticed.”

  “So everyone brought water?” Charlie gasped and turned to Will for confirmation.

  He nodded. “Yes, everyone thought their little substitution wouldn’t be noticed. I guess they were wrong.”

  “We often think someone else should do the hard work,” Ruth added, her face growing a bit stern. “We’re never too old or too young to make a contribution. Sometimes one makes a bigger difference than they might think.”

  The children grew quiet, seeming to understand. But soon they were on their feet, ready to play.

  “Give us horsey rides, Uncle Will! I go first!” young Eliza called.

  Ruth started to protest, but Will held up his hand to stop her. “It’s fine, Ruth. They can’t damage me any more than I am. I’m mostly whole except for my one arm. I think I can figure this out.”

  Emma and Will enjoyed the rest of the day playing with the children. Even though she appreciated the laughter and fun, she had a hard time shaking her uneasy feeling around Ruth. Maybe Ruth didn’t like her? And maybe Emma had overstepped her bounds. After all, who was she to rush in and attempt to comfort Victoria like that? Ruth was the one who fed the children and cared for them on a daily basis. She most likely knew better how to handle their pain and loss.

  Ruth did seem more pleasant after Emma shared her story, as if Emma had given her a tool she could return to when the children weren’t cooperating.

  Too soon, bedtime neared for the children. They gave multiple hugs and made Will and Emma promise to come back soon. Victoria clung to Emma, and it was hard returning her to Ruth’s arms. Yet Emma had a job to do, just as Ruth had hers. Everyone did what they could in this war.

  Will and Emma waved a final good-bye, and as they got in the auto, relief filled Emma’s spirit. It was just the two of them again. As much as she enjoyed the children, she looked forward to quiet conversation.

  His hand rested easily on the steering wheel as he drove onto the main road. “You seemed to be having a nice day.”

  “Oh, yes, I did. I haven’t laughed and played with children in such a long time. It made me feel young again.”

  “Young?” He sighed. “They wore me out.”

  She smiled. “Well, I wasn’t the one giving them horseback rides throughout the orchard.”

  Thinking of that moment with Will bouncing around the trees brought a smile to her face again. He didn’t let his injured arm slow him down, and she appreciated that about him.

  “The children seem to be doing well. They look healthier than the children I’ve seen in London.”

  “That’s part of my job—getting food.”

  “But how?”

  He reached over to the passenger seat, and his finger touched her lips. “There are ways. When things are important, there are always ways.”

  The day was slipping into the evening, and the land outside their car windows was darkening. With each cottage they passed she wondered about the families, especially the children, who lived inside.

  In her mind’s eye she was taken back to the games she and Samuel had played. He’d been more than a brother. He’d been her constant playmate as they explored the forests, shorelines, and rocky cliffs near Tremont together.

  “Did anything surprise you?”

  His voice caused her to start, and she turned to him.

  Will’s blue, steadfast eyes looked straight ahead, but his hand gripped the steering wheel tighter. Is he worried I think less of him now because I understand more about his background?

  “I should have guessed your name was Wilhelm. I suppose in times like these, going by Will makes sense. I don’t think anything less of you, Will, if that’s what you were worried about. But I would love to know about your family.”

  “There isn’t much to tell. My mother was German and my father was English.” He spoke without emotion as if he were relating an event he’d read about in the Times. “They met in London while she was on holiday, and she returned to Germany for only a few months before she came back to him. As I mentioned before, my father died when I was just a boy. He was shot in a robbery—a very random event. My mother was an artist. She’s very sensitive, and she broke down after his death. She sent me to Kassel to live with my grandmother for a few years. In fact, she never really recovered.”

  Emma listened, sensing the emotions in his words as he spoke about her.

  “When I returned to Britain, Mum did everything she could to civilize me. She didn’t want anyone to know about my German roots. She sold her art to pay for private schools. It’s almost as if I’ve lived two childhoods. Wilhelm, fully German, attended a German gymnasium and ran with his friends in the woods. And Will, fully English, learned to develop his own art in the classrooms of a prestigious school.”

  “When was the last time you were in Germany?”

  He paused, as if unsure what to reveal.

  “Oh, five years ago, six maybe. I taught art there for many years. I think I missed the wildness of my youth and was hoping to recapture it somehow.”
<
br />   “Did you?”

  “No, it was just madness. The whole country had turned to follow Hitler—or so it seemed. I was happy to return to Britain.”

  Emma shuffled in her seat. He must have returned right before the war began.

  “And you didn’t have any problems here in England? I heard about how so many were rounded up and questioned.”

  “I was questioned, all right.” Will sighed, leaving it at that.

  “Is it hard for you, fighting against Germany because of your heritage?” she dared to ask.

  “It’s not Germany that gives me pause, but I do think about family there. My grandmother, aunts, an uncle. Many cousins too. I have fond memories. So far Kassel hasn’t fared too poorly. But I’m worried it’s just a matter of time. There are some industrial sites that Hitler might use for war production.”

  Emma nodded as he spoke. She hadn’t looked at the covers of Kassel, but she knew other PIs were. She knew the city was being watched. She also knew that Hitler was already rolling out tanks from that very spot. She swallowed down her emotion. It was only a matter of time. Of course, she never could tell him that.

  “Is it hard then? Being on this side of the war? No doubt some of the people you knew—some of your students—are involved now, fighting for the Nazis.”

  “No doubt all of them are. No one has escaped the grasp of this war. As soldiers, as production workers…” He shrugged. “It’s better not to think about it.”

  They rode in silence for a while, and Emma let her body relax in the seat. She wanted to ask Will more about his time in Germany, but she knew it could wait. He seemed taxed by the questions she’d already asked.

  “This war was easier before I knew you, Emma,” he finally said, filling the quiet space.

  “Why? Because I ask too many questions?” She chuckled.

  “No, because it’s easier facing this war with a hard heart. You’ve cracked it open. Broken down my protection. Made things matter more, hurt more.”

  “You may try to fool me, Will, but you’re softer than you think. I saw you with those children. I saw the look in your eyes and the way that you played with them.”

  He nodded. “This hellish war would be easier to fight without children, without women. It’s hard to see defenseless people hurt. And it’s hard not to do more.”

  It only took forty-five minutes to drive back to Henley, but when they got to town, instead of turning left at the crossroads to head to Medmenham, Will turned right.

  “Will, where are you taking me? You promised Georgette I wouldn’t get home late.” She hoped he noted the playfulness in her voice.

  “Oh, this isn’t much of a detour. It’s just time for the bombers to come in. I like to watch them from my front yard, but I thought tonight we might stop just outside Benson and watch them from up close.”

  Emma didn’t respond. She folded her hands together and gripped them on her lap. She hadn’t been this close to the airfield since she’d been transferred to Medmenham. It was easier to push Samuel’s last day out of her mind when the bombers coming in were just small silver streaks in the sky, but it was harder when they were up close.

  Will parked the automobile in a field not far from the airbase. He rolled down the window to let in a fresh breeze. She did the same.

  It wasn’t too long before the bombers started returning, the hum of their engines causing Emma’s stomach to tremble as the sound increased in volume.

  The mass of metal and guns filled the air above them, as if straining under their weight, awkward and slow. For those who came in safe, she knew the delicate instruments and deadweight bombs had done their work.

  Of the ten men who made up the crew, most had been in high school just a year ago. Last year they depended on their teammates to score a touchdown. Now they trusted them with their lives.

  “It’s good to see them come home,” she whispered to Will.

  “Terra firma. I can’t imagine the feeling when they touch the earth again.”

  “Do you ever wish you were up there with them, Will?” The wind picked up, and her hair blew across her face as she looked at him.

  “I’d be lying if I didn’t question why they are up there and I’m down here. At least I can still paint.” He sighed. “Sometimes I think back to that night when I was injured and how I could have done things differently. Yet it’s just a waste of time, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t imagine being injured during an air raid and lying there, watching waves of bombers still coming in. You must have felt so helpless.”

  “I was in and out of consciousness. I didn’t really understand what was happening. Thankfully people there took care of me. Made certain I was all right. I survived, but I lost a lot of blood, and I also lost a lot of the use of this arm. It doesn’t slow me down, but it was enough that the air corps didn’t want me.”

  “I suppose I could be grateful to those folks. And I also think God had a different use for your talents.”

  “Yes, but it seems a big joke sometimes. There are men risking their lives in the battle, and I’m painting grand estates.”

  There was pain in his voice. Something she hadn’t heard before. She was thankful for it though—thankful that he felt comfortable to share with her all aspects of himself.

  After a few minutes passed and the last bomber landed, Will took in a deep breath. “I just have to trust that the good Lord knows what he’s doing.”

  As they drove back to Danesfield House, Emma’s eyes watched the slow movement of the Thames, or at least what she could see through the trees.

  “You like the water, don’t you? I know you grew up near the ocean, but what is your favorite place on earth?”

  “My favorite place on earth? That’s easy. I loved the lighthouse at Bass Harbor. Or at least it used to be.”

  Will nodded, understanding. “When did it go dark?”

  “It was the end of June of forty-two. Everyone was worried about German submarines. They still are. A week or so later they stopped the fog signal too. I can’t tell you how many times I woke up after those first few days. Something was missing. I never thought I could miss the light and sound.”

  “Do you miss home?”

  “Tremont? Yes. It’s considered the quieter side of the island. But I still remember the fancy men and ladies in their automobiles. They all had summer cottages in the high-end area of Bar Harbor, and they’d come for the season. They’d drive out to the lighthouse and usually stop for cool drinks at my father’s store for the drive back.”

  “It seems like a different world, doesn’t it?”

  “My brother, Samuel…he loved the sea,” she continued, still lost in her thoughts. “I was so confused when he became a pilot. I suppose he wanted to conquer a new frontier—the sky.”

  They were nearing Danesfield House, and another thought struck her. “I would have been there today.”

  He glanced over at her. “What do you mean?”

  “My mother used to take me to the lighthouse every year for my birthday. One year she was ill and my father took me…” Emotion balled in her throat. “The coastline is rocky, and there are towering evergreen trees. I felt so small there, standing between the rocks and trees and the water. And I supposed that’s why I liked it. It reminded me that God is so much bigger than all of it.”

  When they got to the gate, Howard opened it for them and waved them in. Will parked in front of the main entrance and opened the car door, but then he motioned her to stay where she was.

  “Don’t go anywhere. I have something for you.”

  She shifted slightly in her seat and looked up at the workroom where her coworkers were gathering for their shifts. Were any of them peering out of the windows watching her? She wouldn’t be surprised.

  When Will returned, he held a canvas in his hand. He sat in the driver’s seat and handed it to her. “It seems I have a birthday present for you after all. I was just waiting for the day to give it to you. I suppose today is the day
.”

  With a smile he told her to turn it over.

  Emma did and then gasped. It was of a young woman rowing in the middle of a storm. Her Victorian dress and hairstyle gave her away. Emma’s heart leapt. “It’s Grace Darling!”

  She studied the painting closer, looking at the determination in the woman’s eyes, her grip on the oars, and her face wet with rain and saltwater.

  “I’m amazed how you captured it. She looks so real. It almost looks like I can reach in and touch the warmth of her skin.”

  He stared at her and joy filled his face. “I knew she was your hero, and I’ve been wanting to ask. How did you come to hear about our Grace?”

  “Your Grace, is it?” She chuckled. “When I was eight years old I found a book of lighthouse stories. I decided then that’s what I wanted to do. My grandmother loved reading, and from that year on every birthday or Christmas she sent me books about lighthouses. One of the stories mentioned Grace, so I learned all I could about her too.”

  “Did you have a favorite?”

  “Oh yes! Ida Lewis lived in the Lime Rock Lighthouse in Newport, Rhode Island, and she began tending the light when she was fifteen years old. Her father had been the lighthouse keeper, but he’d been disabled by a stroke. He’d only been the lighthouse keeper for four months, and the women took over the role. He died in 1872, and his wife assumed the position officially, but it was Ida who did all the work. When her mother died seven years later, Ida was officially appointed to the job.

  “Sometimes, as a girl, I’d lay in bed at night and imagine I was Ida. I pictured myself filling the lamp with oil at sundown and again at midnight, trimming the wick, polishing carbon off the reflectors, and extinguishing the light at dawn. While at the lighthouse, Ida saved many lives—some say it was as many as thirty-six—by rowing out to help victims of the storm. There didn’t seem to be anything better than that. I read those lighthouse books over and over again.”

  “Until you discovered Agatha Christie.”

  Laughter spilled from Emma’s lips. “That’s exactly right. She’s just one of many favorite authors. Mother says I’m just like grandmother. I don’t read books, I eat them—I take them in and they become a part of me.”