A Secret Courage

by Tricia Goyer

  Emma turned her attention to the painting again. “There is just so much detail. And look…” She pointed to the woman’s shawl. “The shawl she is wearing is tattered and has moth holes, which makes sense. Lighthouse keepers didn’t make much.”

  “You notice everything, don’t you?”

  “How could I not notice?”

  “You’re different. You see the small details that most people miss. Were you always like this?”

  “Maybe it was all those years pretending to be a spy. My brother…” She let her voice trail off. Her brother would get so annoyed. The young hero was always on the search to rescue something, anything—a cat in a tree, a fish struggling in the stream—and she’d follow him, watch him, report his antics to their mother, much to his chagrin. She’d saved his life a dozen times through her reporting. Only she hadn’t been there to help when it really mattered, when Samuel’s life really was on the line. “Yes, my brother and I liked to play spies.”

  “I’m sure you two were quite the match,” Will said, noting the pain in her gaze. “I also imagine your observation helps you in your work too—acute observation, meticulous attention to detail, and the capacity to follow clues.”

  With his words the warmth in her body vanished. Emma’s blood ran cold. “You know nothing of my work. I haven’t said a word. And I don’t intend to.” Her voice came out sharper than she’d intended. She glanced up at Danesfield House, and for a moment wondered if she had given too much away.

  Her fingers trembled as she held the painting, and for the first time she didn’t know what to say. It was the second time that day Will had brought up her work, and warning signals flashed in her head.

  Don’t be silly, she told herself. It was just a meaningless comment. But as Emma turned to Will to apologize, she noticed something in his gaze she didn’t expect—guilt. Was there more to Will that he hadn’t told her? Was there anything she should be worried about?

  Before exiting the automobile, Emma pressed the painting of Grace to her chest. “Thank you, Will,” she managed to say. “It was a beautiful day, and it’s a beautiful gift.” Then she exited the car before her worries, her fears, held her hostage. She wanted to think the best of him, she really did, but the emotions of the day jumbled in her mind and heart.

  He walked her to her Nissen hut, and she gave him a quick hug good-bye. As he strode away, she again wondered why he’d brought up her work. Maybe she should pay closer attention. After all, with her doing, Will—Wilhelm—was now let inside the gates. Was it something she’d later regret?

  Will parked his auto in front of the small cottage, and even before opening the driver’s door a tension tightened his gut. He turned off the engine yet didn’t move. His hands gripped the steering wheel.

  In the moonlight he spotted the flower pot he’d placed in front of the door to the cottage. It was still perched in front of the door, but it was about six inches closer to the door than it had previously been. Someone had been there. Someone who’d guessed that the flower pot had been placed there strategically.

  Will considered retrieving his revolver from the secret compartment on his dashboard but changed his mind. Whoever had been there was now gone. He stepped out of the car and whistled a happy tune just in case he was being watched. He slung his jacket over his shoulder with one hand as he shut the car door. Then he approached the front door, pushing the flower pot to the side with his foot. He placed his key in the lock and noticed that it unlocked smoothly. Whoever had entered was a professional. They hadn’t broken the lock or broken down the door. Claudius? Berndt?

  Will flipped on the light and looked around. As far as he could see, nothing was out of place. Yet looks could be deceiving. He locked the door behind him and then moved to his dresser. He removed the top drawer and lifted the paper liner. His heart sank. His notes on Danesfield House were gone. The map of the estate grounds were too. Worse yet was his German passport. Was someone trying to imitate him? That was his first guess.

  He moved to the next drawer. The papers weren’t all that were taken. One of his black sweaters and his black slacks were gone.

  Will closed the last drawer and then moved to the kitchen chair. Someone was on to him. Someone knew about his interest in Danesfield House and was trying to bring him down even as they attempted to destroy the work at the estate. Will considered calling Christopher for backup but changed his mind. It was hard to be sure whom to trust. And he didn’t want to risk the lives of anyone at Danesfield House. He couldn’t put Emma in any more jeopardy. He simply had to work harder to get the information he needed and catch the most dominant threat.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  July 30, 1943

  Emma hadn’t slept well after Will dropped her off. She was used to working through the night, but more than that she replayed the day in her mind. Her birthday with Will had been a good one. She was still a little stung by Ruth’s reaction to her at times, but she believed Ruth spoke out of weariness. Emma couldn’t imagine being a single older woman and having to care for four children alone. Emma was thankful that Will did what he could to help out.

  She also replayed her last conversation with Will and hoped her words hadn’t hurt him. She’d been so sharp when he’d mentioned her job.

  “I imagine your observation helps you in your work, too—acute observation, meticulous attention to detail, and the capacity to follow clues,” he’d said.

  After considering his words, she realized he wasn’t talking about her specific job. Or trying to get information from her. Those words could describe anyone in the military. They had to follow rules, they had to pay attention to details, and they had to be observant of what was around them. She knew the next time she saw him she’d apologize. Will he forgive me? This won’t hurt our budding relationship, will it? She hoped not.

  Emma entered the workroom early as usual and sat at her desk. She’d heard there were more bombings in Hamburg, and she dreaded the photos she might see tonight. As she’d lain awake through the night, she’d prayed that she’d be permanently moved to the secret weapons project instead of being called back to help with the mounting workload from the numerous bombings, especially those near city centers.

  So much had happened with the secret weapons project. In early June she’d come across something she’d witnessed in the first Peenemünde covers that now made sense. The new photos had shown a lot more details, and she was able to see that adjacent to the large elliptical embankment was a thick vertical column forty feet high. It rested on a fan-shaped stretch of open foreshore. But it wasn’t until near the end of June that they’d realized what that vertical column was. It all became clear when they got additional covers on June 23. It was then she and Georgette came across a rocket—an actual rocket—visible and lying within the earthworks.

  Their mouths had gaped at the discovery. The detail in the covers was clear. Above the rocket was what looked like an observation platform. Beyond the end of the road were the woods and the fan-shaped stretch of shore where she’d spotted the forty-foot column. And there, laying on the ground, they found the tailless airplane. There was more happening at Peenemünde than previously thought!

  After these discoveries, Emma went down to the archives and talked to Vera, asking her to again pull all the previous covers from Peenemünde. She examined them, the newer observations shedding light on all their old questions.

  “Watch for anything queer,” Edward had told them. That wasn’t hard. In her hut she dreamed about maps, coastlines, buildings, and bridges. The next set of photos from Peenemünde proved fruitful.

  “It seems we have a bit of luck today. Good weather. Good photographs,” Georgette had said.

  Emma pulled out the old covers for comparison, pointing out all the discoveries she’d previously made. “Yes, see, here are the weapons.”

  “Does Hitler know they’re not a secret?” Sarah had asked.

  Georgette had leaned closer, pointing. “And what are these?”

 
; Emma turned her attention to the photo in front of her friend. “What?”

  “They look like tailless airplanes. I’d say they’re queer enough to satisfy anybody.”

  Sarah leaned in closer too. “I’ve seen this before. Jet-propelled aircraft leave these fan-shaped scorch marks on the ground. That means…”

  “We simply need to look for the same marks at other locations,” Emma had said. “It’s like putting together pieces of a puzzle.”

  With the detailed photos, her team went back to the fuzzy ones and picked out the same flying machines. When their reports were sent to the War Cabinet, it was decided that Hitler was producing both the jet-propelled bombs and the rocket torpedoes simultaneously. This made a lot of sense. For the previous months they’d believed that all the pieces of the puzzle pointed to one weapon. They just didn’t know which one. It was easier to separate things out now that they understood there were two projects. It just took time to separate their covers and information—like pulling apart two sets of jigsaw pieces—but she had a feeling that once they did, things would make more sense.

  That was the type of mystery that intrigued her. It was easier on her heart to stay in step with Hitler than to keep track of the destruction, no matter how necessary it was to win the war. Would she be so lucky again today?

  Emma rose from her desk and moved to the window, knowing that soon the bombers would be coming in. Unexpectedly, the door opened behind her, and Sarah entered. Sarah usually wore a look of boredom and aloofness, but not today. Today her eyes noted concern.

  “Emma, Howard sent me up for you. There’s someone to see you. A pilot. He says he needs to see you now.”

  “A pilot? Do you know him?”

  Sarah shook her head. “It’s no one I recognized from Benson.”

  Emma’s heart leapt. Samuel! Was it possible that there had been some mistake? That her brother was alive?

  Emma hurried over to Sarah. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in the foyer waiting. I told him I’d come for you and you’d be right down.”

  Sarah must have noticed the excitement on Emma’s face. Sarah’s eyebrows folded into a scowl and she grabbed Emma’s arm. “Emma, wait.”

  Emma paused.

  “Listen, love, from the look on his face I don’t think he has good news. I know you lost your brother but…” Sarah’s words trailed off.

  Emma placed a hand over her mouth, and she understood. It was not Samuel downstairs. Samuel was gone. Samuel would forever be gone. Samuel would not be coming back. She’d known this, of course. She just hadn’t wanted to believe it.

  Sarah released her arm, and Emma hurried to the staircase that would take her down to the lobby. Her feet moved quickly, but her mind raced even faster. She approached the top of the stairs and stopped. A pilot stood at the foot of the stairs. He was short and stocky with reddish brown hair and a ruddy complexion. He carried a day bag over his shoulder. Seeing her, he removed his cap and held it in his hand. She had to watch each step as she went down, making sure she wouldn’t fall.

  “I’m sorry, miss, are you Emma Hanson?”

  Emma nodded but couldn’t speak.

  Sarah was right. The mournful look in his eyes told her something was wrong.

  “Is it my parents? Did something happen?” She reached out her hand and opened a palm up toward him, as if urging him not to speak yet. As if that palm alone could shield her from whatever news he bore.

  “No, ma’am.” His words were quick. “I don’t know your folks. I’m sure they’re nice people. I mean, I heard about them. They sounded nice and all…” He swallowed hard. “I know I’m not making any sense.” He looked at her feet as if he could read an invisible script on her shoes that would tell him what to say.

  Her brow furrowed. “Do I know you?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m Robert Ames. Maybe you heard about me? Or maybe not. I’m not sure if Sammy had written about me. I am…or rather I was…Sammy’s best friend, you see.”

  Then, like rays of light filtering through a fog, it started to make sense. The pilot’s uniform. The man’s round, doleful gaze.

  “Do you have a few minutes to talk? I only have a day’s leave. It took me a slow minute to get here from London.” He pointed a thumb to the door behind her. “When I came here I was worried they wouldn’t let me see you, but when I explained why I was here they let me in. I didn’t know what I was going to say or do.” He tilted his head, and his gaze focused on hers. “I’d pick you out anywhere. Sammy has this photo, you see…I knew I’d recognize you.”

  Emma placed a hand over her heart. Tears sprang to her eyes. “He talked about me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. About you, your folks, and life in Tremont. Seems like a real pretty place.” He turned his hat in his hand. “If you have a few minutes…”

  “Of course. I went in early for my shift, but I have time.” She pointed to the stairs outside the front door. “Can we go outside? We could sit out there. It’s a bit chilly with the breeze, but when isn’t it? At least the sun feels nice.”

  “Sure.”

  Outside, Emma sat at the top step and smoothed her uniform skirt. Tingles danced up and down her arms. This man knew her brother. Sammy, they called him. Her throat grew hot and thick. She attempted to swallow the emotion away, realizing Robert was probably one of the last people to see Samuel alive.

  The man situated himself next to her. He sat far enough away to not make her uncomfortable but close enough to keep his voice low when he talked.

  “I knew your brother throughout the war. He was the pilot, and I was his copilot, you see. We met in boot camp and we’ve been…we were…pretty inseparable after that. Sammy was a good Christian man. We shared the same faith. Every time we went up in the airplane during training or practice runs, our conversations would turn to God. I mean, how could it not when you’re flying so high and you see all of God’s green earth spread out under you?”

  Emma nodded, entranced with each word. And she tried to picture it. When they were young, she’d been the one to point out such things to him. She remembered how she would stand at the edge of a cliff and sigh. “Look at that, Samuel. How could someone not believe in God when looking out at an ocean like that?” For a moment she wondered if Robert was just saying these things to make her feel better about her loss, but when she looked closer, she noticed truth radiating out from the man’s eyes.

  “What else? Did he have a lot of friends? Was he worried about the missions?” She wanted to ask Robert how Samuel felt after releasing his bombs that first time, but she changed her mind. Samuel was always softhearted even though he tried hard not to show it. Had he battled the conflict of fighting, knowing innocent people would be hurt in the process? Had he found a way to resolve that deep struggle within better than she had?

  She listened as Robert told her about basic training, about one specific U-boat scare when their unit was on a ship crossing to Britain. And about the beautiful young woman he met on leave in London.

  “I never saw Sammy jitterbug like that before. They danced throughout the night. Her name was Betsy, and I tried to find her contact information to tell her about Sammy’s death, but it wasn’t in his things. Maybe she’ll always wonder what happened to him. Or maybe deep down she already knows.”

  Emma smiled, remembering the way Samuel used to dance in the living room in front of their radio to his favorite boogie-woogie songs, much to his mom’s dismay. And it was then that the tears came.

  Robert gave her space and time to gather her emotions and tuck them back inside.

  “I’m sorry I’m going to have to leave soon. I need to catch the train. I’m thankful a driver at the station heard me asking about Medmenham and offered to give me a ride. He’s taking me back too.”

  Emma nodded, but she wanted to cling to him. Wanted to hold on to this connection with her brother a little bit longer.

  “I have some things I thought you’d like to have.” Robert reached for the day bag he
was carrying. “Before…well, before Sammy’s last mission, he’d been planning a trip to see you. Told me where you were. We always flew together, but I got real sick that day. The damp, freezing winter got to me. Sammy…why, you could never slow him down. He volunteered with another crew, and that plane never came back. Most of his things went back to your folks, but since you were not so far I thought you’d like this.” Robert reached into his bag and pulled out a small Bible.

  Emma opened the inside cover, knowing what she’d find. She’d glued the photo of the two of them inside. The photo was still there, taken a year before she’d left to attend school at Oxford. He in a suit and she in a dark dress, standing on the beach. But the page opposite was what took her breath away. Samuel’s script covered the first page.

  Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest (JOSHUA 1:9).

  Tears filled her eyes. “This is Samuel’s handwriting.”

  “Yes, I know. I recognize it. Handwriting too pretty for a guy like him—I’d always tease.”

  “He told you to give this to me?”

  “Said that if anything happened to him to make sure that you got it.”

  She opened the Bible and noticed more of her brother’s handwriting. There were underlined passages and comments. She paused on one page and saw it was a prayer. Tears came again.

  “I have to admit I’m surprised. Back home my brother would talk about God some, but he wasn’t much interested in reading his Bible. He said he knew God was there and that was enough for him.”

  Robert’s eyes widened. “That’s not the man that I knew. There are no atheists in foxholes. I’m sure you’ve seen that. Suppose in times of war the heartache makes you either turn away from God or turn toward him. For Sammy, God became the most important thing.”