A Secret Courage

by Tricia Goyer

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  August 14, 1943

  Emma had seen Will the day after she’d returned from London, yet she said nothing about the attack. She wanted to tell him, but something held her back. She had, however, told him about Robert’s visit and how much it meant to receive Samuel’s Bible. She’d also told him about Vera’s suggestion to go rowing with her and Berndt.

  “How about Saturday?” he’d suggested.

  “You really want to?” She’d wrapped her arms around herself when she thought about spending time with Berndt. She didn’t like being near the man, and the idea of planning an outing as two couples caused her stomach to hurt.

  “Well, you say that something bothers you about Berndt. Maybe we should figure out what that is.”

  Emma had agreed only after Will had also agreed to invite Ruth and the children.

  “They need a chance to enjoy the water, to play,” she’d urged him. But she also knew with the children there, she could always turn her attention to them if things got uncomfortable.

  It was only a few days later that they gathered in Henley on a small beach. They’d rented two rowboats and had plans to take turns on the water with the children.

  Will dropped off Emma, Vera, and Berndt first, and he then drove to get Ruth and the children. Emma took to the water immediately, enjoying the sensation of the paddles dipping into the water. It was easier rowing on the river than it had been in Bass Harbor, with the choppy ocean waves. She found herself gliding through the water with little effort.

  On the other side of the river a man was rowing, and he seemed shocked to watch her pick up speed. She smiled to herself, remembering that even though Samuel had grown to pass her in running speed and in strength, she could always beat him rowing on the water. He never could find the rhythm that came naturally to her.

  It cut her to the core to think about her brother, and the events from the past week seemed to bring everything to the surface again. Samuel was only twenty-eight months younger, and Mama said they always acted more like twins. Since the moment Samuel learned to walk, he’d run around, keeping up with her. Pretty soon he passed her. And that was how she considered the rest of their growing-up years—a contest of who would be first.

  When Emma had a loose tooth, Samuel had hit his with a big rock and wiggled it until it came out—despite the fact that it hadn’t been close to being loose. He’d jump off the high board first at the city pool, and when her parents told her they couldn’t afford a piano, Samuel had traded his baseball cards for a small guitar and asked a local musician to teach him how to play.

  But that wasn’t the worst part. Samuel had been content in waiting to sign up for the war, and he hadn’t mentioned leaving school early until he realized she’d decided to move to Oxford in hopes of being able to sign up for the WAAF once there.

  By the time she’d arrived in Oxford, after the long journey across the Atlantic, two letters had been waiting. In the first, Samuel had said he wanted to be a pilot. The second letter stated he was in flight school. And by the time she’d finished school and signed up for the WAAFs, he was already flying bombers and preparing to head overseas.

  Maybe if I hadn’t been in such a rush, he wouldn’t have been either, she thought with a sigh as she turned the rowboat around and headed back. She used the last quarter mile to clear her head and planned to enjoy the day.

  Will was parking the car as she climbed out of the rowboat. Her arms tingled from the effort, but it was a good feeling. Will had barely stopped when the four children piled out of the car.

  Emma chuckled as she hurried to help Ruth, whose hands were full with all their things.

  “The children have been looking forward to this all week,” Ruth said as she approached. “It’s so nice of you to invite them.”

  “Emma is the one who found the boats,” Will said, taking a large basket of food from Ruth’s hands.

  Emma took a blanket from the boot and moved to Ruth’s side. “I just asked some locals who worked at Danesfield House. They pointed me in the right direction.”

  “We just need to make sure that we keep a close eye on them. None of them—” The words were barely out of Ruth’s lips when shouts filled the air.

  First Emma heard Will’s voice calling to the children to tell them to climb out of the rowboat and then Sophie’s screams as the boat tipped. The girl cried out as she fell into the water. Without hesitation, Will and Berndt rushed forward.

  “She can’t swim!” Ruth yelled. But it wasn’t Sophie’s frantic movements that caught Emma’s attention. Rather, it was the white shoe sticking out from under the overturned rowboat.

  “Victoria! She’s under the rowboat!”

  Calling out to Charlie and Eliza to stay on shore, Emma rushed forward and waded into the water. But the men were ahead of her. Will was already diving under the boat. Almost in one smooth motion he’d snagged Victoria and brought her to the surface. The young girl immediately began crying and sputtering, much to Emma’s relief.

  Emma waded in to her waist, feeling the sharp sting of the cold water, and reached toward the girl in Will’s hands. Will handed the child to her.

  Emma pulled Victoria to her chest. “I’ve got her. Help Berndt!”

  Will nodded and turned. Emma rushed Victoria up to the bank, laying her down on the fresh summer grass. Victoria immediately started coughing out the water and struggling against Emma’s hold, and Emma breathed another sigh of relief. She turned back and saw that Berndt was sloshing up to the bank with Sophie in his arms. Will held the rope to the rowboat, making sure it didn’t float downstream.

  Berndt stepped out of the water, and Emma quickly saw that he’d lost his shoes. His sloshy black-stockinged feet carried him up the bank. Vera rushed to him, patting the back of a crying Sophie. Ruth hurried to him too, pushing her way in front of Vera. “Is she all right?”

  Berndt nodded. “Cold and scared, but I think she’ll be just fine.”

  Ruth wrapped her arms around them both, and a cry of relief escaped her lips.

  “I should have been watching them closer,” Ruth moaned, stepping back. “We’d better head back to the cottage and draw a warm bath before they catch their death of cold.” Then she looked down at Berndt’s feet. “Oh—your shoes!”

  He glanced over his shoulder to the water, his face grim. “They’re somewhere down the river now, to be certain.”

  Ruth placed a hand over her heart. “I feel so bad. Shoes aren’t easy to come by.”

  “Perhaps I know someone.” Will stepped forward, brushing his wet hair back from his face. “I had a friend who lived in Henley. His name was Albert, and he was about your size. Unfortunately, he passed away. I know his landlord was looking for someone who could use his things.”

  Berndt narrowed his gaze at Will, and Emma had a hard time understanding what was happening. Was Will telling the truth? How come she hadn’t heard about Albert before?

  “Didn’t you say that you had a roommate named Albert who passed away?” Vera looked from Will to Berndt, obviously confused.

  The small girls were still crying, but Emma was more bothered by the interaction between the men. She tried to decipher the interaction between them. There wasn’t a lifted brow or the smallest flicker of emotion, and that’s what puzzled her. It’s as if each was watching the other, waiting for a response. But why? What were these unspoken messages passing between them?

  “I have another pair of shoes,” Berndt said flatly.

  Will took a step closer to him. “That’s good, but surely you don’t want to walk in stockinged feet. Not with your injury.” Will placed emphasis on the last word. “Let me give you a ride home after I take Ruth—”

  “I don’t need a ride.” Berndt’s voice was sharper this time. “It’s no problem, really. I’d hate to get your auto so wet.”

  “Nonsense. I’d be happy to give you a ride home.”

  Instead of answering Will, Berndt turn to Vera. “My roommate did die,
and unfortunately we didn’t have the same shoe size, but I do have another pair of shoes at home.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “I am certain, Will, that with so many others in need, the landlord can find someone else to take those items. It’s a kind gesture, though.” Berndt cleared his throat. “And as for the ride, please focus on the children. We don’t want them to get too cold.”

  Giving a hasty good-bye, Vera went with Berndt, telling Emma she’d find her own ride back to Danesfield House. Emma rode with Will and Ruth, trying not to shiver as she held a wet Victoria on her lap.

  Once they got to Ruth’s house, Ruth told them she’d have the girls bathed and tucked in bed in no time flat. She urged them to enjoy their day together.

  Will and Emma didn’t argue, and she soon found herself back at his cottage, where he’d found her some dry clothes to change into.

  Emma tightened the belt as tight as she could and rolled up the bottom of Will’s pants. Even though his socks were dry, her shoes were still soaked, and they squeaked as she stepped into his living room. Noting his eyes on her, she lifted her hands and did a twirl. “What do you think?”

  “I’d say my clothes look better on you than they do on me.” He approached and placed a kiss on her forehead. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be just a moment.”

  “Of course not. Do you mind if I browse your books?” She pointed to the bookshelf.

  “Have at it.”

  He entered the bathroom, and she moved to the shelf. They were mostly art books, which she didn’t find surprising. There were a few on English history. She pulled out a large volume, and then noticed a small book tucked back behind it. English Architecture in a Country Village.

  Oh. Her heart leaped. It was the book he’d purchased the first day she saw him. It was a thin volume with a sketch of Medmenham Church on the cover. She gingerly opened the front cover and saw a delightful map. Her eyes immediately moved to her corner of the world.

  “(A) Danesfield 1790 R. 1901,” she whispered. She looked at the legend and noticed the (A) stood for prehistoric earthworks. The R. stood for the year it was remodeled.

  Earthworks? That was interesting. She hadn’t heard of that being anywhere near Danesfield House. And she wondered if Will knew anything about it.

  Her finger followed the River Thames from Danesfield, past the demolished Man Mill, the ancient river crossing, past Westfield, and to Henley. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined rowing that stretch of the river. She pictured how things had been centuries ago. It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t much different today.

  She turned the thin page and noticed the full sketch of the Medmenham Church. “Dedicated to St. Peter and St. Paul. Founded in 650 AD, rebuilt 1150 AD. Chancel added 1450 AD.”

  She turned the thin page and read about the church. “Many churches throughout the Chilterns, where there is an entire absence of hard local stone, are of flint rubble mixed with blocks of chalk. One striking feature in this type of masonry is the remarkable way in which old chalk has withstood the ravages of time.”

  The creak of the door caught her attention, and a low whistle interrupted her thoughts. Even before she turned, a smile filled her face. She glanced over her shoulder at him, noting appreciation in his gaze.

  “As pretty as a picture. Maybe one of these days you’ll let me sketch you.”

  “Maybe. But not today. Today I know where I’d like to finish out our adventure.”

  “Oh really? Where?”

  “The old church. I’ve been reading about it here.” She turned and held up the book for him to see. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m being careful. This is the book you bought that day in London, isn’t it?”

  His eyes flickered to the book, and she saw the slightest fold of his brow. A quick smile filled his face. “You remember everything, don’t you?”

  She returned the book to the shelf. “It only takes once”—she tapped her temple—“and it’s locked in.”

  “I’d love to take you to the church. In fact, I was thinking of recording that next.”

  Emma clapped her hands together. “Oh, that would be a beautiful painting. Saint Peter and Saint Paul Church. I suppose they couldn’t decide on a name.” Then she grinned up at him. “Do you think it would be scandalous for me to go around the village in your clothes?”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Maybe before the war, Emma. But I don’t think people would think twice now.”

  It was just a short drive to the stone church, which was situated right across the street from the Dog and Badger. Emma had seen the church every time she went through Medmenham, but now she was happy to stop. It appeared like something from a book of medieval history. A tower rose on one side, and a small wooden porch was attached to the face. There was no sidewalk; instead, a worn path of hardened earth cut through the grass. Ancient tombstones lined either side.

  She took his hand as they walked the path. “Walking from death into life,” she whispered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, just noting the gravestones, that’s all. With a war, there have been so many who are gone. So many who are meeting their eternal fate.” She sighed. “And I’m not just talking about American or British lives lost, you know. It all makes my heart ache. The people of every country are hurting in their own way.”

  Will nodded and listened. She knew he was thinking about being half German because his face suddenly took a downcast look, yet she wanted him to understand—to truly know that his heritage didn’t matter to her.

  “Back in Tremont, there were so many who said horrible things about the Germans and the Japanese, but even before I met you, Will, that didn’t sit right with me.” She hurried on to explain before he felt he had to respond.

  “Our house was next to the grocery store, and sometime when I was young—maybe five or six years old—we bought the house next to it too. There were many renters over the years, but there was one couple…well, they were German. I always enjoyed visiting them until they passed away. I thought it was so fascinating that they came from Europe, just like my mother.”

  “Is it hard, when you think of them and know your work is mostly against Germany now?”

  “I like to think they’d approve of my work. That they wouldn’t be happy with what Hitler is doing either—taking over other countries. Fighting for power and dominance.

  “Otto was always one to speak his mind, and it was Helda’s job to calm him.” She chuckled remembering his rants. “Although if Otto knew all that was happening on his soil now, I’m sure there wouldn’t be anyone who could calm him. He’d chased more than one bully with a cane when he felt like someone wasn’t being treated fairly.”

  “Doing the right thing doesn’t always make it the easy thing,” Will commented. “It’s not now. And it never has been in history.” He shrugged. “It’s easy to look back on people’s actions and judge them, but it’s harder knowing their motives.”

  “I have to say I can’t think about the bombings much,” she admitted. “The lives. The ancient buildings. The cost. And all because of one man’s hunger for power and control.”

  “If we don’t stop him now…” Emotion mounted in Will’s throat. “He’s changing history by the day.”

  “Speaking of history.” She took his hand and pulled him to the church, wanting to turn this day around. “Can we go in? It would be amazing to walk in a church that’s older than my country.”

  “Yes.” He grinned at her. “You’re right. We have the day together, and we don’t need to talk about things we can’t change.” He paused at the door to the church. “And if you like history, you’ll also like this. I read about an old fable. It said that the Norman Church in Medmenham used to have four bells and that one was sold to help pay the ransom of Richard I when he was taken prisoner on his return from the Holy Land.”

  “So now there are only three?”

  “Yes. Only three.”

  Emma smiled as she entered the door and then felt drawn to l
ook over her shoulder at the pub. Her stomach flipped when she saw Vera and Berndt walking into the Dog and Badger. His arm was around her, and their laughter filled the air. He seemed different than he had before, more free. In fact, she would have thought it was a different man if it wasn’t for his characteristic limp.

  Will paused, seeing him too, and a scowl replaced his smile.

  “Let me guess…you want me to continue to keep an eye on him?”

  “Yes, Emma. I know it shouldn’t be my business.”

  “Don’t worry.” She rubbed his shoulder. “I think we both feel the same. There’s something about him that doesn’t make sense, and Vera doesn’t see it. As much as it would hurt her, we need to find the truth about Berndt. We need to save Vera from getting hurt too.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  August 19, 1943

  Emma rubbed the back of her neck. She’d been hunched over for hours, looking through a stereoscope. The photos had come in later than usual, and she had been on pins and needles to see the result of the newest raid.

  She hadn’t been surprised when a raid was announced against Peenemünde, especially after the meeting in London. RAF Bomber Command struck them with force, and from the covers they got back the next day, it was clear that Hitler’s entire V-2 program would be delayed.

  The worst part was, though, that forty RAF aircraft had been lost. With ten men in each bomber crew, the loss of life hurt her to the core. She considered the telegrams that would soon be dispatched and the family members who would be thrown into mourning. Such knowledge made it hard to breathe.

  She rose, stretched, and stepped over to the window, gazing out into the lush garden scene. The world around her seemed large and spacious compared to the miniature world she’d been staring at through the stereoscope.