Water Song (Once Upon a Time (Simon Pulse))

by Mahlon F. Craft Suzanne Weyn

  “How are you getting out?” Emma asked, standing to make her point.

  “Magic. Now you see me, now you don’t!”

  “Stop saying that and tell me the truth!”

  “Here’s a truth: I wish your father were a smaller man,” he said, holding the clothing up unhappily. “I don’t feel I look my best in his things. They’re too baggy on me.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate having bats, worms, and bugs in his clothing drawer.”

  “You know what they say,” Jack said glibly as he headed into the bathroom with the dry clothing. “‘War is hell.’”

  Emma spun toward the door as Colonel Schiller threw it open with an unceremonious bang. “Frau Sprat, have you talent for cutting hair?” he demanded. “The soldier who usually cuts the men’s hair is ill, and they are growing unkempt in appearance.”

  “Um … not really,” she said. She’d never cut anyone’s hair in her life.

  “Your husband, perhaps?”

  “Jack, you don’t know how to cut hair, do you?” she called into the bathroom, switching to English.

  Jack poked his head out from the bathroom door, an eager expression on his face. “Did you say hair?” he asked enthusiastically. “My granddad owned a barbershop in New Orleans. Tell him I can cut hair like an ace.”

  “You are well enough to do this?” Colonel Schiller inquired uncertainly. Emma had almost forgotten he could speak English.

  “Yeah, you right, I am. Nearly right as rain,” Jack assured him confidently. “Speaking of rain, this is some weather we’re havin’, huh?”

  Colonel Schiller was not interested in exchanging pleasantries about the weather. He beckoned to a soldier standing guard outside the door. “Take Herr Sprat to the barbering station and get him what he needs,” he told him. With a quick wink at Emma, Jack followed the soldier out of the room.

  “I guess he really likes cutting hair,” Kid observed with some bewilderment.

  “Apparently so,” Emma agreed. Jack Verde was really the strangest young man she’d ever met.

  Colonel Schiller stepped closer to Emma. “Have you anything to report to me?” he asked softly.

  “Only that the Allies now have gas masks,” she said, remembering that Kid had told her that the Germans and Austrians already knew this. “It will make your gas attacks much less effective, won’t it?”

  She was relieved that he didn’t scoff at her information. Maybe he, personally, hadn’t been aware of it. He nodded thoughtfully. “Too much equipment is getting through to them,” he muttered.

  He turned abruptly to Kid. “Are the Americans resupplying you?” he asked, still speaking English.

  “I haven’t seen any Americans,” Kid answered, looking nervous.

  “That is not what I asked, idiot!” the colonel barked. “Do your weapons and gas masks and guns and food and such come from the United States?”

  “I don’t know,” Kid answered.

  Colonel Schiller yanked Kid by the arm, pulling him out of the bed. The motion wrenched his injured rib cage, and he cried out in pain. “That’s where he was hurt!” Emma protested.

  “He will be much more hurt than that if he doesn’t tell me what I want to know,” the colonel threatened. Holding Kid roughly under the arm, he dragged him out of the room.

  Emma ran to the door alongside them, but it was slammed in her face and bolted. Judging from the direction of sounds in the hall, Kid was being brought to her old bedroom, where the other two soldiers probably were.

  That door was slammed shut, and she cringed to hear the harsh and angry shouts that followed. Putting her hands to her ears, she pressed her forehead to the wall, trying desperately to block out the terrible sounds that continued to come from that direction.

  That night Jack came in very late. He was whistling a tune she’d never heard before. “Hey, you awake, sug?” he whispered into the dark room.

  “Did you have fun?” she asked bitterly from her spot on the chair.

  He came over and sat on the chair arm. In the dark she could see his outline and darker shadows. “It was sort of fun,” he admitted.

  He held up a paper bag to her. “Those Germans have great hair. Look how much I collected.”

  “You kept their hair?” she asked in disgust.

  “No, you don’t understand,” he insisted. “Hair is full of all sorts of stuff—minerals, chemicals, all like that. My mam could sniff a person’s hair and tell you what that person had for lunch. She once solved a murder case and got her cousin set free by proving that a fella had been poisoned, not choked. She did it by studyin’ the dead guy’s hair.”

  “Oh, be quiet!” she shouted at him. “I don’t want to hear about hair or any of your superstitious back-country nonsense!”

  “Hair’s not nonsense,” he disagreed. “Listen, it’s finally happened. The Germans sank the American ship, the Lusitania, just like they threatened to do. Over a thousand people died, more than one hundred of them were Americans. It’s horrible, but the U.S. will come over for sure now.” He got up and went to Kid’s bed. “Hey, Kid,” he began.

  Slowly, he realized that the bed was empty. “Where’d he go?”

  “You couldn’t hear it?” she asked bitterly.

  “Hear what?”

  “How could you not hear what was going on up here?” she shouted. Somehow she blamed him, had been blaming him all night. She knew it was irrational, but somehow she’d kept hoping that he would do something, somehow make the shouting stop.

  “I was down in the kitchen and they were all singin’ these crazy German songs at the tops of their lungs. What should I have been hearing?” he asked, his voice growing urgent.

  “I’ve been sitting here listening to them try to get secret information out of Kid and the other two.” As she spoke, a sob choked her voice.

  It had been so awful! His not being there had made it all the worse. She felt so much stronger with him near. Being there alone, listening to the anguished cries from the other room had completely rattled her. Not even the drumming rain could drown out the sounds. “They stopped about an hour ago,” she continued, forcing the words out through great, heaving sobs.

  Jack cursed softly, returning to her side. Settling on the chair’s arm again, he put his arm around her and she continued to cry into his chest. “He’s just a boy, Jack,” she sobbed. “I don’t even know if he’s still”—she could hardly say the words—”if he’s still alive.”

  He stroked her hair with a comforting hand. “He’s alive,” he said. “I can sense it. Listen, Emma. I’ll find a way to help him. Just let me think on it. I’ll find a way. I promise.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Way Out

  Jack moved along the secret corridor he’d discovered, feeling the dampness in the walls increase as he grew closer to the well. He hoped he wasn’t too late.

  After she’d finally fallen asleep he knew he had to get busy, had to hide and be ready. He couldn’t let Emma down, not after finding her there so distraught and promising her he’d take action. And he had to help Kid. He’d always harbored a gnawing guilt that he’d failed Kid during the gas attack. He wouldn’t fail him a second time.

  The path grew narrow and he pressed himself up against it, inhaling as he squeezed through the tight space. He liked to tell Emma that he could appear and disappear at will. He’d always wondered if his mam had that ability. She sure seemed to pop up at strange times. But the truth was that as a boy on the street he’d become very resourceful at finding his way in and out of places.

  Even when he’d been down in the well the first time, nearly blind and insane with pain, he had spied the narrow utility door just above the water level. It was a lifelong habit of his to be alert to exits, entrances, and possible escape hatches. He’d thought that the door must lead somewhere, unless it was only a closet, and so he’d made a mental note of it.

  But it wasn’t just a closet. Once he’d found the hidden way out of the
bedroom, he’d discovered that the place was full of tunnels and passages. Some of them were made innocently enough when new construction was done on the place. Other passages looked like they were intended to be secret. Who knew what kinds of crazy dukes or lords were sneaking around the place way back when? The estate—strategically situated as it was on top of The Ridge—might have always had a military use, and the tunnels might have helped folks sneak out with secrets. He wondered if anyone in Emma’s family was even aware of these tunnels.

  He came to the door that led to the inside of the well and peered out the small window at the top of it. The dim light filtering down into the well told him dawn was breaking.

  He’d heard them take out the other two soldiers early in the morning when it was still dark. Listening carefully, he and Emma had been able to hear Kid’s voice until they finally heard them taking him out of the room just fifteen minutes earlier.

  Cautiously, he cracked open the door, unsure of exactly where the water level would be. It stood only an inch below the bottom of the door. The water would have rushed in if the water level was higher. Maybe that didn’t matter. The door at the far end of the passage would hold it back. He assumed the window was there so a person could prepare for an incoming flood.

  This was how he’d gotten to Emma so fast when she’d gone down for her locket. Lucky too that he’d seen her! He hated to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t.

  Pulling off his boots, he jumped into the bracingly cold water. He swam the short way to the ladder. When he pulled up onto the rungs he patted his shirt pocket, checking that what he’d need was still there. It was, so he began to climb.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Rain

  Emma opened her eyes and stretched there in the big chair. A murky light told her that dawn had come, although the rain clouds let only the grayness through. Jack lay asleep in the bed, his back to her.

  The only sound was that of the steadily pelting rain.

  Her eyes felt salty and swollen from so much fierce crying, and her throat was dry. She arose to wash her face and get a drink.

  Before going toward the bathroom, however, she heard a voice outside shout something. Who would be out in the rain and so early? Hurrying to the window, she saw figures moving along the pond.

  Two soldiers were moving Kid along, their rifles pointed at him. His hands were tied behind him. They stopped so one of the soldiers could load Kid’s uniform Jacket pockets with rocks.

  Emma’s hand flew over her mouth, which had dropped open with alarm. What were they doing?

  “Jack!” she shouted to the sleeping figure on the bed. He didn’t stir. “Jack!” she called again, turning away from the window toward him.

  Gunfire cracked the air, making her whirl back to the sound.

  “No!” she screamed, watching wide-eyed with horror as Kid slumped to the ground.

  Working together, the soldiers kicked the boy into the gray, rain-rippled pond. Then they turned back for the estate.

  No no no no! Her shocked mind wouldn’t accept it. There still had to be some way to fix this. She flew to Jack. “They’ve shot Kid!” she shouted.

  Why didn’t he wake up? Why wasn’t he responding? She yanked his blanket from him—he wasn’t there at all! Pillows had been plumped beneath the blanket to make it look like his sleeping form, but he was gone! Where was he?

  A sense of unreality swept over her, as though she were in a bubble where time was moving with unnatural slowness. Where did he go? Where did he go?

  Moving dazedly back to the window, she looked out again.

  There he was—standing by the pond! Wasn’t he? With the torrents of rain, she couldn’t be sure.

  And then he was gone.

  But how could he have disappeared so fast?

  “Claudine, I must go outside. You must get me out!”

  She said it in French, then in German, and then in English, desperate to make her understand. No matter what Jack was doing out there, she couldn’t stand waiting for him to return. She needed to be with him, helping him, making sure he came back safely. Together they had to help Kid. She couldn’t stand not taking action.

  If it had been a nice day, she might have asked Colonel Schiller to let her take a walk, as she’d done before, but how could she explain wanting to be out in a rainstorm?

  Claudine’s eyes flashed with comprehension as she raised a hand for Emma to wait before checking the doorway. Then she took the tray with the uneaten breakfast she had brought in and stepped out into the hallway past the soldier on guard there.

  With a cry of alarm, she tripped, throwing the food at the guard at the door as she tumbled to the floor.

  The soldier shouted with surprise, then wiped the eggs from his uniform in disgust. He scolded her, but she yelled right back at him, demanding something in Flemish.

  The second the soldier was on the stairs, descending, Claudine jumped up and beckoned to Emma. When Emma darted into the hall, Claudine pointed toward a back staircase and Emma ran toward it. It was a servants’ stairway, never used by the family. She’d nearly forgotten it existed.

  At the bottom of the winding stairs she found a coatrack with old work coats and slickers piled on top. Grabbing a hooded black slicker, she stepped out the narrow door into the driving rain.

  Keeping close to the estate, she went around until she was across from the pond and the well. Then, head down, she hurried to the far side of the well and crouched as low as she could. The rain was coming down so hard that she could barely see to the pond. She’d need to go closer to look for Kid. If Jack hadn’t gotten to him already, maybe she could pull him out. Was there even a chance that she wasn’t too late? Probably not, but she had to try.

  Staying low, she scrambled to the pond to the spot where they’d pushed Kid in. Raindrops spattered the pond’s surface, making it impossible for her to see below. It was hopeless!

  Looking up at the gray estate looming before her in the rain, she was overtaken with a horror of it. The place had become a prison and she couldn’t stand to go back. She’d gone back only for Jack the last time she’d tried to escape. This time, she didn’t know if he’d even be there if she returned.

  Still crouching low, she hurried along the pond, heading for the trees. This time she was determined to head for Dunkirk and find her father’s friend.

  Once she had climbed over the first rock wall and reached the forest, the spring leaves dispersed the worst of the downpour somewhat, though the tapping of the rain on their surfaces was nearly deafening.At least she could see the way ahead.

  Emma had moved several yards into the forest when she heard something that made her stop.

  It was a low moan—a decidedly human sound.

  Following its direction, she became aware of a male figure sprawled on top of a mossy boulder about another yard away. He rolled slightly, as if he’d been unconscious and was groggily struggling toward wakefulness.

  Cautiously, she crept toward him. At first, she wondered if it was Jack, but quickly ascertained as she grew nearer that this person possessed a smaller frame than his.

  “Kid!” she cried with a gasp when she was close enough to see him clearly.

  Turning his head toward her, he forced a smile. “Hello. What are you doing here?”

  “What am I … ?” she sputtered, climbing onto the rock. “What are you doing here? I saw them shoot you and kick you into the pond.”

  “Then it’s true,” he said. “I’ve been lying here wondering what’s real and what I only dreamed.”

  “How did you get out of the pond?” Emma asked, taking off her slicker and draping it over him. The boy shivered, completely soaked, his shirt plastered to his wet body by blood as well as rain.

  “It might sound crazy,” he replied, his voice thin and weak, “but as I was sinking down, I swear I saw a giant frog swim up from the bottom of the pond and grab me. It might have been a dream. That’s all I remember, until right now. I don’t know
how I got here.”

  “It’s not crazy,” she told him. “I saw a creature like that in the well one time.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know. It was dark. I couldn’t really see it.” He moaned in pain, making her look down at him sharply. “Where did they shoot you?”

  He attempted a bitter smile but succeeded only in twitching his pale lips. “They got me in the other side, my good side.” Slowly he pushed away his jacket and touched the most blood-soaked area of his shirt.

  Emma swallowed hard and forced her nerves to stay steady as she gingerly lifted his shirt, tugging gently in the places where the bloody wetness had made it adhere to his skin. “Oh my God!” she gasped when she saw the wound.

  “That bad, is it?” Kid asked.

  “No, it’s not that! It appears that it was bad, but it’s been tended to,” she told him. A pile of leaves was pressed into a plaster of mud over the wound in Kid’s side. Gazing at the dripping leaves around her, she realized she didn’t see this sort of leaf anywhere. Carefully lifting the leaves, she inspected the mud. She cried out, recoiling as a worm crawled from the mound. As she caught her breath she saw that it was sprinkled with fine threads. No, not threads, she thought. It’s hair!

  “It’s Jack,” she told Kid. “He did this.”

  “Are you saying Jack’s the giant frog?” Kid asked.

  “I don’t know,” Emma admitted. “It’s crazy. I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A Secret Meeting

  “We will take very good care of him,” the farmer assured Emma, speaking French. He handed her a cup of tea as she sat covered by a blanket, finally starting to feel warm again.

  Emma had walked for nearly three miles in the rain before she came to this farmhouse to ask for help. The Belgian farmer and his wife immediately sent their two sons to find Kid and bring him back. Once there, they had washed him and changed him into dry clothing. “Shall I wash away this mud patch?” the wife had asked.