by Marilyn Turk
She scrambled out of bed and dressed quickly for church. But when she entered the breakfast area, the sisters were sitting in their housecoats drinking tea and eating scones.
“Oh. I thought I was late. I didn’t want to make you late for church.”
The sisters exchanged glances and chuckled.
“My goodness, no,” said Peg. “We have plenty of time to get ready. The service doesn’t start until ten forty-five. Why, we still have a couple of hours to kill.”
Jane walked into the room with a plate full of steaming scones. “These are fresh out of the oven, Miss Lexie. Just for you.”
“Lemon? Jane, you are so thoughtful to make my favorite.”
“Well, Miss Peg likes blueberry, and Miss Marian likes raspberry the best, so I had to make everybody’s favorite.”
“Thank you, Jane. What a treat.” Lexie settled into one of the padded mauve velvet cushions in a white French Provincial chair that matched the dining table. Mauve-and-ivory floral-striped wallpaper covered the room with a bay window that faced the ocean. She lifted a lace-trimmed linen napkin and placed it in her lap before transferring one of the scones from the platter to her plate.
Homer walked in with the newspaper. “Here’s the Times. Some pretty interesting stuff about our area in today’s news.”
“Oh?” Peg reached for the paper. “Let’s see.”
Peg scanned the paper, her eyes growing wide. “My stars! Would you look at that?” She held up the paper and pointed to the headlines.
Lexie leaned forward and read out loud. “FBI Seizes Saboteurs Landed by U-boats Here and in Florida to Blow Up War Plants.”
Marian said, “Here? What do they mean by ‘here’?”
“It says they landed in rafts, and one of them right here on Long Island!” Peg said.
Lexie’s stomach tightened. “When did they land?’
“It says ‘in the last fortnight,’” said Peg. “That’s two weeks.”
“How is that possible? I mean, with so much military here?” Lexie shuddered to think that Nazis had really come ashore, so near where they were.
Marian looked over Peg’s shoulder to read the paper. “Oh, my. It’s even more unbelievable. Listen to this. ‘A young coastguardsman from Amagansett saw them the night they landed and says they gave him money to keep silent.’”
“Amagansett?” Lexie’s mind raced back to the last time she’d been in East Hampton and the train ride back to the city. She pictured the four men she’d seen at the train station. Surely, they weren’t the spies. Why, if that were so, Cal was one of them!
Lexie’s appetite was gone. Was it possible the man she’d been talking to at the diner was a Nazi spy? And he had been so nice and friendly. She had to know.
“Are there any pictures?”
“Let’s see. The story’s continued on page thirty.” Peg turned the pages, then held the paper so Lexie could see. “Yes, here they are.”
Lexie stared at the photos of the men who had been arrested. She recognized three of them, including the man she’d seen Cal with, the “nervous Nellie,” as Penny had called him. But there was no picture of Cal. At first, she was relieved, but then the shock of his true identity hit her. He had to be one of them too. She’d befriended him and trusted him, the enemy. Her anger about being deceived fought with disappointment. She’d shared so much information with him, but he wasn’t the person she thought he was—a nice, friendly gentleman. How could she be so stupid? Why didn’t she realize something about him was suspicious? Sometimes she was too suspicious of others, but to find out she’d trusted someone she shouldn’t have was infuriating. What a fool she’d been!
“Are you all right, Lexie? Marian eyed her with concern. “You seem quite shaken.”
“It’s just … such a shock.” She wasn’t about to tell the sisters she’d had conversations with one of the spies. Their concern for her welfare would be confirmed, perhaps rightfully so.
“It certainly is. Just when we think we’re safe here,” Peg said.
“Well, we are safe, sister. They were caught, and there’s no harm done,” asserted Marian.
“What will happen to them?” Lexie asked.
“The paper says they’ll get the death penalty, even though two of them were US citizens.”
Lexie gulped. These men were her enemies, but she almost felt sorry for them, especially the nervous man. No wonder he was so nervous. But what had happened to Cal? Had he not been arrested too? And if he hadn’t been, where was he? Maybe he really wasn’t one of them, she tried to convince herself. After all, his picture wasn’t in the paper. But the lump in the pit of her stomach told her he was a spy. He had been at the train station with the others in the picture, and she’d seen him with one of them at the diner.
And what about the German baker? He was obviously an acquaintance of Cal’s too, but his picture wasn’t in the paper either. Did the authorities know there were more spies than the ones caught? Should she tell them?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Karl glanced up at the tall bell tower beside the entrance of St. Luke’s Lutheran Church, hearing its bells ringing, calling parishioners to worship. He trembled as he stepped forward, afraid he wasn’t worthy to walk inside. But he had to do this. He moved with leaden feet into the nave of the vast stone sanctuary, removed the fedora from his newly dyed black hair, then held the hat over his heart. Stained glass from the large window over the entrance illuminated and colored the rear of the church as he found his way to the nearest pew.
It had been a long time since Karl was in church. Too long, even though his parents had raised him in the faith. Karl focused on the figure above the altar, the carved wooden statue of Christ, and sank onto the seat. On each side of the figure were the Greek letters for Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. How fitting.
He bowed his head, his heart constricted by remorse.
He never meant for things to go so far. He never intended to follow through with the mission. And he especially never intended to hurt anyone. But he had been living a lie. “Father, forgive me for I have sinned,” he prayed. He lifted his eyes with tears streaming down. Finally, he had done the right thing. The others would pay the price, but innocent people would be spared. Innocent people like Lexie. What would she think when the news came out, when she realized his deceit? Would she think him an enemy, or would she forgive him?
Whether she did or not, he knew Christ would. That He already had. He sighed and wiped his face. When he stood again, his burden was lighter. He had more to do to make things right for everyone else, though. And Lord help him, he’d be able to.
“Man, would you look at this,” said Nick when the band entered the cavernous metal building, normally housing airplanes for maintenance work. A temporary stage had been set up at one end of the hangar.
The band members walked in, their shoes echoing through the room as they gawked at the expansive area around them. Louis let out a low whistle.
“Holy Toledo!” said Vince, one of the trombone players, his head rotating to see the hangar.
“I can only imagine the acoustics in here,” said Louie, as he took the stage.
“Wonder how many planes they can fit in here?” said Sal.
Russell stepped up to the piano, running his hand along the top of the keys. The ivories were worn from years of service, a testimony to the piano’s importance in the worship service. He doubted it’d ever been used for jazz numbers but hoped it didn’t mind the change in genre. Russell played a scale, finding most of the keys in tune. Thankfully, those that weren’t wouldn’t be noticeable with all the other instruments playing alongside. Good thing he didn’t have a solo.
“Everybody ready?” said Artie, scanning the group. They all nodded, then Artie, with his trumpet in his left hand, lifted his baton in the right and marked, “One, two, three.”
They played through their whole set, including numbers from Artie Shaw’s band and Glenn Miller’s, finishing with “Yankee D
oodle Dandy” from the new movie that had recently come out. The sound echoed off the metal walls of the hangar, magnifying the sound.
“Hey, Artie. Isn’t Gloria going to rehearse with us?” Louie asked between songs.
“Guess not,” said the band leader. “She must not need to practice.”
When they’d played through the whole set, Artie spoke to a few about their specific parts.
“All right, guys. Let’s wrap up here and go get some rest before the show,” he said. The men cleaned off their instruments, set them down, and then they headed out, but Russell decided to stay behind.
“Russ, you’re not leaving?”
“No, I’d like to stay a while longer and practice a little more.”
“If that’s what you want to do. I just don’t want you to be too tired tonight.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” Russell smiled at the band leader for assurance.
“See you tonight then.”
Artie went out the side door, leaving Russell alone.
He closed his eyes and prayed silently. Lord, what am I doing here? I don’t fit in with these guys, but what else can I do to be of service? Show me how I can help others. Show me what you want me to do.
His hands moved of their own volition and began playing “Amazing Grace.” The song carried him back to his childhood on Jekyll Island when his mother was still alive. She’d always told him it was her favorite song. He remembered playing the hymn in more recent years when he was the club manager on the island and played for the chapel worship services. And most recently, he’d heard the hymn played when he and Lexie had attended church together at the Marble Collegiate Church in Manhattan.
How remarkable that this hymn he played was such a part of his history. Such a part of church history. When he’d studied music in college, he learned that the song was written by John Newton, an Englishman who’d called out to God in the middle of a storm at sea off the coast of Ireland. And here Russell was in Ireland. Centuries apart and continents apart, yet the message of God’s amazing grace was universal, giving comfort to all who heard it.
“Hello?” A male voice took Russell out of his reverie.
Russell turned to look at the man who’d entered wearing the traditional olive-drab Army dress uniform with a cross on each lapel.
“Hello,” Russell replied, his eyebrow lifted.
“You’re playing my song,” said the man, smiling. “Well, actually, one of my favorite songs.” He walked across the floor to Russell, extending his hand. “Captain Mark Carter, I’m the chaplain here.”
Russell stood up from the piano bench and walked to the edge of the stage where he leaned forward to shake the chaplain’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Chaplain. I’m Russell Thompson. Thanks for letting me borrow your piano.”
The chaplain laughed and spread his arms to the side. “Oh, it’s not my piano. It belongs to the base. Besides, we used it yesterday, and you’ll be gone before we need it again.”
Russell stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “So how long have you been a chaplain here?”
“I’ve only been here since May. I’m assigned to the Fifth Corps—that’s two combat divisions.”
“I see. Where do you hail from, Captain?”
“St. Louis, Missouri is my home.”
Russell had never spoken to a military chaplain before. “I’d like to talk with you some more if you have time. Is there someplace we can go—get a cup of coffee maybe?”
“Sure. My vehicle is right outside. I’ll take you to the chapel. We have a coffee pot in the office.”
“Sounds great. I have a couple of hours before we go on.” Russell stepped off the stage and followed the chaplain out the door to a jeep.
They drove to a modest chapel, hardly big enough for all the troops stationed there at the time. Captain Carter unlocked a side door, and they went into a small office, just big enough for a plain desk and two straight-back wooden chairs—one behind the desk and one in front. The chaplain walked over to a coffee pot sitting on a two-burner camp stove and poured two cups of coffee. He handed one to Russell as he came back to the desk and sat down behind it.
“Have a seat.” He motioned to the other chair in front of the desk. “Sorry I don’t have something more comfortable for you to sit on. The coffee’s palatable, the best I can do around here.”
Russell held up his hand. “Please, don’t apologize. I appreciate the hospitality, Chaplain.”
“Please call me Mark.” He drank some coffee, then put his cup down. “Russell, something tells me this is the first time you’ve traveled with the band.”
Russell nodded, holding the cup with both hands with his elbows on his knees. “You’re right on the money. I’m greener than some of the servicemen out there.”
“So how is it so far? Seems to me like a pretty exciting life.”
Russell raised an eyebrow. “Exciting? I guess you could say so, but not exciting like going into a war zone. Pretty tame by those standards.”
“Would you rather be going into a war zone?” Mark leaned forward.
Russell paused a moment before answering. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, if all those guys can do it, I should be able to go too.”
“So why don’t you join up?”
Russell hung his head, then raised his eyes to meet Mark’s. “Can’t. Guess you didn’t notice the limp.”
“I did, but it was barely perceptible. I thought maybe your foot was just sore.”
“No. Lost part of it in a hunting accident when I was a teenager. Now I’m 4F.”
“But if you weren’t, you’d join?”
“Yes, I would. It’s so frustrating not to be able to. Makes me feel kind of worthless.”
“Hmm.” Mark rubbed his chin. “Do you think the rest of the band feels that way?”
The question startled Russell. “Why, I don’t know. Never asked them.”
“Why don’t you? It might be interesting to hear what they have to say.”
Russell sat back and blew out a breath. “Guess I sound pretty selfish, huh?”
Mark chuckled and shook his head. “Selfish? Because you want to join the army and can’t? Hardly.”
A small picture frame sat on the desk. Russell nodded toward it. “Your family?”
“Yes.” Mark picked up the frame and handed it to Russell. “My wife Debbie and my son Tim.”
“Nice family,” Russell said, handing the photo back to Mark. “So what made you want to be a chaplain?”
“Well, I was already a minister. Served in a small church in Indiana for the past two years, then I heard about the chaplain ministry and decided to join it. I’m doing pretty much the same thing now I was doing then, just to a different congregation.”
“Your wife didn’t mind?”
“She wasn’t crazy about the idea, but she understood. After all, everyone wants to do something for our country, don’t we?”
Studying his coffee, Russell said, “You know, my mother always wanted me to be a minister.”
Mark sat back in his chair. “That right? Did you ever consider it?”
“Kind of. I wasn’t sure if I would be doing it for her or for me. So I studied business and music in college.”
“That’s an odd combination.”
“I figured I could get a job with the business, but I took the music for myself.”
“And you’ve been playing in a band ever since?”
Russell laughed. “Oh, no. I managed a private club in Georgia, the Jekyll Island Club before the government told everyone to leave in March. I also served as the pianist for our small chapel. Then I moved to New York and took a job as assistant manager at the Martinique Hotel in Manhattan. Until last week, I only moonlighted with the USO. Then this opportunity came up”—he spread his arms out—“and here I am!”
“So that’s how you ended up here. But why did you move to New York?”
Smiling, Russell envisioned Lexie’s face. “My fiancée is from Ne
w York. She wanted to attend nursing school at Bellevue, so I decided to move there too and find a job in the area.”
“When do you plan to get married?”
Russell shrugged. “We haven’t set a date yet. We don’t know when her training will end.”
Mark folded his hands on his desk. “Nurses are so greatly needed now. Does she plan to be a military nurse?”
Shaking his head, Russell said, “No. She’s never indicated an interest in that. However, she is interested in treating soldiers who’ve suffered shell shock. Apparently, doctors aren’t sure how to treat the condition. After the last war, some returning soldiers were put in mental hospitals.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard about that.” He fixed his eyes on Russell. “Do you think her vocation is more worthy than yours?”
Russell’s stomach tensed. The man could see right through him. “I suppose I do. After all, she’s helping people. And she’s filling a void caused by the war, so she’s serving her country.”
Mark pushed away from the desk and stood, then walked to the small window in the office and pointed out. “See those soldiers out there? They have no idea where they’re going next. They’re scared and homesick. But one thing they do know is that they’re looking forward to your show tonight.”
Russell joined him at the window and watched scores of soldiers in army drab uniforms marching in formation. The chaplain’s comment echoed the public information officer’s. These men were glad he was there. A sense of satisfaction warmed his heart as he let that idea sink in. He was happy to be part of cheering them up, bringing something of their home to them in this place. But was that enough?
Mark faced him with a smile. “I’d say you’re doing something useful for the cause. You know, Russell, we can’t all be soldiers. I’m not. God gave us each a purpose, and being a soldier isn’t yours. But maybe ministering to the soldiers’ morale is your purpose.”
