by Jan Moran
Just then, Philippe walked into the laboratory again.
Danielle looked up, eager to tell him of her success, but her heart sank at the sight of him. His eyes seemed anguished, his hands clasped over his heart. Alarmed, she rose from her chair and went to him, put her arm around him. “What is it, Philippe? Don’t you feel well?”
“I’m fine, Danielle.” He paused, strangely awkward. “A British gentleman is here to see you.”
“Who?”
“Jonathan Newell-Grey.”
Danielle smiled with surprise. “Why, he’s a great friend of ours. You must remember him, Philippe, I told you all about him.” Her nerves coursed with excitement at seeing Jon. She untied her smock, slipped it off, and smoothed her hair. “Is he in the living room?”
“Yes, but, Danielle—”
“I’m so glad he’s come.” She bustled through the door, eager to greet Jon.
She stepped into the living room. “Jon, how nice of you to visit.” She kissed him on both cheeks, warming to the familiar, spicy scent that lingered on his neck.
“Danielle.” His voice was grave, his eyes troubled. “Please sit down.”
Perplexed, she took a step back. He seemed leaner, older. She didn’t remember the grey hair that glistened at his temples. “What is it?”
Jon frowned and sat on the sofa.
“Jon?” Her heart fluttered as she joined him.
He dropped his eyes and seemed at a loss for words.
Heat gathered on Danielle’s neck. “Is it Max?”
He nodded and clenched his jaw.
And then she knew, though her mind refused to accept it. Her breathing accelerated in short, sharp breaths. “No, oh, no—”
Jon took her hands, rubbed his thumbs alongside hers. “I’m here on behalf on His Majesty’s government.” His voice sounded thick with emotion. “And as your friend.”
Danielle tried to pull away, to distance herself from the inevitable. “No, not Max.”
He held her hands steady and gazed into her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Danielle. Max is dead.”
Panic seized her chest. The room seemed to close in on her. Had she heard him correctly? “No,” she whispered.
Jon wrapped his arms around her. “He’s gone, Danielle.”
She began to shake and tears sprang to her eyes. It couldn’t be. Her blood pounded in her ears. The room swirled and she collapsed against him.
Jon pressed her close to him. He rocked her as she moaned, low and deep like a wounded animal.
After several minutes, she leaned back, her grief momentarily spent. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue thick. She tried her voice and heard it come to her, eerily flat. “When?”
“Last week.” Jon handed her his handkerchief.
She wiped her eyes. “How?”
“Danielle, you should get some rest.” His voice sounded gentle.
“How did they do it?” Her heart burned with ferocity.
Jon smoothed his knuckles across her cheek. “Is it really important?”
“Tell me, Jon.”
He hesitated, his eyes welling. “He was shot. I’m told it was probably very quick.”
She tasted bile rising in her throat. “Go on.”
“Please, Danielle. You need to rest.”
Her pulse roared in her ears. “Damn it, Jon, I want to know everything.”
Philippe appeared at the doorway. Jon glanced at him. Philippe nodded and said, “She should know.”
Jon pushed a hand through his hair. “First, he did his job well, Danielle. He was brave, and he acquired information for England that our operatives couldn’t have. His actions saved many people. And then, he went into occupied Poland.”
“And?”
Philippe pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Continue, son. Tell her everything.”
“Yes, sir.” Jon drew a hand over his forehead. “We believe Max discovered the whereabouts of his mother and your son.”
Danielle gasped. “Did you hear that, Philippe? He found them!”
Jon stole another look at Philippe. “We don’t think he actually saw them, but we have reason to believe they’re still alive. However, something happened before he could reach them.”
Her heart sank. “What?”
“He spoke to his cousin.”
“Heinrich?” A chill overtook her.
“Afraid so. Heinrich was promoted to the SS, the Schutzstaffel, or special security force, but it seems Max still thought he could trust him.” Jon’s face reddened. “My father told me Heinrich betrayed Max, his own flesh and blood.”
What had Max said about Heinrich before he left? Danielle shook her head to clear her mind. “How?”
“Our sources told us Max was going to meet with Heinrich. Max was found later, at their designated meeting place, shot through the heart. He died a hero, Danielle.”
“I don’t want a hero, I want my husband,” she snapped. “So Heinrich shot him?”
“We don’t know for certain. At the least, he deceived Max.”
Danielle began to reel. “And Nicky?”
“We don’t know anything more about Nicky or Sofia. I’m so, so sorry.”
White spots sparkled in front of her eyes, the room wavered and grew dark. Danielle could hear her uncle and Jon say something, far, far away, about putting her to bed, and then, everything went black as she felt her soul reeling from the horrific truth.
When she woke, Philippe stood over her. “Here, my dear, drink this.”
Danielle struggled up on one elbow. “What is it?”
“One of my herbal teas with a special powder. It will help you sleep.”
“How did I get here?” Had it all been just an awful nightmare?
At the edge of her bed, Jon cleared his throat, and his face reddened. “I carried you.”
That was no nightmare, she realized, her senses dulled with shock. She squeezed her eyes and drank the bitter tea. Within moments, she mercifully drifted off again.
* * *
Later that evening, after Philippe had shown Jon to a guestroom, Philippe went to his office. It was nearly midnight now. He closed the door and flicked on his short-wave radio. Turning the dial, he tuned in a familiar frequency. He spoke quietly in code to his young protégé in Paris.
When he finished, he swiveled in his chair, his heart heavy with grief. Bowing his head, he removed his glasses and took his handkerchief from his pocket. He breathed on his glasses, rubbed them clean, then rose and stood by the window to wait for a reply.
Outside, the moon hung high above like a silent sentinel. Danielle gazed at it with numb recognition, half-conscious from Philippe’s brew. She shifted in bed. The sheets were warm beneath her. She shoved her hand under the duvet cover, then removed it. Her hand glistened blood-red in the moonlight.
And she began to scream.
Within moments, Jon burst into her room and raced to her side. “Danielle, it’s all right, I’m here.”
“No, no, no, something is wrong.” A pain sharp as a dagger sliced through her. “It’s my baby.”
“Oh, Lord, not the baby. I’ll get Philippe.”
Jon met Philippe in the hallway and quickly explained.
“Mais non! It’s too soon. She has another month.”
“Just get a doctor, I’ll stay with her.” Jon rolled up his sleeves and returned to Danielle.
Still agile for his age, Philippe ran to the truck. He fired the engine and sped to town.
Philippe remembered the village doctor had enlisted in the army, but an old midwife still lived above the bakery. He shook his head. Poor Danielle. Babies had no respect for schedules or grieving widows.
Philippe screeched through the curves in the road. His sister would never forgive him if anything happened to Danielle.
8
Jean-Claude leaned back in his squeaky chair and studied the diagram on the rickety chalkboard. A colleague was scratching out a complicated plan to disable the financial mechanism behind the Third R
eich. Overhead the raucous sounds from the Parisian bar filtered down, in stark contrast to the seriousness of the clandestine group in the cellar.
Jean-Claude had had difficulty keeping his underground activities from his wife and family and classmates. Edouard had nearly discovered his secret at Christmas. Of his immediate family, only Danielle knew about his activities and his devotion to the cause, and she was sworn to secrecy. But even she didn’t know who’d brought him into the organization.
The diagram on the board outlined the assassination of Hitler’s financial advisors, as well as prominent banking officials linked to Hitler. This was his group’s specialty, and they hoped the maneuver would cripple the economic machine that supported the reign of terror.
Jean-Claude thought of his sister’s predicament, of Max’s death and Heinrich’s duplicity, of Danielle’s child and her mother-in-law now at the mercy of Nazi forces. It sickened him to the core. Since his Uncle Philippe had radioed him, he swore to himself that he would liberate them, and as many as he could, or die trying. He trembled with anger. This was for them, he vowed, for all those who suffered cruel injustices from the actions of this madman.
* * *
Sofia lay emaciated on a scrawny mattress that had been abandoned in a storage closet, staring at the wall with unseeing eyes as light from the setting sun filtered in from a window above. Outside the locked, barricaded warehouse she heard soldiers barking gruff commands, their boots crunching on the packed snow of a late season snowstorm. Through the thin wall, she heard the incessant wails of a woman brought in last night. She wished she could tell her not to waste her strength crying, but she was too weak. She had to conserve her energy.
After Sofia and Jacob and his family had fled from their home, they hid in the surrounding forest with other survivors of the invasion, but it wasn’t long before Nazi soldiers discovered them. Jacob, Oscar, and even Irma had fought hard, wounding a couple of soldiers, but they were no match against Nazi weapons and training.
Since their arrival a few days ago, Jacob had been determined to escape. Tonight was the night, he’d told her this morning.
“I’ll call for you after sunset,” he told her.
Sofia shook her head. “Go without me, Jacob. I’m dying.”
“No, we’ll find a doctor. You’ll get better.”
“But I’d only slow your escape.”
“Sofia, you must come with us. For Nicky’s sake.”
At last, she agreed. But it was only for Nicky. She had promised Max and Danielle to look after Nicky, and she would, as long as possible.
Now she rested, waiting for Jacob to arrive. With a great, Herculean effort, she turned onto her side, gasping for breath. She thought about all she was leaving—her family, her friends, her home, and all of her possessions.
Nothing mattered now but the safety of those she loved. She would do what she could to protect them, use whatever means she still had at her disposal. She thought of her beautiful jewelry, the jewelry that she had planned to leave to Danielle.
At least her jewelry had served their purpose, she hoped. She had given Jacob the jewels she had stitched into her clothing before fleeing her home to bribe the prison guards.
Dear, sweet Jacob. How kind he had been to her and her family all these years. All these years. There had been good ones, even great ones, and years she would rather forget.
The light from the tiny window grew dim, and she knew twilight was upon her, too. Shadows of snowflakes played against the barren wall like the puppet shows of her youth. Her breathing became more labored. The pressure crushed her chest, as if a steamer trunk rested on her ribcage.
She had always prayed that God would take her in her sleep when her time to go arrived. She had imagined that her final days would be peaceful, that her loving family would surround her. But this was not to be. She thought of her family now, and prayed for each of them. She wondered, as she did every day, where are they?
She missed Max and Danielle, but she would not have wanted them to share this horror. She hoped they’d made it to France. If only Nicky had gone with them, if only she’d been strong enough to make the journey to France with him. Would her actions ruin poor Nicky? No, she decided, drawing strength from her convictions. God would provide.
The room darkened as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Sofia closed her eyes and strained to draw another breath. The sounds from outside and the room next door grew muffled, as if they were miles away.
The door opened with a creaky sound. Jacob crossed to her bed and pressed three tablets into her hand.
“Take these for your pain,” he whispered, handing her a cup of water. “It’s time to go.”
Sofia nodded. To argue would only delay him and jeopardize the others. She swallowed the tablets, swung her legs off the bed, and summoned her reserve of strength.
They crept through a dim corridor to the rear of the warehouse and came to a locked door, which Jacob opened with a key. Through a crack in the door, they could see a guard with his back turned to them, but Jacob urged Sofia on.
“Go on,” Jacob whispered. “He knows.” After Jacob slipped through the door, the guard stopped him with the butt of a gun, and Jacob returned the key to him.
The night was bitter cold night, their breath trailing moist clouds. Under the cloak of night, they scrambled to a spot in the soldiers’ makeshift fence where the snow was packed hard and their footsteps wouldn’t be noticed.
Jacob’s wife Irma, their children, his younger brother Oscar, and Nicky waited by the fence.
The bribed guards turned away. Jacob and Oscar lifted a loosened section of the fence.
“Hurry,” Jacob said. “Quiet, children first, quickly. Nicky, Irma, good. Sofia?”
Nicky reached under the fence. “Take my hand, Grand-mère.”
“Go with the others, Nicky,” Sofia whispered.
Oscar knelt and slithered under the fence, then stretched to grasp her hand. She grimaced as she slid under on the cold, hard earth, barbed wire clawing at her clothes and hair. Placing a strong arm around her thin waist, Oscar lifted and half-carried her, clambering to the edge of the forest, where they took refuge in the dense undergrowth.
Jacob was last out. As he dove for the brush, a search light flashed across his legs. “Run,” he said hoarsely, cursing under his breath. “Don’t wait for me, run!”
Sofia’s heart was in her throat as they scurried through the frigid night, oblivious to the thickets that tore at their clothes and skin as they raced for their lives.
The snow dissipated as they pressed on in a southerly direction. Irma led the party, their youngest child in her arms. Next came Nicky, with his stuffed monkey strapped to his back. Following him were Jacob and Irma’s three older children. All the children held hands, catching one another when they tripped on vines, or stumbled on rocks.
Jacob and Oscar took turns supporting Sofia. They trudged on until Sofia could go no farther.
“Just a little farther,” Jacob said. “Over the ridge, there should be a shed where we can sleep for a few hours.”
“You go on,” she wheezed. “I’ll catch up.”
“No. Here, put your arm around my shoulder.” He whisked her into his arms with one swift movement and continued.
At sunrise, they spied the small wooden shed, just as their underground contact had promised. The door swung open under their hand, revealing two canvas cots and a three-legged table crowded into the weather-worn structure.
“Sofia, you and the children must rest.” Jacob turned to his brother. “Oscar, you can move more stealthily without us. Go on ahead, see what we’re facing.”
Oscar gave a crisp salute. “I’ll handle reconnaissance.”
“Good. We’ll meet tomorrow at the next point—you know where.”
Oscar took his leave and, while the others slept, Jacob and his wife took turns on watch during the day.
Through the gathering dusk Jacob spied a soldier at the top of the ridge they
had come across. They had been tracked. He woke his family and Sofia, and told them to hurry. They could leave through a rear window.
Sofia woke coughing. When she took her hand from her mouth, she saw blood in her palm. Her heart sank, though she knew it was inevitable. Irma hurried to her with a handkerchief and a jar of water. Sofia wiped her hand and mouth, took a sip, then raised her eyes to Jacob. “I haven’t long now. You should go without me.”
“We can’t leave you here.”
Sofia glanced at the children. How she loved them all. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling their love, willing its warmth into her cold, aching bones. She knew her incapacity would only endanger them, slow their escape. “I have an idea,” she said slowly. “Perhaps I can stall for time so that you can get away.”
Jacob looked horrified. “Absolutely not,” he said, shaking his head.
She reached out and squeezed his hand in her own frail hand. “Jacob, my time has come. My cancer will not go away, no matter how many pills you manage to find for me. A day, maybe two, is all I have. This I know. At least I will die a free woman, here with the fresh air and the tall trees and the birds singing to me. My soul will be free to soar high, high above with them. What better place to die?”
Jacob knelt and stroked her forehead, whispering to her. “My dear Sofia, we love you, and I will do anything for you. This can’t be the only solution—”
“It’s what I want, Jacob, but don’t worry, soon I’ll be happy, I’ll be at peace, and all my pain will be gone.” She turned her head. “Nicky, my Nikolov—come here, my darling.”
Nicky stepped forward, clutching his stuffed monkey. “Grand-mère?”
Sofia pulled herself up and hugged him to her breast. “Go with Jacob, my dear little one. Someday soon, you’ll be reunited with your mother and father. I’m going to heaven, where I’ll watch over you, and your little monkey here, forever and ever.” She kissed him on his warm pink cheek.
