Beyond the Olive Grove: An absolutely gripping and heartbreaking WW2 historical novel

by Kate Hewitt

  “Really?” Alert once more, Ava turned to the older man. He smiled at her, nodding in a friendly manner. He spoke rapidly to Helena, who frowned. “What?” Ava asked, anxiety needling at her at Helena’s troubled expression. “What did he say?”

  “He said he knew Sophia and Angelika… both the Paranoussis sisters.”

  Ava sat back, stunned. She’d had no idea her grandmother had had a sister. Had Angelika immigrated to England as well? Why had Sophia never mentioned her? Her great-aunt.

  Helena and Angelos talked for a few more minutes, nodding and gesticulating so Ava had to keep herself from fidgeting from curiosity and impatience. Finally they took their leave, with Angelos kissing them both on each cheek.

  Back outside the light was starting to fade, turning the horizon a dusky purple. A few birds twittered high above in the pine trees, but other than that the village was silent.

  “Well?” Ava asked, and blushed at how demanding she sounded. “Sorry… I didn’t realize how hard it would be for me not to understand a word! I should have thought about that.”

  “I can only imagine,” Helena said, laughing. She slung her bag with her notepad and pens over one shoulder as she drew Ava along the steep street. “Perhaps you could come into school and teach the little ones English, and I will teach you Greek!”

  “I’d like that,” Ava said with sincerity. “I feel so slow sometimes, not knowing a word of your language when everyone I’ve met knows mine.”

  Helena nodded. “It is understandable. In any case, Angelos didn’t say much more than what I told you—there were two Paranoussis sisters, and they lived in the house you are in now, of course. He said Sophia worked in the café in the square, and something about Angelika being like a butterfly—which makes me think she must have been lazy or pretty or both.”

  “And what happened to them during the war?” Ava asked. “Does he remember?”

  Helena shook her head. “He didn’t know them well, and so many people left at that time. It was a dangerous place to be. He just said they both were gone by the time things were settled—so they must have left during the occupation, or perhaps during the civil war afterwards. Do you know when your grandmother came to England?”

  “Not exactly,” Ava admitted. “Around 1946, I thought, but I’m not sure. Just sometime soon after the Second World War.”

  Helena nodded. “You have to understand what an uncertain time it was. People fleeing in the night, or worse, simply disappearing. The Nazis had a habit of making people disappear.” Helena smiled grimly, and Ava felt a ripple of foreboding.

  “Do you think that is what happened to Angelika? That’s why I’ve never heard of her?” The possibility gave Ava a pang of inexplicable grief, considering she’d only learned of her great-aunt’s existence a few minutes ago.

  “Who can say?” Helena put a comforting arm around Ava’s shoulders. “But there are four other people in Iousidous who were here during the war, and perhaps they remember more of Sophia—and Angelika. You might be able to learn more.”

  “That would be amazing.”

  “I’ll ask if you can accompany me to the next interview,” Helena said. “Perhaps we will learn something then. But in the meantime, you could come to the school, maybe one afternoon a week? You could teach an English lesson.”

  “Teach—” Ava repeated in surprise. She realized she hadn’t taken Helena’s suggestion seriously.

  “Why not? You were a teacher in England, yes?”

  “Yes,” Ava admitted somewhat reluctantly. “But I taught art—”

  “And you speak English. I have been teaching them a bit, but I am so busy already. You would be very helpful if you came, and the children would enjoy getting to know you.” Helena’s smile held a certain compassion and understanding that made Ava blink rapidly. “And you might enjoy them, yes?”

  “Yes,” she said after a moment. “I would. Thank you for asking me, Helena.”

  Back at the house Ava wandered around the near-empty rooms, unable to settle to anything, her mind still spinning with the day’s revelations. She knew more about Sophia, but it still didn’t feel like nearly enough. The more she knew, she realized, the more she wanted to know. She tried to imagine her grandmother serving in a café, worrying about this unknown sister, the butterfly. Angelika. The images that danced through her mind were blurry and indistinct, for she had no real facts to base them on, yet they were more substantial than they’d been before. The ghosts were beginning to take shape.

  Walking through those rooms, she felt the shadows of the past crowd around her, and she could almost imagine Sophia, moving around, sweeping, sewing, cooking—waiting and watching—yet for what? Whom?

  Or was she just projecting her restless feelings onto her dead grandmother—and if so, just whom was she waiting for?

  13

  September 1942

  Sophia walked through the main square of the village with her basket over her arm and her head tucked firmly down. Ever since Perseus had invaded the coffeehouse’s kitchen and given his devastating news a week ago, she’d kept to herself more than ever. She didn’t want to talk to anyone; she was terrified of saying the wrong thing, of secrets bubbling out from her because it was so frightening to keep it all locked inside.

  In just four days she would slip out to the Lethikos property to meet Perseus and these men who were coming to do—what? Something damaging to the Nazis and Italians. Something dangerous. And she would be involved.

  The fact that she didn’t know what she was meant to do, or how, or to whom, made the prospect all the more frightening. There were so many unknowns, and she was forced to place her trust in a man she wasn’t sure she liked, a man with a wicked scar and the coldest smile she’d ever seen. How could she trust a man like that?

  How could she not?

  “Sophia! You are walking so fast! What is the hurry?”

  Sophia froze, wishing she could ignore the gay young voice, yet she knew to do so would draw more suspicion on her. Who knew who was watching, or why? She turned slowly. “Herete, Parthenope.” She forced a smile for Parthenope Atrikes, Dimitrios’s younger sister. She had her brother’s dark curly hair and sparkling eyes, and even more arrogance. Sophia had never taken a particular liking to the girl, but she forced herself to appear natural and unconcerned now. Parthenope was just the type of girl to ask too many questions, and think she knew all their answers.

  “You’re in a rush,” Parthenope said, flicking a glossy braid from under her head scarf. “Where are you going with your head tucked so low?”

  “Nowhere,” Sophia answered. “Just home.” She was telling the truth, and yet she felt herself flush, conscious, so terribly conscious of all the secrets she was keeping.

  Parthenope’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Are you meeting someone?” she asked in a whisper that carried halfway across the square. She leaned closer to Sophia, although her voice was still loud enough for others to hear. “A man?”

  “Of course not!” Sophia took a step back as if to distance herself from such a suggestion. Stupid, thoughtless girl. “I would not be so shamed.”

  Now Parthenope’s cheeks flushed and she lifted her chin, the slight movement one of defiance. “You talk of shame? The war is changing things, Sophia. It gives us freedom—”

  “Freedom?” Where was the freedom in fearing for your life, in having nothing but watery pottage to eat, and with all the decent men of the village dead or gone? Sophia just shook her head. She would not argue with someone as silly as Parthenope, although to look at her, the girl seemed to be doing all right. Her cheeks were round, her body still possessing the ripe curves of young womanhood, while most of the villagers were turning rail-thin from hunger, for the Italians took much of their food. She wondered if the ELAS was supplying Dimitrios’s family with food.

  “I must go,” she said shortly, and without waiting for a farewell she turned and headed quickly back to the house.

  Four days later Sophia lay
in bed, feigning sleep for Angelika’s sake before she stole out of the house and down the rutted road to the Lethikos’s grove. She tried to calm herself with deep, even breaths, but her heart defied her by beating so fast, her chest hurt. The thin cotton sheet was damp with sweat from where she clutched it, even though the night was cool.

  Finally Angelika’s breath evened out in sleep and Sophia rose, dressing as quickly and quietly as she could in her old clothes and rough boots. There was no moon, and without a candle she could barely see her own hand in front of her face. She had no idea how she would manage to get to the grove, several kilometers away, without a light, yet she knew she dared not risk one.

  Tying a scarf around her hair, she spared one glance for her sister; Angelika was sleeping like a child, one hand lying upturned against her pillow, looking utterly innocent. That evening she’d been full of laughter and fun, making even their father smile with her silly antics.

  “Farewell, koukla mou,” Sophia whispered, and then she slipped out into the night.

  The village was still and silent save for the distant yowling of a cat, and the occasional breeze rattling through the pine trees. Sophia walked slowly, feeling for each step, as the moonless night offered no help or light. She wondered how these men, whoever they were, would come to the grove. Would they have torches, or something to light their way, or would they have to feel in the dark as she did, inching along, as good as blind?

  It seemed as if she walked forever in this unending, unyielding darkness, one painstaking step in front of another, but finally the cluster of olive trees and the old stone wall that marked the border of the Lethikos property came into view, no more than shadowy masses in the darkness. Sophia glanced around to see whether anyone was about, but the night was empty and still and so very dark. Clumsily she clambered over the wall and slid down the other side, landing hard on the ground, her knees hitting the dirt.

  “Quickly now.” Within seconds Perseus had hauled her to her feet and was drawing her away from the open space towards a more sheltered area, the trees providing some cover. Sophia stumbled as she kept up with him; she felt blood trickle from the scrapes on her knees. He must have been watching for her arrival to get to her so quickly.

  “Where… where is everyone?” Sophia whispered. As far as she could tell, she and Perseus were the only ones in the grove.

  “There has been a complication.” Although she couldn’t see his face, Perseus’s tone was grim. Complications, Sophia thought, could never be good.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “We received word that information about the drop-off had been leaked,” Perseus explained tersely. “It was not safe to allow it to proceed.”

  The first emotion Sophia felt was relief, a sweet cold rush that left her weak in the knees so she nearly swayed where she stood. She could not think of a thing to say that would not betray her feelings, but Perseus seemed to guess them anyway, for he smiled grimly.

  “You do not seem disappointed, eh, Sophia? Well, don’t worry. There is use for you yet.”

  Sophia swallowed dryly. “Use…?”

  “There will be another night,” Perseus said. “A night with more moon, perhaps, so we are not as blind men feeling our way in the dark.”

  “You mean… another drop-off?”

  “Of course.” He thrust his face next to hers, and even in the darkness she could see the angry glint of his eyes. “Do you know how much planning and effort has gone into this, Sophia? How many men and hours? Do you think we will shrug our shoulders and forget it all, simply because one thing does not go according to plan?”

  “But if the Nazis have heard—”

  “It is not the Nazis,” Perseus answered tersely.

  “The Italians, then.”

  “No. The communists.” He spat on the ground and Sophia jumped back. “They wanted to get to the men first and bring them to that ignorant butcher, Velouchiotis.”

  And that thought struck terror in her soul as much, or even more, than any of the alternatives. “ELAS is part of this plan?”

  “They wish to be. And we may not have any choice in allowing them.” He sighed and rubbed a weary hand over his face. “But not tonight, little Sophia. Tonight you rest easy, in your own bed… as long as you are able to make it back to your house alive.”

  Even though he smiled, Sophia didn’t think he was joking.

  Her head was spinning, trying to absorb this information about a plan she still knew nothing about. “So there will be another drop-off?” she finally managed. “When?”

  “I do not know. Soon. But don’t worry,” his teeth flashed white in the darkness, “you will know when you are needed.”

  “And where are they coming from?”

  Perseus blew out an impatient breath, then leaned closer, his fingers digging into Sophia’s arm. “Twelve men are being dropped by parachute, in three different groups,” he said in a low voice. “Or they were meant to be. Since we did not set out the signal fires, the group meant to drop here did not do so. I do not know where the others have landed.”

  “And then…?”

  “They do not know the countryside,” Perseus continued. “And since they dropped separately, they need to make contact with each other as well as our leaders. Once they do, they will be brought back here, to safety. You will be responsible for providing them with food, blankets. That is not too much to ask, is it?” She heard the barest hint of humor in his voice, but fear still clutched at her chest, rose in her throat.

  “And where will I get such things?”

  “I’m sure you are resourceful.” Resourceful? Where could she possibly get food to feed a dozen men without anyone knowing? Even blankets were scarce. “There are others who will help as well,” Perseus told her. “You are not alone, Sophia, even if you feel so.”

  “But you told me to trust no one—”

  “And so you should not. It is better, safer that way. But you are not alone.”

  His words, Sophia thought bleakly, provided little comfort.

  “But first,” Perseus finished resolutely, “we must find the men. We have nothing if we don’t have them. I will wait for news from our source. You will wait to be contacted.”

  She nodded, even though everything in her resisted. Why, she wondered yet again, uselessly, had they chosen her? And yet she knew the answer. She was quiet, discreet, talking to no one. She’d thought keeping her head down would keep her safe in this war, and yet it had put her into more danger than she could imagine.

  “Go now,” Perseus said. “And wait for my word.”

  Sophia made the journey back home with painstaking slowness. The night was impenetrably dark, and even though she couldn’t deny the rush of relief she felt at the reprieve, she knew with a hollow feeling that it was precisely that: a reprieve. Perseus would contact her again; she would be needed again. She would have to, yet again, make the terrible, dangerous journey out to the Lethikos’s grove, and who knew what would happen? Who would be there?

  She almost wished it had gone ahead tonight as planned; at least one part of this treacherous experience would be over.

  Instead, it loomed in front of her, as unknown and frightening as ever.

  The stairs creaked as she tiptoed up them and into her bedroom. Angelika lay asleep in bed, yet she stirred as Sophia entered, rising onto her elbow as her forehead crinkled with concern. “Sophia, where have you been? You weren’t working at the coffeehouse tonight.”

  Sophia stared at her sister, her mind emptying out of thoughts or possible explanations. Mother of God, she was no good at this. “I… I couldn’t sleep.”

  Angelika stared at her in surprise. “So you went out? And you are always telling me how dangerous it is!”

  “I know,” Sophia said, her fingers trembling as she undid the laces of her boots. “I was foolish, Angelika.” Her voice trembled along with her fingers. “So foolish,” she whispered.

  Angelika let out a little giggle as she settled
back into bed. “As foolish as me,” she teased, and Sophie stared at her as her sister’s breathing evened out in the peacefulness of sleep even as her own mind spun and whirled more than ever.

  14

  Now

  Ava stood outside the school gate and watched the children run in ragged circles on the dusty ground, their laughter ringing out over the mountains. It looked, from her brief glimpse, as if the girls were chasing all the boys, and both sides were loving it. She smiled at the sight, even as a pain in the region of her heart nagged her with its persistent ache. When, she wondered, would it go away? Or did you carry grief with you always, a chronic condition you somehow learned to live with even as it debilitated you?

  Helena spotted her across the yard and waved a cheery hello. Waving back, Ava opened the gate and let herself into the friendly chaos of a primary school’s recess period.

  “Ava! I’m so glad you could come. The children are looking forward to their lesson.”

  “Your English is so good, you could give it yourself, I’m sure,” Ava said, smiling. Several dark-eyed children clustered around her, quietly curious.

  Helena rolled her eyes. “No, I do not think so! And I am so busy, as you can see—as I said before, I have little time for extra lessons. Nikos!” Turning to give an impish boy a stern look, she issued an instruction in Greek that had even Ava quaking in her shoes. Although she didn’t understand what Helena had said, she could certainly guess the gist of it. Nikos smiled sheepishly and hung his head before walking to the side of the schoolyard, scuffing his trainers through the dust.

  “Come,” Helena said once she saw to her satisfaction that Nikos was not going to cause any more trouble. “I’ll show you where you will have your lesson.”

  Ava followed her into the school. It was a relatively new one-story building, and inside the corridors were painted a pale, cheerful blue, the walls lined with children’s drawings. Ava breathed in the familiar smell of disinfectant and crayons and children, and realized how good it felt to be in a school again. Good and hard at the same time.