Whisper on the Wind

by Maureen Lang

  The Major leaned forward on his cane, still seated, and looked from Isa to Genny. “I was going to send your housekeeper to you with some news, but as I was lured by the music, I decided to discuss it with you both myself.”

  Isa glanced at Genny beside her as the Major reached inside his jacket pocket to withdraw a piece of paper.

  “I received this earlier today.” Unfolding it, he looked it over as if reading it again. “It seems Hauptmann Rudiger von Eckhart would like to bring Herr Lutz here for a visit. With all of the excitement from the other night, I never did get a chance to thank my friend for his help, and Hauptmann von Eckhart wishes to provide me that opportunity. He wishes . . . he wishes to bring him for dinner. Here.”

  Up until the last part, Isa had thought the Major perfectly at ease.

  She exchanged a glance with Genny. Did she feel what Isa did? Horror? Disdain? Repulsion? How could she not?

  Isa stood. “I’m sure if you would like to use the dining room, Clara will not mind serving you there. Although, as you know, we have little food for entertaining.”

  “Headquarters will send something for your maid to prepare. But I’m afraid you don’t understand, Fräulein Lassone. Hauptmann von Eckhart’s note expressly states his desire that you—and Frau Kirkland, of course—share dinner with us.”

  Isa spun around to Genny, effectively turning her back on the Major. Genny stood, pulling Isa close as she turned her around so they both faced the Major again.

  “I’m sure the Hauptmann will understand our reluctance to sit at the table with officers of the occupying army?” Genny asked. “After all that has taken place?”

  The Major rose with what appeared to be relative ease, as if he’d been practicing the use of his cane. “Perhaps, for the evening at least, we might put aside current events and share a meal as those who have the unfortunate role of living through such difficult times. Merely as individuals.”

  “Individuals, Major?” Genny said. “You mean, as people without loyalties to our own countries? In all honesty, I’m not at all certain either party could do such a thing, even for one evening.”

  “Yes, I suppose you are right about that.” He looked down at the floor. “I was rather looking forward to forgetting quite a bit for one evening. The war, the shortages, the heartaches. The guns in the distance. I wanted to forget. That’s all.” He looked at Genny again. “That’s all it would have been.”

  “Of course,” Genny said slowly, “I would like to thank Herr Lutz.”

  Isa started to voice the obvious, that no thanks were necessary because a boy should not have had to endure a trip to St. Gilles over such a frivolous offense, but Genny still held her hand. Isa squeezed it.

  “Perhaps it might be easier,” the Major said, his voice growing confident, friendlier, “if you knew Herr Lutz isn’t a soldier but an adviser, and so doesn’t wear a uniform. He was something of a mentor to me in my younger days. Sharing dinner with him would not be unpleasant.”

  Genny ignored yet another squeeze to her hand, so Isa stared hard at her, willing their gazes to meet. But it was as if Isa weren’t there.

  “I think we might be able to share dinner. Let us know which evening it will be, Major.”

  Genny let go of Isa’s hand and walked from the room. Isa hurried after her, and once they closed the kitchen door behind them, she stepped in front of Genny with folded arms. “You agreed to dine with them!”

  Genny went around Isa to the stove. “I’m heating water. Would you like some? It’s chilly today, isn’t it? Some hot water will help. We’re out of tea again.”

  “How could you, Genny? How could you share a meal with them, as if they’re some kind of . . . of guests?”

  Genny went to the sink beneath the window but didn’t look out. Isa watched as the older woman closed her eyes and, after a moment, turned. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t reflect a bit of Isa’s outrage.

  “It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Treating those who overran Belgium like we want them here? How is that right? Besides, I don’t want a bunch of soldiers coming around here now that I’m going to be—” she lowered her voice—“you know, involved.”

  “Better they come around now than in a week, or the week after that, when you are, as you say, involved.”

  Isa had to admit that Genny’s point was a good one. Better to get this meal over with sooner than later. “You may be right. If a meal is expected, then a meal they’ll get—but that’s all. This once.”

  * * *

  A fair evening sunset ended the crisp autumn day as Edward made his way to Isa’s front door. From habit, he’d almost gone around to the back, but his new disguise afforded him the luxury due any guest, at least for the duration of his mother’s stay.

  Clara showed him in and directed him not to the parlor but to the kitchen.

  “You know,” he greeted Isa, who was seated at the table with his mother, “you could sit in the parlor as if you owned the place.”

  They laughed and Isa offered the chair closest to her. “The Major has never found his way back here. I imagine he’s a snob, thinking he’s too good to grace any kitchen.”

  Edward sat, ignoring the urge to admit he’d once thought the very same thing of her. He looked at his mother. “Has Isa talked to you about the . . . about things?”

  Clara hadn’t followed him, but his mother glanced toward the door nonetheless. “I know you are against this, Edward, and I agree with you. But Isa’s determined.”

  “How soon will you be returning to Viole’s?”

  She didn’t speak for a moment. “We talked about that. I’ve already spoken to Jonah, and he seems pleased. Some of the boys in this neighborhood still blame him for the trouble they were in when they were taken to St. Gilles. He’s eager to return to his old friends.”

  “Good. But, Mother . . . I didn’t entirely hear what I wanted. You are returning as well, isn’t that right?”

  “Of course she is, Edward. We talked about it this morning.”

  Edward noticed his mother’s gaze shoot between him and Isa. Nervously.

  She pursed her lips. “Actually, Isa, I’ve been giving that further thought.”

  Edward tensed. “What further thought is needed? None. I don’t want either of you here, but Isa is as mule-headed as ever and won’t leave. Now you, Mother—you have far more sense than she has, so I expect you to follow through and return to Viole’s with Jonah. The sooner, the better.”

  Instead of nodding, or at least losing that somewhat-nervous, somewhat-apologetic look on her face, his mother reached across the table and took one of his hands. “Edward—”

  “No!” He pulled away before her hand had barely touched his and stood so fast the chair behind him teetered. “I won’t have it. Isa’s idea is foolish enough without endangering more lives.”

  Both women left the table to stand near him, so close he could barely think.

  “Do you know what Isa said to me this morning, Edward? That it’s God’s position to protect us. Isn’t this press something He would support? Doesn’t Scripture itself tell us to bring comfort to those in need? And doesn’t Belgium deserve—?”

  “Don’t talk to me about reasons to become involved, Mother. I believe in it too. But I also happen to believe you’ve given enough to the war effort—in the life of my father. Haven’t I, hasn’t Jonah, too, without risking your life as well?”

  She laid a hand on his arm. “You’re right, of course, but think of the day-to-day challenges. Isa will need all the help she can get to distract the Major from what’s happening, not to mention that my presence gives you a reason to come and go as you please. And besides all that, with the way things have become . . . Clara tells me the Germans are taking men again.” She turned away and clutched the corner of the table. “I won’t stand by and watch women lose their husbands, their sons, the way . . .”

  Then her shoulders wobbled and he could tell she’d given in to tears.

&nb
sp; He stepped closer, bolstering those shoulders by drawing her close. “I know you have every bit as much reason as I do to want to keep this paper going, but it’s too dangerous. I won’t have you involved. I won’t.”

  She pulled away, looking up at him, then stretched out a hand to Isa. “We’ll do it together, each of us, a rope of three cords.”

  Edward accepted Isa into the three-way embrace, but their resolve did nothing to ease his fear. He could see his mother was as stubborn as Isa, and short of calling in the Germans, there would be no changing their minds. He couldn’t fight both of them and Jan and Rosalie too.

  There was no turning back now. He freed himself of them and stepped back with one last hope that words would come to make them see reason.

  None did.

  “I’ve spoken to Rosalie, who arranged for the sale of the press. They say it will be ready on Wednesday morning. So as I see it, I have until then to change your minds.”

  He saw a strange look pass over both women’s faces.

  “Wednesday?” Isa’s voice sounded as uncertain as a child’s, something he hadn’t heard from her since her return.

  He nodded.

  “Well, as it happens,” his mother said, “we’re to entertain that evening.”

  “Entertain? No one entertains anymore. What are you talking about?”

  Isa put a hand over Edward’s, a warning touch if ever he’d felt one. “The Major has invited Herr Lutz here to dine. He is the German who helped to bring Jonah home.”

  “There, I told you this was a mistake! Especially if that Major will be inviting guests with any sort of regularity.”

  “Clara tells me he isn’t prone to entertaining, and we’ve certainly seen no evidence of it.”

  “Yes, this is a onetime affair,” Isa added.

  “Well, there isn’t anything we can do about it, is there? What will Clara serve him from a near-empty kitchen?”

  “The Major said they would send something from the Kommandantur,” his mother said.

  Edward stroked his chin. Perhaps this could work in their favor. “So there will be people coming here during the day? If they’re bringing in things for their dinner, perhaps they won’t notice a few extra boxes and one rather large, heavy crate that we bring in.”

  “Oh, Edward.” His mother’s brows drew together. “Not in broad daylight?”

  “Nighttime would draw too much suspicion, particularly from the Major himself. As they say, the best place to hide is under the nose of the Polizei. What time is this dinner to begin?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “How many?”

  “Two, that we know of,” Genny answered. “Besides the Major, of course.”

  Isa touched his hand again, drawing his attention from the plans swirling through his mind. “But, Edward, you do understand that it’s not only the Major who will be sharing this dinner? Your mother and I will be required to sit at the table as well.”

  One of his ears started ringing; he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. “What was that?”

  Now his mother touched his other hand, and both of his ears began ringing. “Yes, Isa and I will be expressing our gratitude for Jonah’s return.”

  His fingertips tingled with a rush of adrenaline, all he would need to thrust a fist into a wall or at a face. A German face. If only he could. “Who are his guests?”

  “Herr Lutz and Hauptmann von Eckhart.”

  The Hauptmann’s name defined which German face Edward most wanted to assault. He glanced at Isa. “Why von Eckhart?”

  “It was he who sent the note arranging everything.”

  Edward had a fair estimation of why. Blast it all, why had she ever come back? “That leaves me with one option. Mother, best tell the Major that your nephew Father Antoine would like to join the party.”

  Then he turned toward the door. He didn’t have time to spare if he was to set their plans in motion.

  19

  Rumor has it the Germans will stop the revictualing. Let them! And see what hunger in the bellies of already-oppressed Belgians will drive other countries to do in our defense. Keep heart.

  La Libre Belgique

  * * *

  Isa glanced at the timepiece on her vanity. Nearly ten o’clock in the morning. She studied her reflection, marginally satisfied with what she saw: light hair pinned in a loose knot, a few tendrils tickling her neck, exposed by the wide, box-cut neckline of her gown. It was a burgundy day dress, trimmed close at the waist. She and Genny had decided to take special care with their appearance this morning—anything to divert unwanted attention from the delivery.

  Swallowing the jittery burst of nerves that threatened to wreak havoc on her insides, she retrieved her flute and brought it to the music room just down the hall.

  She stopped, as usual, near the Major’s room to listen for any sound. The rhythm of labored breathing came through, something she often heard when he exercised. She’d caught a glimpse of him once when his nurse was there with the door open. He’d been on the floor with one hand behind his back as if counterbalancing the foot that was missing while he pushed himself up, then down, over and again. She guessed he was doing that now.

  Isa found Genny in the kitchen with Henri.

  “Good morning,” Isa said, instantly noticing Genny’s flattering gown, another Isa didn’t recall her mother ever wearing. It was midnight blue, with a high collar and long sleeves, yet its modesty and simplicity of cut complemented her femininity and grace. Her hair, like Isa’s, was up, braided and twisted at the back.

  However, the entire look was compromised by her frown. “What is it?”

  “It’s Clara.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She isn’t here. Her sister is ill, and Clara left to tend her.”

  The nerves inside Isa zeroed in on her stomach. “What?”

  “She promised to be back in time to cook.”

  Isa spun around, looking out the kitchen window. “Who cares about that? Those Germans can send a cook along with all their goods; I don’t care. Or cook it themselves! It’s the delivery I’m worried about. We need her to watch for the sentries.” Nothing could go wrong today. Nothing!

  “I suppose we should have warned her instead of waiting until the last moment. Besides, she was bound to wonder about all of this. Perhaps it’s best she isn’t here at all. The less she knows, the better. I will sit alone with the Major. He’ll stay for a piano performance without the flute. It’s still music, isn’t it?”

  Isa took a deep breath. “All right.” Then she caught Henri’s concerned look.

  He neared them, gesturing toward Isa to pray. Suddenly he seemed more concerned over her behavior than Clara’s absence.

  “He’s absolutely right,” Genny said. “It’s a good reminder for both of us. We’ll pray our way through this day, Isa.”

  Isa nodded and another quiver shot through her, this time of gratitude that God cared enough to have surrounded her with people to help her stay close to His side. Surely what they were about to do was the right decision. She needed to remind herself of that and tell Genny, too.

  “Genny, just one thing eased my mind last night. If Edward really thinks God has abandoned Belgium, then when everything goes well, might he realize how wrong he’s been? that he can trust God to protect us instead of trying to do it all himself?”

  Nearly an hour later, Isa stood at the kitchen window alone, waiting for a delivery. Any delivery, German or otherwise. So far not even the goods for the dinner had arrived.

  Clara had not returned, though she’d sent her nephew with a message that she would be home in plenty of time to prepare the meal for that evening. From her vantage point, Isa couldn’t see far past the garden or down the alleyway. She saw trees, low bushes, the stone fence. The tops of other homes nearby.

  And then, through the gently swaying, colorful branches of the beech tree, she saw the top of a wagon. It rambled down the narrow artery at a slow pace, far slower than the
rate of Isa’s heart. Not surprisingly these days, an ox pulled the wagon rather than a horse. Just as well; he made the load look light.

  Getting the press this far had succeeded. That counted the mission nearly half-complete.

  Isa saw the driver as he pulled the rig up to the gate. His face was darkened by a bushy beard streaked with gray, thick matching brows. But Isa would know Edward anywhere, from the curve of his shoulders to the length of his arms. Rosalie had outdone herself this time. No one would recognize this wizened old man as the young man Isa loved.

  Edward coughed and spit on the pavement, then stepped down with all the care of an older man. Isa could no longer see him then, but she did see Henri emerge from his room above the carriage house. She folded her arms in front of her, itching to go outside.

  Oh, Lord, watch over us now!

  * * *

  Genny played the piano as she’d never played before. The act was as much a prayer as it was a production. Only by keeping her mind on the Lord could she banish the tremor making her nearly fumble every chord. Only by prayer could she remember the notes—notes she hadn’t played in over two years.

  She was grateful she hadn’t needed to knock on the Major’s door with an invitation. Genny hadn’t liked that idea from its inception, less so when knowing she must occupy him on her own. He’d joined her not long after she’d begun, as if it had been his own idea to leave his room and find her just down the hall.

  The hymn ended and she began another. Delivery of the press must be under way by now. Years without playing soon evaporated as her fingers found their way across the keys to the tune of “Nearer My God to Thee.”

  * * *

  Isa stepped aside to allow Edward and Henri access to the pantry, each carrying a box. “Henri will take these down to the room,” Edward said. “Then he’ll help me bring the casting in if there’s no one around. It’s too heavy for either of us alone. You’ll have to stand watch outside, Isa.”

  Isa made her way to the wagon. She looked both ways, seeing no one near. But when Edward turned quickly on his heel and motioned her to silence, she looked frantically around.