The Unlikely Allies

by Gilbert, Morris

  Parting is all we know of heaven,

  And all we need of hell.”

  She shook her head. “What a sad poem.”

  “Yes, it is.” He quoted the first line. “ ‘My life closed twice before its close.’ ”

  “I think that might have been the death of her father and the loss of the man she loved.”

  “Those last two lines are powerful. ‘Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell.’ I know what that’s like.”

  “What is it, Derek? I know you suffered a tragedy.”

  “I guess I’m like Emily Dickinson. I’ve had two losses.” He did not speak for a while. He peered out into the rain that slanted down across the road. “I suffered a great loss when my mother died.”

  “You were very close to her, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. I think I might have been different if she had lived, but she died when I was very young.”

  “Sometimes it helps to talk about these things.”

  Derek turned and said simply, “I’ve had no one to talk to, Mallory.”

  “Not your father?”

  “Especially not him. He was a great soldier, but we were not close.”

  “What does this poem mean to you?”

  “The first time I read it, those last two lines went through me like a knife. ‘Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell.’ It reminds me of the line from Romeo and Juliet, ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow.’ ”

  “That’s true, isn’t it? Parting is a sweet sorrow.”

  “Sometimes when I read the Bible, I find certain verses jumping out at me like that,” he said. “Does that surprise you?”

  “It does rather.”

  “Well, I read a lot of it and it means nothing. And then suddenly I’ll read a verse and it’s like a . . . it’s like a bayonet driven through my heart.”

  This was a side of Derek Grüber that interested Mallory intensely. “I know a little something about that. I think it’s the Holy Spirit that quickens those little verses.” She turned in her seat a little. “What was your mother like?”

  Derek began to speak about his mother as he pulled up in front of the farmhouse where Mallory lived with the Klovstads. The engine was running, but his voice had grown soft, and she could see the pain he felt in his expression.

  “I loved my mother very much,” he said simply.

  “What about your other loss?”

  “I . . . I’ve never talked about her to anyone.” The rain made a symphony on the hood of the truck as it came down in long, slanting lines. Everything outside was gray, but inside, the heater had warmed the truck, and Derek sat quite still for a time.

  Finally he said in a spare tone, “Her name was Rachel.”

  “I’ve always loved that name.”

  “She was beautiful—and a Jew. . . .”

  Mallory listened as Derek spoke. His voice became thicker, and he had more and more trouble speaking. More than once he had to stop to get control of himself, and after he told her how they had parted for the last time, he gave a sudden helpless cry and leaned forward, resting his forehead on his hands where they gripped the steering wheel. “And I lost her, Mallory! It was my fault!”

  Mallory was shocked at the intensity of his emotion. His shoulders were shaking as he sobbed. Her heart went out to him in a way that it had rarely gone out to anyone. She reached out without thinking and pulled him toward her. Even in the darkness, she saw the tears streaming down his face. His features were contorted as he struggled to control himself.

  “Maybe I can help,” she whispered. She pulled his head down, and he buried his face against her shoulder and collapsed, shaking with sobs he could not control. She held him tightly, stroking his back and patting him as if he were a child. A torrent swept him, and she knew this was probably the first time this strong man had ever given way like this. She made no attempt to get him to stop but quietly soothed him. She put her hand on the back of his head and held him tightly.

  Finally the torrent ceased and Derek stiffened. He straightened up and put the heels of his hands over his eyes. Clearing his throat, he finally said, “I . . . I haven’t cried since my mother died.”

  “We all need to cry, even strong men. My father’s the strongest man I’ve ever known, but I’ve seen him weep.”

  Derek withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, mopped his face, and cleared his throat. “You’re a loving woman, Mallory. You have love even for an enemy.”

  Mallory reached out and touched his cheek. “I don’t think of you as my enemy,” she said quietly. She opened the door and got out and then waited until he got out and lifted the bicycle to the ground. “I’m sorry about your losses, Derek.”

  He stood there in the falling rain as she turned and made her way to the house. Finally he got in the truck and drove away. His face was still contorted, and he could not believe that he had broken down. “I’ve never wept like that—not before anyone!” Still, he knew the weeping had been a catharsis, and he felt that at least some of his burden was lifted.

  ****

  Mallory’s mind was occupied with the scene that had just happened, so she was startled when she stepped inside and saw Eva standing squarely in the hallway with a gun in her right hand. Her glance shifted into the room on Eva’s right, where she could see two people, a man and a woman, both appearing to be in their late twenties. She stepped forward and saw that they had two small girls, who looked to be about ages three and four or five.

  “Ritter’s rounding up all the Jews, Mallory. They’re going to be deported.” Eva’s face was fixed with grim determination. “This is Abraham and Leah Goldstein, and these are their children, Thora and Abigail. We’ve got to keep them here until we can get them to Sweden.”

  “Of course.” Mallory smiled at the family. “We’ll make a place for you. I’m sure it will be all right.”

  “The attic will have to do. It’s too small to stay in there all the time, but it’ll give them someplace to go when there’s trouble,” Eva said.

  Mallory and Eva worked together to clean up the attic and put together some makeshift beds. When they had gotten the children settled and the Goldsteins were in bed, she and Eva collapsed in front of the fire, and Eva’s shoulders sagged. “It’s going to be hard. I don’t know if we can do it, Mallory. The Germans are going to be searching every house.”

  “We can do it.”

  “What were you doing coming home with that Nazi? You’re not still seeing him, are you?”

  “He picked me up when I was riding my bike to the Sorensens’, and he insisted on bringing me back. There was nothing I could do about it.”

  “I wish he were dead like all the rest of them.”

  Mallory shook her head vigorously. “He’s . . . he’s not a bad man.”

  “Not a bad man! What are you talking about? He’s a Nazi.”

  “There’s good in him. I can see it and I can feel it, Eva.”

  She snorted. “They say Mussolini made the trains run on time, but he’s a butcher. Hitler is fond of dogs, so they say, but he’s still a killer.”

  “Derek is different.”

  Eva straightened up and turned her eyes fully on her friend. “I can’t believe it!”

  “Believe what?”

  “You’re falling in love with that man.” She saw the truth in Mallory’s eyes and reached out and grabbed her shoulders. “You’re falling in love with a Nazi! Wake up! He’s like all the rest of them.”

  Mallory tore herself free from Eva’s grasp. “No he’s not! He’s not!” She fled to her room, and as soon as the door was closed, she ran to her bed and fell across it, burying her face in the covers. She lay there for a long time thinking of how Derek had clung to her, and then she found herself beginning to weep in her confusion.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Meeting at Night

  From July to October 1940, the Battle of Britain raged over the skies of England. The Royal Air Force fought valiantly and prevented
Adolf Hitler from taking England, as he had taken so many other countries. Day by day, at all hours, Mallory monitored the radio, passing the news along to the others of the valiant stand of the RAF against the Luftwaffe.

  Hitler had been confident he could conquer England. The problem was that the German navy was not equipped for the feat. There were no landing craft, and the sea was rough. The British Royal Navy was the strongest in the world, and the only way an invasion was feasible was for the Luftwaffe to control the skies so the Germans could send barges towed by ships across the English Channel.

  Hermann Göring had assured the führer that there would be no problems, but indeed there were. Days passed, and the thin ranks of RAF pilots fought off the swarms of German fighters and bombers that attempted to wipe them out. Göring targeted the airfields, trying to destroy planes on the ground. He sent fighters to shoot them out of the air, but he did not succeed.

  Along with the rest of the world, Mallory listened and prayed that the RAF could fend off the onslaught. Day by day she tallied the totals of enemy planes shot down, as well as the British fighters lost, and somehow England held on. Prime Minister Churchill had risen to the occasion and become the symbol of freedom for the English-speaking peoples of the world. He went on the radio time and time again, his strong voice urging the people of England on to new efforts. They withstood the bombings even when the population of London was forced to go into the subways as their homes were destroyed.

  Eva had put a stop to Mallory’s continuing to see Derek, and sadly Mallory had had to tell him it would be best if they stopped seeing each other. She missed him terribly, but she kept her mind occupied not only with her radio duties, but also with taking care of the Goldsteins. It had become the fixed purpose of her life to protect them, and she guarded them almost as fiercely as did Lars and Eva. She became very attached to the girls, entertaining them and finding she had a gift for taking care of children.

  One of the things she did was to read the girls stories from the Old Testament. She was careful always to use the Old Testament rather than the New.

  Abraham Goldstein observed all this. He was not yet thirty-five, and his wife Leah was five years younger. The scholarly man rarely spoke, but he loved to listen.

  One day after Mallory had read the story of David and Goliath as dramatically as she could and kept the girls enthralled, Goldstein did speak to her. When the girls had left the room, he came to stand beside her where she was gathering up the books the girls had used to draw pictures on and said, “Leah and I appreciate the time you take with our daughters.”

  “They’re beautiful girls. I know you’re proud of them.”

  Goldstein hesitated, then went on, “I’ve been waiting for you to tell our girls stories about Jesus. I know you are a Christian missionary.”

  Mallory looked up quickly. She wanted to be absolutely honest with this man. “I’ve wanted to, but it wouldn’t be right. It would be taking advantage.”

  “I appreciate that.” He sat down, and for a while the two talked about the girls, and then Goldstein shook his head slightly as if puzzled. “I can’t reconcile the love that I see in people like you and so many of the Norwegians and the hatred I see in some others. So many of you are risking your lives, but there are others who are killing our people by the thousands, and yet they call themselves Christians.”

  Carefully Mallory said, “Not everyone who calls himself a Christian is actually a follower of Jesus.”

  Goldstein stared at her. “Tell me how you feel about Jesus.”

  She was uneasy about coming on too strong about her faith in Christ, for this man was a devout Jew, but she knew the time had come for her to share her faith with him. She told him how she had accepted Jesus in Africa when she was very young and how she had learned to walk in His commandments. “One of the things that drew me to Jesus was a passage out of the Old Testament.”

  Goldstein immediately grew interested. “And what was that, Miss Winslow?”

  “It’s in Isaiah fifty-three, beginning at the third verse.” She began to quote slowly, and her eyes were warm as she did:

  “He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

  “Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted.

  “But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.”

  By the time she finished, there were tears in her eyes. “I can’t help weeping every time I read those words of how Jesus suffered for my sins.”

  “You really believe that the death of one man two thousand years ago has something to do with your soul?”

  “Oh yes! Before Jesus came into my heart, I was troubled and had no peace, even though I was very young. Since that time, I’ve seen so many others find that same peace. What do you make of that Scripture, Abraham?”

  “I do not know. The Old Testament seems to present two Messiahs. Indeed, some scholars think there will be two—one a suffering servant as you have just read, but the other a victorious leader who will give Israel a place in the nations of the world.”

  “But it’s the same Messiah,” Mallory said. “I think the book of Isaiah speaks of two comings of the Messiah—one to suffer for the sins of the world and the other when He returns to set all wrongs right. He will bring justice to the world in a way man could never do.”

  The two spoke for almost an hour, and Goldstein finally shook his head. “I honor your love for my people, and I think you indeed love all people. I’ve been touched as you have spoken of your work with the Lapps.”

  “Let me read you one verse out of the New Testament,” she said. “It’s only one verse, but it has meant a great deal to me.”

  “I would be pleased to hear it.”

  “It was written by a man called John.”

  “John the Baptist? I’ve heard of him.”

  “No, there were two men named John. One of them wrote what we call the Gospel of John, and I’d like to read you this one verse out of that Gospel, which means ‘good news.’ It’s found in the first chapter, verse twenty-nine. John the Baptist had been baptizing,” she explained, “and the Scripture says, ‘The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” ’ ”

  “What a strange thing to say! Whatever does it mean?”

  “You could teach me a great deal about the sacrifice of lambs, Mr. Goldstein, for the Old Testament is full of them.”

  “Indeed it is. From the Passover and even before, the Jewish people often sacrificed lambs.”

  “Do you believe that killing a lamb would wash away anyone’s sins?”

  “Why, no. It was merely a symbolic act.”

  “I agree with you exactly. John the Baptist knew that very well, and I think he was saying in effect, you have been sacrificing animals for years. Thousands and thousands of lambs have died, but none of them ever saved anyone. Not one sin was ever wiped away by their blood, but now the real Lamb has come, the one God has chosen. It was He that all the lambs slain on Jewish altars pointed toward. That is why it says back in Isaiah fifty-three, ‘Yet it was the Lord’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer, and though the Lord makes his life a guilt offering, he will see his offspring and prolong his days, and the will of the Lord will prosper in his hand. After the suffering of his soul, he will see the light of life and be satisfied.’

  “That’s the way I think of Jesus. God was holy and righteous, and none of us could ever find our way to Him because we’re all guilty of sin. But Jesus bore those sins, and when He died on the cross, that was when we saw the real Lamb of God.”

  Abraham Goldstein suddenly removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was obviously moved. “I must think on this,” he whispered. “Th
ank you for sharing it with me, Mallory.”

  ****

  “A plane is coming in with a shipment of arms.”

  James St. Cloud had been working over the transcription of some signals. “When?” he asked.

  “Tonight,” Mallory said.

  “It will be dangerous. We need more time.”

  She shook her head. “Ajax says it’s already set. They’ll be coming in on the field where we got the two agents last month over by the river.”

  “Well, that’s private enough, all right. I don’t think anyone would ever think of a plane landing there.”

  “Listen, James, I have an idea. Why don’t we make arrangements for the Goldsteins to fly to England rather than trying to get them to Sweden? They’d be safe there.”

  “I don’t know if that plane could hold that many passengers.”

  “They’re small people. The girls weigh practically nothing.”

  “It might work,” he said. “Let’s contact Ajax. We can at least ask.”

  Ten minutes later the two were sitting in front of the transmitter. “Ajax . . . calling Ajax. This is Byron calling Ajax.”

  “Ajax . . . this is Ajax. What is your message, Byron?”

  “Four units need to be moved. Can you arrange to have them shipped tonight?”

  A long pause ensued, and then the British voice said, “Ship the units tonight. When the supplies are unloaded, simply load the units in. Congratulations.” Then the voice grew warmer. “Good work, Byron.”

  “Quick,” Mallory said, “we’ve got to get ready. It’s going to take close timing.”

  “I’m taking Rolf with me,” James said. “I don’t want anyone else to go.”

  “I’m going.”

  “No you’re not. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I’m taking the radio. They may need help, and you and Rolf will have all you can do to take care of the supplies. Don’t argue with me, James. I’m going.”

  He smiled despite himself. “I knew we’d have trouble with women once we let them eat with us and taught them how to count money!”

  ****

  The arduous rounds of stops around the country that Derek had made had done little to drive his problem from his mind. He had volunteered to make a circuit of all the German headquarters scattered over Norway, thinking that staying busy might give him some peace. He had been wrong, however, for though he worked hard at his task and seemed to be accomplishing something, all he could think of was Mallory Winslow.