by Liliana Hart
“Hitler has made his presence known here. Travel restrictions are being implemented and the number of guards increases weekly. They’ve started building barbed-wire fences for as far as the eye can see. But they haven’t finished yet. Which is to our advantage.”
“There are rumors the Nazis are building tunnels under the mountain itself,” I said.
“Another reason why this train station has become a rather important stopping point,” he said. “But the tunnels under the mountain aren’t our mission. At least not yet. I’ve got to reintroduce you to Waldenburg as my wife. Everyone knows you’ve been away for months visiting your mother, and before that you were still in France, overseeing our move here. This is a critical moment for everyone who knows who I am in this area.
“You’ll be getting off the morning train, and loving husband that I am, I’ll be here so you can rush into my arms and tell me how much you’ve missed me. I’ve made friends with several of the guards. They frequent my shop to buy stationary to write home to their families. But I’ve mentioned several times that you’d be coming home soon on the train.”
“And are you excited about that?” I asked, wanting to know the finer nuances of our relationship.
“It’ll be somewhat of an inconvenience to have my wife underfoot after a year apart. The guards sympathize. But I’m sure I’ll adjust to your presence.”
“I’m sure you will,” I said wryly. “What of the locals? They’ve accepted you?”
“There’s been a surge of Vichyssoise moving to the outskirts of the country to avoid the bombings and the derision of the rest of France. So yes, for the most part we are accepted.”
Vichy, France had declared itself as an ally of the Nazi party. That part of France was still unoccupied by the Nazis, but there were rumblings Germany wasn’t going to let it remain too much longer. The Nazi party didn’t have allies. But for now, it would work to our advantage, though the thought of aligning myself with the enemy—even in pretend—didn’t sit well in my stomach.
“So Peter and Helen are Nazi sympathizers?” I asked.
“That’s the rumor,” he said. “Though it hasn’t been confirmed. I’ve been known to pass some critical information for Germany through my shop. Of course, that can be said for both sides of the war. It’s quite a convenient establishment.”
It was still dark, but there was a pearly sheen of morning that hovered in the air so our surroundings began to come into focus. Everything was grey—as if every part of the country the Nazi’s infiltrated was suddenly devoid of all color and life.
I kept my hand on Pierre’s shoulder as we made our way through a thickly treed area. He squeezed my hand and I released him, hunkering low in the foliage. Hitler had definitely put his imprint on the station. The swastika flags flew like a beacon against a gloomy backdrop, and the emblems had been added to trains and the sides of the bricked station. I could see the barbed-fence, completed on the opposite side of the tracks to keep intruders out, but there was nothing on the side where Pierre and I were currently located.
Guards paced at strategic points, their machine guns at the ready, and there were shadows of people as they went into the station.
“There are less guards than usual,” he whispered. “Too much celebration in town last night. This will work to our advantage.”
“I’m assuming you’re going to tell me what “this” is?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’m going to leave you here. I’ve got a car stashed and travel clothes waiting for me. I’ll arrive like everyone else through the front door of the station. The first train of the day is always the fullest, so it’ll help cause the most confusion. As soon as the whistle blows to alert the train arrival people will start rushing out on the platforms to meet the train. It’ll be chaos, and the guards will fade to the far corner with their backs against the fence and watch who’s coming and going. I’ve been watching them each day. It’s a weak position, but they’re not exactly the best the Third Reich has to offer.
“As soon as you hear the whistle start moving toward the outward platform,” he said, pointing to the area. “It’s a complete blind spot from where the guards will be standing and you can climb onto the platform easily from there. I’ve even placed and old crate for your convenience. Stay to the shadows as long as you can.”
“And once I’m on the platform?” I asked.
“It needs to look like you’ve arrived on the train. Take this suitcase with you so as not to draw attention. And put your papers inside your coat pocket,” he said, handing me a folded piece of parchment that looked well worn.
The station was starting to waken and cars crowded the main boulevard that led into the depot.
“I have to go,” he said, and started to move away. And then he turned back and pulled me into his arms and gave me a kiss that had me seeing stars. His lips left mine almost as soon as it began, and he said, “Make sure you greet me like a woman who’s been away from her husband for a year.”
My lips felt numb and my legs were unsteady, but my voice didn’t tremble. I was surprised. “If that’s what the poor woman has to come home to, she probably found a Swiss lover to occupy her time.”
He laughed. “Everyone knows the Swiss are terrible lovers.” And then he held up my wrist. I hadn’t realized he’d still been holding onto me. “Your pulse is pounding.”
“It’s rage,” I said.
His grin was wicked. “Liar.” And then he left me alone in the forest with nothing but blistered feet, a suitcase, and a lot of confusion.
Ada Mae
“Wait a minute,” Ada said, thoroughly incensed. “That man kissed you? And you didn’t punch him in the face? Tyler Brogan tried to kiss me on the playground once and I gave him a bloody nose. Nobody gonna touch me unless I wanna be touched.”
Scarlet chuckled. “That’s a good policy to have. But this was a little different circumstance. He was reminding me about the importance of the job at hand. If I hadn’t acted like a wife in every sense of the word who was seeing her husband for the first time in a long while, then we both would have been put to death.”
Ada scrunched up her face in thought. “So sometimes kissing a boy is better than death?”
Scarlet laughed again. “Most definitely. You’ll find out when you’re older.”
“Mama is always saying that,” Ada said with a sigh. “I’m ready to be older now.”
“It’ll be here faster than you know it.”
Ada pouted. “She’s always saying that too. How come you pretended to be those bad vishy people instead of regular people like last time.”
“Vichy,” Scarlet corrected. “Because sometimes you’ve got to dig in the dirt to get all the weeds out. Does that make sense?”
“I think so,” she said. “Granny says it takes a thief to catch a thief.”
“That’s true too,” Scarlet said. “You’ve got to be a good actor to be a good spy.”
“So lying,” Ada said, pressing her lips together.
“Yes, but lying for a good cause.”
“Sometimes I lie when I tell granny I like her paintings,” Ada confessed. “They’re really bad.”
“Sometimes being kind is more important than telling the truth,” Scarlet said. “But it sounds like you’d make an excellent spy.”
“Mama is like a spy with her investigations. Does that mean she’s a good liar?”
Scarlet ran her tongue around her teeth and then pursed her lips, trying to decide the best course of action. “Your mama knows when it’s appropriate to lie for the business.”
“Well, she sure lied about Santa Claus, but I guess she was trying to be kind.”
Scarlet’s brows raised and she blew out a breath. “I might be old, but I don’t remember children having these kinds of conversations.”
“Daddy says it’s because I’m a forty-year-old stuck in a six-year-old’s body.”
“Don’t worry about Santa Claus and lies,” Scarlet said. “Your parents just wan
t to do the best they can for you. You’re very lucky. And they’d never lie to you about important stuff.”
Ada sighed and then yawned. “I know that. But I’m keeping the information in case I need to use it later.”
“Just like a spy,” Scarlet said. “Now do you want to go to bed or do you want me to finish my story?”
“I’m not sleepy,” she said, stifling another yawn.
“Right,” Scarlet said. “Where was I?”
The Suitcase
I watched the boulevard and the parking lot of the station closely for almost twenty minutes, but I didn’t see anyone resembling Pierre.
My first thought was that he set me up. That he’d addled my mind with a kiss to deflect his real intentions and that I’d be walking straight into Nazi arms—just like Henry Graham. History really did repeat itself.
My second thought was that Pierre had been caught on the way to where he’d hidden his car. And if he’d been caught, there would be no one to greet me at the train, which would again draw attention since I’d be a lone woman on the platform.
Which left me with a third choice, which was to stay hidden in the trees until I could either reconnect with Pierre or send word to my SOE contact in London. To my way of thinking, none of the scenarios were ideal.
Of course, there was always a fourth choice. There was a chance that Pierre had been telling the truth and that the mission was legitimate. But like he’d said, I didn’t need to worry about who to trust, but how.
The reminder made my decision for me.
I ran my hands over my hair to make sure I hadn’t picked up any more greenery and then put on my hat. And then I painfully forced my feet into the shoes I’d been avoiding up to now. I closed my eyes briefly and breathed in through my nose. I’d experienced worse pain, but it didn’t feel like it at the moment.
I reached down and picked up the suitcase Pierre had left behind. I’d been expecting for it to be empty, but there was considerable heft to it. I set it down immediately, deciding to open it quickly and see if there was any condemning evidence inside, but the whistle blew, announcing the arrival of the morning train.
It was as if someone had kicked an ant bed. People swarmed onto the platform from the station, and when it became too crowded, many moved to the platform on the other side so the train would be surrounded. Excited chatter rose as the train drew closer.
I picked up the suitcase again and started forward, keeping to the cover of the trees as I moved. My eyes were on the guards and I watched as they moved to the opposite side of the platform near the fence so they could see who was coming off the train, and I realized Pierre had been right. There was a blind spot exactly where he’d moved the crate so I could climb onto the platform.
I guess I’d found the how to my trust issue. And right now, I had to trust that Pierre would be on that platform to get me. Only I had to get there first.
I hefted the suitcase and moved as fast as I could. Adrenaline surged through me, and any pain I’d felt was gone, but I’d come to the end of the protection the forest provided. I could hide no more. I paused briefly just before I stepped foot into the open, and realized Pierre had chosen my herringbone travel suit with care. It blended into the drab grey of the morning.
Someone would have to be looking straight at me to see me, and that thought gave me the confidence I needed to move the rest of the way to the platform closest to me. The train was coming into the station, and everyone’s attention was diverted in the other direction, including the guards. I reached the platform just as the train rumbled to a stop, and I hoisted myself and the suitcase onto the platform with little effort.
I kept to the edge, winding my way through people, until I was close enough to touch the black passenger car. The porters began opening the doors and people came flooding out with trunks and bags. They all had tunnel vision as they looked for their loved ones, so no one noticed me. And then I saw my chance, and I slipped behind a man who was occupied with folding his newspaper and climbed onto the step and onto the train. A man in a dark coat had his back to me, arguing with his wife about the weight of his luggage, and he bumped into me.
He turned quickly and said in German, “Pardon me,” he said. “Please.” He ushered me in front of him. “Go ahead.”
“Thank you,” I said, giving him a brilliant smile and using the handrail to steady my steps back off the train and onto the opposite platform from where I’d started.
I moved with the crowd to keep from getting run over, looking for a familiar face. There was a mixture of languages—French, German, Polish, Czech—and my suitcase kept knocking against the side of my knee as people jostled it passing by.
The guards were weaving back to their positions now that most everyone was off the train, and watery sunlight broke through the dreary skies even as the snow fell a little harder. I used my hand to block the sun from my eyes, hoping Pierre—no, Peter—would come into view. But he was nowhere to be seen. The spit in my mouth dried up and I could feel the pulse in my throat pounding wildly. I was a sitting duck.
And then I heard someone calling my name. “Helen!” and I saw Pierre step from behind a family who’d been clustered together in a tight embrace.
My relief and smile were genuine, and I cried out, “Peter!” I put my hand on my hat to keep it from falling off and rushed toward him. Gone was the spy I’d met in the woods, and in his place was the most dashingly handsome man I’d ever seen. His suit was fine and tailored, and he wore a long black coat and fedora.
He met me halfway and caught me in an embrace, and then he kissed me like he had before, lingering a little longer this time.
“So beautiful,” he said, touching the side of my face with his palm.
I nuzzled against him, and then he leaned down and whispered something much too intimate in my ear. But I laughed gaily and gave him a taste of his own medicine, leaning in to give him a kiss that made the one he’d given me in the woods seem brotherly.
“All right,” he said, smiling indulgently and tucking my arm in the crook of his elbow. “Now that you’ve gotten the attention of every guard in the station, maybe we should be on our way.”
He took my suitcase and led me across the platform toward the station. It was almost odd to see something so normal. Travel was not so free and unencumbered outside of Germany. Trains were closely monitored by the Gestapo and checkpoints were scattered throughout Europe so people could present their papers.
“I’m just excited to see you darling,” I said, batting my eyelashes.
There were shouts and the crowd surged backward, and I saw one of the guards raise his machine gun and bring the butt of it down on someone. Pierre stepped in front of me and had his arm across me protectively, but he was focused on the scene ahead. And then I heard the instructions in German.
“Inspection,” one of the guards yelled.
I didn’t know what had caused the sudden controversy, but someone had obviously gotten caught with something they shouldn’t have. I looked down at the small suitcase Pierre held in his hand and wondered again if there was anything inside that would be a death sentence.
We were ushered into two lines, and Pierre squeezed my hand. I wasn’t sure if it was out of warning or encouragement, but I stayed silent. Even with our considerable skills, there wasn’t much either of us could do in a situation like this other than to let it play out.
The line moved quickly. The guards weren’t concerned with people’s belongings. It only took moments to open cases and trunks and riffle inside, or in several cases, dumping the contents out completely.
“Papers,” one of the guards commanded when we got to the front of the line.
I handed my forged papers to Pierre and he handed both of our documents to the guard, and then the guard tapped his swagger stick on the top of the table and Pierre set the suitcase on it.
“Herr Beauchamp,” another soldier said, coming up behind the one about to open our suitcase.
“Ca
ptain Rolfe,” Pierre said with a curt nod.
I didn’t think of my home in Whiskey Bayou often, but I did think of America and the freedoms I’d never given much thought to in my short lifetime. I missed the opportunities to speak freely and the friendliness of my fellow man. Since my arrival in Europe, everything I said was measured. Everyone I knew looked at each other with suspicion. And no one really knew what anyone was thinking.
The Germans had a formalness that grated against my rebellious nature, but self-preservation kept me in check. Which had probably been the reason my father had sent me away in the first place.
“You have claimed your wife?” Rolfe asked, his face stern as he looked me over. His lips were thin, but I’d seen interest in enough men’s eyes to know when it was there.
“I have,” Pierre said. “This is my wife, Helen.”
I nodded and gave him a sly smile, keeping eye contact as I did so. I’d discovered keeping eye contact usually disconcerted men enough to get them off track. I couldn’t have scripted better what happened next. The guard next to Captain Rolfe opened the suitcase and out spilled scandalous lingerie that I’d never seen before in my life. Both men looked at me and then back down at the lingerie. And then back at me again.
I smiled, my gaze never leaving Captain Rolfe. There was no point in flirting with the underlings. The rank had the power. And I’d learned to never waste an opportunity to put myself in the path of power.
“As you can see, gentlemen,” Pierre said. “We’re in a hurry to be home.”
Marriage
I was delighted to see the beauty of the city.
In the time I’d spent in Europe, destruction had been the commonality between different countries and the cities within them. War touched everyone, but Waldenburg sat like a postcard nestled between the mountains.