Mercy Road

by Ann Howard Creel

  He stared at the locket and chain in my open palm. “Is this—”

  “My baby locket, yes. I wore it on the night of . . . the fire. It’s come a long way. I want you to take it with you for luck. It’s a survivor.”

  “I can’t take this, Arlene.”

  “Yes, you can.” When he tried to launch another protest, I folded his fingers over it to hold the locket in place. “I insist.”

  He finally smiled and slipped the necklace into his chest pocket and buttoned it. “Enough talk of survival.” He stretched out long on his side with his elbow levered on the ground and his hand supporting his head. “Before I tell you that you’re the most beautiful and intelligent woman in the world, I have to ask you—”

  “About Brohammer?”

  He nodded.

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  That was the truth; I hadn’t seen him, and I could ascertain no need to tell Jimmy what Corporal Needles had said. Jimmy didn’t need to know that anyone had seen us together in Château-Thierry. I wanted him to go back to the front lines with a clear head, with only one aim in mind: stay alive. I didn’t want him worrying about me.

  “Good,” Jimmy responded.

  I picked at a nothing-something on the tarp. “So, I suppose he’ll never get caught?”

  He sighed. “It’s possible, yes. If I’d had more time, maybe I could’ve set a trap using some infantrymen I know. But, as you’re well aware, the work of an ambulance driver rarely lets up.”

  “You did your best, I’m sure.”

  “And so did you, Arlene. I have to believe that at some point in his life, a person like Felix Brohammer will get his just desserts. I have to believe that someday he’ll pay for what he’s done.”

  “I hope so.”

  His face brightened. “So now that I’ve taken you to despair, are you ready to hear everything that’s remarkable and wonderful about you?”

  And there again, that self-mocking smile I’d grown to love—or maybe I’d always loved it. “Of course.”

  The rest of the night passed as if in the blink of an eye. A rapid little bird’s eye blinking so quickly that human sight almost couldn’t register it.

  We talked about Paris, France, and Paris, Kentucky. We talked about horses and Jimmy’s days on Favier Farm, and with every tiny remembrance, a bit of the horror we’d seen here burrowed away a little deeper. We studied each other’s faces. I memorized the little folds at the corners of his eyes, the shape and hue of his lips, and the black band around his brown irises streaked with gold. We kissed, and this feeling, this happiness, lay at the core of the world, deep in the center of all that had been and would ever be.

  Back in the world around us, we had to admit our time had nearly run out.

  Jimmy looked as though he was working to still a racing heart and finally asked, “When the war has ended, where do you think your team will go?”

  I didn’t want to think of such things, such facts and logistics, but I wanted to plan, to promise, and I felt Jimmy did, too. “I imagine we’ll stay here. The French people and injured soldiers won’t simply heal up all of a sudden because we’ve won the war. If only it could work that way!” I paused. “But it doesn’t, and the doctors are so devoted, I wonder if they’ll ever leave.”

  “But you can leave?”

  I shrugged. “Yes, I suppose so. I promised to remain until the war’s end, but I’ve always thought I’d stay as long as needed, within reason. What of you? How long before you’re released?”

  “Like your team, we’ll still be needed for a while to get our men out of here to bigger and better hospitals.”

  He lifted my hand and kissed it, his breath on my skin so sweet. I started saving all of these moments with Jimmy in my mind so I could call them up after we parted.

  He said, “I’m hoping we get it all done and then have a long stay in Paris. I’d like to learn more about the City of Light, maybe even stay on for a while after discharge.”

  “In Paris?”

  “Paris or somewhere else. I like Europe so much better than I expected to. The war has shown me how big the world is, and there are many things on this earth to see and do.”

  I understood what Jimmy said, but the war had shown me that nothing was as important as family. Poor Jimmy had lost his family at such an early age, so how could he feel the same way? “Before you go home?”

  He looked puzzled. “Do you mean Kentucky?”

  “Yes, Kentucky.”

  He gazed up at the sky and stars above, blinking once, twice. “There’s nothing left for me back there. Since high school I’ve worked on some horse farms, I took a job in Lexington for a while, and then I worked on the railroad until I enlisted. There’s nothing that lures me back . . .”

  I sat very still. I had to remind myself that I’d never explained to Jimmy what I planned to do with my money and how much it meant to me. How few opportunities we’d had to talk, to really talk! I softly said, “I do have family. And I’ve promised to return.”

  He stared at me.

  Dreading a response I wouldn’t like, I studied him closely, but I had to say it: “I’ve promised Luc and Maman that I’ll come back and build a house and take over Papa’s duties running the stud service.”

  He appeared crestfallen, and my feelings matched his. Never once had it occurred to me that Jimmy wouldn’t wish to go back. In my mind I’d pictured that eventually all of us—every volunteer, every soldier, every journalist, every diplomat—would drag ourselves and our gear on board big ships and sail for home, all the while our spirits lifting, our hearts healing, our hopes revived.

  He whispered, “You once told me your life back there was over.”

  Had I said that? Perhaps, on that night he pushed me away. “I must have meant that the way it had been before is over. We’ll never regain what we had or how it felt now that Papa’s gone, but I aim to get back what I can.” I think I had said that, too.

  Jimmy cocked his head a tiny notch. “But the world is so big, Arlene. Don’t you want to see more of it? Now that you’ve seen France, don’t you want to see other countries, too? We don’t have important positions waiting for us back home. We don’t have children. We can do anything we like. Wouldn’t you like to explore for a while?”

  He’d found a question I’d not expected and didn’t know how to answer. The night air had turned cold. “Of course, someday . . .”

  I picked at that invisible nothing-something on the tarp for a long time, feeling Jimmy’s eyes on me.

  Eventually he scooted over and pulled me close. “Now don’t you worry, my little horsette, you. We have all the time in the world to figure this out.” He lifted my chin with his fingers. “You hear me? We’ll figure it all out, Arlene. When the war is over . . .”

  I made myself nod. Of course we would work it all out together.

  But Jimmy’s path was flexible; mine wasn’t.

  After a gut-wrenching goodbye, I made my way back to the hospital across the stillness before dawn. The birds had yet to sing, and distant roosters had not yet crowed. The night held still around me, as silent as a crypt, and I could see no one out and about this time of earliest morning.

  But an unpleasant feeling ran over me, something like premonition mixed with gut instinct.

  A presence. Not Jimmy. Not a farmer up before dawn looking over his fields and thinking of his next planting season. Not a lost soldier finally finding his way to a place of safety.

  Someone was out there, watching me.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  My body shook. Someone was shaking me.

  My eyes flew open and focused muddily on Cass. “Wake up, Arlene,” she said with urgency. “Dr. Logan is asking for you.”

  I tried to sit up, but I was worn out, and I could tell by the light in the room that I’d overslept. I had stayed awake for most of the night with Jimmy. My head full of lead, my mouth dry, and my tongue thick, I asked, “What time—”

  “Past duty time. I th
ought I’d let you catch up on some sleep after last night, but I lost track and forgot to come back for you. You must get up now and pull yourself together. Dr. Logan wants to see you.”

  I tossed aside the covers as I entered full awareness. “Dr. Logan? Why?”

  “Beats me,” Cass said and shrugged, but I could read worry in her face.

  I splashed water from the porcelain basin onto my face, ran a brush through my hair, and quickly donned my uniform and shoes. On the first floor of the hospital building, Dr. Logan had made herself something of a private office, and I hurried there while still adjusting my belt.

  After I knocked on the door, I heard, “Come in.”

  Dr. Logan sat facing me behind a table she used as a desk, and with her back to me sat Beryl, and then on the other side . . . Captain Brohammer!

  I stumbled.

  Brohammer wouldn’t meet my gaze, just stared ahead at Dr. Logan. Beryl didn’t turn to greet me, either.

  “Please sit down,” Dr. Logan said, and indicated the empty chair between Beryl and Brohammer.

  I did as she asked, crossed my legs at the ankles, and waited for an explanation. My mind swam in a snarl of confusion.

  “Miss Favier,” Dr. Logan said while leaning forward and weaving her hands together on the tabletop. “It has been brought to my attention that you left this building last night in order to meet a man and put yourself in a compromising position.”

  My back straightened as though I’d been electrocuted. I shook my head and must have looked a bit crazy. I’d hardly slept; maybe I was imagining this. Only I wasn’t.

  How did she know? It had to be Brohammer. I’d felt the presence of someone, obviously Brohammer or perhaps Needles or someone else working for him.

  “I won’t deny it,” I said, “but I have good reasons, and I never put myself in a compromising position.”

  “Miss Favier,” Dr. Logan said again in a sterner voice. “You have put me and everyone associated with the AWH in a compromising position. We have been given passage, support, food, generosity, places to stay and work so that we can serve the people of France. We have been entrusted to behave with high moral character and unquestionable scruples, and you have taken that faith and betrayed it.”

  Beryl flinched beside me. I couldn’t understand how I had hurt the people of France. How had my love for Jimmy hurt anyone? I thought better, however, of asking that question aloud.

  Did Beryl agree that I’d done something so heinously wrong? I looked over at her, but she wouldn’t return my gaze. Brohammer had come here to ruin my reputation, and it appeared he had succeeded.

  “No harm was ever intended . . . ,” I barely managed to say to Dr. Logan. I fought the urge to clutch the jacket over my chest. Inside, a pain in my heart exploded.

  “Not only have you broken our rules, which I understand were explained fully to you by Dr. Rayne here, but you have conducted yourself in a way that brings shame on our organization. Going out and carousing with a soldier while leading on a man of Captain Brohammer’s status and reputation, well . . . I have to say I’m stunned . . . and very disturbed about it.”

  My face stung; surely someone had slapped me. “I never led the captain to believe I was interested . . .” And then I remembered when I’d asked to go for a drive and then a picnic back in Neufmoutiers, all to look in the back of his car.

  “That’s not the story I hear from our dear captain here.”

  Brohammer had charmed Dr. Logan back when he’d come in search of me in Neufmoutiers. He had crafted his veneer so carefully and impermeably so that even a woman of Dr. Logan’s experience and intellect hadn’t detected the cracks.

  “As I said, I’m disturbed by all of this and very disappointed.” She unlaced her fingers and sat back. “But I do commend you for your candor. At least you aren’t denying your actions.”

  “I’m not denying what I did last night, no,” I said, trying to speak distinctly despite my mouth being so dry it tried to grab ahold of my words. “But I never went in pursuit of Captain Brohammer. In fact, many times I told him quite sternly that I had come here to work and had no interest in being his girl. I explained long ago, beginning back in Paris, that I didn’t want any involvement other than friendship. He continued to seek me out everywhere we went, against my wishes.”

  Dr. Logan looked momentarily puzzled. “If that is true, why did you never tell us?”

  Why indeed? Now I wished I had. “It didn’t seem important enough to bother you. With all the . . . goings-on . . . I thought I could handle it.”

  Now skepticism crossed her face. “So you have no interest in Captain Brohammer . . .” She nodded in his direction. “And yet with another man, you’ve had no qualms about traipsing off into the woods.”

  I inhaled gravely and said through the release, “That’s correct. The feelings I have for the soldier are different.”

  Dr. Logan leveled an appraising gaze on me, one that made me feel vulnerable and judged. After a few painful, tense moments, she said, “I suppose it’s beyond the point now, isn’t it? You’ve admitted to breaking our rules and doing things you knew would shame us. And I have to say it’s difficult to believe your account of the association you’ve had with the captain here, when it differs so much from his account.”

  I retorted, “Just because he’s an officer, it doesn’t mean he’s truthful.”

  I heard Brohammer let out a snort, and Dr. Logan turned toward him in surprise. I thought, Yes, let him lose his temper and reveal his true colors. But out of the corner of my eye, I could discern that he pulled out a handkerchief and brought it to his nose, as if he’d sneezed instead of snorted. He murmured, “Excuse me.”

  Dr. Logan’s expression eased, and she focused firmly on me again. “I see no reason to believe he isn’t truthful.”

  “From the beginning he wouldn’t listen to me. I tried everything.”

  She just barely shook her head. “This sounds like a misunderstanding between two people that doesn’t have much to do with your behavior while here in the service of the AWH, Miss Favier. What you did last night, however—”

  “Why do you think he brought my ‘behavior’ to your attention? Why do you think he wants to hurt me? He feels jilted and jealous. Why, in fact, early on he began to accuse me of having someone else, and at that time I’d run into the soldier only once, and we talked for just a few minutes.”

  “As I’ve said already, most of this sounds like a personal matter. Your actions, on the other hand—”

  I interrupted. Why couldn’t they see? “Why would an officer in the midst of war concern himself so much about two ambulance drivers?”

  She paused. “Some people maintain a strong sense of right and wrong.”

  Now I snorted. Loudly. I couldn’t help myself, and I didn’t try to mask it as a sneeze. I didn’t try to wipe the indignation off my face, either. Dr. Logan’s eyes widened. She was probably embarrassed for me, but I couldn’t help reeling. Right and wrong?

  Realization flashed across my brain. Suddenly flushed with excitement, I turned toward Brohammer and made myself look at his smug, satisfied face. “Captain, did you arrive here in your car?”

  His face paled. “Yes.”

  I stared back at Dr. Logan. “We must go down there at once. You speak of right and wrong. Well, I happen to know that this man here”—I pointed jerkily in his direction—“has been breaking military law. In fact, it’s the reason that I, at one time, might have encouraged him, so I could obtain proof. Captain Brohammer sells essential tools—wire cutters and barbed-wire gloves—to his own men, making money off them, making a profit for his own self. And I have proof. Right now it’s sitting in the back seat of his car. I’ve seen it there before.”

  Dr. Logan’s face drained. “Miss Favier, you are spinning out of control . . . to make such an accusation . . .”

  “All we have to do is go downstairs and check his car. He keeps his contraband there. Trust me.”

  I studied Dr.
Logan, who seemed as if she were considering my suggestion. Heat emanated from Brohammer, but no one spoke for a moment. Dr. Logan said, “You are trying to change the subject.”

  “This is important. It will reveal everything. Please. Follow me down to his car. Please.”

  Then Beryl, who’d remained silent, stood. “Let us go and take a look, shall we? No harm in checking, is there?”

  I turned to her. “Thank you,” I whispered. In her eyes I saw belief, faith in me.

  “Very well. Shall we?” said Dr. Logan. I dared not steal a look at Brohammer, although I could imagine his panicked expression and the cool façade he would try to cover it with.

  I led our group out of Dr. Logan’s office, down the hall and staircase, and outside into the brightest, whitest sunlight that reflected off Brohammer’s car, which appeared recently polished.

  The light half-blinding me and fatigue in my every bone, I tripped on some pebbles and righted myself. Then I strode to the back of the car, where intense relief fell over me when I saw two crates. I grabbed the lid of one; it wasn’t nailed, and I lifted it off.

  Then stopped breathing. Inside the crate were the small comfort kits the Red Cross canteen workers often put together and distributed to soldiers; they held candy, gum, cigarettes, and such.

  No, no, no. My head suddenly became a hive buzzing with panicked questions.

  Gulping hard and trying to gather myself, I waited for an explanation to hit me. Maybe the Red Cross kits had been placed on top of the tools as camouflage. I dug beneath them but found nothing other than more kits. I moved to the next crate, removed the lid, frantically dug again, and found it exactly the same as the first one.

  I held on to the fender while my breath failed me altogether. I pulled in enough air to say to Dr. Logan, “They were here before. I promise you. I saw them.” I spoke the truth; Beryl and Dr. Logan had to believe me.

  Instead, in Dr. Logan’s eyes was the kind of fear and dismay one might feel when confronted with a mad person stepping over the line from a state of normalcy into lunacy. I looked at Beryl, whose expression mirrored Dr. Logan’s. Clearly I had appalled them. And then I glared at Brohammer, too enraged to even try to speak. Nausea overtook me as the side of his mouth curled into a cruel, ugly smile.