“Günther, I’ve been hearing voices. No, not voices. A voice. The voice. The voice of the woman in my vision,” she rattled off breathlessly. “I heard it calling my name this morning during breakfast and now I’m hearing it again here. And I have this all-consuming feeling like I had right after the heart attack.”
“Are you having chest pains?” His brows drew down over his eyes as he searched her face. “Should we call your doctor?”
She pushed up to a sitting position and lowered her feet to the floor. “No. I don’t feel like that. Rather, like something supernatural is going on. It happened the moment I walked through your door.”
Günther handed Camille the glass of cool water. “Take some of this,” he said, hoping to calm her down. Console her in some small way. Figure out what all this was about. The next time he looked into her face, it was as white as a sheet.
“Who…who is that?” she sputtered, as her body shook uncontrollably. She pointed across the room to a picture of Katerina on the bookshelf.
The portrait, one Günther had taken himself when they’d gone on an outing to Salzburg, was his favorite. The breeze from the steep mountainside had swept her dark hair back, showing her beautiful, heart-shaped face. There was no smile, only an expression of deep contemplation. Her brow was pensive and her mouth, soft.
“My wife. Katerina.” He was surprised that it brought him no pain to say it.
Camille bolted up and ran to the bookshelf. She took the portrait and studied it intently. Her body shivered ferociously.
“Camille. What is going on?” He followed and took the picture from her hands.
“It’s her. The woman in my vision.” She turned and stared into his eyes. “There is not a shred of doubt in my mind. Where is she now? I need to meet her.”
Günther’s insides twisted. “That will be impossible. Katerina has been dead for five years.”
Camille sank to the floor and put her head into her hands. “Dead?” she said to herself softly. “Five years?”
He pulled her to her feet and they sat on the sofa side by side. Ten minutes went by without a word spoken. Both were lost in their thoughts.
“Do you believe me?” Camille finally whispered.
“What exactly did she say? In your vision, or whatever it was.”
More time went by. At last, Camille began. “The first few times she only called my name. Then I saw her and she didn’t speak, only I got a feeling of deep, abiding peace. And love. It was as if we were speaking through feelings. Then this morning she called my name and then had me read a comic in the paper.” She grasped his chin and turned his face to hers. “I know that sounds totally ridiculous. But it’s absolutely the case. I’m sure of it.”
Camille looked around frantically. When she saw the stack of newspapers in the corner, she jumped up and ran over, taking the one off the top.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Look.” Camille jabbed the paper with her finger, almost ripping it. “That’s it. Right there.” She flung the paper down between them, still pointing to a cartoon at the bottom of the page. Günther’s hands were shaking so badly the paper jerked back and forth when he picked it up and brought it closer to his face. What kind of a stunt is she pulling? It isn’t funny in the least.
“Alles geschieht aus einem Grund,” Günther read aloud.
“Everything happens for a reason,” Camille continued, remembering the translation she’d had to look up to understand.
They stared at the cartoon of the two angels examining the crazy, haphazard, mind-boggling earth below.
“So, what could that mean? Besides the obvious.” His tone was hard. Jaded.
Camille turned and took his hands. “How did she die?”
Günther ripped his hands from hers. He’d never discussed this before with anyone. Florian had tried, but they hadn’t gotten very far.
“How?” she prompted insistently. “Please, Günther. Talk to me. I can see by your expression this must be very painful for you.”
He allowed her to reach up and brush away some hair that had drooped into his eyes. “It’s important that we get through this. I think she sent me here with a message. I think everything that has happened to me in the past month is connected to this. To you. I know it is.”
That blow was below the belt. He stalked over to the window. Flocki was in the branches of the tree out front, climbing higher and higher. He wished he could follow.
“Tell me,” Camille repeated from where she stood. He was thankful she hadn’t followed him across the room.
“Katerina,” he began in a gravelly voice, “and our son, Nikolaus, were killed in an automobile accident.”
“I’m so sorry. Oh, Günther, that’s horrible. I’m so very sorry…”
He couldn’t bear to look at her, to see the revulsion in her eyes. He deserved to see it though, he knew, still that would be too much at once.
Her voice faded out on the last word and he was again grateful that she was giving him his space.
“That’s very sad.”
Moments ticked by. He wiped perspiration from his forehead. His heart felt like a block of lead, cast out and lost forever on the bottom of the sea. It is time. The instant he acknowledged the fact, he felt a tiny bit of peace edge inside.
He turned. Camille was still standing where he’d left her. Waiting patiently. He could see that she knew without him saying so, that he was going to explain. Her eyes, a whirlpool of darkness, looked tortured.
“I killed them.”
“Why? Why do you say that?” It was a whisper, barely audible. “Were you driving the other car?”
“Kat asked me to go over and pick up Aggie, who was coming over for a visit. It was a twenty-minute drive from where we were living. I was watching a soccer game. My favorite team was playing. It grew late. She took Nikolaus and went instead. I knew, and yet I let them go.” A huge sob tore from his throat. “I let them go,” he shouted. “It should have been me. I should have died, not them!”
Camille rushed to his side. She pulled him to the sofa and down onto the seat next to her.
“I let them…”
“Shhh, it’s okay.” She held his head to her shoulder and let him cry. His pain came out in great gasps of sorrow. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” They stayed like that for a long time. Finally, he lifted his head.
“Everything happens for a reason,” Camille whispered and stroked his cheek. “While we were sitting here, I was trying to remember every tiny detail of my short time with Katerina. See if there was anything I had forgotten. I know now what she was trying to tell me and why she appeared to me in the first place.”
Günther had no more tears. He was exhausted. Drained. He listened, hoping upon hope that Camille knew what she was talking about.
“She is truly happy, Günther. As hard as that might be for you to hear, she is more alive now than when she was actually alive here on earth. From the small part I saw, heaven is the most incredible place. No one in his or her right mind would ever want to come back after seeing it. She will meet you when it’s your time to go there. You have to accept that she doesn’t want to come back to earth. The only thing that makes her sad is your unending guilt and heartbreak.”
He stiffened.
“You have to let it go. Forgive yourself. Forget the circumstances of the accident and believe that everything happens for a reason. God makes something good out of every situation, even horrible ones. She wants you to get on with your life.”
He held tight to Camille’s hands, absorbed every soothing word into his being. If only he could know for sure what she said was not some fanciful dream, or delusion she’d been having.
“And Nikolaus?”
“I don’t know. I never saw him. I did feel something about him, or a child. Goodness and love always accompanied those thoughts.”
“Was there anything else?”
“Just one smaller thing that didn’t seem to make any sense at all.”
&n
bsp; “What?”
“Süßkartoffel ist wunderbar, Katerina said to me once. I wasn’t familiar with the long first word, so I looked it up. Sweet potatoes are wonderful. I thought it curious she would talk about food.”
Günther traced his fingers across the cold glass of the photograph still clutched in his hands. “No,” he said slowly, joy rippling through his battered heart. “That is not the correct interpretation. Süßkartoffel ist wunderbar. Sweet potato is wonderful. Süßkartoffel or sweet potato was my nickname for Nikolaus.”
The day grew late. Camille had gone home and Stephen Turner had called. Günther was expecting him at any moment. He was limp from the expenditure of emotion, still reeling from all he’d learned today.
A knock sounded on his door. Günther ushered Stephen in without a word being said. He closed the door behind him.
“So, Turner, what are the new findings?”
“The capture of Bernhard was really a boon. His involvement is small, though. I think he was just drawn in recently for the cash. The plan was for him to put a slip of phone numbers and codes into the glove box on your brother’s motorcycle. My guess is, clues would have led me there next, and the heat would have been shifted to him.”
“What is the case you’re working on? Terrorism, stolen artifacts—what?”
“Of course I can’t tell you everything, but you have earned some sort of explanation,” Stephen said. “It revolves around numerous Swiss bank accounts that originated during the Second World War. It seems someone is leaking information just when we’re about to make an arrest.” He waved the subject away. “So much for shop talk.”
Günther nodded. “And Stena? Where does she fit into all of this?”
“That’s another puzzle. Bernhard confessed her involvement but as of yet we can’t arrest her without some kind of evidence. Speculation is she’s the one sending e-mail from the chancellor’s office at your school to distract from the true spy—her uncle, Fran Smale. For now, she’s run off home to Uppsala. An agent there will look into things. For some time, I’ve believed Branwell was also involved. However, I was able to get some good prints off a cup and they don’t match anything we have. Actually, I’m glad.”
Questions filled Günther’s mind. He’d work them out one answer at a time. Now he’d query a little information from his tall friend.
“And Camille? I’ve asked before about your intentions. You were evasive. Now I want to know.”
Stephen’s brows rose inquiringly, then he paced the length of the room.
“It’s true. I capitalized on her being part of the class that held most of my suspects and suspicions. But…I wasn’t using her. If she’d shown any interest in me at all, I’d continue pursuing her.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But to her, I’m only a friend. Nothing more.”
Günther realized he’d been holding his breath, waiting for Stephen’s answer.
“You sure?”
“Would I tell you that if it weren’t so?” His usual stern mouth curved up at the corners. “Unfortunately for me, it’s the truth.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The next month was a whirlwind of activity for Camille. Günther helped her with all the paperwork involved with Johann and the Eberstarks. He accompanied her on several trips she was required to make to the Child Protection Büro for a lineup of interviews. Johann moved in with the Eberstarks, his bed placed in with Patrick’s. The boy was a true joy and she felt blessed that he’d been dropped into her life. His distrust of her was virtually gone, replaced with respect and admiration.
Günther spent all of his free time at the Eberstarks’ now, also. Wolfgang’s running joke was that he was a little too old for adoption. Helene and Sasha were both home, adjusting to the knowledge and hope of her diagnosis.
Her pal, Stephen Turner, was off to other parts, working on gathering evidence to support their theory of Stena von Linné’s involvement. He called every now and then with a question or favor and had turned into a true friend.
Günther still struggled with the news that his brother would be moving in July to another parish. Günther alone would be responsible for the English class on Saturday mornings at the church. It was sad but he was excited too for Florian. A new chapter beginning in his life book.
Through the activity, the only black cloud was the all-consuming knowledge that her time was running short. She felt every moment of the ticking clock.
Günther and Camille sat alone on the couch in the front room after a family dinner. Dread as thick as steel hung over their heads.
“I don’t want to go,” she said, her hands held firmly in his. “Next week will be here too soon.”
“I know.” It was a whisper and Camille wondered if it was because the children had already gone to bed or if his throat was as painfully tight as hers.
“If only there was a way of being in two places at once. Then I could take care of my mother and daughter and also stay here in Austria. Close to you.”
When he looked into her face, Camille gasped. His pain was deep, his eyes tortured. He put his finger on her lips to still them.
“There is nothing we can do or say. You must go. I must stay. Kristin needs you. Aggie needs me. Now, I think, more than ever. I better understand the torment of the apostles when they learned of the Lord’s departure.”
“But,” Camille continued, “we were brought together for a reason. An important one.”
She studied his face, committing every detail, every nuance to memory.
“That is true.” He stood and pulled her up into his arms. “But we also have very important responsibilities that we can’t take lightly,” he said against her lips. “Ones we cannot forsake.”
“Of course. Of course.” Her lips moved softly on his as she answered, her breath mingling with his. Heat coursed through Camille, sending her heart careening around her chest. This was Günther, her love, finally holding her close, kissing her breathless.
She knew he loved her. Wanted her. As much as she loved and wanted him. But they would wait. Bide their time until it was possible for them to work it out. She would either come back to Austria or Günther would come to America. He’d said that was a possibility too.
With a heavy heart, Camille stowed her carry-on in the overhead compartment and sank down into her window seat, trying to block out all feeling. The sun had set an hour ago. Far away on the horizon, the lights of Vienna were beginning to twinkle. Robotically, she buckled her seat belt, leaned back, and closed her eyes. It would be a long flight home to Portland.
The sounds of passengers boarding the 747 were familiar and a bit comforting. People scooted by and families talked. Somewhere in back, a baby started to cry. What would happen now? Would her life just pick up where she’d left it two months ago? As time passed, would Günther forget all about her? No. She’d never believe that. But…but…
A jumble of emotions overcame Camille, and a tear squeezed out between her clenched lids. She reached for her purse and pulled out her hankie. She discreetly daubed her eyes and then quietly blew her nose. She needed to pull herself together so she didn’t scare the passengers that would share this row of seats for the next two hours to Heathrow. They’d think she had a cold, or worse yet, that she was an emotional basket case—which indeed she was. Wadding her hankie back up, it fell to her feet when she went to put it away.
“It looks like a full flight,” a masculine voice said.
She jerked up straight. A young man sat in the aisle seat and buckled up.
“Y-yes.” Camille managed a halfhearted smile.
“Please take your seats as quickly as possible,” a male flight attendant said over the intercom. “There are only a few passengers left to board and we will be closing the door momentarily.”
Camille clamped her eyes shut, wishing she could do the same with her heart. The door swished closed with a muted thump. She stretched her jaw open several times until her ears popped. Just get through this. One flight at a time. One fli
ght at a time.
Just when she expected to feel the plane begin to push back, voices sounded from up by the cockpit, talking excitedly. She didn’t have the energy or volition to even try to see what it was about. After several minutes, she glanced over at the young man who already had his earbuds in and was reading a magazine.
She reached across the empty middle seat and tapped his arm. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. “Can you see what the delay is?”
He leaned out. Shrugged. “Don’t know. Looks like a late passenger.”
She sat back. Frustrated. If she had to leave Günther behind, she wished the pilot would hurry up and take off. Get it over with. It wasn’t more than a minute later when the plane rolled back. The 747’s engines kicked over, droning softly. The soft vibration was comforting. This is it, she thought as they headed for the runway.
Turbulence rocked the plane. It had been a rough takeoff and hadn’t let up since. As the aircraft climbed, it vibrated violently, causing all the passengers to sit in hushed anxiety. Camille didn’t care. She stared down at the lights of Vienna transfixed, trying to imagine the school, Michaelerplatz, the Eberstarks’, and everything else she’d grown to love. Where was Günther? What was he doing? Was his heart ripping in two, like hers? Finally, the jet evened out and all the bumping stopped. A soft gong sounded and the seatbelt sign turned off.
“I’m glad that’s over,” the young man said in an edgy voice.
She glanced over. His face was as white as a ghost. He unclasped his seatbelt and headed for the bathroom at the back of the plane.
The video screens popped down and Camille watched without sound. It looked like a commercial for an upcoming thriller.
“Is this seat taken?”
“Well, that’s a silly—”
She gasped. Then gasped again. Günther slid in beside her and wrapped her into an embrace, finding her lips. The kiss was long. The young man, who had returned moments after Günther, stood in the aisle with eyes wide.
Three and a Half Minutes Page 22