Until We Find Home
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Praise for Until We Find Home and other novels by Cathy Gohlke
Until We Find Home
“Splendid at every turn! Until We Find Home is a lushly penned novel about a courageous young woman whose definition of love—and trust—is challenged in every way. A must for fans of WWII and British front history. Not to be missed!”
TAMERA ALEXANDER, USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF TO WHISPER HER NAME AND A NOTE YET UNSUNG
“Once again, Cathy Gohlke weaves together a powerful story about the complexities of love and grace. England’s Lake District is one of my favorite places in the world, and Until We Find Home breathes life into this beautiful land of lakes during an era when many Europeans weren’t certain if they could trust their neighbor. The children and their caregivers in this story captured my heart, and I so admired their courage and resilience in the midst of war. A compelling, redemptive journey.”
MELANIE DOBSON, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF CATCHING THE WIND AND ENCHANTED ISLE
“Until We Find Home is a deeply moving war story that uniquely portrays Jewish children finding refuge in England. Separated from their families, the children struggle to adjust to the prejudices and difficulties that plague them in their new home. Gohlke’s well-developed characters, vivid descriptions, and lush setting details immerse readers into the story. All the way to the very last page, readers will be rooting for the unlikely family forged through the hardships of war.”
JODY HEDLUND, AUTHOR OF LUTHER & KATHARINA, CHRISTY AWARD WINNER
Secrets She Kept
“Cathy Gohlke’s Secrets She Kept is a page-turner with great pacing and style. She’s a terrific writer.”
FRANCINE RIVERS, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
“This well-researched epic depicts life under the Nazi regime with passionate attention. While the Sterling family story serves as a warning about digging into the past, it is also a touching example of the healing power of forgiveness and the rejuvenating power of faith.”
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
“Gohlke takes the reader on a compelling journey, complete with mystery and drama. She weaves in real stories from Ravensbruck, making this drama one that will be difficult to forget. It is well researched, and the multilayered characters demonstrate the power of love and sacrifice.”
ROMANTIC TIMES, TOP PICK REVIEW
“Gripping . . . emotional . . . masterfully told, this is an unforgettable tale of finding family, faith, and love.”
RADIANT LIT
“Secrets She Kept is masterfully written and perfectly engineered to keep readers turning pages until the very end.”
JOSH OLDS, LIFEISSTORY.COM
Saving Amelie
“Moving . . . At times both emotional and suspenseful, this is a fantastic novel for those who love both historical fiction and human interest stories.”
ROMANTIC TIMES
“In this compelling and tense novel, Gohlke tells a haunting story of the courageous few who worked tirelessly and at great risk to themselves to save people they did not know. . . . Reminiscent of Tatiana de Rosnay’s stirring stories of human compassion and hope, this should appeal to fans of both authors as well as to historical fiction readers.”
LIBRARY JOURNAL
“Definitely worth the read. Cathy Gohlke is a very talented author, and . . . I recommend Saving Amelie for everyone who likes World War II . . . fiction with inspirational tones.”
FRESH FICTION
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Until We Find Home
Copyright © 2017 by Cathy Gohlke. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of woman copyright © Michael Nelson/Trevillion Images. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of mansion copyright © Henry Donald/Getty Images. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of planes copyright © icholakov01/Depositphotos.com. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of trees by Benny Jackson/Unsplash.com. All rights reserved.
Cover photograph of sky by Michael Brooks Jr./Unsplash.com. All rights reserved.
Designed by Eva Winters
Edited by Sarah Mason Rische
Published in association with the literary agency of Natasha Kern Literary Agency, Inc., P.O. Box 1069, White Salmon, WA 98672.
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.
Until We Find Home is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the author’s imagination.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Tyndale House Publishers at csresponse@tyndale.com, or call 1-800-323-9400.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Gohlke, Cathy, author.
Title: Until we find home / Cathy Gohlke.
Description: Carol Stream, Illinois : Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., [2017]
Identifiers: LCCN 2017027463 | ISBN 9781496428301 (hc) | ISBN 9781496410962 (sc)
Subjects: | GSAFD: Christian fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3607.O3448 U58 2017 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017027463
Build: 2017-11-06 12:33:14
FOR AIMEE CLAIRE
Whose name aptly means Beloved and Bright
You are light and joy to me, Precious Granddaughter
All my love, forever
There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear: because fear hath torment.
1 JOHN 4:18
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
Note to Readers
Discussion Questions
About the Author
Acknowledgments
With great appreciation and debt to the late C. S. Lewis, for his radio broadcasts and writings, and for documenting his journey from atheism to theism and then to faith in Jesus Christ. At a time when England and the world desperately needed a voice of reason and hope, Mr. Lewis’s writings and WWII radio broadcasts reached and provoked the thought and faith of thousands. Those broadcasts, later compiled and edited into his book Mere Christianity, continue to reach and inspire millions today, as do his many letters, lectures, and books for adults and children, including his beloved Chronicles of Narnia series.
Special appreciation for the late Beatrix Potter Heelis, the world’s bestselling children’s author and ill
ustrator, for her wonderful, timeless stories and precious illustrations. What magical, insightful worlds she created! With her earnings, Beatrix Potter Heelis purchased over four thousand acres of pristine land and farms, which she preserved through national trust in England’s breathtaking Lake District. Included is Hill Top Farm, open to the public, which reflects the magic and joy of her tales. In the rooms and gardens of Hill Top, visitors can glimpse inspirations for many of the author’s stories.
Thank you to those who keep diaries—especially writers for Britain’s Mass Observation Project, begun shortly before WWII, and continued until well after. Thank you to the preservers of historic sites, societies, and museums in England, and to tour guides who love their subjects as much as I do.
Thank you, Natasha Kern, dear friend, literary agent, and sister in Christ, who has believed in, encouraged, and supported my writing and life’s journey.
Thank you, Stephanie Broene, Sarah Rische, and Shaina Turner, my gifted and encouraging editors at Tyndale. Special thanks to Sarah Rische for reconceiving the timeline of this story. That made all the difference. Thank you to the entire Tyndale team: senior marketing manager Kristen Magnesen, publicist Kristen Schumacher, and all those who’ve worked to bring this book to readers. You’ve blessed me beyond measure. Eva Winters, thank you for the spectacular cover. I love that the handwriting in the sky is taken from the first draft of C. S. Lewis’s manuscript, The Problem of Pain. You spoke to my heart.
Thank you, Daniel, my son, for translating the French words and phrases in this and my other books. I love you and will gladly meet you for coffee and chats concerning foreign lands anytime.
Thank you, Elisabeth, my daughter, for sharing a lifelong love of gardens and especially The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I love you and will traipse gardens and traverse books with you always.
Thanksgiving, joyful and abundant, for my two precious sisters in Yeshua/Jesus and my “literary partners in crime”—Terri Gillespie, for brainstorming, for reading this manuscript, and for offering valuable insights into Jewish faith and culture; Carrie Turansky, for brainstorming and sharing an amazing research trip to England and Scotland, and for reading this manuscript. Our adventures in Windermere and the Lake District brought this book to imagination and life. Thank you both for bearing me up through health and writing angst. I cannot imagine this writing or life journey without either of you.
Thanksgiving for Gayle Roper and her insights into widowhood through her book A Widow’s Journey, and for Lucinda Secrest McDowell, for articulating the joy and freedom of grace in her book Amazed by Grace. Both your books appeared before me at a silent retreat the very weekend I prayed for insights into characters within this story. Thank you for your friendship, and for being God’s willing vessels and stewards of life through your pens.
Thank you, dear friends, church family, and writing community—with shouts to the Transformational Fiction Fans Facebook group, and to Liz Curtis Higgs and our Scottish Standby Sisters. Carrie Turansky and I joined you for the wonderful trip guided by Liz Curtis Higgs to Scotland’s highlands, islands, and gardens. You’ve all stood in the gap for me, prayerfully interceding. You’ve showered me with e-mails, cards, and gifts, cheered me on, and believed in my health recovery. God continues to answer your prayers.
Abundant joy and thanksgiving for my dear family—where would I be without each of you? You’ve blessed me with your love, stories, insights, brainstorming, prayers, encouragement, and patience too precious in times too numerable to count:
Thank you, my dear husband, children, mother, sister, brothers, nieces, nephews, and the generations fast on your heels—all dear spouses included—and my two precious granddaughters. You brighten each new day.
As always, special thanks to Uncle Wilbur Goforth, who, when I was uncertain which career path to take, reminded me that a sure way to know if I’m working in the will of God is to ask, “Do I have joy? Is this yoke easy? Is this burden light?” Uncle Wilbur has spent six decades broadcasting Christian radio, the delight of his heart, to a world in need. His motto: “Radio—the most effective mission tool known to man!” At seventy-seven years, he is still energized by his daily work. It’s a family truth and smile that Uncle Wilbur’s favorite day is Monday morning. Thank you, Uncle Wilbur, for your shining example!
Above all, joy and thanksgiving to my heavenly Father and Lord Jesus Christ for forgiveness, for preserving my life now, for the hope of eternity, for giving me the gifts of family and story, and for the opportunity to write books containing the very comfort with which I’ve been abundantly, undeservedly blessed. You are my everything!
Chapter One
MAY 1940
LIGHTNING CRACKLED, splitting the night sky over Paris, illuminating letters painted on the bookstore window across the street: La Maison des Amis des Livres. Driving rain pounded the loose shutters of Shakespeare and Company, making them rattle so that Claire Stewart dropped the heavy blackout curtain into place.
“It sounds like cannon bursting, like the end of the world.” Thunder boomed again. She tugged the belt of her trench coat tighter.
“You must go,” Josephine insisted. “The lorry driver won’t wait. This is his last run to Calais. He’s running on nerves, even now. Arnaud told you—”
“Arnaud promised he’d be here. I won’t go without him. I don’t even know our British contact.”
“You know Arnaud. He’ll meet you if he can—last minute, no doubt.” Josephine Ganute—one more aspiring writer, another tumbleweed to make her home amid the burdened shelves of Sylvia Beach’s American bookstore—grunted and gently, firmly pushed Claire toward the door. “This is the last group, and the last driver willing to go. He’s insane to try. The roads must be packed with people fleeing the city. Calais is a refugee camp—even last week it was so. If you don’t leave now, the children will never—”
“But I don’t know where to go when we get there!” The pressure in Claire’s heart built. Josephine was French and five years older. She couldn’t understand how frightened Claire felt.
“The driver knows the fisherman from over the Channel. Arnaud will surely meet you on the shore, if not in Calais.”
“But what if he doesn’t? What if they’ve caught him?” Claire pleaded and hated her pleading. But the possibility glared. Arnaud—her heroic Arnaud—took such chances among those sympathetic with the Germans. So many Jewish families he’d smuggled under their noses—from Germany into Switzerland and France. Now, with war declared and German troops on the doorstep, they were no longer safe in France. Arnaud fancied himself—fancied them—the only hope of Jewish children, and Claire loved him for it. Reconnaissance, smuggling, resistance—words so romantic in fiction, impossible and dangerous in life.
Josephine stepped close. Her bony fingers clasped Claire’s face. “Claire, Arnaud is too smart for that. You read his message. The Germans will take these children as surely as they snatched the Jewish children from their own country if you don’t get them out now, before the troops arrive—and they are coming. That’s what matters now. Everything else comes later. Vous comprenez, non?”
Claire nodded, swallowing the bile climbing her throat. Of course she understood. Goose-stepping Nazis and their tanks plowed westward; the best intelligence had verified it. Helping these children to safety means everything to me, too, but I can’t do it alone.
Claire stole one last glance at the dimly lit aisles threatened by crooked and towering stacks of novels. At the tables and chairs helter-skelter from the early evening’s stilted book tea. The chair Mr. Hemingway—her Mr. Hemingway—once insisted on tipping on its hind legs as he smoked. The desk James Joyce was reputed to have claimed as his own.
She faltered at the door. But it opened, and Josephine pushed her into the dark, into the pelting rain. The click of the latch behind rang final in Claire’s ears.
“Vite! Vite!” the lorry driver called from the street, beating his fist against his door. “Come now, or I
leave you!”
Claire stumbled, splashing down the puddled alley. She scrambled over the tailgate, into the canvas-covered truck bed, pushing rivulets of rain from her eyes and hair and shivering from the cold water that streamed down the back of her neck.
The lorry jerked forward, bouncing off the curb.
“Pardon, désolée!” Awkwardly, clumsily, Claire climbed over an assortment of small arms and legs—children she couldn’t see in the dark, children pulling limbs into huddled forms. Panting, Claire found sanctuary against the wooden wall behind the cab.
She couldn’t see to count the number in the transport, couldn’t tally the limbs she’d climbed over, but there seemed more room than there should have been. Even twenty would be too few among so many desperate to leave Paris. She must learn their names and those of their parents to write down for the record. One day these children will return to France and their families—when this madness is over. The list of names and addresses hidden beneath the floorboard of Shakespeare and Company is the only way we’ll know to reunite them.
It was still dark inside the lorry bed when the vehicle finally lurched to a stop. Claire woke, rubbing a crick in her neck. One of the little ones had climbed onto her lap sometime in the night; another slumped a sleepy head against her shoulder. Do any of them speak English? Ten months in Paris and my French leaves so much to be desired.
Despite the hammering rain, the scent of sweet Channel air cleared her nostrils. Claire pressed her head against the wooden slats. At last. Please, Arnaud, be here. Be here and help me get these children to safety. She hoped for an easy send-off and a speedy return to Paris, where they’d regale Josephine with tales of their latest exploit over a warm fire and a fine bottle of wine in the back room of their dear, familiar bookstore.
Arnaud and I will laugh in the face of the danger we defied and plot our next adventure, keeping our secret even from Sylvia. Owning the bookstore, and employing Jews, she runs risk enough.