They stopped at a morning market, stood in another endless line for meager supplies, and then pedaled steadily until noon. They broke for lunch near some trees and spread out in the grass to eat. Drifting clouds occasionally covered the sun, darkening the air. Katrinka could smell rain. They finished their meal, and she wiped off her knife. Milou watched her sheath it.
“That is a beautiful blade. Where did you get it? I have not seen soldiers with such knives.”
“It was made in Toledo. My parents gave it to me. My mother thought I should be protected.”
“From what?”
Katrinka lay on her back, watching the clouds. “When I was small, we were with Papa Emerson’s expedition in Spain. There was a worker who helped with the loading. One day, he took me back to his tent. He put me on his bed, pulled his penis from his pants, and began stroking it. I will never forget how it grew large in his hands. It was both terrible and wonderful at the same time.”
“Did he—”
“He tried. After a few minutes, he lay down next to me and began stroking me. He lifted my dress and began stroking me inside my underthings. I didn’t know why he was doing it. No one had ever touched me there.
“Then he rolled on top of me. It frightened me, he was so heavy. I felt I could not breathe.”
Milou hissed, “I would have killed him.”
“He was fumbling with his penis. He was trying to fit it inside of me. Of course, I did not know what was happening, but suddenly there was a very sharp pain, and I began screaming. He tried to cover my mouth, but I bit him and pulled away, screaming.”
“That is horrible.”
“My mother heard me and came running. She burst into the tent with her knife. She cut him and cut him, until my papa came. He grabbed her and she swung at him—”
“Mother of God, did she hurt your father?”
“No. She stopped then.”
“Was the man—”
Katrinka shook her head. “The doctor came and bandaged him up, and he was sent away. He lost his fingers on one hand. Also, my mother had cut off—”
“No. Don’t think of it.”
“The next day, Papa Emerson took us to a nearby town and purchased this knife for me. They showed me how to use it and made me practice. I remember my mother telling me that if anyone ever harmed me or tried to hurt me, I was free to use it on them.”
Milou’s voice was crisp, “I believe I would have liked your mother.”
Katrinka nodded. “I don’t think she knew how to love me. But in her own way, she took care of me. She was brave how she lived. And she died a brave death.”
Both women were silent, gazing up at the sky. Eventually Milou drifted off to sleep, but Katrinka could still hear her mother’s words, falling like a wooden stamp on the soft clay of memory:
“It is your body. Always there will be men who try to possess it, tell you what to do with it, tell you they own it. Some will treat it poorly. It is your right to defend, and take care of it.”
It was one of the few times her mother ever gave her advice, and she had not forgotten.
* * *
As the distance to Marseilles grew shorter, Milou’s complaints of soreness dwindled, but Katrinka noticed tension in her movements and in her face. Despite the cold, she refused to spend their last night in a hotel room. So they camped rough, sleeping in the open at the edge of a copse of trees, facing a meadow. After eating, they curled up, lying on their jackets that they spread out across the damp grass. The night was clear, with thousands of stars sprinkled overhead.
“I am going to my mother who lives with her family in French Quebec,” Milou said. “She ran away from my father before the war.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“She was repulsed by his behavior and beliefs. Then I went away to university. I guess you know about that?”
“The White Rose?”
“Yes. We knew what was happening, you see. It was like watching a terrible accident in slow motion. These incidents; all separate, but all spelling out a dreadful foreshadowing. The book burnings, the forced incarcerations, beatings, and murders. Everyone turning a deaf ear and a blind eye. As long as their lives went on, they did not want to look ahead. We were caught, my group and I, handing out pamphlets against der Führer.”
Katrinka looked at her. The girl was gazing upward, speaking to the sky.
“There was a trial by the Nazi Volksgerichtshof. It was ludicrous. They guillotined three of us, and later executed another. The rest they put into prisons. The prison was very bad. Only a little food, and every day there were tortures. Many of us died. Then there was talk of the Russians coming, so they began to destroy the camp.
“One evening, they took us out to a small cliff, with a pit at the bottom. They lined us up and ordered us into the pit. We were told to strip off our clothing, men and women. The soldiers had weapons. They sat along the rim, their legs hanging over the edge. They sat there and shot us with their guns. I remember one soldier eating a sandwich as he aimed. As the bullets struck, we toppled back into the pit. It was quiet. There was very little screaming. I was one of the last ones shot. They came over to bury us with earth.”
Katrinka stared.
“They continued to shoot at anyone still moving or making sounds, so I pretended to be dead. I thought I soon would be. The woman lying next to me was groaning. They shot her, and she stopped moving.
“Later, when they were gone, I clawed my way to the surface. I climbed out of the pit and ran. I’d been shot in the leg, but did not notice it then. I was rescued by a farmer and his wife. They took care of me, and I was passed from safe house to safe house. Until I reached your people.”
In the pause of conversation, the sound of a distant dog barking was the only disturbance. Sickened, Katrinka reached out to hold Milou’s hand. She could think of nothing to say. Milou’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. They looked like winter rain on dirty windows.
“I will be glad to leave this godforsaken place,” she said.
Katrinka squeezed her hand. “But you are free now. Think only of that. You are free.”
Milou gave a wan smile to her naïve friend. Free? She would never be free. In her mind there was a place that held her there, always.
* * *
The sun broke out from behind darkened clouds, just as they descended into Marseilles. The city teamed with activity. Katrinka was shocked at the sight of hundreds of uniformed soldiers, seemingly thousands of them, everywhere. Crammed into trucks and rumbling down roads in long convoys, they snaked around the limestone hills that surrounded the port town. Marching in endless rows, with weapons slung over their backs, and throwing chocolate bars to the children running along their ranks. They looked exhausted, but in good spirits.
The skeletal remains of bombed-out buildings slumped along the harbor, and anchored ships disgorged supplies along hastily constructed docks. The clamor was deafening, and a heavy smell of exhaust, mingled with that of raw fish, hung in the air. And everywhere the dust and smoke.
Amid the jumble of military craft and merchant ships, Katrinka saw her father standing on the crowded deck of Le Flâneur. The women found a place to park their bicycles and then struggled through the crowds to reach the small dock. It was incredibly busy, and they had to wait to board. As her father greeted them above the deafening roar, Katrinka could hear Rolf’s frantic cries from below deck, sensing her presence. Her eyes teared up. She must say her goodbyes quickly.
She turned and gave Milou a fierce embrace, struggling for words. What would she do without her? Who would make her laugh?
Milou stepped back, grasping her hand. “When the war is over, you must come and visit me in Quebec. I shall leave my address with your father. You will come, yes?”
Katrinka nodded, unable to speak.
“Then I will say au r
evoir, my little swallow.”
“Au revoir, Milou.”
Santos led Milou down below decks, and Katrinka turned to her father. There were so many people jostling them and unloading cargo, it was hard to speak.
“So, Papa…”
“Dear child, come with us.”
She shook her head.
He studied her face, then asked softly, “And to which one of them do you return?”
She gave him a startled look.
“I would like to tell you so many things, but there is no time. Do not make a mistake you cannot change.”
She shrugged away his words. “Papa, be gentle with Milou. She appears strong, but she has seen terrible things.”
“So, I believe, has the other.”
“The other?”
“There is the American pilot aboard as well. He arrived yesterday evening.”
“Oh, yes. I remember him.” She smiled, thinking of Milou’s ways. “Perhaps they will be good for each other.”
Amparo laughed, “I will make sure of it.”
She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. “Goodbye, Papa.”
“Trinka?”
She turned, unable to meet his eyes.
“This war cannot last forever, and when it is over, there will be no place for an old man with an old boat. As I said earlier, I will go back to Coronado. There is good fishing there and a good life. And memories of happier times. I will be there, when you are done. Whatever it is you decide.”
“I’ll find you, Papa.”
Santos thrust his head from a hatchway door, giving her a quick nod. “Captain, it’s time—”
Amparo swiveled his head. “Right.” He turned back to her, just as a large net of cargo swung down between them. Katrinka dodged another oncoming crate and was squeezed down the gangplank to the dock. She turned back and saw her father hurry toward the bridge. He paused at the top, scanning the crowd. Seeing her face below, he gave her a brief wave and smile. And then he was gone.
Chapter 10
France, 1944
Katrinka returned to Trois Cloches on a chilly November afternoon, exactly two weeks and one day since departing from their former camp. Pascal had made good on his promise to find better accommodation for the team. With help from the map Nye had given her, she made her way out to the old, abandoned library located on the outskirts of town. Afternoon sunlight drifted across the road, turning the scattered leaves into glimmering piles of red and golden coins.
The library appeared deserted. Katrinka let herself in through the main doorway, the warped floorboards creaking beneath her feet. She glanced around. Old-fashioned maps hung from the walls amid a scattering of battered furniture. On the desk sat a Remington typewriter that had seen better days. Sunlight slanted through crooked shutters as dust motes spun through the yellowed air. Outside, trees dropped their russet-colored leaves onto a small garden, and the smell of wet earth drifted through open windows.
A slight murmuring of equipment came from upstairs, and she followed the noise. Pausing at the top of the landing, she looked into the sunlit doorway of a rectangular room. Wolfe sat at a lopsided desk, tapping out a coded message on his radio, the aerial strung out the window into an adjoining tree. She waited for him to finish and then watched as he pushed back his chair and stood, removing the headset. Stretching his arms to the ceiling, he looked out the window. There were deep creases on either side of his jaw, and in the light, his dear face looked worn and tired.
“Wolfe.”
He spun around. “My God.”
He was across the floor in a moment, pulling her into his arms. “You’re finally here.”
He pressed her close, burying his face in her hair. She folded herself around him, breathing in his familiar scent of sweat and cigarettes, feeling his heart pound against her breasts. Neither spoke for several moments.
Then she drew back, holding his face in her hands. “Are you well? Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’m all right now, Trink.”
Suddenly, he hoisted her in the air. Cupping his hands under her buttocks, he laughed as he spun her around. She had never heard him laugh.
With her legs wrapped around him, he carried her over to the bed and tossed her onto it. Trousers, shorts, and shirt were hurled to the floor as she wriggled out of her skirt and sweater. Climbing on top of her, he smothered her with kisses. She slipped the panties down her legs, flicking them away with her foot. She grabbed him from behind with both hands, as he pressed his cock into her. She wasn’t quite ready, and it hurt a bit.
After a few strokes he was panting. “Wait. Ease up a little.”
He pulled out and leaned back, fumbling in his pile of clothing for a condom. Katrinka peeled off the rest of her things and waited as he slipped it down his erection.
Then she drew him close, scratching her fingers down his stubbled cheeks.
He nuzzled her breasts, circling and flicking her nipples with his tongue. He kissed her neck and licked the inside of her ear. His hot breath tickled, and Katrinka curled her toes in delight. She pulled his mouth down over hers and wrapped her tongue around his, gently sucking and tugging.
At the same time, his hand massaged her inner thighs, working his way up to her vaginal opening. He rubbed around her clitoris with his thumb then slipped his fingers inside her, stroking and probing. She was very wet now, and he continued probing, using both his fingers and his cock until she thought she would go crazy. Then she cried out, attempting to muffle the sound against his shoulder, but bit it instead.
The muscles of his arms tensed as he shoved himself inside her, ejaculating into the contractions of her orgasm. He held himself there, straining and shuddering, until he fell back onto her body, slippery with sweat. Sealed together in each other’s arms, they slept.
* * *
Katrinka woke to hear a jeep pulling up outside. Raising herself on one elbow, she watched as a cool breeze shook crimson-colored leaves from the trees. A gust blew through the open window. She shivered, and Wolfe opened his eyes.
“Are you cold?” He pulled the worn blanket around her naked shoulders.
“Just hold me close. When did you get back?”
“About a week ago now. All fine, just a scar. The nurse said it makes me look dashing, whatever that means.”
“So, it was Bouchard’s son.”
He nodded.
“I feel sorry for him—his whole family. I’m sorry I killed his father.”
“Don’t think about it. There was no way of knowing.”
He rolled over her body and stood up, pulling his clothes and boots back on.
“Do you have to get up? Aren’t you done for the evening?”
“I need to go out and take the antenna down.”
“Please, not yet.”
He smiled, as she pulled him back. She put her head in his lap, and he ran his fingers through her tangled hair.
“Where is everyone, Wolfe?”
“Mostly in meetings. Giraud’s working with some French groups in another village. The major’s been out for a few days, talking with senior military leaders. There’s been some difficulty now that the Communist Resistance and Free French Resistance are all under one government.”
“It would seem they should be happy to be united.”
Farr shook his head. “No, and that’s the difficulty the Jeds are facing now.” He frowned, switching to another topic. “How’s your father?”
“Busy. I barely had time to say goodbye before leaving him. The ports are opening, and supplies and troops are pouring in. It was easier coming back, but not nearly as much fun.”
“You had no trouble then.”
“Not in the least.” She smiled. “You Americans are everywhere now.”
“And he—the German? You two got along?”
; She bounced up, sitting next to him. “We traveled together quite well. Such wonderful talks!”
“That’s nice.”
She did not notice his tone.
“Where did you stay?” he questioned.
“On the first night, we slept on a church floor. It was very cold, but we had wine and snuggled together for warmth. Then there were inns and small hotels along the way. Several nights, we slept out in the open.”
“But you managed to keep warm.”
“What?”
“Sleeping together. Keeps you warm.” His words were short now, biting.
Katrinka noticed and paused.
He continued, “So, you just headed south?”
“Yes. We took a small detour to Lascaux. It was so lovely, Wolfe. I wish you could have been there with me.”
The silence stretched out between them. Katrinka watched as he pulled back, his face shuttered.
“Wolfe, you look so strange, is anything the matter?” She placed a hand on his arm, but he jerked away.
“You and the German. You slept together.”
“Well, yes, of course,” she replied slowly. “Our quarters were very small you know. It was a necessity. And then there was the cold. It was a great comfort—”
“You know what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you fuck?” The brutal words burst out, and Katrinka flushed a deep red.
Angrily, she faced him on the bed. “We actually did try it out. I thought it might be fun… something new. And it did feel good. But it wasn’t you. I felt hollow and empty.” She placed a hand on his arm, attempting a smile. “I missed you.”
She gave a startled cry as he flung her away, leaping from the bed. He looked for a moment as if he would strike her. She could see him struggle with it. There was violence in the air.
“Wolfe—”
“Shut up!”
“What are you carrying on about? It was a simple thing. I’d had a night terror.”
“I said shut up! I don’t want to hear it.”
“What is wrong with you? Surely this cannot matter. It was just something that happened.”
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