Where Treasure Hides

by Johnnie Alexander Donley

  “Only if you’ll join me.” Ian gestured toward the bench, and she accepted his invitation with a smile. He sat beside her, thankful that Sister Agnes had preoccupied Libby long enough for him to clean up. “We looked for you at supper. Where have you been?”

  “At the old chapel.”

  “That’s what I thought. I should have gone with you.”

  “There was no need. Sister Matilda and I took care of the babe.”

  “The parents didn’t tell me a name. I think they were too shocked.”

  “God knows who he is, Dev. And He knows what happened out there.”

  “So he was a boy.”

  “A perfect, beautiful, precious boy.” Her voice broke, and she turned her face away.

  Ian shifted uncomfortably, regretting that she lived in a time and place that forced such abhorrent tasks upon her, wishing he could put his arm around her and dry her tears. He didn’t even have a handkerchief to offer her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, hands clutched in her lap.

  “You have a tender heart. Never apologize for that.”

  She smiled up at him, her pale eyes glistening. “You made a big impression on Sister Matilda.”

  “Have I met Sister Matilda?”

  “You will. She may have a plan for getting you and Libby into southern France.”

  Ian raised an eyebrow.

  “It is a daring plan. You may think it too dangerous.”

  “What is it?”

  “If she can work out the details, you will know in the morning. But tonight, I need to cut your hair.”

  “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

  “So you look less like what you are and more like who we want you to be.” Her lips curled upward in a teasing smile. “You do trust me, don’t you, Dev?”

  “With my life.”

  * * *

  The normalcy. It was so surreal, Alison decided as she combed Anna’s hair. People, ordinary people, taking the train from Harwich to London. Getting off and getting on at the various stations along the way. Worry bothered their eyes and their worn shoes carried a sense of making do during hard times. But they tended to the business of their daily affairs totally oblivious to the escapees from Nazi terror in their midst. They didn’t fear the Allied soldiers, their fellow passengers. They didn’t fear arrest or torture. None of the conductors or train officials would demand to see their papers.

  Alison’s destination, Waterloo Station, was next. As they neared the stop, she tied the yellow ribbons of a new white bonnet beneath Anna’s chin and spit-bathed a bit of grime from Aaron’s cheek. Their hosts in Harwich, friends of the skipper’s, had found appropriate clothing for the twins and a brown dress for Alison. Not the kind of thing she usually wore, but who could be choosy in these circumstances?

  The twins passed her scrutiny, and she smiled at them.

  “Are we going home now?” Aaron asked.

  “I’m afraid not,” Alison said soothingly. “We’re going to visit someone. It will be fun; you’ll see.”

  Aaron looked doubtful, and Alison didn’t blame him. She wasn’t expecting fun either. She only hoped for a cordial welcome, and then only if Trish Devlin Manning had received the cryptic telegram Alison had sent before they left Harwich: Arriving Waterloo Station 3:15 pm today. A.S.

  It might be irrational, but she felt safer not signing her name to the message. The fear of discovery, of Theodor or his cronies tracking her down, still held her in its grip. Now he could only hurt her by hurting her family. Which was why she should never have come to England. Why she needed to find a way to go back.

  When they reached the station, Alison balanced Anna and a travel bag in one hand and held tightly to Aaron’s hand with the other. “Don’t let go,” she said, clumsily stepping off the train. “We’ll get a taxi. Won’t it be fun to ride in a taxi?”

  Maneuvering through the crowd with her charges, she refused to remember Josef and his patriotic rendition of “Rule, Britannia!” or to envision Ian standing beside the frail boy. The memories were too painful.

  “Alison!” A female voice broke through the noise of the crowd.

  She froze, unsure whether to heed the voice or run.

  “Alison, is that you?”

  She turned as a woman she didn’t know, fashionably dressed in a pale-blue summer suit and matching hat, came toward her. Her hazel eyes sparkled with glints of gold.

  “Trish?”

  “I knew it was you.” Trish looked at the children, her generous smile broadening even more. “Who do you have with you?”

  “This is Anna and Aaron.”

  Trish reached out her arms, and Anna readily went to her. “I want to go home,” the little girl whimpered.

  “I’m sure you do,” Trish soothed. “But will you come to my house for a bit first? We’ll have little cakes. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  “Yes!” piped up Aaron.

  “Then you shall have some.” Trish laughed, then glanced at Alison, unspoken questions in her eyes.

  Alison barely shook her head. “I didn’t expect you to come to the station. How did you know me?”

  “Because I know my brother.” Trish’s mischievous grin looked so much like Ian’s that Alison’s heart ached. “And because I was hiding nearby when you left two years ago. I saw Ian waving good-bye to you.”

  Alison flushed, and Trish touched her arm. “Come. Let’s get you home.”

  * * *

  Ian stepped off the train, almost tripping over the long hem of the cassock he was wearing, and looked up at the station platform sign. Lorbonne, France. He shook his head. “I can’t believe it worked,” he whispered to Sister Regina.

  “Shh. You’re not supposed to talk,” she whispered back, then pointed to a bell tower rising above the roofs of the nearby town. “There’s the church.”

  Ian pressed his fingers against the white bandage encircling his neck above the stiff clerical collar. The story Sister Regina had told the Nazi guards at the last station before crossing the border had been a pitiable one. Poor Father Andrew, she told them, pointing at Ian, had courageously and at risk to his own life stopped a young Polish thug from slicing a brave member of the Hitler-Jugend with a switchblade. Father Andrew suffered a life-threatening cut that impaired his vocal cords. What a world they lived in when a subhuman cretin attempted to kill one of Germany’s young boys, who only wanted to uphold the ideals of the Führer, and maimed such a hero as Father Andrew.

  She smiled her pretty smile and laughed her melodic laugh, casting her own sweet spell over the station guards who, Ian imagined, would have believed her if she had told them he was the pope. They scarcely glanced at his papers, the property of the real Father Andrew, who just happened to be Sister Matilda’s brother.

  Neither were they interested in Libby’s papers, which belonged to an orphan at the convent. However, they listened spellbound as Sister Regina told them how she and Father Andrew were escorting the unfortunate child to her mother’s family in France after both her parents, loyal Germans to the end, perished when their house was mysteriously set on fire by misguided neighbors who did not believe in the Führer’s vision. Such a shame for the little girl, Sister Regina sighed, her eyes brimming with tears. Ian had turned away so the guards wouldn’t catch him snickering at her melodramatic performance.

  Through it all, Libby behaved admirably, not saying a word. Their papers stamped, they were given clearance to cross the border. Now they were in unoccupied France. By this time next week, he and Libby might be home.

  “Come, child,” Sister Regina said authoritatively for the benefit of those around them. “We mustn’t dawdle.”

  They followed the road into the village and made their way to an old church, sixteenth- or seventeenth-century from the architecture. A priest hailed them from the cemetery, and they met him at the gate.

  “Father,” said Sister Regina, bending her head respectfully, “I have a message from Father Didymus.”

  “Father Did
ymus, eh? Then we should go inside.”

  Ian picked up Libby, carrying her as they followed the priest to the rear entrance of the church and into his study. He gestured for them to sit while he turned on the lamps. “How is Father Didymus?”

  “He is well, thank you,” Sister Regina replied. “And sends his highest regards.”

  “What does he request of me?”

  “The delivery of two packages.”

  The priest cast his eyes over Ian and Libby, then nodded. “How far?”

  “To the king.”

  “Ah.” The priest pursed his lips. “I thought as much. POW?”

  Sister Regina glanced at Ian and nodded.

  “Since Dunkirk,” Ian said.

  “What prison?”

  “First at Laufen. Then at Colditz.”

  “You escaped from Colditz?” The priest’s face lit up and he sat back in his chair. “Well done, mon ami.”

  “You can help us, then?” Sister Regina asked eagerly.

  “It would be easier if the child stayed behind.”

  Libby, sitting on Ian’s lap, quickly looked up at him. He held her closer. “That’s not an option,” Ian said. “She’s coming with me.”

  “For what your countrymen did for mine at Dunkirk, I now do this for you. Yes, we will send you home. Both you and the petite mademoiselle.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “What about you, Sister?”

  “I need a way back to the convent. Preferably not by train.”

  At the priest’s questioning glance, Ian chuckled. “She has admirers at the German station.”

  “Sister,” the priest said, his tone mildly admonishing, “it’s not seemly for a nun to use her feminine wiles to distract the soldiers from their duty. However, in such perilous times, we must all use those talents God has given us for His greater good.”

  “I also lied, Father.”

  “And apparently quite well. Else you would not be sitting here with me now.” He suddenly stood. “You will be my guests until arrangements can be made. Follow the path behind the cemetery to my house and tell my housekeeper Father Didymus sent you. She will take good care of you. I’ll be there soon.”

  Once they were outside, Ian turned to Sister Regina. “Exactly who is Father Didymus?”

  She laughed. “He doesn’t exist. Father Andrew—the real Father Andrew—told me what to say.”

  “Didymus means ‘twin,’ doesn’t it?”

  “Yes. The apostle Thomas was sometimes called Didymus. It seems especially appropriate as a code right now since we have two Father Andrews. But I don’t think it really means any specific person.”

  “More of a recognition signal, then.”

  “I suppose.”

  “It all seemed too easy.”

  “You’ve already walked through fire, Dev. Maybe you’re due for ‘too easy.’”

  “Maybe.” The promise from Psalms came back to him. “Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance.” He looked toward heaven and silently prayed that he and Libby would remain hidden from the evil that surrounded them. Deliver us, O God. Deliver us soon.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Trish served refreshments in her garden, a rectangle of colorful flower beds and variegated roses separated by stone paths. They gathered around a wicker table in the shade of a gnarled oak and feasted on a selection of sweets. Anna clapped her hands in delight at the tiny white cakes iced with pink frosting while Aaron’s cheeks bulged with chocolate cream biscuits.

  “I doubt they’ve ever eaten anything like this before,” Alison said, apologetically.

  “Poor little dears. I wish I had enough sugar coupons to create such treats for them every day. At least I can get honey from the estate.” Trish placed another biscuit on Aaron’s plate. “Eat up, children. Then I have a surprise for you.”

  “What surprise?” Aaron asked despite his full mouth.

  “Let’s swallow our food before we talk,” Alison gently corrected, patting his arm.

  Trish just laughed. “You’ll see soon enough. Now drink your lemonade.”

  Alison gazed around at the garden, breathing in the sweet fragrance of the purple lilacs that graced the nearby corner of the brick wall. A caressing breeze rustled the broad leaves of a nearby maple, and the flower beds along the paths enchanted her. For the first time since leaving Holland, she relaxed. Within the walls of Trish’s garden, surely she and the children were safe.

  “This is a lovely place,” she said, allowing her weary body to sink into the chair cushions.

  “It’s been in Mark’s family for at least a hundred years. We’ve lived here since we married. A little over five years ago.”

  “Where is Mark?” In her letters, Trish had written that her husband had been promoted to major since his return from Dunkirk, but little about his current duties.

  “He’s involved with training exercises somewhere.” Trish gave a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know where he is.”

  “Don’t you hear from him?”

  “His letters come from a central office here in London. At least he’s no longer in France.”

  “That’s good.” Alison smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. She glanced at the children, absorbed with their treats. “Can you tell me, do you know what happened at Dunkirk?” Her real question remained unspoken: How did Ian get left behind?

  “I don’t know much. Mark was so badly wounded that he was barely conscious. Ian helped him to the boats, then went back for another soldier. That’s when he was captured.” Trish’s voice caught on the last word, and she looked away as tears welled in her eyes. “The Red Cross could tell us nothing else.”

  Alison’s heart went out to her.

  “I done.” Anna brushed her sticky hands on her dress before Alison could stop her. “Where’s surprise?”

  Trish chuckled and stood. “Let’s wash your hands first.”

  When Alison started to rise, Trish raised a hand to stop her. “I can see to them. You relax.” She herded the children toward the house and returned a few minutes later with a squirming ball of chestnut-and-white fur.

  “My surprise.” She handed the spaniel puppy to Alison, who immediately got a face lick.

  “Where are the twins?”

  “With the best of all housekeepers, Mrs. Crewe. She’ll bring them out in a few moments.”

  Alison stroked the spaniel’s soft fur and wrinkled her nose at his sweet puppy breath. “Thank you for meeting us at the station. For all of this,” she said. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  Trish placed a comforting hand on Alison’s arm. “I’ve been hoping you would come. Can you tell me what happened?”

  Alison closed her eyes, determined not to cry. “My grandfather had a heart attack. My father may have been arrested.” She bit her lip, unable to say any more about the horrors that had forced her across the North Sea.

  “The children. Are they related to you?”

  “No. I went to school with their mother.” Alison took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “Her husband died a few weeks ago. Then Hannah was taken away. I tried to convince her to come with me, but she couldn’t leave her mother-in-law. I’m afraid I’m not telling this very well.”

  “The only thing that matters is that you’re here.”

  “I know it’s an imposition, but may we stay a few days? Just until I figure out something more permanent?”

  “Mrs. Crewe already has rooms prepared for both you and the children.” Trish’s eyes misted. “You’ll stay with me, all three of you, as long as you need a home.”

  “I can’t expect you to—”

  “I insist. Besides, it’s lonely here. It’ll be nice to have children around.”

  “You do have a way with them.”

  “I always wanted a houseful. Unfortunately, God hasn’t seen fit to bless us with our own.”

  “I pray that He will.”

  “
Me too. But for now, it looks like He’s blessed us with Anna and Aaron.”

  As if they’d been summoned, the twins appeared with freshly scrubbed hands and faces. They scampered along the path from the house as quickly as their little legs would carry them. A sternly dressed woman with crinkly blue eyes watched them from the terrace, then disappeared into the house.

  The spaniel’s ears perked up and he wriggled from Alison’s grasp. The twins squealed as he nipped their heels in an impromptu game of tag. Anna fell and tore her dress, but Trish jumped up and dried the little girl’s tears.

  “I need to go shopping for them,” Alison said when Trish returned to her seat. “There just wasn’t time before.”

  “Not to worry. Mrs. Crewe just left to pick up a few things for them.”

  “She didn’t!”

  “I couldn’t have stopped her if I tried. Which I didn’t.” Trish’s eyes twinkled, then grew serious. “Let me take care of the twins, Alison. At least for a while. You have enough to worry about.”

  To have someone else share her responsibilities eased Alison’s heart. Except for the drugged sleep during the night on the boat, she had slept restlessly, disturbed by visions too horrific to recall when she awoke.

  “Thank you, Trish. I can’t begin to tell you how much this means to me.”

  “I hope you’ll think of me as more than a friend. That someday we’ll be sisters.”

  Alison averted her eyes, not sure whether she could share that hope. “Have you heard from Ian lately?”

  “I got a letter a week ago. It was dated sometime in May.”

  “My last letter was dated in April.”

  Trish’s eyes clouded over. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  Alison’s mind reeled, and her stomach clenched as she braced herself. “Tell me quickly.”

  “Ian escaped from Colditz.”

  “Escaped?”

  “The Red Cross contacted my parents two days ago.”

  “Where is he?”

  Trish lifted her shoulders. “We don’t know.”

  Alison pressed her fingers against her temples. All this time, she had thought he was safe in the prison, had gripped that certainty as a lifeline. No matter what else went wrong, at least she had known he was alive, could pinpoint where he was on a map.