Where Treasure Hides

by Johnnie Alexander Donley

  Now nothing was certain. The yipping puppy and the giggling children grew faint as anxiety numbed her senses. The branches of the gnarled oak swayed above her, spinning her head. She shut her eyes to end the dizziness and felt herself slipping into unconscious darkness, where nothing mattered.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The priest said grace over their breakfast and leaned back in his chair. “God must be watching over you, Father Andrew,” he said in German. “Your timing is impeccable.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “London is sending a supply plane tonight. Usually they attach parachutes to the cargo containers and drop them. But when they heard about you, they decided to actually land. You’ll be home by this time tomorrow morning.”

  Relief swept over Ian, lightening his spirits. By tomorrow morning. It hardly seemed possible. “That’s great news.”

  “Oh, Dev. Our prayers have been answered,” Sister Regina said.

  “One of the local farmers will drive you to the rendezvous point. He’ll be here in about an hour.”

  Ian smiled at Libby. “Did you hear that? We’re going to fly.”

  “Is it scary?”

  “Nah. It’s an adventure.”

  “My housekeeper’s son is about your size,” said the priest. “She’s getting clothes from him so you don’t have to travel in that cassock.”

  “I appreciate that. I’m not sure how God feels about priestly impersonators.”

  The priest and Sister Regina chuckled good-naturedly. He’d miss them, especially Sister Regina. It didn’t feel chivalrous to leave her here, especially knowing she planned to return to the convent. Only God knew what might happen to her there.

  After breakfast, Ian once again changed into borrowed clothes, transforming into a common workman. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he would be back in uniform. Ready to serve the Allied cause and defeat the Nazis. Perhaps then he could plan a future with Alison.

  He folded the cassock and carried it to the kitchen.

  “Papi, look at me.” Libby stood on a chair dressed in a boy’s pants and shirt. The housekeeper circled her, pinning the hem of the pants.

  “Who is this young fellow?” Ian teased. “What did you do with my Libby?”

  She giggled. “It’s really me, Papi. See?” She pulled the cap off her head, releasing her long dark hair.

  “Well, so it is.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, monsieur,” the housekeeper said. “I thought these clothes would be warmer for the petite mademoiselle. It will be cold in the sky, no?”

  “Merci, madame. For all your help.”

  She waved away his gratitude, her attention focused on the needed alterations.

  “I have to return this to Sister Regina. Do you know where she is?”

  With pins now clenched between her teeth, the housekeeper gestured toward the back door.

  Ian found Sister Regina kneeling beside a grave in the cemetery, idly clearing it of weeds. He plopped on the ground beside her and read the tombstone. The lad, just a few days shy of his nineteenth birthday, had died on June 1, 1940.

  “Another casualty of Dunkirk,” Sister Regina said. “So young.”

  “And you are so old?”

  She barely smiled at his teasing.

  “Come with us. You’ll be safer in England than here.”

  “With ‘us’?”

  “With Libby and me.”

  “My life is here.” She gave a little sniff. “Not here. At the convent.”

  “You have a choice. Right now, you can choose to live a different life.”

  “You aren’t married, are you, Dev?”

  “No.”

  “But there is a woman.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I see it in your eyes.”

  He grinned. “Her name is Alison.”

  “You love her very much.”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she feel the same for you?”

  “She’s hasn’t said so. But yes, I believe she does.”

  “Is she in England?”

  “Holland,” he said, grimly. “Rotterdam, actually. Her home was destroyed in the invasion.”

  “I’m so very sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “But it is the fault of my countrymen.” She pulled at a stubborn root. “All the killing, the destruction. To what purpose?”

  Greed. Power. Lunacy. He could have given her a dozen answers. But none that would ease the guilt she felt because of Germany’s crimes. The sound of tires caught his attention, and a truck drove around to the rear of the church. The local farmer, he surmised.

  He held out the folded cassock. “Father Andrew’s papers are in the pocket. Please give him my thanks. And Sister Matilda, too.”

  She barely nodded, eyes focused on the weed.

  “Father Andrew!”

  Ian looked toward the shout. The priest waved his arm.

  “Be right there,” he shouted back, then leaned toward Sister Regina. “Will you come?”

  “This is God’s plan for me. To atone for the trouble caused by the Nazis.”

  He stood and extended his hand to Sister Regina. “Libby will want to say good-bye.”

  She hesitated, then brushed the dirt from her fingers before accepting his hand and rising gracefully to her feet.

  “I want you to know something, Dev,” she said without looking at him. “My brothers. They are honorable men. If you met them, say at one of your English pubs, or at one of our German biergartens, you would like them. And they would like you.”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  She looked up at him then, each of her pale eyes a beautiful misty pool. “I will pray for you, Dev. For you and Alison. That you’ll be together soon.”

  He had little hope of God answering that prayer. But if it hadn’t been for Sister Regina, there would have been no hope at all. Touched by her compassion and bravery, he ran his finger along her cheek. “Forgive me, Sister.”

  “For what?”

  “For this.” He slid his fingers to her neck and lightly kissed her cheek.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Ian and Libby hid in the barn with the rest of the Resistance members, waiting for the signal from the Allied plane. A middle-aged Frenchman, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette, had given Ian strict instructions. No talking. No asking questions. As soon as the plane’s cargo was unloaded, he and Libby were to board. Quickly.

  The tension inside the barn was palpable, the only sound an occasional murmur and the intermittent crackle of the radio. Libby sat on Ian’s lap, her head against his chest, her cloth doll clutched tightly. The priest’s housekeeper had laundered the doll, with Libby’s help, but the stain of German dirt clung fast.

  When the signal came, the men sprang into action. They lit lanterns to form a makeshift runway and, seconds later, the plane bounced to a landing. While the engine hummed, the Frenchmen unloaded the cargo. Ian ran with Libby to the cargo door and waited, sweat trickling down his neck, till the leader gave the all clear. He lifted Libby into the hold, then braced his hands on the platform to jump in. Someone grabbed his jacket, pulling him inside. “Hurry up, Dev,” said a familiar voice. “We don’t have all night.”

  “Mark?” Ian stood and stared at his brother-in-law, then found himself wrapped in a giant bear hug. “What are you doing here?”

  “No children,” someone shouted from the cockpit. “I’m not cleared to take children.”

  “Too bad,” Ian retorted, releasing Mark and grabbing Libby. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dark interior that smelled of sweat and gun residue. “She’s not staying behind.”

  “Shut the doors,” Mark ordered. “Get us out of here.”

  “If you say so, Major.”

  “Major?” Ian grinned. “What happened to Captain?”

  “Since you weren’t around, the brass promoted me,” Mark teased. He handed Ian a couple of heavy jackets. “Here. Put these on and
get strapped in. It might get bumpy.”

  “Thanks.” Ian buttoned one around Libby, not even bothering to put her arms in the adult-size sleeves, then slipped the other one on himself.

  The doors closed, the engine whined, and the plane taxied between the lanterns before rising into the sky.

  “Are we safe, Papi?” Libby asked as Ian strapped her between him and Mark.

  “Safest we’ve been in a long time, honey.” He held her close and grinned at his brother-in-law, reassured by his presence. This wasn’t a dream. They’d soon be home.

  “Papi?” Mark mouthed over Libby’s head.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “We have a long trip.”

  “Later.” Ian nodded at Libby. “I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re here.”

  “We’ve all missed you, Dev. How’re you doing?”

  “Good.” Ian took a couple of deep breaths. “Tired, but good. You certainly look better than the last time I saw you.”

  Mark rubbed the spot on his chest where he’d been wounded. “Feel better too.”

  “How’s my family?”

  “Worried about you. The Red Cross told them just a few days ago that you’d escaped.”

  “Do they know I’m coming home?”

  “We didn’t know for sure who we were picking up. I pulled strings to tag along just in case it really was you.”

  “Glad you did.”

  “Me too.” Mark playfully slapped Ian’s leg with his hat. “Sleep if you can, Dev. We’ll have plenty of time for catching up when we get home.”

  Home. Ian closed his eyes and let the word soak into his spirit. A boring weekend at Kenniston Hall—he looked forward to it.

  * * *

  Alison awakened to the cool touch of a hand on her forehead. “Tante Meg,” she murmured and blinked open her eyes. But instead of her bedroom, she was in a place she didn’t recognize. Blue-and-yellow fabric decorated each corner of a large four-poster bed. Matching drapes hung at the windows. The delicate mahogany furniture, polished to a high sheen, appealed to her sense of balance and proportion.

  “Alison,” whispered a nearby voice.

  “Tante Meg.” Feeling groggy, she turned her head.

  “It’s me, Trish.”

  Trish. Ian’s sister. She closed her eyes as the memories flooded over her, threatening to drown her in grief.

  “This is our family physician,” Trish said softly. “Dr. Richard Ericson.”

  Alison opened her eyes as the doctor held her wrist. His trim mustache gave him a distinguished appearance, but she doubted he was a day over thirty. “Hello, Miss Schuyler.”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Based on my extensive years as a medical diagnostician, I am confident that you, Trish’s mysterious friend, are utterly and completely—” he paused dramatically—“worn out. But never fear. I have written you the perfect prescription.”

  “Medicine.” She grimaced.

  “How about fresh air, good food, and most important of all, a long night’s sleep?” He snapped shut his medical bag. “I’m leaving sleeping powders for you. The directions are on the packet. Mix some up before you go to bed tonight.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  “Rest now. I’ll be around tomorrow.” He pecked Trish on the cheek. “No need to see me out. I know the way.”

  “Good-bye, Richard. Thank you for coming.”

  He left, closing the door behind him.

  Alison slowly pushed herself to a sitting position. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “You’re not to worry about that,” Trish said. “Or anything else.”

  “The twins?”

  “Bathed and napping.” She chuckled. “With the puppy. They are so adorable.”

  “You really don’t mind us moving in on you like this?”

  “Not at all. Perhaps in a few days, when you’re feeling better, we can take the train to Kenniston Hall. My parents would love to meet you and the twins.”

  A vague memory drifted into Alison’s consciousness. Ian, hesitating when she had asked if he would take Josef home with him. “I’m not sure,” he had said. Better that she find out now just how welcome the twins would be at Kenniston Hall.

  “Trish,” she said, taking a deep breath, “you do know the twins are Jewish, don’t you?”

  “I know.”

  “Will your parents accept them?”

  “Before the war started, my father might not have,” Trish admitted, flushing scarlet. “But that was before Ian was captured, before we heard the rumors. It’s true, isn’t it, that even in Holland the Jewish people are being persecuted?”

  “Since the Nazis invaded Holland, I have hidden dozens of Jewish children with Christian families to keep them out of the camps. We hear such horrible stories that I don’t know how they could be true. But they’re so gruesome, who could make them up?”

  “I don’t know.” Trish shook her head. “I can assure you, though, that my parents will welcome the twins with open arms. You too.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because Ian loves you. That’s all that matters to them.”

  Alison lowered her gaze. How will they feel about me if I break their son’s heart? She didn’t want to, God knew she didn’t. Some days, she was determined to leave her future in His hands; on others, she could see no hope for a life with Ian.

  Now she might not have a choice. Why couldn’t he have stayed at Colditz?

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t have called Trish and let her know we were coming?” Ian asked as the staff car pulled up in front of the Mannings’ brownstone.

  “And miss the look on her face when she sees you?” Mark turned off the ignition. “Not a chance.”

  “I guess I should be grateful you let me call my parents.”

  “I’m a considerate son-in-law.” Mark chuckled. “Just a cad of a husband.”

  “I tried to tell Trish that before she married you. But she wouldn’t listen.” Ian glanced at his brother-in-law. “What’s your plan, Major?”

  “Ring the doorbell and see what happens.”

  Ian shifted around and looked at Libby, primly sitting in the backseat wearing a red dress with a white pinafore, ruffled white anklets, and black patent leather shoes. “Are you ready to meet your Aunt Trish?” he asked in German.

  “Are you meeting her too?”

  “I sure am.” Ian stepped out of the car and opened the back door for Libby. His freshly pressed uniform felt good against his skin, and he straightened his posture as he took Libby’s hand. He was a soldier again. Not an escapee, and definitely not a POW.

  Mark led the way to the house and winked at Libby as he unlocked the door. Stepping into the foyer, he called, “Honey, I’m home.”

  A door opened and closed on the second floor, and Mark motioned Ian and Libby out of sight in the sitting room. Within seconds, Trish appeared at the top of the stairs. “Mark,” she cried.

  Ian heard her scurrying down the stairs, and he covered Libby’s ears when he heard kissing.

  “I’m so glad you’re home,” Trish said. “I have such news.”

  “I’ve got news too.” Mark led her into the sitting room. “Look who I ran into.”

  “Hi, Trish.”

  “Ian.” She flew into his arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s you; it’s really you.”

  “It’s me,” he laughed, swinging her around.

  “Let me look at you.” She stepped back from him and saw Libby. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Leiba Steinberg. But I call her Libby.” He knelt beside the little girl and spoke in German. “This is my sister, your aunt Trish.”

  “‘Aunt Trish’?” She glanced at Mark.

  “It’s a long story,” he said coyly.

  “Ian?”

  “Later.”

  Trish eyed both men before bending toward Libby, her hands on her knees.
“Welcome, Libby,” she said in German. “I’m so very glad to meet you.”

  “You’re Papi’s sister?” Libby asked shyly.

  Trish raised her eyebrows at Ian. “Later,” he mouthed.

  “Yes, I’m Papi’s sister.”

  She straightened and hooked her arm through Ian’s. “I have a big surprise for Papi.”

  “What’s that?” asked Ian.

  She escorted him to the French doors that led to the garden. “Out there.”

  Ian opened the door but hesitated when Trish didn’t follow him. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “You go ahead. We’ll be out later.”

  “Papi?” Libby ran to him and grabbed his leg. He smoothed her hair.

  Trish knelt beside her. “He’s not going to leave you, sweetheart,” she said in German. “Would you like to see my puppy?”

  Libby looked up at Ian, who said, “It’s okay, honey. I promise I won’t leave you.”

  Mark poked Trish. “You got a puppy?”

  She laughed. “I’ve got a lot more than that.” Holding out her hand to Libby, she switched to German again. “Come on, he’s upstairs in the playroom.”

  “We have a playroom?” Mark gave Trish a puzzled look.

  “Why do I have to go to the garden?” Ian asked.

  “You—” Trish pointed at Ian—“get out there. And you—” pointing at Mark—“come with me.”

  Ian looked at Mark and shrugged. “Go see the puppy, sweetheart,” he said to Libby. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

  He watched Trish take both Libby and Mark by the hand and lead them toward the stairs; then he stepped into the garden. Following the brick path, he headed toward the ancient oak in the far corner. As he neared the wicker furniture, his breath caught in his throat. He stood still, not believing his eyes.

  On the settee, a sketch pad in her lap and the tip of a pencil pressed against her lower lip, Alison concentrated on the oak.

  His heart began to beat again, and he gave thanks for Sister Regina’s promised prayer. He’d never expected it to be answered so quickly. Staring at the woman he loved, his thoughts turned to their parting at the Rotterdam station. He’d bared his soul to her, but she hadn’t done the same. Despite their letters, she remained trapped in her family’s superstition. Would she even be glad to see him? Maybe he should go back to the house, leave her in peace.