While Alison freshened up and changed clothes, the other two Americans transported their German prisoners to the village. Kurt rode along, returning with more Allied soldiers and his grandmother, who donned an apron and claimed command of the kitchen.
After a hearty supper, Alison and Ian stole away from the boisterous dining room. The slanting rays of the evening sun cast long shadows on them as they lingered in the chalet’s rose garden. The well-tended blossoms filled the summer air with their distinctive aroma. Butterflies flitted in Alison’s stomach. It had been a long nineteen months. How could they ever make up for that absence?
Taking a switchblade from his pocket, Ian cut the stem of a pink rose and handed the large bloom to Alison. “Careful of the thorns,” he said as she inhaled the lovely scent.
“It’s so fragrant. Smell.” She lifted the rose to Ian, and he flinched. Blushing with uncertainty, she fingered the silky texture of the petals.
“Roses.” Ian waved his hand at the beds. “There were so many at your . . . They made me ill.”
“My funeral.” She bent her head over the flower. How hard that must have been for him.
“I should have known you were still alive.” Passion and anger intermingled in his voice. “Somehow I should have known.”
“How could you? Theodor set it up so completely.” So completely that Ian could never have guessed she was actually a prisoner. Or that he shouldn’t be dating beautiful actresses.
Ian interrupted her thoughts. “What did he mean, about losing more than you know?”
“I’m not sure.” Alison twirled the stem, wishing Ian hadn’t brought that up. With all her heart, she was certain that Theodor’s last words were meant for Ian, not for her. Tears sprang to her eyes and she hugged herself, the rose wavering in the light breeze. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
His eyes darkened and his voice shook when he spoke. “You can tell me anything.”
“When I left London . . .” She paused, then blurted, “I was pregnant.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “I know.”
“How could you?”
“Richard told me.”
“Something went wrong.” She leaned her head against his chest, avoiding his gaze. “It was like a bad dream. I think the midwife gave me something to make me sleep.”
“It’s okay, Alison. Just tell me what happened.”
“The baby . . . he died.”
“A boy?” Ian’s voice cracked and Alison’s heart melted at the tears welling up in his eyes. “My son.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault; it’s Scheidemann’s.” Thirst for revenge shimmered in his gold-flecked eyes.
“I blamed him too, for a while.” The memory of the dark days after her baby’s birth coiled around her heart. But she had believed God’s promise of future rejoicing, and now it was coming true. Unless Ian had fallen in love with someone else.
“Then Theodor showed me a newspaper photograph. Of you and an American actress.” She watched Ian carefully, hating the jealousy that raked her stomach when his eyes widened. In surprise? Or guilt? “It made me realize how much I had to live for, how hating Theodor was hurting me more than him. And somehow I knew I’d get home. It was as if God whispered to me that I would. I just hope it’s not too late.”
“Why too late?”
“She’s very beautiful.” Alison took a deep breath and forced a smile. “And you obviously like her.”
“Yes, I like her.” His eyes softened. “I think you’d like her too.”
“Perhaps.”
“We teamed up for a mission, Alison. That’s all it was.”
“It must have been a very special mission.”
“I pretended to love her so that she could pretend to steal classified information from me.”
“And now? Is she waiting for you?”
“She’s in America. Waiting for the man she loves to get out of a POW camp.”
“A POW camp in the United States?”
“It’s a long story.” He took both her hands in his and kissed each one. “I thought I had lost you, Alison. I can’t tell you how much that hurt. And then I was assigned to this mission with Marie and we . . . we cared for each other. But only as friends.”
“Friends?”
He grinned, then pulled something from his pocket. “You left this at home. I guess that’s why you didn’t write,” he teased.
She took the gold Montblanc pen, examining his initials as tears moistened her lashes.
He lifted her chin and, between soft kisses, murmured, “I’ve always been, and still am, heads-over-heels, every beat of my heart, in love with you.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
JUNE 1945
As the train from Dover neared Waterloo Station, Alison stared out the window at the people on the platform, absorbing the details as she searched for Trish and Libby.
“Do you see them?” Ian asked, peering over her shoulder.
“No.” She squeezed her fingers to keep them still. “Are you sure they’ll be here?”
He covered her hands with his. “They wouldn’t miss it.”
“What if she doesn’t remember me?”
“She remembers.”
Alison hoped he was right, but her own experience of missing her father had taught her that a long absence was a lifetime for a child. She still found it hard to believe that only a few weeks ago she had been a prisoner in Theodor’s chalet. It had taken that long for Ian to work out the transportation for them to return to England.
Meanwhile, she had worked tirelessly, sorting through the treasures in the cave and identifying the contents of the blown-up crates. The paintings that belonged to the chalet were returned by the Army unit Ian rounded up to help her. She had packed and labeled crates with the art that had been stolen from the air raid shelter. Other crates were addressed to museum curators in Amsterdam and Paris. Her own watercolors were in the train’s baggage car.
Ian arranged with Tag for Cowboy to oversee the guarding of the cave until the crates could be shipped. The selected soldiers, tired of fighting and tired of Germany, welcomed an assignment that gave them the freedom to explore the network of tunnels and caves when they weren’t on duty.
Alison took Ian’s hand as they left the train, nervously searching the crowd.
“Papi!”
A gangly girl, all arms and legs, raced toward them. Her hat flew off her dark head, but she didn’t stop. Just left it for Trish to pick up.
Ian held out his arms, swinging Libby around as she hugged him.
“Papi, you’re home.”
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He kissed both her cheeks, causing her to giggle, before standing her beside him.
“Hello, Libby. Remember me?” Alison took a deep breath as the girl stared up at her. “You’ve grown so much.”
“Mama. You came home,” she said shyly, her English impeccable.
Alison knelt in front of her. “I didn’t mean to stay away so long. Please forgive me.”
“Don’t cry, Mama.” Libby brushed a tear from Alison’s cheek. “God answered my prayers.”
“Your prayers?”
“I prayed for you every night.”
“You did?”
Libby nodded. “When you didn’t come home, I thought maybe you got lost. And had to walk a long way like Papi and I did. So I asked God to help you find your way. And He did, didn’t He, Mama?”
“Yes, Libby,” she said, hugging her little girl. “He did.”
Looking upward, Alison caught Trish’s eye. “Thank you,” she mouthed.
“Welcome home, Alison,” Trish said softly, slipping her arm around Ian’s waist. “Come on, you two. Libby and I aren’t the only ones here to greet you. Come and see.”
They entered the station, and Trish gestured toward a seating area behind one of the columns. Alison gasped as Will limped toward her.
“You silly goose,” he said, hold
ing her tight. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”
“Never.” She laughed and then noticed Hannah, painfully thin and wearing long sleeves despite the summer heat. Alison embraced her gently, then turned to Ian. “This is Will. And Hannah. The twins’ mother.” She faltered on the last word and glanced at Trish in time to see the hurt in her eyes before she blinked it away.
“I can never thank you enough for saving my babies,” Hannah said in her gentle voice. “When I came for them, they did not know me. I scared them.” Her shoulders dropped slightly, and Will put his arm around her.
“Hannah is living with us for now,” Trish said. “Until she and Will get married.”
“You’re getting married?”
Will grinned. “We’ve just been waiting for you to get home.” He looked at Ian. “Your parents have been kind enough to offer us a cottage at the Kenniston Hall estate.”
“So you see,” Trish said brightly, “Mark and I will be able to see the twins whenever we want.”
Alison ran her fingers through Libby’s dark hair, needing to feel her daughter’s presence. What would she do if Libby’s father suddenly appeared? She shivered against the thought. Her heart ached for both Trish and Hannah, two women bound by love and loss. Breathing a prayer for both of them, she immediately sensed God’s assurance that the twins had been doubly blessed.
“Am I the last to be greeted?”
Afraid to believe her ears, Alison pivoted toward the booming voice.
“Come here, mijn schatje.” Hendrik, sitting in a wheelchair steered by Monsieur Duret, held out his arms.
“Opa.” She gently embraced his fragile shoulders, then clasped and kissed both his hands. “I’ve been so afraid for you.”
“And I for you.”
“Where have you been?”
“Hiding.” His gray-blue eyes, so like her own, grew momentarily vacant before flickering with warmth. “But those are stories for another day. This day, we celebrate.”
“Where are Mark and the twins?” Ian asked Trish as Alison greeted Monsieur Duret.
“They’re home, with Mum and Pops. Overseeing the preparations for your homecoming party.”
“Oh, Mama, Papi, guess what?” Libby reached for her parents’ hands. “We’re having specially baked Miniver scones.”
“Miniver scones?” Ian teased. “I fell in love with a girl once over Miniver scones.”
“And I fell in love with a soldier,” Alison said, laughing.
“Wisest thing you ever did.” His heart-flipping grin lit the gold in his eyes.
“I agree.” She sighed with contentment as Libby and Trish, Hendrik and Duret, Will and Hannah readied to leave. “This all seems too perfect.”
“You’ve walked through fire, Alison.” Ian held her gaze, but for a moment he seemed lost to another time and place. “Maybe you’re due for ‘too perfect.’”
Walking toward the station’s exit with those she loved, Alison realized she had come full circle—all the way back to the place where the notes of a violin beckoned her to a hazel-eyed soldier. The intervening years had brought grievous heartache and pain, but God’s mysterious purpose, not a superstitious family fate, had brought her home again. She smiled, confident that no matter what the future held, she could rejoice in the days to come.
Epilogue
MAY 1950
Pieter Schuyler’s lost masterpiece hangs in a remote Argentinian villa near a town populated by Germans living under assumed names. It’s rumored that Göring himself once shot at the painting, but onlookers search in vain for the damage. Some whisper that the artist’s daughter handled the restoration while a guest at the owner’s European home. When they question that noble gentleman, however, he only smiles mysteriously, refusing to deny or give credence to their suppositions.
The gentleman’s son understands none of this. He only knows that the woman in the painting beckons him with her playful expression. The portrait affects him unlike any other in his father’s fine collection. He’s too young to put the feeling into words, but it tingles his fingers and evokes a strange longing deep inside him.
He taps the end of a paintbrush against his chin, gazing up at the girl and her garden with his gray-blue eyes. Childishly pleased with his watercolor version, he prints his name in the lower left corner with careful strokes.
Schuyler.
About the Author
Author Johnnie Alexander Donley writes stories of suspense, intrigue, and romance set in World War II. Her debut book, Where Treasure Hides, won the American Christian Fiction Writers Genesis contest for Historical Fiction in 2011. A history enthusiast, Johnnie has also edited nonfiction manuscripts and textbooks. She is a founding member of the Central Florida chapter of American Christian Fiction Writers. A longtime Florida resident, Johnnie treasures family memories, classic movies, and her papillon, Rugby.
Discussion Questions
Ian’s sister says if it is God’s will, Ian will see Alison again. Do you ever struggle to leave things up to God? In what circumstances?
While trying to escape Germany, Ian wonders if God is deaf to his prayers. Can you think of a time when your prayers went unanswered? How does this affect your relationship with God?
After the death of people she loves, Alison struggles to understand why God saved her instead. How would you respond to Alison’s question? Do you ever question God’s choices?
While Ian prays for guidance after Libby’s mother dies, he believes he does not need to wait for God’s voice before taking action. Have you ever felt called to a decision? Did you follow through? Why or why not?
At one critical juncture, Ian relies on the verse “Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.” Do you find it difficult to leave judgment to God?
Alison’s trust in God wavers because of her struggle with her family’s superstition. What do you think gives her the strength to finally believe and leave her fate in God’s hands? How have you wrestled with trusting God in the face of what looks like an insurmountable reality?
Why does Ian return for Libby? Do you think he was right to go back?
At the beginning of the story, Ian believes that “though he hadn’t prayed, he knew the idea to have Josef play the violin had been divinely inspired.” Describe a time where you clearly saw God’s hand at work within your life, even in retrospect.
Ian worries that God may not listen to his prayers because of the crimes he has committed and men he has killed during the war. Do you ever feel beyond God’s love and forgiveness? How do you think God would respond to this sentiment?
Ian describes Sister Regina as “the answer to a prayer he didn’t realize he’d prayed.” Can you think of a time when someone came into your life and brought you exactly what you hadn’t realized you were missing?
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