Arms of Deliverance

by Tricia N. Goyer

  “He called the phone number he was given and assumed the man answering the phone was the mayor. It never occurred to him that it had been perhaps too easy to catch the big guy on the first try.”

  More laughter.

  Lee glanced behind her, wondering where Jimmy was with her luggage. Then she looked to the gangplank, hoping they’d board soon. Anything to escape the torture of listening to this nonsense. Didn’t they connect the dots and realize she’d only been working in hard news for a few months? That she could be considered a rookie? Or maybe that’s why they did it—to put her in her place.

  She said nothing, but the others glanced over every so often, and she imagined what they were thinking—who does that Lee O’Donnelly think she is, taking the spot of someone more worthy?

  Lee opened her leather purse and reread the note from her brother one more time, hoping to distract her thoughts.

  Safe passage and knock their socks off. You’re a shining star. Glow bright. Glow long. And remember, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know that counts.

  Love, Your Brother

  On the second sheet of paper was a list of names and address of some of his close friends in England. “It’s who you know,” Lee whispered to herself, hoping it would prove as true overseas as it did here.

  Then we’ll see who will be ignoring whom, she smirked to herself. And we’ll see just who wants to be friends.

  A chill traveled up Mary’s arms as she strode up the gangplank, a suitcase in each hand. A sailor walked behind her, hauling her prize possession, an Underwood typewriter that she’d saved up six months to buy.

  The Queen Mary was a former luxury liner converted to a troopship. And so far her majesty’s luck had been good as she made twice-monthly, highly nerve-racking, five-day crossings to South Hampton, England.

  A thick cloud of cigarette smoke coiled around the deck. Equally as thick was the cacophony of men’s voices as they called out to each other and banged around, taking their last breaths of fresh air and lumbering into the hold.

  Mary had reported many crossings. She’d interviewed numerous young soldiers, then waved her good-byes from the dock. Now it was her turn.

  She watched as Lee jotted notes in a small notebook, dressed as if she’d just stepped off a runway. Her trademark heavy gold bracelets clinked on her slender wrists as her pencil scribbled across the paper. Mary also noted how the woman’s high-heeled black pumps nearly caused her to trip more than once—the pointy heels catching in the slits between the polished wooden floorboards.

  She attempted to stifle a giggle as Lee marched past, wondering how that outfit would hold up in the field. Surely the woman understood there was no maid on the front lines to press her garments.

  Once all had boarded, the liaison for the International News Services gathered their small group together, handing out room assignments and instructions for the trip.

  The ship’s horn blared and sailors swirled around them—men in motion—each busy at his assigned task. The New York skyline seemed to take on an ethereal glow in the sunset as the liaison spoke hurriedly in his high-pitched voice, as if afraid the ship would embark too soon, trapping him for the journey.

  “In your rooms you’ll find your press cards, uniforms, and contact information for the news service overseas,” he said. “Any additional questions can be handled by the staff there. Enjoy the trip and make us proud. Remember, America hangs on your every word.”

  The sailor standing next to Mary led them to their cabins. The door he directed her to was partly ajar, and Mary kicked it open with her foot, attempting to balance her load of two small suitcases and the typewriter. The heavy machine nearly pulled her shoulder out of socket as she swung it into the room.

  A soldier on deck had offered to carry it down the rest of the way for her, but Mary had declined. “You have your job to do, and I have mine. Besides, I’ll need to get used to hauling this thing around Europe.”

  She dropped her suitcases on one of two twin beds and flopped onto the freshly laundered duvet cover. “Finally, alone,” she muttered, kicking off her loafers.

  “Not quite,” a voice called from the open doorway. Lee entered with an entourage of sailors carrying her things. “In fact, alone won’t be in your vocabulary for the next five days. I hope you don’t snore.”

  Lee thanked the men, then paused, staring at the musette bags at the end of the bed. “Looks like they left us gifts.”

  Ignoring Lee, Mary dug into her bag. Helmet, fatigue outfit, green coveralls with white hood, a gas mask, insect powder, sunglasses, mosquito netting, a canteen, and gloves bearing a sticker stating they’d been treated for gas.

  She held up the coveralls. “By golly, Lee. I think this color brings out the green in your eyes.”

  They finally embarked at midnight, the darkness protecting them from the German U-boats that lay in wait in the black waters just off the United States coastline. Unable to sleep, Mary tiptoed out of the cabin and joined another reporter at the rail, gaining one last glimpse of American soil. For more than an hour the ship maneuvered through the congested harbor, past the shipyards with their giant cranes, until finally turning out to the open seas. A few other night owls also lined the railings to watch the Manhattan skyline slip away.

  Mary pulled her green field jacket tighter around her shoulders, shielding herself from the brisk salt spray.

  “Well, if it isn’t Goldilocks herself. What’s wrong, Queen Mary? Your bed too hard? No, wait, too soft?”

  Mary turned toward the curly-haired man whose thin moustache made him appear as if he had a dirty lip. He was handsome, she had to admit. In fact, Clive James from the Herald had a way with the ladies even more famous than his way with words.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Actually, it’s the snoring coming from the other bed. I only wish it were Baby Bear.” Mary sighed. “But I suppose five days will pass soon enough. I mean, we’re on a ship, crossing the ocean, heading toward adventure and real news. It’s worth it, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m excited about going, but I hope the war ends quickly. I’d rather be writing stuffy old business reports any day.” Clive dug his hands deep into his pockets and stared at the floorboards of the deck as though his gaze could penetrate to the troops sleeping in the hold. “Overseas news doesn’t count for much without bloodshed on one side or the other.”

  Mary cocked her head, surprised to find that Clive could actually be serious. Yeah, war was tough, but America was involved for a good reason, right? She didn’t want to tell him that she hoped the war would continue for at least a little while. Long enough for her to witness some action and make a name for herself as a top overseas female correspondent.

  Her gaze drifted over the dark waters. “It’s weird, you know,” she finally said, “that the bad guys are out there somewhere, lurking in these very waters.” A shiver ran down her spine.

  “You’re right.” He leaned farther over the railing. “From here on out nothing is certain. Well, almost nothing.” He scooted closer. “The war’s heating up. Reporters are being sent into more dangerous situations every day. I’m sure you’ve read the stories of correspondents losing their lives. Word has it I’ll be sent to cover the front.”

  His voice was solemn, and she almost heard a quiver in his tone. His hand moved from the rail to the top of hers, and suddenly Clive’s serious nature made sense.

  “Oh, you have to be joking!” Mary blurted out, her voice catching on the cold ocean breeze. “Schoolgirls may fall for that I might never be coming back business, but who do you think I am?” She took one last glance at the tall man, then stalked away. “News flash,” she called over her shoulder. “I may look like I’m sixteen, but I know the games guys like you play.”

  It wasn’t until she had nearly reached the stairwell that Mary noticed Lee standing in its shadows. For a brief moment, the white glow of a lighter flickered, illuminating her face.

  “Barely out of port and already bein
g pounced on.” Lee took a drag and blew it out slowly.

  Mary paused and watched as a sly smile curled the woman’s lips.

  “I suppose it’s not what’s lurking out there, in those waters, that we should be worried about,” Lee continued.

  Her own burst of laughter caught Mary by surprise. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Men. I swear they think one good line will make a woman swoon.” Lee flicked her ashes to the deck. Her face had been washed clean of makeup, and her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. For the first time she seemed approachable.

  A cool wind came up, and Mary pulled her jacket tighter around her thin frame. “I hope I didn’t wake you, getting out of bed and all.”

  “Nah, I was awake. I guess this sharing a room will take getting used to.” She took another drag from her cigarette and blew it out slowly. “Did I really snore?”

  “More like heavy breathing, with a little nasal whine.”

  “Sorry. No one’s told me that before.”

  Mary pushed the whipping strands of her hair off her face, wishing Lee would step out of the shadows.

  “Oh, I’ve heard all about my sleep habits. Until I got my own apartment a couple years ago, my mom and I shared a bed.” Mary chuckled. “We lived in a small apartment with drafty walls, and we stayed warmer by cuddling. It actually took some getting used to sleeping alone.”

  “Well, isn’t that quaint.” Lee tossed her cigarette to the deck and smashed it with the pointy toe of her shoe, and walked toward the railing.

  Quaint? Mary felt a tightness in her chest as she headed down to their cabin alone. How could she expect Lee O’Donnelly to understand? Lee’s mother never had to sweep up the cigar ashes or wipe the muddy shoeprints of a building full of careless workers, just to keep food on the table. And Gerta had done it without the help of the man in the large office on the third floor.

  “Mother,” Mary had gotten up her courage to ask one day, “how can you do it? How can you go back to work day after day seeing him there? Don’t you ever wonder if things could have been different? Don’t you imagine the life you could have had—we could have had—with him?”

  Her mother seemed to be studying the ground. “At first, I guess I kept working there because I had hope. I thought he’d marry me, especially once he knew I was carrying his child.” She took a deep breath. “But I kept going back because that place was all I knew. Besides, at least they knew … still know that he loved me once. I guess knowing that helped me to feel it wasn’t just some dream.”

  “I would have always reminded you.”

  “I know, sweetheart. And you do. You’re the best part of our rocky relationship. In the world’s eyes, what happened may have been considered a thing of shame, but God can turn even the shameful things into good.”

  Mary got ready for bed, softly singing. Jetzt kommt die fröliche. Sommerszeit, die. Stunden voller Lust und Wonne …

  “Now comes the merry summertime, the hours full of joy and endless delight. We leave behind our home, we freely, gladly roam…. So happy to be in the warm sunlight.”

  That’s what I’ve done, Mary thought as she turned out the light, left behind my home to gladly roam … although I’m not exactly heading for warm sunlight and endless delight.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The warm summer sun shone down on Katrine as she stretched out on the picnic blanket at Sablon Square. Now that the days were warmer, wandering through the cultural areas of Brussels had become Hendrick’s passion. Even this moment, Hendrick stood in a wide-legged stance, his gaze intent on one of the forty-eight statues representing a medieval guild that lined the park. In this closest one, the statuary-man carried a ladder with a dozen birds perched on it.

  The air smelled of freshly cut grass and the pink blossoms that grew on the hedges. Katrine didn’t know their name, but they smelled like candy—a nice touch to the beautiful afternoon.

  She lay on her side, resting her head on her hand, watching Hendrick. Her other hand instinctively caressed her stomach, which was already pushing out into a small bump. For the past few evenings she’d laughed to herself, feeling the fluttering of the child within. She lay extra still, hoping it would do the same today. She could already imagine the delight in Hendrick’s eyes if he were able to feel the baby’s kicks.

  Hendrick moved to the next statue down the line, then turned ever so slightly in her direction. “Darling, I’m sorry we can’t stay long today. I just heard this morning that I must go into work this evening. A new shipment will be arriving.”

  “A shipment, like of weapons?” Katrine’s mind flashed to the uniformed German soldiers who’d guarded the streets of Prague, her home. Her stomach lurched at the memory of their shiny metal guns pointed at anyone wearing a yellow star.

  “Weapons?” Hendrick laughed. “Katrine, how many times have I told you, my position is with RuSHA, Office for Race and Settlement. The shipment from Poland, my dear, is children—those we’ve found acceptable for Aryanization.”

  Katrine sat up, shielding the sun with her hand as she looked into Hendrick’s face. “You mean children who are not German? I just assumed they were German orphans from the war.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why would parents agree to send their children away?”

  Hendrick moved toward her, squatted down, and took her hands in his. His face grew as cold and emotionless as the statues staring down upon them. “I told you my wife wasn’t able to conceive, but my work made it possible for her to have two daughters. They’re from Poland, but I assure you that by looking at them you’d never know the difference. What matters most, of course, is that they have no Jewish blood. It would never be proper to mix the holy with the unholy. We keep only what is valuable to our cause.”

  “And the rest? The children who are not pure?” Katrine pulled her hands from his.

  “Let’s not talk about that, shall we? It’s such a beautiful day.” Hendrick glanced away.

  Katrine’s stomach heaved. On hands and knees she quickly crawled across the grass, vomiting under a small shrub. Even when the retching stopped, the trembling of her shoulders and arms wouldn’t cease. Surely she’d misunderstood. Surely …

  She thought of her younger brother and sister, and a cry caught in her throat. Abram and Ruth had been innocent, chubby toddlers the last time she’d seen them. Maybe she’d understood Hendrick’s work before, but just hadn’t wanted to believe it. Now she had to face the facts. Hendrick was involved in “eliminating” children. Beautiful children, like her brother and sister. Children like the one she carried inside her.

  Katrine felt his hand upon her back, and she instinctively jerked away.

  “Darling.” Hendrick’s voice was gentle. “Please forgive me; I’m a foolish man. I’ve forgotten your condition. We must get you out of this sun before you have heatstroke. Come, take my hand.”

  Without a word Katrine obeyed, allowing him to pull her up from the ground. He led her to his military vehicle, and she slid onto the leather seat and waited in silence as he returned to the manicured lawn to retrieve their picnic things.

  As she watched him pack up the food and neatly fold the blanket, Katrine took in deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. But her mind refused to ignore what she’d just heard. How can I do this? It’s one thing to hide behind my blonde hair and fair skin to save my life, but … A flutter tickled her middle, and she bowed her head. But, little one, how can I hide my fear of his finding out about you?

  Eddie jumped from the army’s uncovered six-by truck, where he and the others had been packed in like cattle, seated on benches with their personal gear piled in front of them. His boots smacked onto the asphalt runway with a thud, and he set his briefcase next to one of the stand lights, shaded for blackout conditions. Then he zipped his B-10 fleece-lined green jacket to his chin. Though not as stylish as his leather flight coat, it kept him warm. Just what he needed when huddling in the B-17’s open-air fuselage at 30,000 feet, a virtual 30-bel
ow wind tunnel.

  Besides, the jacket was nice protection from the rain present nine out of ten days here in England. It pelted windows, rattled tin roofs, dripped from ledges, and gathered into puddles and pools. Sometimes it fell in sheets, but thankfully today it lingered as a mist so fine Eddie couldn’t feel the distinct drops.

  Words drilled into him at navigation school ran through his head. Five minutes of work on the ground takes care of thirty minutes of work in the air. So after the briefing, he’d made his way to the navigators’ ready room to lay out his charts for the mission. With maps spread over several big tables, he penciled in every checkpoint and course change—even the assembly and departure points and times over England. He also checked the flak-charts and drew crosshatched red circles corresponding to the danger areas they’d soon be flying over.

  Eddie was the last crew member to arrive at the plane, just a few minutes before engine time. Destiny’s Child waited patiently for him, and he glanced up at her with respect for the job she was about to do.

  On the nose of the plane, her name was written in large yellow letters. A baby dressed in a diaper, reminiscent of the popular cartoon character Uncle Rafe, strode across the words, illustrating it. The baby had a pipe and carried a gun, and his face was set in determination as if he were off to get some Germans.

  Above the script, bomb symbols had been painted—one for each mission Destiny’s Child had flown with Eddie’s crew and those who’d come before. Forward of the cranky baby, swastikas proudly displayed her kills. And though her patched-up body was evidence that those missions hadn’t been easy, she wasn’t about to give up. Even now the ground crew tended her like a prizefighter being readied for a championship match.