Arms of Deliverance

by Tricia N. Goyer

  “Have I told you I want to be a preacher when I get back?” He smiled at the shocked look on Mary’s face.

  She sat crossed-legged, then pulled her knees to her chest. “Eddie, are you pulling my leg?”

  “No, ma’m, I’m serious. A preacher or a farmer. Both, in my opinion, nurture new life. When I joined the military, I told them I liked the stars, but that they could put me where they wanted me. I ended up being a navigator. It was sort of a confirmation, and you know what that says to me?”

  “That your head’s always in the clouds?”

  Mary took a drink from her cup, but he could still make out her grin peeking around the edges of the glass.

  “I’ll just forget you said that. I mean, seriously, a navigator finds the way. He doesn’t plan the mission; he doesn’t fly the plane. He just has to keep track of true north.” He patted the Bible.

  “I never thought of it that way before.” Mary chuckled. “I think my tendency is to want to fly the plane.” She looked around the room. “Gee, smart idea, Mare. And look where it brought you.” Her look softened as she glanced at him. “Of course, it could’ve been worse.”

  Eddie felt his cheeks grow warm. “And you know,” he started in again, “the Bible says God put the stars and planets in the sky to distinguish the seasons and the times. All that just for us. As I figure it, if God’s willing to give us this universe, how can we think He won’t take care of our smallest circumstances?”

  “Even the circumstances of us getting out of here?”

  “Yeah. I just need to keep reminding myself of that.”

  They sat quietly for a moment, and Eddie watched the light of the candle flickering along the wall.

  Mary pushed aside her empty plate. “Do you think anyone else got out? It’s been nearly a week. How long would it take them to make it back?”

  “I suppose, if things worked out, they could be pretty close by now. Three guys can travel pretty fast if they have no injuries, especially if they find creative ways to use the transportation systems, like the train. Since free France isn’t too far away, maybe they’ve already made it.”

  “And we’ll make it out too, right?” Mary’s blue eyes pleaded with him. “Both of us.”

  “Of course both of us.” He scooted closer to her, taking her hand. “We’re not alone. God is carrying us in His arms of deliverance.” Eddie gave a soft laugh. “I think He did it on purpose, you know. He held me up there until the last mission to drop you down here with me. Heck, I think He figured if I was too busy worrying about getting you out, I wouldn’t have time to fret about myself.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” She gently arranged one of the bandages on his arm. “I’ve been fretting enough about you to last a good long while.”

  Later that night, as Eddie snored, Mary couldn’t help but think back to their conversation. A navigator only has to keep track of true north, Eddie had said. And for the first time, something concerning God made sense to her.

  Could it be possible that I don’t have to figure out this world and my place in it on my own? Could it be that I only need to focus on You?

  Mary slipped out of bed as quietly as she could and took Eddie’s Bible from the small table near his bed. She scooted across the floor to read near the flickering candlelight. She tried to find the verse she’d read before about the peace of God, but instead another underlined verse caught her eye.

  “Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”

  The way. The truth. The life.

  She thought about her own limited church experiences, and also the few moments those flyers spent kneeling before the chaplain. While those things were fine, it seemed that only believing in Jesus would take a person down the right path.

  She thought of Paul’s Pointer: It’s not what you know; it’s who you know. His words were apparently more accurate than she first realized.

  Mary closed the Bible, pulled her knees to her chest, and let her chin drop onto them. She glanced around at the finely decorated room, amazed that God could meet her even here. Then she closed her eyes.

  Dear Jesus, I never knew what living life for You could look like, until I saw it in Eddie. I want what he has, Lord. I want You in my life like that. Somehow I feel it deep in my soul that accepting You is the first step and committing myself to following You is the next … no matter where it leads.

  A scattering of thin, shriveled leaves lay over the two mounds in the garden. One large. One small. Hendrick scanned the three stories of windows, looking for any sign of movement before stepping from behind the tree and walking toward the mounds. Two wooden crosses had been planted where spring and summer flowers had previously nodded in the wind. A cold breeze hit his face, and Hendrick pulled his civilian jacket tighter around his frame—his chin dropping to his chest as he read the markers.

  Katrine Mueller.

  Baby Boy Schwartz.

  Reading the marker was like a fist to his gut. He moaned, then noticed movement from the front door. He was about to bolt back to the trees when he noticed it was the nun who hurried down the front steps as if she were on a mission. The nun who had been there that day. Who’d heard Katrine’s lies.

  “Sister!” The word burst from Hendrick’s lips. Though there was always the nagging feeling that someone would come for him—come to imprison him for abandoning his post—he had no reason to fear a nun.

  With long strides, he jogged across the frozen ground toward the woman. She paused and turned, her eyes wide. Hendrick halted his steps and stroked his beard, realizing she knew who he was despite his new look.

  “Herr Schwartz.” Her voice caught in her throat. “I never expected to see you here.”

  “I should say the same. This place has been abandoned for weeks, has it not?”

  “Yes, well. Of course. I was just checking on a few things I left behind.” Her thin fingers reached up and fumbled with the cross hanging around her neck. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “My son. I have come for him.” He watched as the color drained from the nun’s face, making it as ashen as the gray sky overhead.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.” She paused, closing her eyes as if trying to find the right words. “I was there when his body and soul were committed to the Lord.”

  Lee pressed the phone into her ear as she read the latest story to Lyle, back at the news offices in London.

  “That’s right, Lyle. It’s Eisenhower’s official statement about the U.S. Congress giving him his fifth star. He’s only the third one after Marshall and MacArthur to receive that rank.”

  Lyle’s voice was breaking up, and she closed her eyes to focus. “No word on … but we should know …”

  Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and opened her eyes, annoyed. She frowned at the young soldier standing next to her. He had black hair and a handsome face. He looked tired, though, and a bit confused. Lyle was still rattling in her ear, and she realized she’d just missed everything he’d been saying.

  She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “Can’t you see I’m on the line? It’s sort of important.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.” He slipped his cap off his head and twisted it in his hands. “My name is Vinny Rosario. I got word from my commanding officer to come talk to you as soon as possible. He said—”

  Lee glanced down and noticed the silver wings on his uniform and a patch on his sleeve reading Destiny’s Child.

  “It’s you, you were on the plane….” She placed a hand on the airman’s arm, then shouted into the phone. “Sorry, Lyle. Gotta go.” She quickly hung up the receiver.

  “It’s you; right? You were on the crew of Destiny’s Child. Did you escape from Belgium? Of course you did, you’re here.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the room into a quiet corner in the lobby of Hotel Scribe.

  “I got into Paris just last night. Two buddies and I …” He lowered his he
ad. “We’re the only ones who made it out that I know of.”

  “But there were others who made it to the ground?” She pulled her notepad from her pocket. “Mary Kelley made it to the ground, right? Do you know what the name of the closest town was? How many chutes were there? Were they clustered together, or did they fall separately?”

  The man’s face was red, and tears filled his eyes. Unashamedly, a sob emerged from his mouth, and he covered his face with his hands. “I saw them go out. Eddie and that girl. I tried following them, but my chute caught on my stupid seat.” He blew out a quick breath and looked at her.

  “I was too far away to see exactly where they landed. I tried to find them. Adam, Marty, and I, we looked around for a few days, but the Germans wouldn’t let up, and we had to make it out on our own—those few phrases in Dutch we learned were enough to let us catch a ride in a wagon heading to France.”

  Lee had never seen a man cry before. She didn’t know what to say. She tucked her pencil behind her ear, a habit she’d acquired from Mary.

  “Ma’am, Eddie was my best friend. And I swear, if something has happened to him … if he doesn’t make it out … why, I don’t know if I could ever forgive myself.”

  She opened her arms, and he crumbled into her embrace. She squeezed him as tight as she could. “I promise you, I’m going to do everything in my power to see that we find them, understand?”

  A tear threatened to trail down her cheek, and she brushed it away. “Mary was, is, my friend.” Lee laughed and stepped back. “At least I’d like to let her know she is. And I know some people who can … Well, let’s just say, you give me every single piece of information you have, and I’ll see what I can do. Deal?”

  Vinny sniffed loudly and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Deal.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Lee and Vinny found a quiet table at a café not far from the Hotel Scribe. Not too long ago, the Parisian owners had been serving coffee and biscotti to German officers, and it was clear from the smiles on their faces they were thankful it was now the Americans they catered to.

  The two spent hours poring over every possibility—capture, help from the underground, possible injury, until Vinny’s eyes glazed over.

  “Are you sure you saw both Mary’s and Eddie’s chutes?” Lee asked again, glancing at her notes.

  Vinny rested his forehead on his hands and closed his eyes. “I don’t know. I think so. I could be wrong.”

  A man in uniform approached their table. Lee glanced up, perturbed at the interruption. Tall, thin, and balding, he looked vaguely familiar.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” The man extended a hand to Lee. “Name’s Patrick Jessup. I’m a photographer. I—”

  “Of course!” Lee stood, taking his hand and giving it a warm shake. “You worked with Mary, didn’t you? I remember seeing your name on the Jack the Crew Chief photo. I’ve seen you around the hotel.”

  “That’s me. I worked with Mary Kelley quite a bit.” He nodded to one of the empty chairs at the table. “Mind if I have a seat? I contacted the CO in charge of Destiny’s Child today. I’m nutty with worry about Mary.” He rubbed his eyes. “Can’t sleep thinking about her over there by herself, hurt, scared. And the newspapers are a waste of time. Not a word … I think they’re afraid of the public’s response to losing their sweetheart.”

  “I know. It’s so frustrating, but please.” Lee swept her hand toward the chair. “Mr. Jessup, this is Vinny Rosario, one of the men from the flight.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “Call me Patrick. I don’t want to get in the way, but I’d like to help if I could. I suspect I was one of the last people to see Mary—working with her to figure out that camera, you see.” He turned to Lee. “Did you know she was taking one up with her?”

  “No, but I’m not surprised.” Lee turned to Vinny, placing her hand on his. “I know you’re tired, but can you tell the story again, just one more time? Maybe Patrick here will pick up on something we missed.”

  “Sure, lady, but can I have another black and tan first?” Vinny lifted his finger and motioned to the bartender. “What’s one more gonna hurt?”

  “I should’ve said something, Eddie.” Mary paced their quarters, which seemed to grow smaller by the day. “I should’ve asked Magda about Lee. I’d know that scarf anywhere. Lee used to tie up her hair in it, looking like she just stepped out of the pages of that fashion magazine she used to work for.”

  “You have quite the imagination. I mean, the same scarf? Really, Mary …”

  She tossed a cushion at Eddie, smacking him in the face. “You can blame my mother for that!”

  “For your good aim?” He brushed down his hair where the cushion had ruffled it.

  Mary couldn’t help but smile. The beard he was now growing helped him to look more like a Belgian farmer than an American flyer. The clothes helped too—the white shirt with brown buttons, baggy trousers, black suspenders.

  “No, for my wild imagination, silly.” She placed a hand on her hip.

  “How so?” He tossed the cushion back at her, but she ducked and it sailed over her head. She stuck out her tongue.

  “Since my mom worked at the paper, she’d always bring a copy home. Then she’d make up her own fanciful tales to go with the pictures. Instead of reading about someone else’s plight, she’d put me in the story.”

  “No wonder you’re such a natural … actress.”

  Mary picked up the cushion and lay back on the rug, tucking it behind her head. “I agree. In fact, I’ve been thinking about that too. Yeah … sometimes I wonder if this whole reporting bit has just been a role I’m playing. Maybe it’s just real-life dress-up.”

  “I don’t think so. You have a gift. A talent for seeing the stories no one else sees, and pointing out the hero inside each of us.”

  She leaned up on one elbow. “How do you know, mister? I thought you said you’d never heard of me. Never read my stories.”

  Eddie affected a wide-eyed, innocent look. “I said that? I don’t think so; you must be thinking of someone else….”

  Mary frowned, jutting her jaw forward and squinting in a threatening manner.

  Eddie rolled his finger around the white collar of his farmer’s shirt. “Uh, I sort of lied. I didn’t want you to get a big head and all.”

  Mary sat up with a start, grabbing up the pillow. “Edward Anderson!” Within a few seconds she stood over him, striking his face with the cushion gently enough not to hurt, but quick enough that Eddie couldn’t swipe it away with his good arm. As hard as she tried to maintain her stern countenance, she felt it breaking into a laugh.

  Finally he caught her wrist and held tight. When she paused, looking down at him, she felt a knot forming in her throat.

  His eyes were warm. “This is one thing I won’t lie about. Mary Kelley, I think I’m falling—”

  Suddenly the door swung open, and Magda and her henchman, as they now referred to her son Hans, entered. Eddie dropped Mary’s arm, and she turned toward the door, the heat of embarrassment rising in her face.

  “The Germans, they have opened up on American army in Ardennes—not far from here.” Magda was panting, and her eyes were wild. “Tanks—men, they are in town, everywhere moving to the east. I am afraid more will be coming. It seems they will throw everything into regaining lost ground. They might even seek to board in this place.”

  Magda approached Eddie, reaching up and patting his sore arm.

  He flinched slightly. “Hey, what was that for?”

  “I see you did not pass out. You are well enough to travel. Pack your things, both of you. I’ll be back tonight with the plan.”

  Magda stalked out of the room. Hans turned, winking at Eddie and casting Mary a knowing smile. Her jaw dropped, and she felt like hurling the cushion at him, but Hans hurried from the secret room, shutting the door behind him before she had the chance.

  Mary folded her hands over her chest, and a cold chill washed over
her. If things were bad before, what chance do we have of getting out alive now?

  “Did you hear that?” She looked into Eddie’s face. “There are even more Germans around here. Are we really supposed to leave this place with them out there?”

  Eddie sank onto the bed but didn’t say a word.

  She tugged on his ear. “Eddie, are you with me? Did you hear what Magda said?” She sat on the bed next to him, feeling the warmth of his leg against hers.

  “Of course.” He swung his arm over Mary’s shoulder and drew her close. “She said ‘both of you.’”

  The nun led Hendrick into the castle. To Frau Schmidt’s office, and then to the bookcase. The nun pressed on it, and it swung open, revealing a secret room. They walked through, and there among the rows of cribs lay a cradle just like the one he’d purchased with the swastika on the headboard. And in the cradle, his son …

  A cold wind blew on his face. I have to find shelter and food. How will I care for him? Where can I find help? Hendrick glanced down at the child in his arms. His feet were heavy as he slogged through the thick, wet snow. He pulled his jacket tighter, looking down at the baby’s face, amazed how similar it looked to his Stella’s. Same blonde hair. Same wide, blue eyes. Yet there was also Katrine’s resemblance in the baby’s features. Poor Katrine.

  He spotted a sign at the crossroads and frowned. The words were in Polish. He recognized the city names from those on the files of the children in his shipments. The words seemed to fade in and out, and he looked around, realizing he was no longer in Belgium.

  Suddenly Hendrick heard the rumbling of trucks approaching. German trucks driven by SS soldiers. He waved them down with one arm, cradling his child with the other. The truck pulled to a stop, and Hendrick noted faces in the back. Children, so many children. Those he’d processed. Those he’d placed into good German homes. Faces from the wall in his office.

  “Another one!” The soldier in the passenger’s seat jumped from the truck. “Another son for the Fatherland.”