“Very good!” was all Logan could force himself to say. Inside his heart ached, wondering who had been arrested, fearing for his friends.
58
Sacrifices
La Librairie met later that same afternoon.
For security reasons they made use of the offices of Dr. Jacques Tournoux, a sympathizer who offered his rooms on occasion when the group needed greater precaution. It did not arouse suspicion for an unusual mix of men and women to come and go from a doctor’s office.
The doctor ushered each one of them in turn from the reception areas and to a private room on the second floor. Then he left them alone. Logan arrived late, for he had taken extra pains to insure he was not followed. The only others present were Henri, Lise, and Claude.
“Where’s Jean Pierre?” asked Logan, a gnawing fear suddenly coming into his mind.
“He’s been arrested,” answered Henri bleakly.
“Who else?”
“We have heard nothing from Antoine.”
“He’s been arrested as well,” said Logan. “That is, he voluntarily went with the Jews. He thought he could help them—I don’t know, maybe he can.”
“Then we are all that is left.”
“I’ll get Jean Pierre out,” declared Logan flatly.
“But,” said Henri, his cherubic face grim and taut, “we must prepare for the worst.”
“Jean Pierre will never talk!” exclaimed Lise.
“Nevertheless, we must all relocate and change our names.”
“Whether L’Escroc does it, or Trinity,” said Logan, “I’m going to get him out tonight.”
A silence enveloped the group for several moments as they tried to absorb the stunning blow that had struck them. Such things were to be expected. But it was made all the more difficult when it happened to good men like the faithful Antoine and dear Jean Pierre. Both had provided a kind of stability to La Librairie that only the spirits of those remaining could bear witness to.
Claude at last broke the silence. “At least we have lost a dangerous enemy,” he announced. “Arnaud Soustelle was killed this morning.”
Then he leveled his dark gaze on Logan. “But perhaps you were planning to tell us all about that, Anglais?”
“Funny, Claude,” rejoined Logan. “I was going to ask you the same question.”
“Ha! I only wish it had been my bullet to cut him down!”
“What happened, Michel?” asked Henri.
Logan proceeded to tell about his run-in with Soustelle. “I never saw who did the shooting,” he finished. “I’m still not sure whether the slug was meant for him or me.”
“But he admitted he knew all about you,” said Claude.
“Yes,” sighed Logan, “but I’m sure he hadn’t told anyone. I think the scoundrel was afraid to blow the whistle until he had positive proof. Von Graff has too much invested in me to be easily convinced. I’ve already seen him and cleared myself.”
“Very convenient!” mumbled Claude darkly.
“Quiet, Claude!” snapped Henri. “There will be none of that—not now!”
Claude slumped back in his chair and said nothing more.
“I wonder who did it,” mused Henri, “and why? Of course a man like Soustelle would have no dearth of enemies—”
“Who cares!” cut in Lise, with more emotion than seemed necessary. “The vermin is dead—another enemy is destroyed! Who cares why or how? We are rid of him, that’s all that matters!”
For a moment no one said anything, unable to respond to the uncharacteristic outburst. Then Henri’s concern showed through.
“Lise . . . what is it? Are you all right?”
“No! I’m not—I will never be right again!”
With the words she jumped up and fled the room.
Logan and Henri exchanged puzzled glances; then Logan rose and went after her. She had only gone to the end of the hall, where she now stood in a small windowed alcove of the bay window overlooking the pleasant street where Dr. Tournoux’s office was located.
Lise was gazing out, though she hardly even noticed the lovely summer scene below. When she heard the footsteps approaching behind her, she did not turn. But she knew it was Michel. As much as she longed to be near him, she was also afraid to face him.
She had already decided not to tell him what she had done. She was a killer now. She knew how distasteful violence was to him, despite what had occurred in Vouziers. He could not help but look on her differently now. If she had secretly hoped for love, she knew now it could never come about between them.
Neither could she tell him what had happened in order to win his gratitude. Her very act of supreme loyalty might well win his love, or else foster a sense of obligation that might be confused with love.
But she could not have his love that way—she could not have it anyway. That was clear now.
Perhaps it might have been possible with Michel Tanant. But never with Logan Macintyre, the man that still dwelt within him—the man who, in what seemed an altogether foreign world, another lifetime from this, had a child, a wife.
She could not turn and face him. She could not look into those eyes so filled with vitality and sensitivity.
“Lise . . . what’s troubling you?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing.” Her voice was as thin and empty as her lame response.
“You’re concerned about Jean Pierre?”
“Yes . . . that’s it.”
He sat down on the window seat next to where she stood.
“He’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I’m going to see to it.”
“I believe you, Michel,” she said. “I believe you can do anything you set your mind to.”
He shook his head in weary denial.
“It’s not true. It never was. Maybe I was lucky. But no—it wasn’t even that. For some reason, God seems to have been with me. I still can’t figure why He bothers. I suppose it won’t be long before He realizes I’m a lost cause.”
“No, Michel. That’s what is not true. God must not give up because He sees your heart. It is a good heart. It is only a little mixed up right now. But you are a good man.” She sat down, and finally faced him.
“A little mixed up—that is an understatement.” He rubbed his hands despairingly across his face.
Lise looked at him intently. “Someday . . .” she began, then without thinking she reached out and gently touched his cheek.
He laid his hand over hers.
“Oh, Michel,” she murmured, “what is to become of us?”
They looked deeply into each other’s eyes for what seemed an eternity. Then suddenly Logan squeezed his eyes shut and turned away from her gaze.
“Michel,” said Lise quietly, “you know how I feel . . . you know that I—”
He lurched to his feet, as if not wanting to hear what she was about to say, and yet something inside wanting to say the same thing himself.
“Blast this war—this life!” he exclaimed.
“I’m sorry, Michel. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s not your fault.” But now it was he who could not look at her.
“Don’t you see, Lise,” he went on after a moment. “I feel the same way. In another time, another place, we might have . . . you must know what I mean. You and I . . . it’s there, Lise. We both know it. But this isn’t the real world. This is only a moment of time . . . when our paths chanced to cross, and—”
He stopped, searching for the right words, but knowing there were none.
“This war!” he exclaimed in a moment. “It has robbed me of everything! I’ve given my identity for it. I’ve lied for it. Dear Lord, I’ve even killed for it! There’s only one thing I have left, though I’m hardly even sure of that anymore. Oh, Lise! Allison is the only part of who I really am that still exists. Sometimes it would be easy to lose myself completely in Michel Tanant, and never go back—”
Now he turned to face her again.
“—so very easy, Lise! But I can’t. She i
s my wife, and if I destroy that, then I’ve destroyed everything!”
“Do you love her, Michel?”
Logan thought for a minute or two.
“Yes . . . yes, I do,” he finally replied. “Of course I do.”
Even as he spoke Logan realized that Allison was his lifeline, the source of stability which God had provided to see him through this time.
“There has never been a question of loving her,” he added. “The problem was inside me—my discontentment was with myself. But never with her. Yes, I love her . . . more than anything.”
Though he thought he had left England to run away from her, Logan saw that all the time he had carried her with him, not as some chain of guilt around his neck, but rather as a precious link to who he was. Not only as Logan Macintyre instead of all the other fictional selves that had made their claim upon him. It went even deeper than that. His very personhood had its roots in her love for him. Everything he was as a man, even as a man of God, was wrapped up intrinsically in their relationship. Everything Logan wanted in life was there . . . with her—he knew that now.
Lise was a gentle, beautiful island in the crazy, dark, unreal world of horrors where he finally realized he did not belong. To reach out to her now, in the wrong way, whatever immediate comfort it might provide, would mean sacrificing all he truly was, for a mirage.
Though at this very moment it all seemed hopeless, somehow Logan Macintyre would rise from all the mire of his double life and deceit. And when he did, he wanted only Allison to be there reaching out to him.
59
A Family Parting
Allison looked out the window at the busy London street below. Somehow the flow of this place never ceased. A woman walking her dog, children bouncing a ball, a boy selling newspapers—no doubt each one had felt the stab of pain and loss inflicted by the insanity of war.
Yet each continued on with life, as Allison also had done.
Dear Nat was gone . . . for eternity. Her brother Ian and her father were thousands of miles away, and Logan too was gone—perhaps forever.
Still Allison managed to survive. She knew now, more than ever before, about the sustaining hand of God. He had indeed enabled her to weather the heartbreaking separations of the last year. But sometimes she could not help wondering what use it was. Why go on trying to be strong?
She did not have to look far for answers. First of all, there was the indefatigable Ramsey blood that flowed in her veins. God may have given her the ability, but her heritage had set the example. She could not break down even if she wanted to. The instinct to survive, and to conquer, was too deeply ingrained.
But there were even stronger reasons, found in the persons of her child and her husband. Her daughter depended on her. Not that Allison any longer thought she had to put on some false front to live up to her name for the child’s sake. The season for facades in Allison’s life was long past. She had wept sufficient tears in the company of her daughter to attest to that. Yet a child, especially one without a father, needed the security of her mother. Allison could not withdraw into herself no matter how often she wanted to turn away from everything. Allison also had a remote feeling that Logan needed her as well. It would sound ridiculous had she dared voice that feeling to anyone. After all, he had left her, disappeared without a trace, cut himself off without a single visible regret or thought of her.
But deep inside she knew that was not true. Somewhere Logan was suffering in his own way. In his pain and confusion he had, she was sure, convinced himself that the only answer was to banish himself from those closest to him, those who could help. He had probably convinced himself they were all better off without him.
But strong within her woman’s heart beat the sense that he wasn’t gone forever, and that something would happen . . . and soon. Was it instinct, or mere wishful thinking? She couldn’t tell. But she knew right now she had to do what he had always wanted her to do—trust him. She had to keep loving him, trusting him in spite of everything shouting out that he wasn’t worth it, and believe with all her strength that the dark tunnel of their separation would soon be past.
Yes, she thought, Logan needs me. She was sure of it. But she knew now it was not in the way she had always thought he needed her. He didn’t need her abilities, her sense of responsibility, her money, her family name.
Logan needed her—the person she was. He needed her love, unconditionally and selflessly.
That had been her mistake when they were together. She had given him everything but the one thing most vital to a marriage—the commitment of her very self. She had said the words, but never until recently had she realized how much she was holding back. Now that her eyes were open, however, she had to believe that even if Logan chose never to see her again, he would still be able to feel that love. That was what he needed most to receive, and what she needed most to be able to give—the knowledge that even across the miles of separation, love was reaching out between them.
Sounds at the front door slowly nudged Allison from her thoughts. She looked up just as the door opened. It was her mother, preceded by her cheerful, bouncing namesake.
“Hello, sweetheart!” smiled Allison as her daughter bounded into her arms.
“Mama!” exclaimed the girl, “Grandma buyed me flower!” She held out her hand, and now Allison saw she was clutching a pink lily, still pretty, though a bit wilted from constant handling.
“It’s beautiful, honey,” said Allison.
“I bought a whole bouquet,” put in Joanna as she laid her bundles on a table. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, Mother. We could use some brightening up around here.”
“I thought so, too.” Joanna went to the kitchen for a vase.
In a moment she returned with a crystal vase. Allison fleetingly recalled receiving it for a wedding gift, though it had hardly seen much use since.
“This should be perfect,” said Joanna. She unwrapped the bouquet and began arranging it in the bowl. “The last of the summer blooms will be blossoming at Stonewycke. Dorey’s nursery will have some lovely ones, probably for another month or so. He was always able to coax life out of his flowers clear into October and beyond.”
“Are you homesick, Mother?”
“I suppose I might be.” Joanna looked up wistfully. “September is when the heather blooms on the hills,” she added.
“I’m keeping you here, aren’t I?”
“I needed to be away for a time,” replied Joanna. “Even the happy memories were bringing tears to my eyes. With May in America and you here, the place had almost become like I found it that first time I walked up the hill to the foreboding old place, as an uninvited housebreaker!” She paused, recalling the passing of the years with a melancholy fondness. “Yes,” she went on with a sigh, “I needed to be away. But now . . . perhaps it is time.”
“I’ve been so happy to have you with me, Mother,” said Allison. “But I don’t want to keep you. I’ll be fine whenever you are ready to go back.”
“I know you will be.”
Joanna left the flowers and walked to the sofa to sit with her daughter and granddaughter. She took Allison’s hands in hers.
“Dear Allison . . .” She smiled, though tears had begun to fill her eyes. “I have no worries about you. Not anymore—except of course the usual motherly ones. I know those things that are most important have come together for you in your heart. Still . . . if I returned to Stonewycke, I would so like you to come with me.”
“Oh, Mother,” sighed Allison. “I miss home, too! But you know why I must stay. And lately, I’ve been feeling much more strongly that I’ll see Logan soon. I know it sounds silly, but—”
“I understand,” answered Joanna. “They say a breakthrough in the war could come any time.”
“You miss Daddy too, I know.”
Joanna smiled. “Perhaps both our men will be home soon.”
“We can pray so.”
“Sure you won’t reconsider
about coming with me? It will be so empty having that huge place all to myself.”
“Go to Grandma’s house!” piped up the enthusiastic voice of the child nestled between the two women.
“You’d like to go, wouldn’t you, pumpkin?” said Allison, giving her a tender squeeze.
“We are all country girls at heart,” said Joanna.
Allison was quiet for a moment as an idea began to take shape in her mind.
“You know, Mother,” she said at length, “I’ve been keeping pretty occupied here with my job and the volunteer work. The pace of activity has been good for me. I have to stay here, for a while longer at least, until I know something about Logan. But I was thinking, perhaps, that you and . . .”
She let her look and knowing nod complete the thought for her.
“Jo loves Stonewycke,” Allison went on. “And I have been concerned with keeping her here with the renewed bombing. Now that we are attacking Germany, they say it can only get worse. There’ve been attacks on rail lines, army depots, and even a few near London again. What do you think? Would you like to take her to Stonewycke?”
“I can’t think of a more delightful prospect! But are you sure?”
“I think it’s the perfect solution. What could possibly happen to her there?”
Allison paused and glanced down at her daughter, who was clapping excitedly. “Look at her! She can’t wait—Stonewycke is in her blood, too.”
“So, the decision is made!” exclaimed Joanna with a laugh.
The following days were spent making preparations for the trip. The nurse, Hannah, had to make arrangements of her own for the lengthy absence. Though she would be returning to London as soon as a suitable nurse could be hired in Port Strathy, it was possible she could be away a month or six weeks. Therefore, it was a week before the train tickets could be purchased.
At last the day of departure arrived. Allison tried her best to be stoic. This had been her idea, after all. But as the time neared, she began to anticipate the loneliness that was bound to surround her once these two dearly loved companions were gone. The temptation to change her mind might have grown overpowering except for the joyful glow on her mother’s face. The prospect of returning to Stonewycke, and having her three-year-old granddaughter with her besides, set her spirit positively shining. Just watching her mother was a healing balm to Allison’s grieving heart.
Shadows over Stonewycke Page 39