“Addie, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
“I will.”
Mrs. Tenney’s sniff broke the stillness.
“Charles, will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”
“I will.”
“Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?
“We will.”
A sob broke out, and Mr. Firth circled Mrs. Tenney’s waist with his arm. She laid her head on his shoulder for a moment, and Kate gave thanks they had found each other, too.
At some point during the ceremony, Kate realized she was holding her breath. She straightened her shoulders. A new beginning—a lovely fresh start in the midst of all the hatred of war.
The flickering candles suggested Père Gaspard’s blessing. Grace lights your path...
Mrs. Tenney wept into her hankie, and Mr. Firth leaned his head to hers. Alexandre’s face flitted before Kate. Such a different beginning they’d shared, before a small-town judge in his cramped parlor. But then the memory of Domingo’s eyes brought her back to the present. What was his fate?
“Witnesses, I need you over here.” Kate signed her name at a small table with a lighted candle and a register. Afterward, Addie gripped her left hand.
“Oh, Kate, I know you’ll soon be off for parts unknown again, and we might not know when you’re leaving. But having you here means everything to me—what a special gift God has given us.”
“I can’t imagine a better one. I can’t put into words how happy I am for you.”
“Well, you introduced us, you know.”
Mrs. Tenney and Mr. Firth exchanged pleasantries with the vicar, and Charles motioned for Addie to lead the way outside.
Saying good-bye to Mrs. Tenney and Mr. Firth incited another flood of tears, and when Charles and Addie let Kate out at Baker Street a few minutes before eight, they walked her to her door.
Addie’s hug lasted forever, and Charles added, “Do ring me up at the office if there’s another chance to see you, Kathryn.”
“You can count on that.” Such a blend of joy and pain—it was all Kate could do to go inside.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You look much better this morning. Hopefully, today will bring you more clarity.”
“Thank you for letting my friends visit last night.”
“Highly irregular, but others here were of the opinion an outing would jolly well do you good.” The Baker Street officer got down to business again. Soon, he realized that yesterday’s visit with Addie and Charles had also produced clarity.
Picturing the newlyweds together this morning made Kate smile. Addie had offered few details about Harold’s death and Kate didn’t probe. Probably some military secret—the war overflowed with them. So many people walked around with riddles in their heads. Last night at the restaurant, she’d wondered how many other customers kept confidences that would be locked away in files for decades?
But one thing really mattered—the furrows in Addie’s forehead had all but disappeared. Warmth welled up in Kate this morning, even though she faced another round of inquiries. As usual, life’s unpleasant parts merged with the good to create a complicated pattern. This morning, some things Addie had said interspersed with the officer’s questions.
“I planted a laburnum tree as a memorial to Harold—I’ve always loved their golden chains, and next spring, it might blossom. Nobody back home knows about him yet—Berthea still visualizes him flying over the French coast. Charles said his name will be included on the invasion casualty list.”
“So Harold never got to fight, after all.”
“That bothered me, too, but at least everyone in Halberton believes he did.” Addie’s voice wavered. “Mama used to say life’s a mixed bag.”
“I know what you mean. Tell me more about you and Charles, then—I’m not surprised. I still remember the look on his face when he first spied you at Liverpool Station. Love at first sight.”
“I don’t know about that, but he’s been so kind to me, as patient as hens pecking for grain. I can’t imagine anyone more conscientious and devoted to doing what’s right.”
The officer cleared his throat, jerking Kate back to his spare office. “I shall repeat my question.”
Heat razed Kate’s cheeks—she hadn’t even heard him the first time.
“We’ve grave concern with the Gestapo. Klaus Barbie’s viciousness creates a new standard. Even though you’ve not been in Lyon, have you heard or seen anything concerning him?”
“Why, yes. I saw him back in the winter, near Clermont-Ferrand.”
The officer took his turn at being at a loss for words. Kate contained a chuckle at his bemused expression and continued.
“Maurice sent a partisan with me to deliver a message to Eugene, our radio operator. He had changed locations for safety reasons, so my guide led me some distance, and told me about his wife. She worked as a telephone operator for the Germans, and gave him tips for the Résistance straight from the Reich’s phone lines.
“Along the way, we met a group in outdated uniforms. ‘Naphtalines,’ my guide whispered, ‘Spanish holdovers from the war for liberation.’ London will soon be dropping in Americans like flies, so these old fellows have headed up north to fight. When the Allies take to the hedgerows, they might be surprised who will support them.’”
“About fifteen minutes later, gears ground somewhere close, so my guide did reconnaissance. His report sent shivers down my spine.
“‘Gestapo. I wouldn’t doubt it’s Barbie himself, en route to Vichy from Lyon. I’d recognize him anywhere—I escaped from Holland, you know. In my book, he rivals the Devil in hell.’”
“A few minutes later, he pointed out Eugene’s latest hideout, a deserted barn. But before we went any farther, a black Citroen flashed into view and a man in a dark Fedora and trench coat stepped out. He turned a slow circle and a guard with a Schmeisser submachine gun followed.”
“You could identify his weapon from a distance?”
“Our instructors taught us to shoot it during training. Of course, the blowback and lugging that extra nine pounds on one of our forced runs left me with a sore arm and shoulder.”
“Aha...please continue.”
“Before the guard entered the barn, he canvassed the area. He passed so near our hiding place, I thought he’d let loose with a volley any second. I won’t forget his scarred face, either. But he finally strolled on and approached the barn.
“Barbie walked our way, so we backed deeper into the bushes. Finally, he stopped and unbuttoned his coat to relieve himself. Midday sun clearly outlined his face, and I vaguely recalled his photograph from our training, because he was so different from the typical blond S.S. officer.”
“You’re altogether certain this man was Klaus Barbie?”
“My guide had no doubts. By the time Barbie returned to the vehicle, the guard came from the barn and handed him an envelope. Barbie got in, but his squire sniffed the air and made one more pass in our direction before following him.”
The officer blinked. “Amazing. You came that close to the villain who tortured and killed Jean Moulin—I must say I’m impressed.”
Kate shrugged her shoulders. “All I did was hide in the bushes. After they drove away, my guide sat back and rubbed his forehead. ‘We might have avenged the murder of Jean Moulin, who organized us as the Free French.’ I knew he would never have tried, given our circumstances, but he certainly enjoyed mulling the possibility out loud.”
“So you watched Barbie relieve himself, but what about Eugene? Did you deliver your message?”
&
nbsp; “We attempted to. My guide checked the barn, but Eugene had disappeared. The message had to wait until later.”
“You’re sure Eugene wasn’t there?”
“If my guide could be trusted—Maurice had chosen him. When we reported back to Maurice, he said there had to be some explanation.”
“So you made the delivery the next day?”
“No, Maurice had something else for me to do by then. I left the message with him and assumed he found another way to reach Eugene.”
“That guide—did you ever talk with him again?”
“No, I believe he went east to gather more information from his wife.”
“Hmmm ... and he was absolutely certain about Eugene.”
A full minute ticked by on the wall clock. When Kate fidgeted, the officer continued. “Do you feel the same way?”
“About Eugene not being there? Yes. Maurice trusted the guide, so I believed him. But I didn’t go into the barn to search for myself.”
“Why not?”
“We’d already wasted nearly a day, and the guide assured me...”
The officer held out a photograph. “Is this the man who relieved himself?”
“Yes.”
He shuffled through some papers for another photo. “And this fellow?”
“That’s the man with the gun.”
~
Poor Darlene. Kathryn hoped she would believe what her doctor agreed to say ... they’d discovered a nervous twitch in some facial muscle that would only worsen with time, so he recommended therapy in Denver. A regular transport was scheduled this morning, so although Kathryn said Darlene was already on her way to take her home, he’d insisted. Why wait a full week for the next transport?
Then Darlene would read the brief note she’d left.
I’m so sorry, Darlene. This just came up. Please tell Gabby I hope to be back for Mara’s rodeo.
Barely giving her time to write the note, Kathryn’s captor had hustled her past the parking lot to a tree-lined street and opened the back door of a maroon Chevy. A sinking sensation in Kathryn’s stomach prevailed through the city’s southern outskirts. This felt like a kidnapping.
Several times, she thought to leap out at a stoplight and disappear into a gaggle of shoppers, but a voice from long ago quelled the urge. After all these years, she could almost hear Père Gaspard’s voice.
“Quel que soit le risque, nous allons, parce que nous croyons que la vérité reste importante.” Amazing how his words still affected her—No matter the risk, we go, because we believe the truth is still important. Nothing else could have calmed Kathryn at this point—the mission she’d consented to seemed outlandish, no—impossible.
But Père would have undertaken it, she knew. And so would Domingo, for the sake of truth, or any number of her comrades during the war.
On the other hand, her simple rural life tempered by the seasons and serene country joys had grown so comfortable—living on the edge of such a small town assured that her first sight every morning would be rolling hills. How could she possibly be leaving, especially without explaining to her loved ones? But Gabby had no idea of her secret involvement in the war.
Père’s words also brought Kathryn’s parents to mind. Perhaps their final mission paralleled her present choice. After all their service during the Great war, maybe they loathed the idea of leaving home, too, but made their decision for the truth.
And then Monsieur le Blanc’s death scene rolled through Kathryn’s memory. Monsieur took such great risks later in life—he’d been even older than she was right now. Still, he made difficult decisions for freedom, for the cause. And they ultimately led to his death. What right did she have to make a selfish choice when injustice still prevailed?
Weary from her inward struggles, she closed her eyes as dry southern Idaho landscape passed by. The long drive into Wyoming made her doze after a while, until a sudden stop blasted her into disoriented alertness. What was she doing in the back seat of a car, clipping along through the countryside? Nothing looked familiar, and neither did her companions.
The rear-view mirror revealed the driver, a small-shouldered fellow with a Fedora, heavy eyebrows, and dark eyes. He held a smoking cigarette out the window, but a whiff carried back to Kathryn. Gauloise. Of course, what else?
Maybe it would be best to pretend she still slept. She slitted her eyes, but scanned the roadside for clues to their location. Her eyelids grew heavy again, and when she reawakened, they passed a sign.
Denver airport, twelve miles.
At a stop sign, the driver studied her in the mirror. “You’re going back into your past, but trust me. It’s for a good cause.”
Trust me ... Exactly what Jesus had whispered last spring when she’d sailed over the church balcony and lay helpless on the sanctuary floor ... But this voice, the same one that spoke to her in the ambulance, carried her much further back. That slight French accent...
“Just remember, I need to be back home in three weeks for my granddaughter. It means everything.”
He angled his head so the top of his hat resembled the peaked ones of German Wehrmacht officers. His next glance sent a shudder through Kathryn.
“Yes, and you must remember, too. Your superiors instructed you to put the war behind you and never speak of it again. But now it’s time to call up your memories. On our long journey, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to recollect faces and events. And once you identify the man we seek, I promise to bring you straight home.”
“Will I be back for my granddaughter’s rodeo?”
“That depends how fast your memory works.” He threw his cigarette into the wind, and she noticed the greying hair above his ears. “By the way, you can call me Benjamin.”
~
A gust of untimely cool summer air widened Kate’s pant legs and chilled her through. Underneath, she wore a dark yellow chore dress fit for a milkmaid. She grinned at the thought—she’d come full circle, back to her original identity.
But knowing how many kilometers she might be required to conquer before this night ended, the trousers made sense. On the ride across the Channel, she’d spoken with another agent being dropped farther south to prepare for the Allies in the south of France. Their conversation sent a shiver through her.
“Nowadays, they just gore out a big old bomber’s ball turret for us to jump through. Not nearly as terrifying as landing in the wrong spot—I’ve heard too many pilots tell about their horrendous misses. Of course, when you’re flying dark, anything can happen.”
Kate cherished her orders back to France, which Miss G had delivered the evening after Addie’s wedding. Addie’s wedding—how could she have been there? Kate’s heart still burst at the memory of standing in the sanctuary with those dear people. Such an unexpected sign of the grace Père Gaspard had mentioned so eloquently before she left him. If she could have chosen any event to witness, that marriage ceremony would have topped her list.
Miss G said that this time, they would drop Kate off on a makeshift airfield along with a mountain of ammunition for the partisans—no need to parachute in. Ambivalence accompanied that news. Parachuting again would be such a thrill, but with it would have come a trip to Ringway for refresher training.
That flight, again on a moonless night, seemed smoother and shorter than her first jaunt on the C-47. No stopping for cargo on this leg of the trip—she and the other man being flown to France had become part of the cargo.
She’d arrived at the airfield early and watched muscles bulge as the ground crew hefted military machinery and crates into the plane’s belly. Chances were, the pilot would stop along the coast for wounded men on the return trip. What must it be like for him, back and forth across the Channel night after night, with little or no sleep?
Once the plane lifted off, Kate’s thoughts drifted to the past few days. Questions ... so many questions. She almost felt sorry for the officer assigned to her. Her memory of Klaus Barbie took him off guard, but after that, his inquiries
had come fast and furious.
Remembering the onslaught made her head swim, so she turned to the brightest spot of her time in London—Addie and Charles. Impossible not to smile at their tender vows. As Mrs. Tenney quipped, they deserved each other.
Charles gave Kate a wink when his Mum straightened Mr. Firth’s tie—yes, another twosome in the offing. Addie shared Iowa news about some weddings, too, and of course, deaths. One of their classmates had lost his life in the battle for Saipan last month.
It was still hard to believe she’d been able to see Addie, even though the time had been short. Addie shared a brief snapshot of the near future with her, too. Charles had been called to the Isle of Man to train young Jewish men who’d matured since their emigration to Great Britain.
Now, they prepared to parachute behind enemy lines for the rest of the war. Addie might be able to go along to the island, to work in an orphanage. “Charles has warned me about a huge prison there, where the Ministry keeps criminals and other undesirables. Otherwise, he regales me with stories about his childhood rides on the island’s small trains and playing along the coast.”
It seemed so natural and right, the two of them making a difference in this way. Another positive about seeing Addie—Kate had finally been able to relax, and slept for hours and hours that night. The whole world looked brighter in the morning.
Then came another happy surprise—her orders back to France. The next part of her assignment shocked Kate. She felt certain her mouth had dropped when Miss G mentioned Père Gaspard.
“We’ve heard of this priest through another source, and it seems logical for you to connect with him again—why waste such a valuable contact? Didn’t your Teddy Roosevelt say, ‘Do the best you can with what you have where you are?’
“Mainly because things have gotten so tight with the Gestapo, your association with Père Gaspard may smooth your way. Based on what you’ve shared here, we’re positioning you closer to Gestapo headquarters, even though you’ll first need to find your priest friend.
“You’ve shown your pluck when cast into uncertainty, so we feel confident asking you to shoulder a certain amount again.” The plane wavered against the wind, and an inky darkness rewarded Kate’s attempt to see a star. Though Miss G’s next question made sense, it troubled Kate.
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