by Murray Pura
“You are exaggerating the danger, sir.”
“You are underestimating it. Who is to stop the Germans from invading Switzerland or the rest of Europe? The League of Nations?”
“I will publish my books.”
“You will not. Nor will you speak again. The universities are closed to you. So are the pulpits. So are the radio stations—there will be no more broadcasts.”
“This is absurd.”
The man tapped his cigarette. “These are the precautions one takes when a dangerous man is loose in the neighborhood and you do not wish to provoke him in any way. No one knows what he might do next, what risk he might take. Can you guarantee he will not invade Switzerland?”
“I can guarantee my books will make no difference. Eventually he will invade where and when he wants to. My books have no influence on the strategies of a madman.”
The man smiled. “No doubt Herr Hitler has already had his generals draw up a plan for an all-out assault on our nation. You have not caused that. But what you can give Hitler is an excuse. He is always ready to pounce on any excuse. A Nazi diplomat was shot in Paris, and days later synagogues were burned to the ground—some seven thousand of them. We must ask you to stop speaking and stop writing, Professor Hartmann.”
“The Swiss government asks me to do this?”
“Yes.”
“Switzerland asks me to do this? The bastion of democracy?”
The man’s face hardened. “We are not asking. It will be done. As of today. As of this moment.”
Albrecht stood up. “Get out of my house.”
The man rose. “Being rude to me will not gain you any leverage with the Swiss government.”
“I clearly do not have any leverage with the Swiss government. You have muzzled me.”
“You are free to remain in our country for as long as you wish. We are not denying you food or drink or a place to live.”
“No. You are only denying me a reason to live. Get out.”
The man opened the study door. “The ban is in effect immediately. I beg of you not to violate it. You could be imprisoned. Fined. Or sent back to Germany. I do not think you would be welcomed back in Berlin with the same sort of worship and ardor you find among your followers here.”
Dear Mum and Dad,
We must return to England as soon as possible. The Swiss have denied Albrecht the freedom to speak or publish under threat of imprisonment or extradition back to Germany. Their ultimatum has thrown us all into a tizzy. They are afraid of the Germans. The Nazis have complained to them about Albrecht’s sermons and books and university lectures, and the Swiss are worried that Hitler will use all of that as an excuse to put Switzerland in its place. They are greatly afraid of bombers over their cities and the use of incendiaries as well as the assault of thousands of soldiers by means of parachutes. It seems fanciful to Albrecht and me, but the ban is already in effect. Once the children have completed their school year we will begin the journey by train from here to the French coast. Pray for us. I will write again once we are on the verge of departing from Pura.
All my love,
Catherine
June, 1939
Kensington Gate, London
“Is this how it is going to be, William?” Lady Preston dropped into her chair in the library with Catherine’s letter in her hand. “Must I begin to agonize over my children and grandchildren all over again? I haven’t the strength…I swear, I simply do not have the strength.”
“We shall help each other, Elizabeth, as we always have. And God shall help us both.”
“God? You tell me a match is about to be lit against the dry tinder of Europe and no one will stop it. Certainly God will not stop it, who never stops anything.” She pointed with the letter in her hand. “Why have our king and queen been in Canada for over a month? And America? The first time a reigning monarch has traveled to the Dominion of Canada and the first time any British king or queen has visited the United States. Why, William? You know perfectly well why. Our king and queen expect a war, and they want to be sure America and Canada are on our side.”
“Calm yourself, my dear. Catherine and Albrecht and the grandchildren are in no very great danger.”
“No? What about my Robbie in the army? Why, he’s not even over the death of his wife—or rather the murder of his wife—and I know very well they will come bowing and scraping to him to serve in Europe. What about Edward in the Royal Navy, and Terry, or Kipp and Ben in the Royal Air Force? Do you think they will be in no very great danger in a year’s time?”
“We must fast. We must pray. This world is not heaven.”
“Most certainly it is not.” She waved the letter. “Catherine and Albrecht may have Dover Sky, if they wish, or join Holly and Harrison at Ashton Park. If they would rather be with everyone here in London, the top floor is theirs. Do you agree?”
“I do. Will you allow me to read you some Scripture and to lead in prayer?”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes, but your piety and zeal will have to suffice for the two of us. I am quite at odds with God these days.”
“I’m quite sure He is up to the task of Europe as well as your anger against Him, Elizabeth.”
Lord Preston walked to the fireplace and opened a large Bible on the mantle.
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early. The heathen raged, the kingdoms were moved: he uttered his voice, the earth melted. The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Come, behold the works of the LORD, what desolations he hath made in the earth. He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire. Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth. The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge.
“He makes the wars cease, Elizabeth,” Lord Preston said. “He breaks the bow, cuts the spear in two, and burns the armored chariots in the fire. His timing is not our timing, and our free will must be allowed a space to play itself out. But if war should come upon us, the day will also come when He shall end it, must end it. Blood will be shed because we are granted the right to shed it if we so choose. But bring our wars of terror and folly to an end He will do, my dear, and that is what I am going to pray about.”
Lady Preston looked up at him. “And that is something I can say amen to. Go ahead, William. I have my moods, but I will not desert you.”
July, 1939
Terry and Libby’s residence, HMS Picadilly, Plymouth and Devonport
“So, a toast then.” Terry was on his feet. “To Lord Edward Danforth, Commander, Royal Navy, serving aboard His Majesty’s Ship Rodney. Soon to set sail for destinations unknown.”
Edward grunted. “Not that unknown.” He sat at the dinner table with his sons, Owen and Colm, on either side of him. “Invergordon. And if we pop the cork with Nazi Germany, Scapa Flow.”
“Nevertheless, after Scapa Flow, what and whither?”
Edward half smiled. “Destinations unknown.”
“So to that we toast. And to the fine summer we’re both enjoying with our ladies and our children.”
“Hear, hear,” responded Edward.
“We all say ‘hear, hear’ to that.” His wife Charlotte lifted her cup of tea. “It’s been a bit of a dream, hasn’t it? I wish it could go on forever.”
“Don’t act as if it’s all over.” Edward put his arms around his sons. “My understanding is that Rodney isn’t leaving harbor till the end of the month.”
Terry was still on his feet. “And Hood is here until
mid-August. We shouldn’t be leaving at all till we’ve modernized the whole ship, but mid-August will have to do.”
“You’ll not find me complaining,” said Libby. “I’ve had you in England since January with the Hood being repaired and refit. I thank God for all the time granted us.”
“I agree, Mum.” Jane smiled and lifted her own cup. “Here’s to two of the best naval officers in the world.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Libby quickly poured herself a coffee.
“Is there any sturdier stuff?” asked Owen.
Edward laughed. “You’ll make a fine sea dog. Here. Have some port along with me and Terry.”
“Thank you, Da.”
“I should like some port.” Colm’s face was round and serious.
Charlotte smiled. “Apple cider shall have to suffice for now, my dear. You’re not like your big brother Owen, who grows a foot a year and shall be twenty-one the moment we blink our eyes.”
“I’m almost eighteen, Mum,” said Owen.
“You’re always almost something. Here’s your port, my handsome young man.”
“Cheers then.” Terry downed his glass of port. “God be with us in nineteen thirty-nine.”
“And all the years that follow it,” added Libby as she sipped her coffee. “Fair winds, smooth seas, and a steady hand at the helm once the winds rise.”
“Aye, aye,” responded Terry. He took his seat again and looked at the remains of his steak and kidney pie. “I thought I had more of this left.”
Jane put a hand on his. “You took several swift bites before you proposed the toast.”
“Did I? Or did you?”
“My goodness, no. I’m of Lady Margaret Hall, Father. I shouldn’t dream of such a thing.”
“Hmm.” Terry dug in with his fork, glancing across the table at Owen. “Will it be the navy for you then, Owen, like your father?”
Owen grinned. “Yes, sir. Once I’ve reached the magic number—”
“Which will be any moment now,” his mother interrupted.
“—I shall enlist. I hope to serve aboard a battleship.”
“Ah. Rodney? Hood? Or another?”
“I should like to be on the Rodney or Hood. But I’ll put my back into it wherever I drop anchor.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Libby drank her coffee. “Are we all ready to head out in the morning? Dad and Mum have spent more than a few pounds on the yard at Kensington Gate to celebrate Catherine and Albrecht’s return.”
“I’m ready, certainly,” said Jane. “I haven’t seen Sean or Angelika in ages.”
“Sean would be…hmm, sixteen, wouldn’t he? And Angelika eight?”
“Nine, Mum.”
“Nine. I wonder what she looks like. Catherine hasn’t sent photographs in well over a year.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Jane glanced around with her empty teacup in her hand. “Fancy not having a servant within ten nautical miles.”
“A sacrifice, my dear daughter. I gave them up to help Tavy and Mrs. Longstaff and Norah and the others prepare. It will be quite the lawn party, you know.”
Jane gave her mother a full smile. “I look forward to it with relish.”
“I think you look forward to Peter and James with relish.”
“Well, I haven’t seen them all summer what with all that Auxiliary flying they do. I’m starved for a sight of their faces and an afternoon of their wild antics.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure they’re just as starved for beautiful you. I expect we’ll not need to spend a penny on fireworks.” Libby looked across the table at Owen. “What about you, Owen? Have any of the girls at school struck your fancy yet?”
Owen dropped his eyes to his empty glass of port and its red and purple residue. “No girl at school, no, Aunt Libby.”
“To my mind you’d need one a few years older. You’re much too mature for a girl of seventeen.” She smiled over the rim of her cup. “Jane’s older than her two beaus.”
“By half a year at least,” Jane piped up.
“What do you think, my handsome nephew? Does the idea of an older woman frighten you away?”
“Honestly, Mum,” said Jane, “when you put it like that, anyone would be frightened. I’m sure Owen isn’t interested in meeting someone as old as Grandmother.”
Owen continued to stare down at his glass. “A woman a few years older wouldn’t scare me off, Aunt Libby.” He glanced up and grinned, light moving quickly through his sea-blue eyes. “Not if I liked the cut of her jib.”
Terry and Edward roared.
“I haven’t heard that expression for thirty years,” laughed his father. “How’d you come by it?”
“I read it in a book.”
Jane smiled at Owen and leaned in to her mother, whispering in her ear. “If I wasn’t so caught up in the Evil Twins, I’d snatch Owen away in an instant and run off with him. He’s so cute.”
“Don’t be so sure someone wouldn’t fight you for him,” Libby whispered back.
“He just said he didn’t have anyone.”
“If you have a moment to spare tomorrow evening, keep an eye out and watch the set of his sails.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mum.” Jane burst out laughing, a long-fingered hand clapped to her mouth. “You and all your navy language. You sound so silly.”
Twenty-four hours later
Kensington Gate, London
Charles stood apart under a tall oak tree that had no lights on its branches. The rest of the backyard was hung with Chinese paper lanterns that gleamed brighter and brighter as the afternoon turned into dusk. Cousins and uncles and aunts milled around a table laden with food and drink or formed small clusters of talk and laughter. He sipped at his punch and watched.
“It’s most extraordinary,” Charles heard Lord Preston tell his mother, Caroline. “Who could have imagined we’d have all the family together this July? Both ships in port for refit, Robbie still at his desk in London, and now Albrecht and Catherine home from Switzerland. I know Albrecht isn’t happy about what the Swiss did to him, but Elizabeth and I thank the Lord we have them with us again after so many years. Look around you, my dear. There’s not a soul missing.”
Eva appeared at Charles’s side. “Why aren’t you out there chatting with the boys?”
“Oh, why should I be?” responded Charles. “What does a good Nazi have in common with this lot? Royal Navy, Royal Air Force, British Army, Eton, Oxford, House of Commons, all that rubbish, a Chinese woman—”
“Oh, hush, before someone hears you. There’s nothing wrong with Jane.”
“I thought you were a good Nazi too.”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I’m a bad Nazi now. But I’m a very good German.”
“You’ve let the English bewitch you.”
“No, I don’t think that’s it. I just feel freer here, that’s all.”
“Well, of course—your father had you locked up tight as a drum. If you returned to Germany now you’d be just as free as you are here.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course I do. Keep your head about you, Eva.”
“I said I wouldn’t go back until there were no more SS. I think there are still plenty of SS, so I’m staying put.” She put her arm through his. “Will you escort me while I mingle?”
“No, I think not. You’ll have to do without your good little Nazi tonight.”
“Come with me, Charles, please. I know you’d enjoy yourself.”
“You don’t know that at all. Be careful of the Englishmen while you mingle. Aryan beauty seems to dazzle them.”
“You sound like one of Goebbels’s broadcasts.”
“Or my father’s?”
Eva walked across the lawn underneath a string of paper lanterns that glowed over her hair and shoulders. Owen was getting a glass of punch and saw her before she saw him. She was smiling at a noisy circle of young men, many of them Owen’s own age—Matthew, Kipp and Caroline’s other
son and Charles’s brother; Ramsay, Ben and Victoria’s oldest boy; and Sean, Catherine and Albrecht’s son. Nearby, Jane was at the center of attention, ringed by Peter and James, who would both be twenty-two in December, and their brother Billy, who was nineteen. Jane suddenly burst into a laugh and spilled her drink.
“Oh, Peter!” she shrieked. “You’re getting worse as you get older!”
A group of children raced past her, shouting and screeching, and Owen thought they were going to knock Eva flat. They were led by Timothy, fourteen, Ramsay’s brother. Behind him came Cecilia, nine, Charles and Matthew’s sister. Hot on her heels was Colm, ten, Owen’s little brother, and Patricia, who would be eleven in September, Robbie’s only child. Running to catch up was Angelika, Sean’s sister, who had just turned nine. A red balloon sailed over her shoulder, its string held tightly in her fist.
“Good evening.” Eva finally spotted Owen and turned toward the punch bowl. “I haven’t seen you for weeks. How are you?”
A paper lantern over their heads swayed in a warm breeze. Owen watched the shifting patterns of light and dark move rapidly over her face and didn’t reply.
“Hello?” she teased. “Do I look that dreadful?”
He half smiled. “Sorry. I was monitoring the effect of the paper lantern.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“In plain English, your hair has grown out rather handsomely, your eyes are the most stunning blue, your skin looks like ivory, and everything else about you comes together rather well. You really have recovered from your ordeal.”
“On the outside, perhaps.”
“I apologize if—”
“Oh, hush, Owen, you’re being altogether too polite. Who are you spending your time with here?”
Owen gestured with his glass of punch. “The lads there—Matt and Ramsay and Sean.”