A Sorrowful Sanctuary

by Iona Whishaw

  “You know, Irene, I don’t think you should say anything more. You know the rules.”

  “I know, but they brought in a boatload the other day. Refugees, they called them. I was sent down to translate. I mean, we already must be knee-deep in German spies, and we have plenty of British sympathizers. Bastards!”

  Against her own better judgment Lane said, “Refugees? They’re bound to be Jews then.”

  “Yes, I suppose one or two were, but the rest were Germans, with German names. From Sudetenland. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Hitler goes barrelling over there to liberate the German masses stuck in Czechoslovakia and starts this bloody war, and now suddenly they’re swarming over here. I mean, yes, there were women and children, but that’s good cover, isn’t it? I mean, it’s incongruous. They’re busy rounding up ‘enemy aliens,’ like my poor friend Suzy who had the misfortune to come here as a child with her family, and sending them off to Australia in ships. At the same time, in come a whole lot of Germans on other ships.”

  “Maybe they’re planning to send them to the colonies too.”

  “They better be. Where are they going to stash that lot in this country?”

  “Good evening, Inspector. I’ve remembered something. In fact, I don’t know how I didn’t think of it immediately. It was rather a big thing at the time. I say, is Ames all right? He seemed a little distracted today.”

  “As do you. Any chance you could finish one thought at a time? I should mention, before we go on, that I miss you.”

  “Nonsense. We saw each other only hours ago,” Lane said. “You have a lovely voice, do you know that?” She wondered suddenly what would happen if they ever lived in the same place and she could not hear his voice on the telephone every evening, intimate, resonant.

  “I’ll not allow you to introduce one more subject into the conversation. I had something to say as well, you know, which I will get to in a minute. Ames is a little distracted. Well spotted, you. Girl trouble. I think he’s going to break it off with his current flame, Violet. He will make a hash of it. I’m afraid I can’t help him much. I’ve little experience with such things.”

  “You’ve never broken off with anyone?” Lane asked. “Never?”

  Darling uncrossed and then recrossed his feet on the ottoman in his sitting room. He felt a bit guilty that he was lounging in comfort on an easy chair with his feet up, gazing out his large window at the twinkling lights of Nelson below him, and she was having to stand in her hallway, leaning on the wall. He wondered momentarily if he should feel guilty about never having told her about the disaster that was Gloria, his very failed wartime romance. Still. She had never given any details about being mixed up with that perfect ass Angus Dunn.

  “Well, hardly ever.”

  “For the record, it is you who has introduced Gilbert and Sullivan. What were you going to tell me?”

  “You first,” Darling said.

  “All right then. I remember now that as the war was starting there were a whole lot of British refugee organizations wanting to help German refugees from Czechoslovakia. It came to me because I was thinking of the words on the back of that photo. I thought they were Polish, but I see now they could have been Czech or Slovak. My roommate in London was complaining about it, asking why all these Germans were coming to England. When Hitler went in to ‘liberate’ Germans living in that region, he immediately put socialists and trade unionists in his sights. Of course Chamberlain didn’t think about those people when he decided to overlook Hitler’s annexation. So while I’m not sure how they did it, they managed to get a load of people out through Poland and Sweden and bring them to Britain, and I think some of them ended up here in Canada. Everything points, fairly obviously I now see, to poor Klaus Lazek being one of them. And his reading matter. He must have been one of the socialists that had to flee. And I’m guessing his friend Hans Bremmer was one as well, though he seems also to have left where they were originally made to stay.”

  “Ah. There should have been something in the papers if they came here. I was in Europe, so I knew nothing. I’ll get Ames to go to the library and look at the papers from the early years of the war. It will keep him from thinking about the mess he’s about to make.”

  “You’re always so thoughtful. What prompted this breakup, anyway?”

  “Well, here I think I have to hand him some credit. Apparently he and Violet had a disagreement about children. She thinks they should get thrashed from time to time, and he is against it. I’m rather inclined to agree with him, I think.”

  Lane looked down at the patterns on the Persian runner that graced her hallway floor, surprised at the sudden compression in her chest. An unbidden image of herself being held nearly aloft by one arm as her father spanked her. For what? How old could she have been, four? For a second she could remember her own choking fear.

  “Darling?” His voice was softer, concerned.

  “I was just remembering something. Ames has gone up in my estimation even more. And you know, I’m glad we agree on this. It’s important, don’t you think? Now then, what did you want to say to me?”

  After a beat, Darling said, “I was so taken with Lazek’s letter that I forgot to mention this. That’s not true—I just didn’t want Ames in on the thing. Anyway, I’ve been given an invitation on expensive stock in overzealous script for an evening with Councillor Lorimer, who wants to celebrate the good works of exemplary citizens. As much as I would like to give it a miss, he will possibly be my boss one day soon, and I wouldn’t like to do anything to make our police work any more difficult. What do you think?”

  “Indeed. You can inspect him up close in his native habitat before you decide how to vote. How splendid! What will you wear?”

  “My only suit, and I was rather hoping, you on my arm. Apparently I can bring a date.”

  “Funnily enough, I do have something to wear,” she said, thinking of her lovely outfit. Yvonne had been right. If she had the dress, the occasion would come.

  “Ah. I may be forced to hire proper evening dress. I didn’t know you had fancy clothes. It’s true that I can get a closer look at him, but I’m planning to use you as a distraction while I sneak into his study and rifle through his papers. I’ve always been suspicious of his business practices. Then when his henchmen drag me outside for a good hiding, you can scoop me up and take me to hospital. What do you say?”

  “Yvonne told me that if I had the outfit, the party would materialize. When is it?”

  “On Saturday.”

  “I suppose I shall have to pack an overnight bag, if I’m to mount a vigil at the hospital by your nearly lifeless form,” Lane said, her smile carrying all the way down the line. “Why would you be riffling through Lorimer’s papers again?”

  “No reason. I just don’t like him.” Darling was joking, but he couldn’t shake the idea that if anyone bore closer investigation, it was a man like Lorimer. How often did businessmen with a high profile and dubious business practices manage to charm their way into public office?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Friday, July 18, 1947

  Carl pulled the Chevy onto the grass beside the garage and got out. He wasn’t overly enamoured with Fridays. The weekends ought to be restful, but he spent his working on the farm, fixing things and helping out with the deliveries. His mother was none too cheerful. She seemed always to be in a bad mood recently. It was getting to be time to move out, set up on his own, but he could think of no way he was going to be able to leave her to run the farm by herself. He found his time at his own job, away from the house, restful. He was starting to think he should go to more of those meetings. “Morning, Mr. Van Eyck!” he called out.

  “Carl, son, come over here.” Van Eyck came around from the inside of the garage and gestured for him to come in. “This is my daughter, Tina. Just got home from England.”

  Carl was
going to offer his hand, but Tina, dressed in coveralls and with a scarf holding back her blond hair, was wiping her hands on a greasy rag. He nodded instead. She was pretty, he thought. An oval face and blue eyes. A little older than he was, maybe.

  “The thing is, Carl, Tina is an experienced mechanic. She worked over in England during the war. Was going to marry a fellow there . . .” At this, Tina scowled at her father. “All right, all right. The point is that she’s going to be working here.”

  Carl raised his eyebrows. Was there work enough for two mechanics—if she was a real mechanic? He’d probably end up fixing everything she did. “Is—” he began, but he was never able to ask the question.

  “I have to think of the bottom line, Carl. I must make enough money to keep us and the business going. Tina isn’t going to cost me a thing, so as much as it hurts me, I’m going to have to let you go. I’ll give you a good reference, of course. They’ve got a big outfit in Kaslo, looks after the mining and logging trucks. I bet they can use the help. Look, I feel bad. I’ve put two weeks’ salary in here for you. That should hold you till you get your next job.”

  When Carl was driving angrily away, he couldn’t remember what he’d said. The last thing he heard Van Eyck say was, “Now don’t make me regret . . .” Regret what? Carl would never know. He got up onto the main road and paused, the dust from his sudden stop swirling around him, blowing forward on the breeze off the lake. He couldn’t go home, that was for damn sure.

  “Yeah, well, the war’s over, and we need to think about ourselves. What did we fight for if we come back and find the place overrun with Chinks and Jews and women doing men’s work?” The speaker put down his beer and wiped his mouth. He took his cigarette out of the ashtray, knocked the accumulated ash off it, and put it back between his lips.

  “Easier said than done. How do you plan to get rid of them?” Carl Castle looked around the hotel bar. He’d had two or three beers; he’d lost count. When he’d first signed up for boot camp with Heppwith, it had been fun. Now Heppwith seemed angry all the time. Maybe something had happened while he’d been overseas. Carl was wondering if he’d made a mistake seeking him out, but Heppwith had sent him a note inviting him to one of his damn meetings he was always going on about. He worked at one of the mines. He might know of some work for him.

  Buck Heppwith shook his head. “Things need to get back to normal. You never used to see women poking their heads in where they weren’t wanted. Look what’s happened to you. When a decent hardworking vet loses his job to some bint, you know things aren’t right.” He looked at his watch. “Drink up. Time to go. Wait till you meet Gus. He’s the real thing, I promise you.”

  Carl found himself in the sitting room of a boarding house that smelled of sweat and unwashed work clothes. A pall of smoke caught the light of the single bulb and eddied in murky brown swirls. He looked around the room. Which one was Gus? And what made him real? Would this be like that last meeting? There was a man sitting in the front row with a suit on. Was he the one? Men were talking quietly. Someone laughed at a joke and then was silent at the sound of a gavel hitting the wooden table toward which the chairs in the room were turned.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. For those who don’t know me, I’m Gustav Sadler and I’m with the National Unity Party of Canada. Thank you for coming, and thank you for bringing a friend. We will need every recruit in the coming fight. Now, I want to tell you something. I’m a loyal Canadian. And do you want to know how I can prove that? I spent the war in a prison, right here in this, my, country. Why? Because I dared to defend the values of God, honour, and country. Why, I asked the government, are we going to war with members of the white races, when the creep of coloured and inferior races is right around us here, growing and unchecked? This country was founded by the British, bravely conquered by the British, a wilderness made into a fertile and beautiful land by the British. What was my reward for my loyalty and my love for this great country? To spend the war in a stinking prison. But I wasn’t alone. No, no. There were others. Proud members of the party, and now that the war is over, they cannot call us traitors anymore. Right-thinking people like us are in the ascendant, my friends, in the ascendant.

  “We need to get back to the real roots of this country, to the loyalty we owe the Gracious Sovereign, to the maintenance of order and unity, to respect for authority. We need to be moved by our faith in God and a spirit of obedience. That is what I am offering, gentlemen. That is what I am offering. Who here would not want our great Dominion to be ruled by these simple and unassailable principles? What we need are members, gentlemen, members who can send a message to Victoria and to the rest of the country. Now, Herbert here has all the paperwork . . .”

  Outside, Carl Castle sucked in a great breath of cool, clean night air. It was dark by this time. He had signed up for the National Unity Party, recognizing the truth of good men like him put out of work, and he was disappointed that he did not feel some sense of peace or purpose. If he was to be quizzed on why he’d signed up, he’d have said he needed a job, and one of these fellows could probably help him with that. He was jarred by a sudden pummel on the back from Heppwith.

  “What did I tell you? You feel in your bones that he’s right. I’m glad you signed on. You won’t regret it! Let’s get back to the bar. I want a drink to celebrate.”

  “He sounded a little bit like one of those Nazis. We used to see newsreels of Hitler in the army.”

  Heppwith laughed. “Want to know a secret? This party started out as a Nazi party in the thirties. Just because we went to war with Germany doesn’t mean the Germans were wrong. That’s why our leaders were thrown in jail. Obviously we don’t use that sort of terminology anymore. It doesn’t look well. But the values are the same. Good, strong, Christian, and British values. And we should fight to keep foreigners out of here. They bring their ways here and try to dilute what we have.”

  Carl nodded. His mother would agree. He felt a start of guilt. His mother. He hadn’t gone home after his rage at the garage. He should have gone home, or called her. He felt, he knew, anger and shame, and he just couldn’t face her. They were approaching the hotel. Light and noise poured onto the street through the windows and doors, opened to let in the warm night air. The other hotels nearby seemed to be doing a roaring business as well. He’d stay here for a few days. There was bound to be a job between the mines and the mills. Then he’d go home with something to show her.

  The bar was loud, and they moved to where some of the other men from the meeting had already gathered at a round table. The man in the suit was at a table near the bar, talking to another man. The speaker, Gustav, approached him, and Carl saw them shake hands. The man in the suit made a gesture and then they all sat down.

  “I’ll go get them to bring us all another round,” Heppwith said, throwing his jacket over the back of a chair.

  Carl sat and submitted to being introduced to the other men, whom he’d seen at the meeting. He was worried about money. He’d been given that envelope by Van Eyck at the garage, but he didn’t know how long he would need the money in it to last. He looked up at the bar. Heppwith was talking to a man who was sitting on his own. Carl watched as Heppwith gave him a pound on the back and gestured toward the table. The man looked back in their direction and then shrugged.

  “Look, everyone, meet Klaus. Join us. I’m pretty sure we have a lot in common!” He winked at his new friend, who did not wink back. A man came into the bar and looked at Klaus, and then shrugged and moved off to sit at the end of the bar alone.

  Carl nodded at the newcomer and then turned to the man on his other side, who had asked him a question about what he thought of the meeting and why he’d come. Carl explained that he had come to Kaslo to look for a job, and told the story of his having lost the one he had.

  “To a woman?” the man asked incredulously, shaking his head. “Listen, you can be sure that guy is going to be
sorry. I don’t care if it is his daughter, his business will be under before he can turn around. No woman is going to be a mechanic. The idea is laughable! That’s what’s wrong with this country. It’s only a few of us here, but people will get behind it. Look at that guy, he’s from up the lake in Nelson. Came especially to hear Gus talk.” The speaker pointed across the table to the man in the suit, who had turned away and was talking animatedly to a man at the table behind him, blowing smoke up into the fug that was beginning to grow thick in the room.

  Carl had several more beers, his concern about his money dwindling. He’d not had a meal since breakfast and was feeling the effect of the drinks. When the burst of violence happened it seemed to Carl to come out of nowhere. Suddenly chairs next to him were being flung back, voices raised. Someone with a thick accent was shouting, “You’re sick!” and pushing through the crowded room toward the door. The bartender was there suddenly, and Carl felt himself pushed back down into his seat. Frowning, he looked for Heppwith but couldn’t see him. A group of men surged toward the windows, and some more stumbled over each other to get out. He heard shouting and staggered to the window, trying to see outside. A crowd had gathered and circled around two men fighting.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Search me. Too much to drink, probably,” said a man who was already losing interest and starting back to his table.

  “Morons!” Carl heard someone say. He wanted to get out, to see where Heppwith was, but all the traffic was coming back into the bar. Finally he was on the wooden walkway. Heppwith was being helped up, and Carl went down the steps toward him.

  “Leave me alone!” Heppwith shouted, shrugging off the help. “I’ll kill that guy. Commie bastard!” he shouted down the street toward the waterfront. Carl looked, but the other man was nowhere to be seen.