The Major's Daughter

by J. P. Francis

  At the same time, he grew aware of the sense of familiarity of this moment. How many times had he checked on his daughter at night, making sure she was safe and warm, the covers up, the sweet, soft sound of her breathing the only noise for blocks. For years she had slept with Puzzle, her striped, six-toed tabby, a valiant, trusting cat that had traveled with them through their postings. Yes, he remembered Puzzle. He remembered the sense of communion he had felt with the cat, both of them protecting her, the light catching the cat’s eyes and reflecting it. How long ago had that been? he wondered now. And where had she gone?

  But he knew the answer. Not the precise answer, naturally, but the general outline of what she attempted. He wanted to kill young Henry Heights for telling her about the men being shipped to England. She would not accept such a turn of events quietly. It played against her sense of justice. Added to that was the love she felt for the German boy, August. It made for an irresistible combination of emotions.

  Halfway down the stairs he heard Mrs. Hammond in the kitchen, starting breakfast. That good woman, he thought. He wanted to go in and ask if she knew anything about Collie, but by doing so he might as well take out a billboard and broadcast the news across the hamlet. No, he made his step lighter and hurried toward the door. He stepped out on the porch and closed the door softly behind him.

  “How many?” he asked the private as he climbed into the jeep.

  “Two, sir.”

  “Morning roll?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The private would not know about Collie.

  “Pretty late in the game for this,” Major Brennan said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The private started the jeep and put it into gear. Major Brennan watched the light on the river as they drove toward the camp. A few fish poked rings in the still surface. He watched a kingfisher glide down and scrape at something in the water, its claws coming up with a bracelet of wiggling fish. He wondered, absently, who would be the first to call. Colonel Cook, he imagined. Cook would call and get to the bottom of things, as he liked to say. Funny business, Cook would say. Your own daughter, eh?

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Collie woke in his arms.

  Even now, even with her own filthiness, with the incessant whine of insects, the fear that any moment, any sound might be the beginning of their capture, she could not wish herself to be anywhere else. His body fit hers; she fit her body to him, and now, in the first strings of evening air, she knew that she had made the right choice. He had whispered that he had been nervous around her at first; he had said the enormity of what they had undertaken, what he had asked of her, had struck him nearly dumb. He wondered several times aloud if he had had the right to ask her, to encourage her, because look where they were, in a dirty hole covered by branches. That had been the source of his distance. He had felt guilty and ashamed, unsure that he had the right to have her beside him. But their long day in the tiny bunker had changed all that. When Gerhard came to retrieve them, she felt they had become a gnarled root, forever grown together and divisible only by fire.

  “We should go now,” Gerhard said.

  His face looked swollen from insects. He looked thin, too, and disgustingly dirty. But he also looked—as August did—freer. That was an abstract notion, she knew, but it fit nonetheless. Despite their fatigue and hunger, they moved with greater certitude. They had a goal at last and it was a simple one: walk to Canada. Nothing else mattered for the time being.

  “Are you starving?” August whispered to her as they began.

  “I’m hungry,” she answered, “but I’ll be all right.”

  “If they are coming for us, they can catch up to us today,” Gerhard said. “We should be particularly careful.”

  “They will be watching the border,” Collie said. “You can count on that.”

  Gerhard nodded. She took the middle position. They walked into the darkness. Her body had difficulty moving after being constricted in the foxhole for so long. In time it loosened, however, and gave way to the grinding hunger she felt in her belly. She had never known hunger like this. It did not hurt, or call attention to itself; it grew and spread, taking more of her body as the hours passed, reminding her that she was merely an animal in the end.

  After an hour or two they came to a small collection of houses. It was difficult, from a rise above it, to determine how many dwellings it contained. A few dogs barked, but whether the dogs had picked up their scent, or barked at other animals moving through the woods, proved impossible to tell. Collie stared down at the few lights that marked civilization. Now she keenly felt the foreignness of her existence. She was no longer welcome below. She was a traitor, an escaped prisoner every bit as much as the two Germans, and she felt uncomfortable at that knowledge. But it was a simple fact and she accepted it.

  “How do we know where we are?” she whispered.

  “We hope,” Gerhard said. “We hope we have followed the correct course.”

  “There is a river below,” August said. “Is it the river we need?”

  “I don’t know,” Gerhard said. “It might be. We can’t very well go in and ask for directions.

  “If we keep going north it has to be right,” Gerhard continued. “We can count on that.”

  “That makes sense,” Collie said.

  “But we want to get to the border as soon as possible. The sooner we cross, the better.”

  Collie felt August take her hand. The closeness she had felt for him through the long day in the trench remained with her. She kissed him.

  “North,” she whispered.

  In the small hours they came to a cabin. Collie smelled smoke long before they struck the cabin. She smelled water, too, and in time realized they walked close to a large lake. The cabin sat on the western shore of the lake. The cabin was dark, but the smoke suggested someone inhabited it. For a long time they stayed in the woods and watched. It was possible whoever had used the cabin had departed, leaving the fire to burn itself out. They could not see a vehicle. It was likely the visitors had come by boat. From what they could see, which was not much, the cabin sat amid a well-forested bank. No one had cleared out behind the building. Although it was too dark to say for certain, they could not see any power lines. It was a primitive cabin, a fishing cabin away from everything.

  “We’ll stay here until morning,” Gerhard said. “We might learn something. It won’t be long.”

  Collie knew without discussion what they intended. They intended to capture the people inside the cabin. If the cabin proved unoccupied, they would raid it for food. The isolation of the cabin made it an ideal target. Once captured, the inhabitants could do nothing to alert the authorities. They had never planned to walk all the way to Canada without food. This had been their plan. They meant to find opportunities and exploit them.

  It made her feel uncomfortable, but she understood the tactical necessity. They needed supplies and they needed information. The cabin potentially held both things.

  When light began growing in the east, Gerhard spoke rapidly to August. She understood a few words, but not all. Then Gerhard circled away. He meant to come at the cabin from the other side. It chilled her to observe them behaving as soldiers, but she could not blame them. It was a question of survival.

  “There,” August whispered, nodding toward the cabin. “A light.”

  “Someone is making coffee.”

  “Yes, and more smoke. They’re bringing the fire up.”

  Someone opened the door and stepped out. It was a man, she could see. An old man with gray hair. He walked to what appeared to be an outhouse and entered. He came out a few moments later. He walked down to the lake and squatted beside it while he washed his face. She heard the water trickling between his fingers and splashing back into the lake. It gave her an odd feeling to spy on a person. It was interesting as much as it was repellent.

&nb
sp; “He has a canoe,” August said. “See?”

  It was like a puzzle of some sort that came to life as the light grew. Yes, she saw the canoe. It was dragged high on the bank and tilted over onto a rock to keep the rain out.

  “Now we wait to see if he is alone,” August said, his eyes fixed on the cabin. “But it looks like someone is still moving in the cabin, so I doubt he is by himself. Maybe his friend, maybe his wife.”

  “What will Gerhard do?”

  “He will approach from the north.”

  “How will you know when to start?”

  “When we are certain about how many are down there. We’ll wait until they are out of the cabin so that they can’t get to any weapons. Then we will advance.”

  “Were you a good soldier, August?”

  He nodded.

  “Yes,” he said, “very good. I am patient. Patience is a soldier’s best weapon.”

  “And Gerhard?”

  “Excellent.”

  She didn’t ask anything else. She wasn’t certain she wanted to know anything else. Soon, she hoped, that part of their lives would be behind them. The war would be behind them.

  A woman exited the cabin next. The man’s wife, Collie imagined. The woman also had gray hair. She went to the lake and washed. Then she sat on the overturned canoe and watched the water. She took out a cigarette and lighted it. The man, her husband, came out of the door carrying two cups of coffee. Each motion—the door closing, the whine of the screen door—made a distinct sound that carried out onto the lake. The morning was very still.

  August began moving before Collie could do anything. Immediately she spotted Gerhard approaching from the other direction. They closed down on the cabin and she hurried behind. They would terrify the couple, she understood. She watched as Gerhard and August angled toward the cabin, cutting off the couple’s retreat. It was not difficult. The couple sat and drank their coffee, unaware of the soldiers closing on them.

  Gerhard arrived first. She saw the couple rise, wave, though their body posture demonstrated hesitancy an instant later. Who was this man? they seemed to ask. Then August reached his position and the couple became more animated. The man began walking briskly back toward the cabin, but Gerhard cut him off and held up his hand. August joined him. By the time Collie reached them the couple had begun to piece things together. She saw it in their faces.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to them, “I’m an American. We don’t mean you any harm.”

  “Go back and finish your coffee,” August said to them. “Is there food inside?”

  “Yes,” the woman answered.

  “Is there anyone else here? Are you expecting anyone?”

  “Our son and his wife later today,” the man said.

  “We’ll be gone by then, don’t worry,” August said.

  Then he translated the couple’s answers for Gerhard.

  “Collie, sit with them,” Gerhard said in German. “Find out where we are. Find out how we get to Canada. Explain that they will not be hurt if they cooperate.”

  “Is there a weapon in the house?” August asked.

  “A shotgun,” the man said.

  “Is that all?”

  The man nodded.

  “Is there a road or did you come by boat?” August asked.

  “By boat.”

  “Any other means to get here?”

  The man shook his head.

  “We won’t hurt you,” Collie said, “come back and finish your coffee.”

  The man took his wife’s arm and led her back toward the lake. Collie followed them. The sun had risen above the horizon and began to skid light across the water.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Mr. and Mrs. Lepage. That was the couple’s name. French Canadian originally, Collie guessed, but now proud Americans. The man wore a plaid shirt tucked into corduroy trousers and was older than Collie had first observed. Seventy at least, she thought. His face was sharp and edged along each cheekbone. He had undergone surgery, she saw, on his neck. A series of stitches ran back and forth down toward his clavicle. Collie wondered what it could have been to demand a second and third visit from the surgeon. She thought to ask, then silenced herself. It was none of her business.

  The woman was slightly younger, Collie guessed, but in less robust health. Her back was slightly humped in the way old women’s backs sometimes became humped. Her arms were thin, too, and she smoked without any pleasure. Her hands shook when she brought the cigarette to her mouth.

  “You’re Germans?” the man asked.

  He couldn’t quite figure out what they were doing there, Collie saw. She could not put herself in their place. How did Germans arrive at their doorstep in this lonely cabin? It was an impossible puzzle for them to solve.

  “Not Germans. Not really,” Collie said, though that was nonsense. “How far are we from Canada?”

  “Five miles,” the man said, and pointed down the lake.

  “What’s the border crossing like?”

  The man shrugged. The woman answered for him.

  “It’s a road with a drop-down gate,” she said. “A red and white gate. Is that what you mean?”

  “How close can we get by boat?”

  “Within a couple miles,” the man said. “It’s just a hop over.”

  The man kept his arm on his wife’s shoulder. They did not look frightened, Collie decided. They looked perplexed and somewhat annoyed. The woman chain-smoked. The man drank his coffee. Light continued to grow on the water. Collie fought the desire to explain herself to these people. She would have to learn such explanations were pointless. It would take too long, involve too much, to make it worthwhile. Better to remain silent, she told herself.

  A few minutes later Gerhard and August returned. They carried the shotgun with them. They also brought food tied up in olive cloth. They spread the cloth out on the boat. Collie told them what the Lepages had said about the lake, the guard station at the border, the overall distance. Gerhard made her ask them again. This time they answered with less nervousness. They seemed to want to be helpful. August ate. Collie helped herself to a heel of bread and a sausage. She drank coffee from a tin cup. It tasted delicious.

  “Has anyone been through here?” August asked, translating for Gerhard. “Any search teams?”

  “You’re from Camp Stark,” the woman finally realized.

  “Yes,” August said. “We are going to Canada. We wish to hurt no one. We’ll be on our way in a moment, so you don’t need to worry.”

  “Nobody’s been through. This is out of the way, this cabin,” the man said. “We fish, that’s all.”

  “And bird-watch,” the woman added.

  Collie ate a MoonPie. The MoonPie tasted better than any food she could ever recall eating. The chocolate frosting burned the roof of her mouth with pleasure. Gerhard turned away from the couple and ate rapidly. Watching him, Collie had a glimpse of how they must appear to the couple. Like traveling dogs, she thought. Like a pack descended on them.

  After he ate, Gerhard directed a hundred questions to the couple about the border crossing, the end of the lake, what they might expect to find at each interval. Five miles, that was all. Collie heard it with her own ears. By nightfall, if things went well, they would be in Canada. The man explained it was only one small station in miles and miles of forest. He had never bothered to think much about it, but the border was porous, he said. It wouldn’t take much to make it to Canada if one were determined to get there.

  “But I would stay to the backcountry,” the woman added. “I wouldn’t cross at the border. I doubt you would, but farther north you’ll find the border empty. Your biggest problem would be to know when you’re in Canada.”

  “Just keeping traveling north,” August said, and the man and woman nodded.

  Collie went to use the outhouse, an
d when she returned she found August and Gerhard in a debate about the best course of action. The dispute seemed to be whether it was smarter to travel by boat or to stay on foot. She went to the lake and spent a long time bathing herself. She combed her hair with her fingers. The woman, Mrs. Lepage, came over and stood beside her.

  “You’re American,” Mrs. Lepage said. “I thought you were pretending when you first said it.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m American.”

  “Why are you with these men?”

  “That man and I are going to be married,” Collie said. “The blond one. The other one is a friend.”

  The woman nodded. It seemed absurd when you spoke it aloud, Collie realized. She tried to read the woman’s expression, but the woman hid her feelings well.

  Collie stood and found the sunlight. She turned her face up to it. She felt better. Her stomach felt calmer and her skin felt cleaner. She wondered, as she let the sun warm her, what she had imagined the journey would be like. Had she ever conceived of it? she asked herself. She had been too in love with August, too trapped in her own head to contemplate what the step-by-step journey would entail. Her ignorance fascinated her. She had more in common with Marie than she might ever have imagined.

  “Take what you need. We won’t stop you. We have no one to report things to, so you will be in Canada before we can say anything to anyone. We’ll need to go out in our son’s boat, but he won’t arrive until evening and we won’t cross the water at night. You have until tomorrow. I give you my word on that.”

  “Thank you,” Collie said.

  “You’re tired of the war,” the woman said. “I understand.”

  “Yes.”

  In the end, they decided on the boat. The man told them they should keep to this shoreline, the western shoreline, and follow it north. The lake went three and a half miles in that direction. He doubted anyone would bother them or even see them. Near the border, he said, pull over and tie up the boat and do the rest of the trip on foot. When they crossed a stream they would be in Canada. The stream was called the Kangatooweet, not that it mattered.