by Sarah Sundin
Her breath hopped around in her chest. Was it safe to go home? Where could she go? She couldn’t sleep on Betty’s couch for long, not with the baby due any day. And Jay-Jay was at the Carlisles. She had to get him, get some things.
She picked up the pace to the Carlisle home.
Helen flung open the door. She’d fill a suitcase, grab her son, and go.
“Oh, good, Helen. You’re home.” Mrs. Carlisle stood outside the dining room door, fiddling with her apron. “Dinner’s on the table.”
Helen’s heart slammed into her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m having dinner at Betty’s tonight. Where’s Jay-Jay?”
“At the table. You can’t go to Betty’s. It’s pork chop night.”
“I don’t care for pork chops. Neither does Jay-Jay.” She brushed past her mother-in-law into the dining room.
Jay-Jay sat at the table with Mr. Carlisle—and Victor Llewellyn. Helen’s veins crackled with ice. Vic had told. He’d broken another promise.
She scooped up her son with shaking arms and returned his smacking kiss. “Hi, sweetie. We’re going to Aunt Betty’s for dinner.”
“Yay! Doody!”
Mr. Carlisle stood. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“She’s expecting us.” She inched to the door. While Vic’s presence was hardly welcome, it would grant her time to pack.
“You’re not leaving this house. We have something to discuss with you.”
Helen turned a searing gaze to Vic. “You told.”
He snorted. “I didn’t have to. They figured it out.”
“You said you were working on your new house every day.” Mrs. Carlisle sat in her chair next to her husband. “I went by on Tuesday, and you weren’t there. Nothing had been done.”
Mr. Carlisle sat and slipped a pork chop onto the top plate in front of him. “On Wednesday, Mr. Lindstrom came in to Carlisles’ Furniture. He said you applied for a job and inquired about the room for rent above his store.”
Helen sank into a chair and clutched Jay-Jay. The Lindstroms and the Carlisles had never been close. She’d thought she was safe.
Mr. Carlisle scooped creamed peas onto the plate. “Strange behavior. Clearly a sign of instability.”
Helen gasped. “Instability?”
“One of many. Very troubling.” He added a glop of mashed potatoes. “You burn down your house, leave a Llewellyn at the altar, and look for a job and a room when everyone knows we provide well for you. Lots of hysterical behavior. Now this attempt to smear Vic’s name.”
“What? I haven’t—”
“Encouraging that colored girl to press charges.”
“I never.” She glared at Vic.
His jaw poked forward. “Have you talked her out of it?”
“I talked to her on Monday. That’s what I promised to do.” She’d let Esther know the consequences and she’d asked about their plans, but she had no right to influence their decision. “Besides, it’s Carver’s decision, not Esther’s.”
Red blotches appeared on Vic’s cheeks. “First you break our engagement, now you try to ruin my career.”
“Me? But you—you’re the one—”
“As I thought.” Mr. Carlisle passed the plate to Vic. “More signs of instability. Clearly an unfit mother.”
“What?” Helen’s fingers worked into her son’s hair.
Jay-Jay squirmed on her lap. “Mama, I want down.”
She held him tighter. Mr. Carlisle dished out food with a calm face, Mrs. Carlisle sat docile as always, and Vic kept his gaze down and his brow furrowed.
“Unfit?” Helen choked out. “I love my son.”
Mr. Carlisle fixed a cool gaze on her. “No one doubts your love, only your sanity. That’s why we’ve filed for custody of Jay-Jay.”
That punched her in the chest harder than Jim ever had. “Wha . . . wha . . . ?”
“If you show some sense for once and get this girl to see the light, we’ll retract it. Under one condition—you continue to live in this house. It’s not safe for Jay-Jay to live alone with you.”
Helen couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. This couldn’t be happening.
Vic pushed his chair back. “Thank you for the dinner invitation, but I’d better go.”
“How could you?” she cried. “How could you help them?”
“I didn’t.” He stood. “I found out after they filed for custody. Not that I disapprove.”
Her breath came out in hard puffs. To think she’d almost married such a petty man.
Mr. Carlisle dished up another plate. “Jay-Jay needs to stay under this roof where he’s safe. As head of the Chamber of Commerce, I notified the town business leaders that you’re a bit touched in the head. No one will hire you. No one will rent a room to a penniless, unemployed woman. And don’t even think about leaving town. With the custody case filed, the courts would see that as evading justice. The bus and train stations are on the lookout for you.”
Every part of Helen felt numb, deprived of oxygen, of life.
“Mama, too tight.” Jay-Jay wriggled off her lap.
“Poor baby.” Mrs. Carlisle clucked her tongue. “Let Grandma hold you nice and gentle.”
The little boy scampered around the table to his grandmother.
Helen’s arms remained suspended, frozen, hugging empty air. Her son. They’d stolen her son. They’d imprisoned her in this house. And there was nothing she could do about it.
Vic slithered toward the door, snake that he was, and Mr. Carlisle set a plate in front of Helen.
Pork chops. She hated pork chops, hated everything they represented—rigidity, control, violent enforcement.
She shoved the plate away, bolted from her chair, and caught up to Vic at the front door. “How could you? How could you do this to me?”
He faced her, his lip curled. “First of all, I didn’t do it; they did. Secondly, you’ve got a lot of nerve after what you’ve done to me.”
She stared him down. “I called off a wedding, but you? You’re trying to take my baby away from me.”
“I’ll explain this yet again. I didn’t do that. And you heard them—get Esther to back off, and this whole thing’s over.”
“And if she refuses, they’ll—”
“So what? They’ll have custody, but you get to live here. Nothing will change, except they’ll ensure Jay-Jay’s safety. A wise precaution.”
“Wise?” she said in a fierce whisper. “It’s wise to throw a little boy to the wolves?”
Vic chuckled. “Those doting grandparents are hardly wolves. Aren’t you being a little dramatic? A little . . . hysterical?”
Helen wrapped fisted arms around her middle and stepped back. If she weren’t careful, she’d end up committed to a sanitarium.
“You know what?” He opened the door and stepped outside. “I’m glad you broke up with me. Last thing I need is a crazy wife.”
“You have no idea—no idea what you’re doing,” she whispered, but she spoke to a closed door.
Helen shivered. All her doors, all her windows were shut, locked, and boarded up. Darkness closed in about her.
England
Friday, April 27, 1945
Ray walked the length of the ward and returned, determined to beat the previous day’s record of sixteen laps. He walked, he stretched, he did push-ups, sit-ups, and arm circles—anything to regain strength.
He stroked his lower jaw, still tender over the break. In a week the wires would be cut, and he could eat solid food again. Although grateful for broth and eggnog, he’d grown as tired of them as he had of fish and potatoes.
Ray passed dozens of men who could use a kind word, but he couldn’t minister in any way. He couldn’t help the war effort by flying or sabotaging, or even by typing forms in triplicate. For the first time, he didn’t mind.
He could pray and read the German Bible the hospital provided. All he had was his relationship with the Lord.
It was enough.
Ray paused at the end of the
ward and stretched his arms overhead, to the left, then to the right. Lord, when I get back to the pulpit, help me remember this.
“Oberleutnant Gottlieb?” Major Siegel called.
Ray responded to the name now, as he had responded to both his brothers’ names when his mother mixed them up. He wanted to talk to the major. Nine days had passed since he’d given his written testimony, but Jack and Walt hadn’t come.
Major Siegel ushered Ray into Dr. Robinson’s office and handed him a notepad. “Next week when your wires are cut, you’ll come into Army Air Force custody,” he said in German. “Would you like to change your story?”
“No,” Ray wrote in English. “Have you contacted my brothers?”
“If they are in the Army, they are our prisoners or will be soon. The Russians are in Berlin. Soon your government will fall.”
Ray sighed. “My brothers—Jack and Walter Novak.”
Siegel read the note. “You’re standing by that story?” He switched to English.
“I’m standing by the truth. My brothers?”
“They’ve read your story.”
“When are they coming?” He wrote so fast his letters ran together.
“They aren’t. They refuse to honor your lies.” Siegel crossed thick arms. “The one thing you couldn’t torture out of Captain Novak was his personality. He was a mild-mannered man incapable of the feats you described.”
Ray felt dizzy. In Germany he’d joked that his brothers would never believe what he was doing. Now it didn’t seem so funny.
“Not to mention your handwriting looks nothing like his.”
“I just had my bandages off. Show them this.” Ray thrust the notepad at him.
He ignored it. “They said your typewritten statement wasn’t Captain Novak’s style. The grammar, the punctuation, nothing.”
“My hands hurt. I wanted—”
“What exactly were your orders, Gottlieb? You flew an Me 262 over enemy lines, conveniently carrying a pilot’s manual, wearing a German uniform and American underwear. What did you want to accomplish?”
“I wanted to come home.”
Siegel glanced at Ray’s response and shook his head. “Tell us your plan and we’ll go easy on you. Is the plane booby-trapped? What false information is in that manual to mislead our engineers? If that was your plan, you failed. No one trusts the plane or the manual.”
Ray’s sigh puffed out his cheeks. So much for his gift to the Army Air Force.
The major leaned over Ray’s chair with a hardened face. “The uniform—that’s what went wrong, wasn’t it? You killed Novak for his identity, but his uniform didn’t fit. Your papers say you’re several inches taller than Novak. The sleeves, the pants were too short. Without an American uniform, you couldn’t deliver the plane, gather intelligence, and slip back behind German lines. But you came anyway with this ludicrous story. Why? Did they hold a gun to your head? To your beloved Mutter’s head? They sent you on a suicide mission. See how desperate, how careless, how degenerate your people have become?”
Ray stared up at the major, and his head wagged from side to side.
“You know the penalty for espionage—for espionage, torture, and murder.” Siegel spat tobacco-scented words in Ray’s face. “During the Battle of the Bulge, German spies tried to pass as Americans. We pulled some of them out of hospitals and shot them. Perfectly legal under the Geneva Conventions. Summary execution of spies.”
Ray’s fingers went icy cold.
Major Siegel straightened and gave a grim smile. “If you cooperate, we’ll see what we can do. Shall we try this again? What were your orders?”
Ray’s fingers clutched like icicles around the pen. “To pilot my B-17 over Germany and bomb the Lechfeld airfield or the secondary target of the marshalling yards at Augsburg. If captured, I was to give only my name, rank, and serial number, to try to escape, and to aid the Allied effort. I did this to the fullness of my ability.”
“You swear by this nonsense even now?”
“The Lord is my witness.”
“The Lord?” Siegel sneered. “You can argue your case before him directly—and soon. May he have mercy on your soul.”
41
Antioch
Sunday, April 29, 1945
Helen paused before the door to Fellowship Hall, but she had to make an appearance and show a sane face to society.
She had to prove she wasn’t crazy cripple Helen.
With a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. Some conversations stilled, others were hushed and shielded behind gloved hands. Pastor Novak’s sermon on the evils of gossip wouldn’t help. If anything, it would concentrate attention on the rumors snaking through town.
Betty had angrily related what she’d heard—Helen left that sweet Llewellyn boy at the altar, she burned down her house, she talked to herself. Did polio have long-term effects on the brain? How kind of the Carlisles to offer to raise that darling little boy. How sad that they were saddled with an unbalanced daughter-in-law, but her parents weren’t in town and they couldn’t turn the poor thing out on the streets, could they?
“Oh, Mrs. Carlisle, thank goodness you’re here.” Mrs. Novak came up to Helen and took her arm. “Mrs. Anello is home sick. Would you please help with the beverages? There’s no one I trust more.”
Helen’s eyes misted over. “Thank you. I’d love to help.” While she now knew better than to use work as a cure, today work would help her look normal.
“The tea’s steeping,” Mrs. Novak said in an overly loud voice as they passed through the crowd. “The cups are on the—oh, you know what to do. You always do.”
“Thank you,” Helen said over her thick tongue and plunged into the refuge of the kitchen. She loaded a tray with teacups, set them on the table in the hall, filled two teapots from the urn, and brought them out. No sugar or coffee, so she only had to refill teapots, replenish cups, wipe spills, and clear dirty cups.
“Good morning, Mrs. Jeffries, Mrs. Lindstrom,” she said with a measured smile.
“Oh yes. Good morning.” They gave her nervous glances as they retreated with their tea.
Although Helen’s heart faltered, she made sure her smile didn’t fade.
“I’m grateful for today’s sermon.” Mrs. Llewellyn’s voice rose from the line. “How Victor’s suffered from gossip. He’s so brave coming to church. Yesterday was supposed to be his wedding day, the poor lamb. How that girl could have the nerve to show her face. Well, it goes to show her mind isn’t quite . . .”
Mr. Peters stepped aside with his tea, Mrs. Llewellyn reached for a cup—and caught Helen’s eye. The woman gasped.
“My mind, Mrs. Llewellyn?” Helen managed to speak, to smile, though her jaw set like rock. “My mind is at peace knowing Pastor Novak wasn’t referring to me.” She spun away into the kitchen, her heart battering her rib cage.
She opened the cupboard door, which smacked into the cabinet, and she lined up thick ceramic cups on the metal tray. Her hands shook.
The kitchen door swished open and shut. “Do I have permission to slap that horrible Llewellyn woman?” Esther stood by the door with her arms crossed.
Helen’s chuckle caught on the way out. “As much as I’d love that, it wouldn’t be wise.”
“Someone has to defend you. What’s this I hear about the Carlisles filing for custody of your son?”
“I’m afraid that rumor’s true.” Helen turned teacup handles to face the same way. “But I talked to Matthew Ward, my father’s attorney, and he says I have a good case. All the Carlisles have is rumors and opinion. I just have to show everyone I’m a good mother.”
“Who’s hearing your case? Judge Llewellyn?”
“He—he’s the only one in town, but Mr. Ward will try to get the venue changed.”
“That Victor Llewellyn. I know he’s slippery, but I had no idea how mean and vengeful—”
“It’s not him. Really.”
“You don’t think he advised the Carli
sles? Gave them the idea?”
“I don’t think so. All I know is he won’t stop them unless . . .” Oh no, she didn’t want Esther to know about the Carlisles’ condition. She whisked the tray off the counter and swept past Esther into the hall.
“Unless what?”
Helen laid fresh cups on the table and loaded the tray with dirty cups. “Mrs. Jones, would you please check if the teapots need to be refilled?” She dashed back into the kitchen.
“Unless what? What’s that slimy lieutenant up to?”
“Nothing.” Helen reached for the teapot in Esther’s hand.
She held it back. “I won’t let you refill this until you tell me what’s going on.”
Helen set the dirty cups in the sink. “I didn’t tell you for a reason. You need to make your own decision.”
“Me? What do I have to do with it?”
“Absolutely nothing. That’s my point. Vic, the coward, wants me to talk you out of filing charges against him. I refuse. You have every right. He failed in his duty and he should face the consequences.”
Esther set the teapot on the counter. “What’s this have to do with you and Jay-Jay?”
Helen glanced out the window over the sink. Children played tag on the lawn, and Jay-Jay chased Donald Ferguson, who faked a slow run so the younger boy could catch him. Pain cinched around her heart. “It has nothing to do with us whatsoever. Mr. Carlisle says he’ll drop the custody case if I talk you out of it. He says it’s a sign of sanity. Utter nonsense.”
Esther released a long, low sigh and leaned against the counter. She touched a scar on Helen’s forearm. “Your husband beat you, didn’t he?”
She looked her friend in the eye. She’d never admitted it to anyone other than Ray and Dorothy. “Yes, he did.”
“Did he learn from his daddy?”
Helen’s stomach folded in on itself. She nodded.
“And if they raise Jay-Jay . . .”
The thought wrenched through Helen and ripped out a sob before she could stop it. She clapped one hand over her mouth.
“We can’t let that happen.” Esther marched to the kitchen door.
“Where are you going?”
“To find the lieutenant and put an end to this.” She shoved the door open.