Blue Skies Tomorrow

by Sarah Sundin

  After she added his belongings to the bundle, she unbuckled the leather belt around the waist of her dress, looped it under the knot of her bundle, and strapped it to her back, passing the belt over her uninjured right side.

  With more care than usual, Helen lifted her son and his blanket, cooing as she had when he was a baby. His limp weight molded to her body.

  She rested her cheek on his damp hair. How could she even think of abandoning him? He was part of her, and she could no more leave him than she could leave her own heart.

  Helen stepped toward the door. The extra weight of boy and bundle made the floorboard creak.

  Her heart wild, she paused and strained to listen through the stillness. She made her way to the door, testing each board underneath and walking the firmest ones like balance beams.

  She turned the glass doorknob, hating each click, and opened the door.

  The Carlisles’ bedroom lay across the hall. Mild snores issued from the other side of the door. If those snores stopped, Helen would take off running.

  She probed each board until she found a quiet one, walked its length, and used her ballet training to keep her steps light and long.

  Down the stairs, working through her feet—toe, ball, heel to lessen the impact.

  Silence upstairs. Was she too far away to hear the snores, or had Mr. Carlisle woken up? The front door stood before her, and Helen picked up her pace, her steps muffled by the hall rug. At the coatrack, she grabbed Jay-Jay’s jacket and her own.

  The front door made a nasty clunk when she opened it and a nastier one when she shut it behind her, but she stepped outside into free air. She dashed down the walk, down the sidewalk. Pebbles pricked her bare feet, and she stubbed her toe. Her legs threatened to buckle, she stumbled, she kept going.

  At the corner of Sixth Street, her legs gave way, and she fell hard onto her knees. She couldn’t go on. Too much weight, too much pain, and she was too weak from the beating.

  Jay-Jay lifted his head and whimpered. He brought his eyes to focus on Helen. “Mama?”

  “Shh, sweetie.” Helen glanced behind her, breathing hard. Was that a light in the Carlisles’ window or the reflection of the moon? The angle was bad and trees stood in the way.

  “Where are we?”

  Helen clapped her hand over her son’s mouth. “Quiet, sweetie,” she whispered. “Can you walk?”

  “Wanna sleep,” he mumbled under her hand, and he laid his head back on her shoulder.

  The air pressed on her, cold and clammy and stifling. She couldn’t carry both him and the bundle. Training her gaze on the Carlisle home, she fumbled with the belt buckle. Her fingers shook and wouldn’t cooperate. At last she unfastened it, and the bundle thumped to the sidewalk.

  Helen struggled to her feet and down Sixth Street. One house, two, three, no sign of Mr. Carlisle, and she pounded on the Anellos’ door until the light flipped on.

  George opened the door in his bathrobe, his hair mussed up. “What—Helen? What are you doing here? What happened to you?”

  She hadn’t seen herself in the mirror, but the taut pain in her left cheek meant an angry welt and drying blood.

  “Please let me in.” Her knees buckled, and George caught her by the elbow and guided her inside.

  “Helen? Oh goodness! What happened?” Betty rushed to her side, her bathrobe no longer closing over her pregnant belly.

  “Take Jay-Jay, please.” He’d fallen asleep again.

  Betty did so, and Helen slumped to the sofa.

  George took her chin and frowned at her. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

  In the warmth of the Anello home, fear evaporated and resolve took its place. For years, she had concealed the Carlisle shame. No longer. She’d kept it secret to protect Jay-Jay, but her protection had backfired. “Mr. Carlisle beat me. He found out I was leaving with Jay-Jay.”

  “Oh my goodness!” Betty sat next to her with Jay-Jay in her arms. “How could—how could he do such a thing?”

  George strode into the front hall. “I’ll call the police, a doctor.”

  “No, don’t. The police won’t help. They know about the custody case. Mr. Carlisle will say I fell down the stairs, threw myself down in a fit of madness, staged it to get custody. I know how this works. And don’t wake the doctor. It can wait till morning. Believe me, I have experience.”

  “Poor thing,” Betty said. “You’ve had so many accidents.”

  “So many beatings.”

  “What?” George marched back to the living room. “He’s beaten you before?”

  “No. Jim did. All the time.” The truth at last, and freedom lifted her.

  “Jim?” Betty said in a tiny voice, and she held the sleeping boy tighter with one hand over his head as if to shield him. “But he—he loved you.”

  “Jim’s idea of love was nothing but power and control.” Helen traced a scar on the back of her hand. “These aren’t from cooking accidents. Jim liked to burn me. He kicked me and threw me around and punched me and smashed furniture over me. He caused two miscarriages. Then he blamed my injuries on my clumsiness.”

  “Dear Lord, no.” George lowered himself into the armchair and ran his fingers into his hair. “No. I knew Jim all my life. We were friends. Sure, he had a mean streak but . . . I had no idea.”

  “All this was going on and you never—you didn’t tell me?” Betty’s eyes filled with tears.

  Helen sighed. Why had she expected condemnation instead of sympathy? She’d been blinded by the lies—that she needed to be perfect to be loved, that she had failed, that she deserved what she’d gotten. “I didn’t want to admit I’d made a mistake. Everyone told me to wait to get married, but I didn’t listen because I was afraid I’d lose Jim. And I hated to admit I was stupid enough to fall for such a man. I thought you’d think less of me.”

  Betty choked on a sob. “Oh, darling, I never would have thought that.”

  No tears remained, but her sister’s compassion made her chin quiver. “I know now, but back then . . .”

  “You should have told us. We could have helped.”

  “How? I had no grounds to divorce him. He never cheated on me.”

  “But after he died . . . why didn’t you tell me then?”

  Helen reached over and stroked her son’s hair. “A boy should look up to his father. I didn’t want him to know what Jim was like. But it backfired. He saw firsthand what his grandfather’s like.”

  George sat up straight. “He’ll come after you. If he finds out you left. And he’ll look here first.”

  A chill rippled through her. “Oh no.”

  “You can’t stay here. It isn’t safe.” He strode to the front hall and slipped his coat over his bathrobe.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in danger.”

  “Nonsense.” Betty pointed to Helen’s shoes around her neck. “Get your shoes on, darling. George will take care of you.”

  He took Jay-Jay from his wife. “Lock the door behind us and don’t open it for anyone but me. Call the police if you need to.”

  “Of course, darling. Be careful.” Betty folded Helen in a hug, damp with tears. “I’ll pray for you.”

  “Thank you.” Helen extracted herself from the painful embrace and noticed bloodstains on her dress. Her jaw tightened. She was sick of removing bloodstains.

  Helen and George headed down Sixth Street. “Where can we go?” she whispered.

  “The Novaks.”

  “Oh no. We can’t wake them. It’s past midnight.”

  “We need to take you to someone with standing in the community. Pastor Novak is on your side. He’ll protect you and stand up for you. No matter where we go, we’ll wake someone, and I’d rather wake someone I know.”

  Helen sighed in resigned agreement.

  They walked at a brisk pace. Mr. Carlisle must not have come searching because her bundle remained at the corner of C and Sixth. When George picked it up, Helen held her breath, but no movement came from t
he direction of the Carlisle home.

  George pounded on the Novaks’ front door. Dizziness swept through Helen. The walk had taken the last of her strength, and she sagged against the wall.

  “Coming.” Pastor Novak opened the front door. “How may I—George? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Helen. Mr. Carlisle beat her up. She needs someplace safe to stay the night.”

  Pastor Novak leaned outside. His face stretched long. “Oh no. I never thought . . . why didn’t I say anything?”

  He looped his arm around her waist and led her in. “Edie!” he called, but Mrs. Novak was already gliding down the stairs, tightening the belt of her bathrobe. Allie and Esther peered down from the top of the stairs.

  “Oh dear,” Helen said. “I didn’t mean to wake—”

  “Allie, get the first aid kit,” Mrs. Novak said. “Esther, would you please take Jay-Jay, put him down in Ray’s room?”

  Ray’s room. Helen collapsed onto the sofa.

  “I’ll call the doctor,” Pastor Novak said.

  “No. I’ll see him in the morning.”

  “I trust her judgment,” George said.

  Mrs. Novak knelt in front of Helen and took her hand. “The doctor’s daughter should know.”

  Helen raised a grim smile. “Jim Carlisle’s wife should know.”

  Mrs. Novak’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Did he . . . ?”

  “All the time, and he blamed me. But I refuse to protect him any longer.” The strength and calmness of her own voice surprised her. She’d always thought confession would break her, but it freed her.

  Pastor Novak sank into the wing chair and rested his forehead in his hands. “Like his dad. I should have known. I should have warned you. But you were in love, and Jim had never given me cause to worry. I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I understand.” His pain and guilt proved what the Carlisles denied—that their actions affected anyone but themselves.

  “When you moved in with the Carlisles, I should have said something. I didn’t think it was my place. I didn’t think—I thought you’d be fine. He never beat his children that I could tell.”

  “Only his wife.”

  He looked up with a haggard expression. “I’ve confronted him countless times over the years, but he tells me to mind my own business.”

  Helen’s eyes drifted shut. Now she understood why the Carlisles hated the Novaks. Finally the feud had a source.

  Allie returned with a first aid kit. “Let me clean that cheek. This may hurt.” She dabbed at the welt with a damp cloth.

  Helen winced, but it didn’t hurt as much as the original blow.

  Esther sat on Helen’s other side. “That boy sleeps like a rock.”

  “It’s the only way I was able to escape. I sneaked out my window and into his, then out the front door.”

  “Oh my goodness.” Allie dabbed stinging iodine on Helen’s cheek. “What will you do now?”

  “I don’t know.” Helen’s mind fuzzed over. “He controls my money. I’m not allowed to leave town because of the custody case, but I can’t find a job because of the rumors. I don’t have anywhere . . .” Her throat clamped shut.

  “Of course you do. You can stay here as long as you like.” Mrs. Novak gave her a soft-eyed smile, a smile like Ray’s.

  “I—I can’t—”

  “Nonsense. We’d love to have you. I once had a houseful of boys, and now I’ll have a houseful of girls.”

  “Thank you,” Helen said with a choked sob. “But I still have to figure something out.”

  “Not now.” Allie fixed a bandage over the welt. “Now you need to rest.”

  “You can figure things out tomorrow,” Esther said. “Remember, we’re here for you.”

  Pastor and Mrs. Novak, George, and Allie nodded. The Carlisles and the Llewellyns didn’t have the power to turn true friends against her. Gratitude swelled her throat shut.

  “Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Esther said.

  She and Mrs. Novak helped Helen to her feet and up the stairs. “Would you be fine sharing a bed with Jay-Jay, or should I make up a little bed for him?”

  “We can share.”

  Mrs. Novak opened a door. “This was Ray’s room. I haven’t had the heart . . .”

  The room still smelled like Ray, like books and grass and leather. An ache grew under the sore spot on Helen’s ribs, a fresh sense of loss, not only for herself but for his family.

  After Mrs. Novak left, Helen changed into her nightgown and crawled under the covers. She wrapped her arms around her son and pulled him as close as her pain allowed.

  On the far wall hung a watercolor, dim in the moonlight, a pastoral landscape with a broad open sky.

  Ray used to gaze at the sky with a contemplative look. She missed him so—his soft eyes, his deep words, his passionate kisses.

  Helen burrowed her face into the pillow. The smells of Ray and Jay-Jay mingled in her nose and in her memory.

  The two men she loved most.

  43

  England

  The blindfold came off. Ray blinked as his eyes adjusted.

  Major Siegel led him down the aisle of a small courtroom. “Although you deserve summary execution, you’ll receive formal sentencing.”

  Ray drew a long breath. Either way he’d be dead. How much would it hurt? How long would he be conscious of pain? He wouldn’t care once he was at Jesus’s feet, but he wanted to get over the hump with dignity.

  A dozen men sat in the audience facing the judge, a thin-faced man with a skimpy gray mustache. His nameplate read Col. Elton Maxwell.

  The colonel studied a paper. “Lt. Johannes Gottlieb, the court has reviewed your testimony. Do you have any additions or amendments?”

  An officer stood by the judge’s side. “Oberleutnant Johannes—”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Ray said. “I don’t need a translator.”

  “Very well,” Colonel Maxwell said. “I repeat my question.”

  “First of all, sir, my name is Capt. Raymond Novak,” he said, although he didn’t recognize the scrawny voice. “My testimony is complete and true.”

  “Lieutenant Gottlieb,” the colonel said in a plodding voice. “You may wish to reconsider. This court has enough evidence to convict you of espionage and of involvement in the murder of Captain Novak.”

  Ray’s mouth twitched. No, this court would be involved in the murder of Captain Novak.

  Colonel Maxwell glared. “You laugh at this court?”

  “No, sir. I apologize for smiling, but I’m a man at peace. ‘The body they may kill. God’s truth abideth still.’ ”

  The judge’s gaze hopped to the audience then back to Ray. “ ‘A Mighty Fortress.’ Good German hymn.”

  Everything condemned him. “Yes, sir. Written by Martin Luther.”

  “Do you have anything to say to this court?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Very well. Have a seat while I review your paperwork.” He indicated a chair to his left.

  Ray perched on the chair, his hands cuffed behind him, and he closed his eyes. The hymn marched through his head. He could see Mom playing the hymn on the church piano while Dad led the congregation and Ray shared a hymnal with his brothers.

  Darkness threatened his peace and bowed his head. Ray would never see them again in this world. His life was finished. It felt incomplete. So much work remained. How many of the men in this courtroom knew Jesus?

  Why not make the most of his final hours? Why not preach until the bullets silenced him? With renewed purpose, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. “ ‘God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for . . .’ ”

  A dozen men sat in the audience, six U.S. Army Air Force officers and six civilians. He had seen only their backs as he entered the courtroom, but now he could see their faces.

  Two of them he knew.

  His vision, his mind tumbled around and around. “Jack? Walt?”

 
“Excuse me?” the judge said.

  “My brothers.” Ray leaped to his feet and stumbled from disorientation. “Jack! Walt!”

  “Guards, restrain the prisoner.”

  Two MPs grabbed his arms, but Ray laughed, his head spinning into dizziness. It was a lineup, nothing but a lineup. His brothers stared at him, jaws dangling.

  “You recognize me? I know I’ve changed, I’m skinny, my voice, but you see, don’t you?”

  “Which men are you referring to?” the judge asked.

  His life whirled back into existence, and Ray struggled to focus. “Second man from the right—no, left—second row. That’s Jack Novak. Third man from the left is Walt. They’re my brothers. My brothers.”

  Walt’s face jerked into a smile, and he moved to stand up.

  Jack swung an arm in front of Walt to stop him. He frowned at Ray. “It can’t be.”

  “It is. It’s me, Jack.” Ray fixed his gaze on his younger brother as if his life depended on it, which it did.

  “Remember the instructions,” the judge said. “Questions only your brother would know.”

  Jack nodded, his expression softer. “Tell me what’s on the piano top at home.”

  Ray laughed. Stupid tears dribbled down his cheeks, and he couldn’t stop them. It was over. The ordeal was over. He was going to live. “Three photographs—all three of our ugly mugs in uniform. Mom’s doilies. And the ink spot.”

  “Tell me about the ink spot.” Jack blinked too many times.

  Ray grinned, the first time in months, and it hurt. “I did it.”

  Walt laughed, wiping his eyes. “Are you crazy? I did it.”

  “Stop it. Stop lying, both of you,” Jack said with a deep laugh. “You know it was me.”

  Major Siegel rose from his seat. “Let the court recognize the prisoner did not know the correct answer.”

  Jack stood. “With all respect, Major, let the court recognize we’ve had this argument for over twenty years. That’s my brother. My brother. Would you get those blasted handcuffs off him?”

  The judge nodded, and the guards freed Ray.

  He lurched to his brothers, now standing in the aisle, and they locked in a mass hug, all laughing, all trying not to cry, all failing.