Far Side of the Sea

by Kate Breslin

  She recalled her mother’s lectures about marriage and the perils of subservience. “I think her mother’s life married to Grandfather must have been difficult. Moira didn’t want that for herself or for me.”

  “I can understand now why you hold the memory of your father’s visit so closely.”

  Her heart warmed at his look of compassion. “I’ve always wondered why he never returned to Kilcoole. I thought perhaps Grandfather told him to stay away. My grandfather did hate being at the center of ‘Moira’s shame,’ as he liked to call it. I think about my papa’s visit often, and it always comforts me, knowing he loved me without reservation. It didn’t seem to matter that I bore the name of Dougherty instead of Reyer.”

  “But you use his name now.”

  Realizing her misstep, Jo quickly withdrew her hand from his before resettling against the seat. She decided to offer him a partial truth. “When I first came to France, I thought having my father’s name would make the Red Cross more likely to help me find him. Then, once I learned he was reported missing and I was on my own, I decided Mademoiselle Reyer stood a better chance of easing into Parisian life and getting on with the French.”

  Her chin rose in challenge. “He is my father after all, and I have my birth certificate to prove it.”

  “Of course.” His gentle look held no judgment. “I hope you get the chance to see him again, Johanna.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled in relief at his understanding, and at the pleasure she felt being in his company. “I’ve told you all I know about pigeons, so shall we talk about horses? You said you broke your arm while on a horse. Did you ride often growing up?”

  “I loved horses the way you love your birds.”

  His expression softened, as if recalling a memory. “When Grace and I were in our teens, Father gave us a pair of beautiful bays. We were raised in London, in the district of Knightsbridge, so the horses were stabled on Garret Street, and we rode them at every opportunity.”

  Jo had never sat on the back of a horse. “Do you and your sister still have them?”

  He shook his head. “Both were requisitioned for the war. When I went into the cavalry, I received an American-bred quarter horse, a sorrel gelding named Wyatt.” The light in his eyes dimmed. “He was killed by a mortar blast just before I found the farm and your sister.”

  Wyatt. Jo recalled Jewel’s words. “Oh dear! I thought the way Jewel had written about him in her diary . . . I assumed Wyatt was a person. A good friend of yours.”

  An edge of his mouth lifted. “Jewel knew Wyatt was a horse and said that made him no less faithful a friend.” He looked away, but not before she caught the sadness in his expression. “She was right.”

  Jo ached inside. So much had been taken away from him. “I am sorry.”

  When he faced her again, she saw obstinacy had replaced his sorrow. “It was the reason I refused a post to train more horses for battle. And before long, God willing, we’ll see an end to this war.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  His lips compressed before he nodded. “It seems distant to me at times, but yes, I do have faith it will happen sooner rather than later.”

  “I hope you are right. If my father is in a prison camp somewhere, he’ll be allowed to return home after the war, don’t you think? Though there is little left of the farm in Havrincourt.”

  Again he reached for her hand, and Jo savored the strength of his grip. “You remember I spoke to you about God loving all of us, despite our circumstances . . . and how miracles happen for those who have faith?” He regarded her. “Have you ever prayed, Johanna?”

  She searched his gaze. His talks about a benevolent Father in heaven and the ability to recognize miracles both intrigued and unsettled her. “I told you before that Moira did not care for religion. I think she was angry with the church. But Grandfather did teach me the Lord’s Prayer when I was young, and he made certain I was baptized.”

  Jo had been eight years old at the time, and Moira was furious over Grandfather’s high-handedness. “When I went off to boarding school in England, all of the girls attended Sunday services.” She paused. “Is that how you seek God? By praying?”

  He nodded. “You already know about my broken arm, but I also had a stutter for a short time while I was growing up. I was subjected to much teasing. My mother would tell me to pray each night before I went to bed, asking God to give me the strength to overcome my speech problem.”

  She eyed him in wonder. “You have obviously conquered your impediment.”

  He chuckled. “I spent a lot of time on my knees asking God’s help. After a while, we got to know one another, and I simply began talking to Him, explaining how much I wanted to be like the other boys in school.”

  Jo had never thought of God as being her friend. “What happened?”

  “I was at Harrow School in London. The church vicar needed boys to sing in the choir, as several members had taken ill and the annual Christmas concert was approaching. Despite my trouble speaking, I had a sound voice, but I’d never thought about joining choir.

  “My father knew the vicar, who stopped in at Swan’s for tea occasionally. One day, I happened to be there at the same time, and the vicar recognized me from school. Once he learned Patrick Mabry was my father, they both pressured me to audition.”

  She leaned toward him. “How did that go?”

  “I sang ‘Silent Night,’ and when my audition finished, the vicar recruited me for the concert. Later, I was asked to join the house singing, and a few months went by before I realized my speech had improved. If I did stutter, I would sing whatever I was trying to say, and the words would come out. Eventually the problem left me altogether.”

  He smiled. “I believe God answered my prayer, Johanna. He placed me and the vicar at the tea room at the same time, and He gave me the opportunity I needed to help myself.” Colin squeezed her fingers. “You can pray to Him too, for peace and for your father. He will hear you.”

  Jo’s brow creased. She only knew the one prayer. Could she just . . . talk to God? Like a person, a friend?

  A rustling sound drew her attention to the kit bag, and she reached in with her free hand to pull away the scarf. Little Corporal was stirring.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. He simply wishes to move around. You would too, if you were cooped up for hours in the dark. . . .”

  Her words trailed off, and she slowly turned to stare at him. “Oh, how thoughtless of me. Of course you know what it feels like, having been in that tunnel.”

  ———

  Seeing her embarrassment, Colin tried to put her at ease. “It’s all right, Johanna. At least I can sympathize with him more than most.” Especially now, knowing the pigeon had also been a casualty of war.

  She smiled her relief before turning toward the kit bag. “Tout ira bien, my little corporal. All will be well.”

  Johanna’s dulcet tone relaxed Colin as well. “You really do love them, don’t you?”

  She flashed him an impish smile. “Much the same way you love horses.”

  “Touché.” He laughed. “So what started your passion for pigeons? Was it your grandfather’s birds in the attic, or that pretty bird ring your father gave you?”

  She seemed to consider his question. “Neither. Or perhaps both. I was very young when Papa gave me the ring and quite taken with it. And it’s true that when I was older, I was fascinated with Grandfather’s dovecote. But I believe my devotion to birds developed through reading.”

  Colin was intrigued. “What kind of reading? Ornithology?”

  “Hardly.” Her eyes lit with mischief. “I was just a child at the time, so bird studies were a bit beyond me. No, after my lessons were finished, I would hide upstairs in the attic with the birds and with my book of fairy tales.” She clasped her gloved hands neatly in her lap. “Have you ever read ‘The Old Woman in the Wood’ by the Brothers Grimm?”

  Colin had a vague memory of it being among his sis
ter’s collection. “Why don’t you tell me the story?”

  Her face glowed as she settled back against the seat. “Once upon a time, a young woman and her family were set upon by murdering thieves as they traveled through the forest. The young woman was thrown from the carriage, the only survivor, and being lost, she had nowhere to go. She was hungry and tired and heartbroken.”

  “Now I know why they called them the Brothers Grimm.” Colin made a face. “Pretty ghoulish so far.”

  “True, but it does have a happy ending.”

  He grinned. “Go on, then.”

  “A white dove suddenly appeared to the lost girl, holding a golden key in its beak. She took the key, and the dove told her it would unlock a tree where she would find food to sustain her. After she ate, she became tired, and the white dove brought a second golden key that opened a tree where she could shelter for the night. On the third day, the dove provided yet another key, this one to a tree yielding the most beautiful clothes.

  “Time passed, and the white dove brought the lost girl a golden key each time she needed help. Then one day, he asked a favor of her: to visit the house of the old woman in the wood. She was to ignore the old woman’s greeting and enter the house to search for the room where beautiful rings were kept. There, she was to locate a plain gold band among the bejeweled rings and return it to the white dove.”

  Johanna’s face lit with such enthusiasm, Colin found he enjoyed the sight as much as her storytelling. “Why was the girl not allowed to speak with the old woman?”

  She drew back from him, frowning. “Be patient—I am getting to that part.” Johanna relaxed her hands to smooth her skirt. “Where was I? Oh yes, the lost girl set off for the old woman’s house, and just as the dove instructed, she ignored the woman’s greeting and went inside to find the room with the beautiful rings. Enraged, the old woman followed her inside. When she couldn’t stop the girl, she grabbed up a birdcage and tried to flee. But the girl rescued the cage, and inside was a bird holding a plain gold band in its beak. She took the ring and returned it to the white dove in the woods, and he became a handsome prince. He told her how the wicked witch had trapped him in her spell—the plain gold band set him free of the enchantment.”

  When she didn’t say more, Colin leaned forward. “Well, what happened then?”

  “He took the lost girl to his kingdom, of course, where they married and lived happily ever after.”

  Colin grunted at the predictable ending. Still, he smiled. “It’s no wonder your favorite pigeon is white.”

  She nodded and laughed. “I admit, the moment I saw Little Corporal, I thought of my handsome prince.”

  The sound of her laughter captivated him, just as it had before. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Johanna had ever met a prince she wanted to save. Surely she would go up against the most wicked of witches for the man she loved. . . .

  “What are you thinking?”

  Colin realized he was frowning. “What am I thinking?” That I am much more attracted to you than I should be. He shifted on the seat, putting some space between them. “I’m thinking Petit must have some idea where Kepler is taking Jewel.”

  He immediately regretted his abruptness when he saw her startled look. But he had no right to think of another when he still sought the truth about Jewel’s feelings.

  Johanna inched over to add even more space between them. “I imagine the Americans must have men in Spain, watching for Kepler and my sister. If Petit doesn’t already know where they’re going, he should be able to find out.” Her brow creased. “I suppose we must offer him some reason for excluding him from our compartment. What would be appropriate?”

  Colin smiled without humor. Likely the American already assumed they were sweethearts, despite knowing of Colin’s promise to Jewel. “We’ll say nothing unless he asks.”

  “And if he does ask?”

  He gave her a wink. “Then we will continue to pretend we are amoureux.”

  CHAPTER

  17

  PORTBOU, SPAIN, APRIL 17

  It was six o’clock in the evening when Colin and Johanna finally reached the end of the French line. After leaving the border town of Cerbère, they passed through a lengthy tunnel to arrive in front of the small terminal building at Portbou, Spain.

  Johanna secured her kit bag while Colin observed the passengers starting to disembark. He wondered how long before they could continue on to Barcelona.

  Suddenly their inner compartment door opened, and Petit stood grinning in the doorway. “You two lovebirds enjoy your honeymoon?”

  Ignoring Johanna’s blush, Colin frowned at the American. “Most of our trip from Paris was spent stuffed inside a compartment with a dozen other passengers. The sign was our solution to avoid that on this journey.”

  “And it worked.” Petit dipped his head. “We should get moving, though. This is the break-of-gauge station, and we’ll have to change trains.”

  Johanna turned her head and raised a brow. “What is a break-of-gauge station?”

  “France and Spain each use a different gauge of railroad track,” Colin explained. “It means we have to transfer to a Spanish train for the rest of the journey.”

  “It also means they’ll be offloading our luggage now.” Petit stepped through the compartment and opened the outer door. “Shall we go?”

  Johanna picked up her kit bag, and Colin allowed her to disembark first, making Petit the rear of their party.

  On the platform, they approached the staging area, where porters were busy hauling off steamer trunks, leather bags, and boxes. “They should transfer our luggage once it goes through Spanish customs.” Petit glanced toward the terminal. “I’ll go inside to see when the next train leaves for Barcelona.”

  Colin and Johanna were watching their bags being piled high onto a wagon along with other cargo when Petit returned. “Bad news, I’m afraid. The last southbound train left fifteen minutes ago. There won’t be another until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  Colin scowled. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Where will we stay?”

  Johanna spoke in a tired voice, and he laid his hand on her arm. “I’m sure there must be adequate lodging nearby.” He glanced at Petit.

  “After we get our luggage and passports inspected, we’ll take a taxi into the town of Portbou, a few kilometers down the hill.”

  “Inspected?” Johanna’s face paled. “Will all of our possessions need to be checked?”

  Petit nodded. “Is there some problem?”

  Colin glanced at her. While their passports had been checked during the trip, no one had taken a look in Johanna’s bag. “Mrs. Mabry dislikes having strangers paw through her things.” He turned to Petit. “Her bag contains a woman’s personal items, you understand.”

  He almost laughed as the American colored slightly.

  “Well now, I could smooth the way, so to speak, with regard to your purse and the bag.” Petit dug into his coat pocket, jingling coins. “A few Spanish duros should do the trick.”

  “Bribery?” Colin’s amusement vanished. “And if your method doesn’t work?”

  Petit shrugged, and Colin’s gut tightened. He looked toward a two-story building near the terminal and saw the wagon full of luggage. “I suppose that is the customs office?”

  “Yes, and as you can see, passengers are already waiting to get inside. If we want to arrive in town before dark, we need to get in line.” Petit turned to Johanna. “What would you like to do, Mrs. Mabry?”

  Johanna turned to Colin. “What do you think about this bribery business?”

  Colin knew that if Petit’s attempt backfired and the pigeon was discovered, all three of them risked getting thrown into a Spanish jail.

  His mind sifted through possibilities, but aside from bribery, there seemed nothing for it but to release the bird and be done. Colin knew Johanna would be unhappy, and oddly, he’d developed a sort of camaraderie of his own with the pigeon.

  A va
gue plan began to form as he met Johanna’s imploring gaze. Colin made a decision and reached for the canvas satchel he wore at his side—the bag containing his prosthetic attachments.

  He wasn’t certain his idea would work, but the scheme stood a better chance than Petit trying to bribe a Spanish customs agent, especially if he ran up against an honest one. “Give us a moment, will you?” He glanced at the American. “We will catch up.”

  “Don’t be too long.”

  As Petit left for the customs office, Colin spoke to Johanna. “I want to talk with you privately—”

  “I am not setting Little Corporal free.”

  Fiery determination had replaced the pleading look in her eyes.

  He sighed. “If my plan works, you won’t have to.” And if it fails, we both go to jail.

  “What plan?”

  “Open the kit bag, and I’ll show you.”

  She did as he asked, and once he’d made the quick transfer, Colin took the bag and carried it while Johanna walked beside him. “Pray this works.”

  She bit her lower lip, nodding.

  Petit had moved up in the line quickly, and they took their places beside him. Colin noted four tables in the customs office, each manned with an agent.

  Petit’s brow lifted as he eyed the kit bag in Colin’s grasp.

  “We’ve decided I shall take Mrs. Mabry’s bag through the inspection to save her any undue embarrassment.”

  One side of Petit’s mouth lifted, but he said nothing as the line moved forward.

  Johanna went first when it was their turn, handing the agent her passport and purse for inspection. When she finished, Colin turned to Petit. “You go next.”

  Of the four agents, Colin had observed one walking with a distinct limp and bearing a scar from nose to ear—the way a bayonet might strike a soldier on the battlefield.