by Tricia Goyer
Emma straightened her back a muscle at a time. The tight knots pulled at her spine, causing her to wince. “You don’t think I know that?” But even as she said it tears filled her eyes. Instead of arguing she took the covers and locked them in the top drawer of her desk. Peenemünde would wait. For the next day or so she could focus on just being Emma and enjoying a day with her friend…as much as she was able to in the midst of a country at war.
SIX
February 23, 1943
Will Fleming rubbed his sore arm and quickened his step. Even through his thick wool overcoat, the nippy winter air seeped in, targeting his arm. Pain radiated out, and he attempted to rub it away, massaging from shoulder to elbow, attempting to dull the pain. There was a time when he thought he’d lose his arm, but a thoughtful nurse urged the doctor to try to save it. Though it gave him fits, Will was thankful. There were many wounded in London—with war wounds from the last war or this one—but Will needed all of his faculties to do his job well.
He supposed he could be thankful he hadn’t been hurt worse two years ago. So many friends whom he’d started working with were gone now. Will wished he could say that it was his wits and daring that kept him alive, with luck having nothing to do with it. From the moment he was first approached about traveling to Germany and becoming an agent of espionage, Will’s life was not his own. He’d been chosen for a greater good. The war raging for Europe had claimed so many lives, and Will had willingly given his so this madness would not continue.
As he walked, his heartbeat quickened, considering all the newspaper reports. They broadcast a narrow view of the war. Londoners would never sleep at night if they knew hidden enemies could do even more damage than German bombers roaring overhead.
Thankfully a battle was being fought behind closed doors and among dark alleys. The secret battle was one they actually had a chance of winning.
Most of the businesses and cafés along Fleet Street were closed at this early morning hour. The street was peaceful, quiet. It was hard to believe there was war all over the world—in Italy, in Russia, in Holland, and in the South Pacific. If not for the sandbagged store fronts and boarded-up windows, it would be hard to believe war had blasted this city so thoroughly. Londoners had worked quickly to repair what they could with typical British efficiency. That was the queer thing about war. How men and women continued to rise up and keep going, as if they were just shaking off a bad nightmare. But deep inside, he knew, was a twisted fear. A fear that told them they had to keep moving because stopping to think of all the destruction, pain, and loss was just too much.
The war will be won, they told themselves. The war surely will be over by next year. And if they let their fears rise…The war is going to destroy us all. Moods swayed with the minutes and the hours. And Will found himself continually moving, keeping his body in motion. Because if he stopped long enough, all he’d seen and done in this war would catch up to him like a pack of rabid wolves ready to pounce.
The sidewalk was damp from last night’s rain. He walked to the front of the closed café and knocked twice, and the door opened to him. Slipping inside and shutting the door behind him, he took in a deep breath. The aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread made the early morning meeting worth getting up for. Not that he’d slept much last night. Not that he ever slept much.
Claudius sat at a back table. It wasn’t his real name, of course, but that was for everyone’s safety. Claudius was his main London contact, yet they’d first met on German soil. He was tall, blond, and extremely handsome. Someone Hitler would use as a model for one of his propaganda posters if given the chance. And with Claudius’s charm, Will wouldn’t be surprised if that happened one day.
Claudius rose as he approached. “Will, good to see you alive and one piece. I assume your last trip went well.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Will slid his coat off his right arm and then gingerly worked it off his left. He attempted not to wince, but Claudius was too observant for that.
“Your arm acting up?”
Will sat and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Nothing that a little sunshine won’t fix.”
Claudius chuckled. “So it’ll be aching until June if we make it that long?”
“I should think.” Will sipped his coffee, smiling at its warmth. The door from the kitchen opened, and a young waitress entered with two plates. Each had one piece of bacon, one egg, and a thick slice of dark bread. Will wasn’t going to complain.
The young woman set down the plates and left without a word. Sadness creased her face.
Will broke his bread in two, watching the steam rise. “I assume everyone has heard about Lisel?”
“Her body was found two days ago. And just when we thought no one was on to her.”
Will lowered his head, swallowing down the emotion that rose in his throat. Lisel had been in Germany too, posing as an art student. What no one in Berlin realized was that Lisel was the teacher and he the student. He wouldn’t be doing the job he was now if not for her.
Will didn’t tell Claudius that he’d seen their mutual friend the week before when he’d taken food for her children. Her dark hair had lost its luster, and her frame had gotten thin from too little food and too much worry, but she’d still been beautiful. Will had taken a message of warning to her that she was getting in too deep, but she’d been as headstrong as always. He’d gone to her apartment just yesterday and made arrangements for Sophie and Victoria. They were safe now at least.
It reminded him again that this war was not a game. More than that, he risked the lives of anyone he associated with. It was a fact he didn’t like to dwell on.
They finished their breakfast, and once the plates were cleared away, Claudius turned to the reason he’d called for Will.
“We are worried about Medmenham. We have reason to believe it’s being targeted.”
“The airfield?”
“No, Danesfield House.”
Claudius paused, letting the news sink in. They both knew of the ACIU. It had moved just outside of the country village, forty minutes from London by train.
“I need you to keep an eye on the place. Get as close to the inside as you can.”
Will stroked his chin. “It’s not going to be easy. From what I hear the place has more brass than the United Nations.”
“Which is exactly why it would make a perfect target.” Claudius crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. His eyes darted to his watch, and Will guessed he had another meeting, but Will needed more to go on.
“Can you tell me where you got your information?”
“It’s better you don’t know for now, but I thought of you for numerous reasons. You’ve been watching some Abwehr agents in the area, I know. You’re familiar with the place. And your, let’s say, special talents can no doubt help you gain access.”
Will guessed what the man was speaking of from the light in his eyes, but he decided to have the man humor him. “I have many talents, Claudius. Can you speak more plainly?”
“There are government officials, military leaders…and WAAF personnel there too.”
Will cocked an eyebrow. The corners of his lips curled in a smile. He drummed his fingers on the table. “Women’s Auxiliary Air Force. I’ve seen them in uniform around town.” He fixed his eyes on Claudius. Without the man stating it, Will knew exactly how his friend expected him to get within those walls. “You know I’m not a lady’s man. I don’t pretend at relationships.”
“Don’t pretend then. There are dozens of women there. I’m sure out of all of them you’ll discover someone you want to get to know better.” Claudius pulled out a brass house key and a slip of paper with an address. “Henley-on-Thames is close, but not too close to make it obvious. The rent is paid, courtesy of the Pilgrim Trust.”
“I’ll pack up my supplies at once.”
“And you might need this.” Claudius pulled out an automobile key next. “It’s parked at the station. You’ll recognize it from your last assignment.”
“It’s not like London. There’s no public transportation. You will need an auto to get around. Extra petrol rations have been left at the house.”
“You thought of everything.”
“Your friend Ruth?”
“Yes, she lives near.” Will drummed his fingertips on the tabletop and then stopped. He didn’t tell Claudius that he knew someone else in that quaint town. Someone he’d had his eye on since returning from Germany before the war. Instead, he turned his thoughts back to his work. “Pen and ink? Watercolor?”
Claudius rose and put on his jacket. “Surprise me this time.”
Will followed suit, rising and putting on his jacket as well.
“Headed out so soon?” The surprise on Claudius’s face was clear. After their meetings Will usually hung around to sketch. It was the perfect spot to draw and observe since the café was so popular with government officials.
“I’m off to my second breakfast across town.” Will buttoned his coat and tucked a scarf around his neck. “The train from Henley should be arriving within the hour. At least a few times a week, WAAFs arrive from the country for some fun in the city. Today might be my lucky day.”
“Let’s hope it is.” Claudius winked. “And let’s hope she’s a pretty one.”
SEVEN
It had taken Will less than an hour to find himself seated at a small café table behind two WAAFs. He’d watched them get off the Henley train and then waited across the street at the paper stand until they entered the café. They looked sharp in their uniforms, although both had dark circles under their eyes that they’d attempted to hide with powder. It was just what he was hoping for—women who worked at night on matters that couldn’t wait until morning.
Will ordered tea and toast and opened his newspaper. He’d been too busy watching the women before to pay attention to the headlines, but a boulder settled on his heart as he read, “USA Vessels Sunk, 850 Lives Lost in the Atlantic.” All of them, except for the crew, had been US military personnel and civilian war workers. Anger pulsed through Will as he imagined the ripple effect on families who were now missing their sons, and most likely daughters too.
He understood the need for women in the military, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Women were vulnerable, which was exactly why he’d agreed with Claudius’s idea for his next mission. It would be easier to get a woman to fall in love with him than to try to make a friend from within Danesfield House. Will again eyed the two beautiful women at the next table over. Either woman would do. He sipped his tea and then placed the cup on the saucer. He opened his book to feign reading and strained his ears to catch as much of the conversation as possible.
“I was hoping to get up to Northumberland when I first got to Oxford, but travel restrictions had started even back then.” The dark-haired beauty spoke with an American accident.
“Yes, they’re making things jolly difficult for us, aren’t they? Were you going just to see the lighthouse? Or is there a handsome sailor you’ve forgotten to tell me about?” The English woman’s tone was playful.
“There’s a museum that just opened a few years back about one of my heroes.”
“In Northumberland?”
“Yes, someone from my town visited. They told me they have some of Grace’s dresses and even the boat she rowed.”
The blonde dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin, and her eyes darted to the door, taking in the sight of servicemen entering. “You keep talking about Grace Darling, but the truth is I have no idea who she was or what was so heroic about her.”
“You’re English—are you kidding me? How could you not!” The woman gasped, and her American accent was clear, though there was a touch of British that he couldn’t define. “I learned about Grace when reading about Ida Lewis. Ida was a lighthouse keeper’s daughter from Lime Rock, and she rescued numerous people from wrecks and storms. A newspaper man compared Ida to Grace Darling, and I’ve been fascinated with her ever since. Even when I was young I wanted to be a lighthouse keeper. Doesn’t it sound romantic?”
“Getting up numerous times during the night to keep a light burning doesn’t sound like my cup of tea, love. It sounds awfully dreadful, really.”
While they chatted Will took the opportunity to study them. The English woman was petite and small. Her blonde hair was pinned up neatly, and even as she talked she drew the attention of numerous men around the room. She eyed a pilot who was sitting at a nearby table and offered him a small wave. The man smiled and then looked down at his plate. Will guessed he had a sweetheart back at home, otherwise he no doubt would be scooting his chair over and joining their conversation.
Then there was the other woman, the American. She was taller, with dark hair and heavy eyebrows. Her hair was also pinned up, but part of it had slipped from its pins and brushed her forehead, as if she’d put it up in haste. She had blueish-gray eyes that reminded him of the sky after a storm, and she wore a more thoughtful expression. Although many of the soldiers and airmen were giving both women attention, this woman gave them no mind. Instead, she seemed steady, content to enjoy the conversation of her friend.
From their uniforms and the fact they’d just arrived on the train from Henley—the closest train station to Medmenham—he had no doubt the two women worked there. It really didn’t matter what department they worked in, building a friendship—or even something more—would be key for him getting close. He got a slight twinge in his stomach, and guilt weighed on his chest. This wouldn’t be his first romance during the war. Will did what he had to do for the greater good. Still, it never felt good to manipulate another’s emotions.
He took a sip of his coffee. This cup was of far lesser quality than the first, and he sighed. Usually it was easy to choose whom he needed to approach and how to go about gaining their trust, but today it was harder. If he made the wrong decision it would put him in an awful muddle.
Will eyed one woman and then the other. Something inside told him to go for the simple British girl, but as much as it made sense, everything within him revolted against the idea. Not because there was anything wrong with her, but rather because it was the American he wanted to know better. She intrigued him in a way no one had since before the war.
Maybe it was the reference to Grace Darling. She’d been a hero of his mother’s too. If he could remember the story right, Grace was a lighthouse keeper’s daughter who helped to rescue survivors from a shipwreck off the coast of Northumberland, around 1840. She’d been a hero in her time and died at a young age from illness. Grace’s story was somewhat known by the British, but it fascinated him that an American knew the story. Yes, he wanted to know more about this American. What she was doing in England, how long she’d been here.
Also the woman, whom her friend called Emma, ate her bread by buttering it one bite at a time, just like his mother and grandmother had. Could she be part British? And for the first time since he’d been working with Claudius, Will decided to go against the sure thing.
EIGHT
Emma attempted to stifle a yawn as they walked toward the bookshop, their arms swinging in unison as they ambled along. She wasn’t good at getting enough sleep on most nights, but after she’d gotten back to her bunk it had been impossible. She couldn’t get her mind off Peenemünde. Her gut told her there was something there, and in her mind’s eye she’d pictured every inch of the covers. What am I missing? There has to be something there.
Walking toward them was a mother pushing a carriage. A baby with wispy, curly hair looked around, and a boy about four years old walked beside with one hand on the carriage. He wore a tin hat with a strap under his chin to hold it firmly in place. They passed and then Emma leaned toward Vera. “You know, I believe those are the first children I’ve seen since we got off the train in London.”
“Yes, but did you see how many of them there were in Henley? They’re all in the country now. I don’t know if I’d be able to do it tho
ugh…send my children away for another to care for.”
“Well, by the time you have children that age, this war will be a thing of the past.”
“I certainly hope so, and I hope I’m not going to have to teach them German.”
Emma gasped. “How could you say such a thing? That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”
“It is now, but I have to admit at first I just thought I’d look smart in a uniform.”
They turned the corner to the street with the bookshop, and Emma’s steps slowed. The windows to the shop had been boarded up as long as she’d been in London—drab wood against the brick, like so many other businesses in the area—but this time it was different. Someone had started painting a landscape on it. The background was a misty gray, and in the foreground a dark-haired woman, with her hair pulled back in a bun, was walking over a stony path. There was nothing ordinarily beautiful about the woman’s face, but her hand resting on her forehead was graceful. It was perched over her brow, and her eyes were narrowed, gazing into the morning light stretching over ocean waves.
The woman wore a rough brown dress that had seen better years and simple black shoes. She was painted midstep, but the image wasn’t complete. Something hung over her shoulder. It was sketched in but wasn’t finished, as if the artist had been called away. What is she carrying, and what is she looking for? Emma’s heart ached. How many women from Tremont had she seen doing the same, searching the ocean for any sign of a loved one who’d sailed away and hadn’t returned?
“Oh, look at her.” Emma paused. “Do you see what she’s doing?”
Vera’s scarf was pulled up over her nose, keeping out the winter cold. She lifted her eyes from the pavement and glanced at the mural. “She’s searching the sky like everyone else in Britain these days.”
“No, she’s not looking up, but into the horizon. And I think she’s carrying a fishing net. It’s hard to tell because it’s not complete.”