by Tricia Goyer
“That sounds like a good idea.” He moved to take his painting off the easel.
“Can I do that?” She stepped forward. Then she lifted it as gingerly as she could. “It’s just beautiful, Will.”
And as she walked to the auto, Emma knew she meant it. Not just the painting but this time together. The moment they just shared. Beauty in the middle of war.
NINETEEN
Emma sat on her bunk that night, slowly running a brush through her hair. Georgette still had to work until morning, but as Emma promised, she’d found Georgette before her shift and told her about her time with Will. She shared about their simple lunch in a café in Henley and how they’d talked for hours without a pause. Then she’d repeated all of it to Sarah and Vera as they ate dinner in the mess. The two had sat with rapt attention and agreed with her that Will sounded like the perfect English gentleman. Emma couldn’t believe that it was her story that she was telling, her heart that was filling with love.
Emma hadn’t told her friends yet about the painting. Or about the way she’d stepped into Will’s arms and how it felt to be held by him. Yet those were the two things she couldn’t get off her mind. Will was the first one she prayed for at night, and she prayed for herself—that if he wasn’t the one she was supposed to give her heart to, God would make it clear.
Both Vera and Sarah also had the night off, and as bedtime neared they all sat in their bunks in the Nissen hut, enjoying the time together. And also relishing the fact that they’d be sleeping in their beds instead of staying up all night working.
Mail had come earlier in the day, and each of them had gotten at least one letter from home. The news had been both shocking and encouraging. So many friends and schoolmates had been lost in Europe and the South Pacific, yet even in the midst of pain there was news of war on the home front. Tremont women had been especially busy organizing metal drives and rolling bandages for the Red Cross. Her mother, it seemed, was busy every day of the week. This week her mother had mostly been focusing on ordering seeds for their planned victory garden. It warmed Emma’s heart to hear of the women coming together to achieve more than they ever could alone.
“It’s hard to imagine life after the war, isn’t it?” Sarah folded up the letter from her younger sister and slid it back into the envelope. “I’ve never been in a world where women are ranked equally with their male colleagues—”
“Or in some cases are their superiors,” Vera commented.
“I just can’t imagine returning home after this—getting married, staying home, raising kids…” Sarah added.
Vera waved her hand in the air. “Or a day without new photos to file away. New clues to unravel. Who wants that type of life?”
Emma listened, but her thoughts were on her parents. What would they think of Will? Would he ever consider visiting the States to meet them? Of course, that would have to be after the war. And even though she didn’t want to argue with her friends, a simple life with a husband, kids, ocean walks, and nights snuggling before a warm fire was exactly what she longed for. Because that would mean the war would be over. More importantly, it would be won.
“What are you thinking about, Emma? You’re awfully quiet.”
She glanced up, embarrassed she’d been so lost in her thoughts. “Oh, just life back in Tremont. Or rather how it used to be. And maybe how it will be in the future.”
Sarah wrapped her blanket around herself and then sat crossed-legged on her bed. “I know I’ve told you about my family’s ranch in Texas, but I haven’t heard much about Tremont. If you want to know the truth, the first time I ever saw the Atlantic was the day I got on a ship to cross it.”
Emma took her own extra blanket from where it was folded on the end of her bed and mimicked Sarah’s pose. “Oh, there isn’t much to Tremont. It’s close to Bar Harbor—a much bigger town where all the important, wealthy people stay for the summer season. Tremont is just a small fishing village, but I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else in the world. I can’t tell you how many times I stood on the shore and stared out into the water. It seemed as if I could see to the edge of the world. From the cliffs I could see so much farther. And a few times, when I was allowed in the lighthouse, I thought the world had really opened up to me.” She chuckled softly and then paused, remembering the feeling of watching the water and the waves, thinking she was able to see so far away. How strange now that in her work the world came to her in large printed images for her to study and explore.
“Now I’m able to see more of the world than I ever imagined. All of us have. We’ve seen cities and seas. We’ve seen destruction and loss. And even when I return home someday, I’ll have a different understanding of the world. My perspective from that lighthouse will always be different now.”
Her friends listened, but they didn’t respond. Instead, Emma could see that each of them was lost in her own thoughts. This war was changing everything. It was changing the landscape of the earth, but it was also changing the landscape inside each of them. Soon, she knew, there would be no part of her untouched.
April 29, 1943
Emma opened the windows in the workroom and breathed in the warm, afternoon breeze. Spring was in full display outside the windows, and the gardens at Danesfield House were bursting with new life. Emma’s heart felt as if it was too.
The breeze caused strands of hair to dance on her cheeks, and Emma placed a hand over her heart. Just an hour ago her hand had rested in Will’s as they’d strolled along the Thames. The place where the forest met the river—at the site of the old ferry dock—had become their special place to walk, talk, and spend time together. When they were there it was easy to forget the war, forget her work, and even forget her pain. She still missed Samuel terribly, but the once-shocked piercing of her heart had transformed into a dull ache. And even though her relationship with Will didn’t make her miss her brother any less, it did help her see that God had a purpose for her being in England. And to know that Samuel had a purpose too, no matter how short his time here was.
Emma was about to turn on the electric teakettle when out the window, two figures moving through the gardens caught her attention. She recognized them immediately. Her friend’s blonde hair tossed in the breeze as she strolled with the man in his work uniform. His limp had become a familiar sight as he walked around Danesfield House, cleaning with efficiency. He was always present and mostly unseen. He spoke when spoken to, which wasn’t often. Seeing him with Vera made her think of their janitor in a new light.
Vera and Berndt walked side by side in a corner of the garden not often visited by ETO staff. Emma almost felt guilty watching, especially when they paused under an arbutus tree and he placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Vera smiled up at him, and Berndt leaned down, placed a kiss on her cheek, and then quickly pulled back. As if sensing she was being watched, Vera turned and looked toward the large estate house. Vera’s eyes scanned the windows.
Emma quickly stepped away. She didn’t want her friend to think she’d been spying on them. Still, a strange feeling came over her. How long had this relationship been going on? And how had she missed it before? More importantly, why had Vera chosen to keep it a secret? Emma scoured her mind, trying to remember if there had been any indication of their interest. Other than that first day when they’d seen Berndt and Vera had commented that he was handsome, she couldn’t recall any exchanged glances or comments that could have hinted of more than friendly banter. Nothing different from the other interactions she witnessed throughout the day between the men and women who worked within these walls.
And why Berndt of all people? He didn’t come from an upper-class family. He didn’t have a high position or come from an interesting background, like so many of their coworkers. He also didn’t have the swanky stride of a pilot or member of an air crew. Was Vera like her, focusing her attention on someone in a rather safe position? Someone who wouldn’t have to face danger or death on a daily basis? Someone whom she’d be able
to continue a relationship with after the war?
Vera had been pursued by dozens of men at Danesfield House and RAF Benson, but while she treated each with kindness and friendship, Emma had yet to see her develop a serious romantic interest with any of them.
Emma dared to peer out the window again and blushed at their parting kiss. The closeness of their relationship was evident, yet why was Vera hiding that fact? Did she worry that she’d get in trouble? Even though there were a few relationships between those working at Danesfield House, it wasn’t common.
Or is there another reason Vera is trying to hide? If so, what could that be?
The door opened behind Emma, and footsteps approached. She turned to see Edward standing there. He looked so serious in his starched uniform. With the familiar fold of his brows and squint of his eyes, he looked as if he were deep in thought.
“Miss Hanson. I’m so glad you’re here. We have information about some new covers we’ve gotten in. If you have time for a meeting, I’d appreciate you joining us. I know it’s not time for your shift yet—”
“Yes, I’m available,” she interrupted. “I always come in early, sir.” She didn’t tell him she came in early to watch the bombers fly in. She didn’t tell him she’d come to pray.
“Good. Come with me.” He turned and walked from the room with quickened steps, and without another glance back out the window, Emma moved toward the door.
She followed him out of their workroom and down the hall to the private conference room. She’d been brought to this room numerous times in the past few months, yet she never got over the feeling of being the small fish in the large pond every time she entered. The others were already assembled, and she assumed they’d had other things to discuss above her rank before they invited her in.
She saluted the men in the room and took her place at the table. Emma expected the meeting to start, but as soon as she was seated, Edward left again. A few minutes later he returned. This time Georgette, Sarah, and Cecelia were with him, and they entered with quickened, erect steps. Both Georgette’s and Sarah’s faces looked flushed with excitement. Only Cecelia looked perfectly calm, as if she was just out to lunch with her friends. They sat in the chairs nearest to Emma. Emma considered reaching over to pat Georgette’s hand as a calming gesture, but then changed her mind. The officers in the room were all business, and it was her job to rise to their level and gain their trust.
Excitement stirred in Emma’s gut, and goose bumps rose on her arms. They must have found more information—enough information for more help to be needed. Would she be taken off of her regular duties? She wasn’t sure.
Emma listened as others presented the newest findings to the chief of staff, but even as they spoke she could tell that a plan had already formed in his mind. Finally, when updates were given, Colonel Brooke spoke.
“Gentlemen, we are instituting a secret weapon investigation on the highest priority. Four photographic interpreters have been assigned to search for clues of experimental work or production, especially at Peenemünde. We have three photo investigators who are also watching potential launching areas on the French coast. They have already been briefed.” Then he turned and looked into the faces of the newest women. “Ladies, thank you for joining us. Just as with Miss Hanson, your work has been evaluated, and you come with the highest regard. We’ve chosen you with care. In this position we need PIs who not only can create a clear picture of what we’re seeing on the images but also can be trusted.”
Emma’s shoulders straightened slightly, inspired by his words.
“A special British–US flying program has been laid out to ensure that every square mile of the coastal area from Cherbourg to the Belgian frontier has been photographed since the beginning of the year,” he continued. “This will be the areas we will be focusing on.”
“What are we looking for specifically, sir?” Cecelia asked.
“As I mentioned to some of you before, a long-range gun or remotely controlled rocket aircraft is our first priority. Hitler has been boasting of these secret weapons. We need to stop him before he has the ability to launch them at our island nation.”
“There’s more than that,” Edward cut in. “We are also looking for tubes. Something from which a rocket could be shot out from.” He turned to Emma. “I need you to look for those first, Miss Hanson. Assign others to the rest of the tasks. But since you pointed us to Peenemünde, I want you to be in charge of gathering the information.”
“Yes, sir.” She quickly flipped through some of the covers that had been set before her. She told herself to remain calm, be serious, and not smile. As much as she was flattered by their praise, it was all part of a day’s work.
Unlike the others she’d investigated before, the photos in front of her now of Peenemünde were clear and perfectly photographed. She leaned closer, quickly spotting some of the other elements she’d discovered previously, but now there were more. The Germans had been busy building. Had Hitler pulled men off the front to work on these projects? Or did he use slave labor from the nations he’d captured?
Edward placed duplicate sets of the covers in front of the other PIs. Then he put additional blueprints before them.
“In addition to the covers, we’ve created plans of the whole area. You can see the power installations, workshops, and other clear indications that large-scale production of some kind is being planned here. And turn to the third page. There is a feature I don’t want you to miss.”
Emma turned to the page and looked closer.
“There are monumental circular earthworks in the woods. The structures within some of the earthworks might be test stands for launching missiles—that’s our best guess. Of course, that’s what I need you for.”
Emma focused on the three circular embankments. To her they still looked like empty reservoirs. She also noted huge elliptical embankments some distance away. This was a big production—larger than she had imagined. And this was only one location. She too believed these places had to do with secret weapons. Nothing else would be worthy of Hitler’s time, labor, and resources. However, there were some key elements that still seemed to be missing.
She cleared her throat, daring to comment. “These are excellent photos, but I don’t see what we’re looking for. The officers said there should be some type of projector a hundred yards long. There’s nothing like that here.”
One of the commanders spoke up. “And that’s why we’re hoping you can give us more insight.”
Emma nodded and then looked at her friends. They had a lot of work to do. It was like trying to find a hundred-piece puzzle in the middle of a million unmarked pieces.
“There is one more thing.” Edward’s eyes moved around the table. “All the information given in this room stays in this room. You will be working in here during the day. I’ll be here at the start of each day to brief you on any new developments.”
Emma looked around the room. There were no windows, no high ceilings, no broad desks. But at least she wouldn’t be working alone. When the meeting was finished, she went to the workroom and gathered her things. Her three friends did the same. None of their other coworkers questioned them as they watched the four women go.
This wasn’t the first time coworkers had left to take on new assignments. Each of them knew the drill. They were to stick to the assignments before them and ask no questions. Even though they all trusted each other, the less each individual knew, the less likely their secrets would be leaked to the enemy. Emma didn’t like to think of an enemy among them, but when it came to the secrets they held, it was better to be safe than sorry. Better to withhold information than to leak it to someone who could be careless in passing it on.
TWENTY
May 31, 1943
For a time Will almost forgot there was a war. He forgot his mission. He forgot everything except letting himself enjoy time with Emma. He still reported to Christopher, and he had the goal of getting closer to the inner workings of Danesfield House, but
whenever he was with Emma it was easy to think of her alone.
He’d finished his painting of the cottage and boat near the River Thames. He then did another one on Friday Street in Henley. He appreciated the narrow street and the Elizabethan, white chalk houses with thatched roofs. He’d sent the Friday Street painting by courier to the central office, but he had kept the one with Emma in it. He hung it in his room, and it was the last thing he saw during the day and the first thing in the morning. It reminded him why he was doing what he did—to protect people like her. To protect her.
He enjoyed spending time with Emma during the mornings, after she got off of work, but his favorite days were those few and far between that Emma had off. She enjoyed sitting by his side while he worked. Sometimes, when his weak arm got fatigued, she’d hold his paint palette for him. With a soft smile on her face, she was content to sit quietly and watch his brushstrokes. Sometimes she’d nibble on an apple or skim a book, but he could sense she was mostly watching him.
Thankfully, Christopher was caught up trying to extract information from the hundreds of thousands of enemy troops captured in Tunisia in North Africa, and he hadn’t pushed Will for more information. Will told himself it was better to be patient and gain access into Danesfield House when the time was right. But the truth was, other than bombers overhead, blackout conditions, rationing, and the lack of men in town, it was easy to forget a big war was raging when he was spending time with someone he cared about in the village or outside the gates of the estate.
Nearly every morning Will found himself driving to Danesfield House and waiting outside the gates for Emma to get off her shift. Even though her eyes were often red with dark circles under them, she got an extra hop in her step when she sauntered down the driveway and saw him waiting there, leaning against his auto. Even though the need for sleep was strong, she joined him for a walk in the woods adjacent to estate property. At that time of the morning, the air still had a crispness and dew covered the ground. The birds were happy to serenade, and other creatures often came out to watch them as if they too wanted to be part of the conversation.