by Tricia Goyer
“Berndt was an ambulance driver before his accident. His leg was injured during a raid in London. You just need time to get to know him better. In fact, he and I were talking, and we both thought it would be fun if we spent some time together—Will and you and me and Berndt. I hear it’s possible to rent rowing boats in Henley. What do you think of doing that on our next day off?”
Emma had told her she’d talk to Will even though she had no intention of doing so, but now she changed her mind. Maybe it would be a good idea for her and Will to get together with Vera and Berndt. Then maybe together they could discover what the man was up to.
“Miss Hanson? Did you hear what I just asked?”
Emma turned her gaze toward Edward, for the first time realizing he’d been talking to her. “I’m sorry, sir. You caught my mind wandering. What did you ask?”
“I asked if you’d brought the most recent photos of Peenemünde.”
“Yes, sir. I worked with my friend Vera last night to find the exact ones we needed.”
“Good. My guess is the War Cabinet is going to want to launch an offense against Peenemünde soon. The more we have our ducks in a row, the more likely we’ll be able to stop the secret weapon project in its tracks.”
“Yes, sir.”
Emma looked down at the stack of papers and photos on her lap. She needed to stay focused. The information she would give could turn the tide of this war. If they couldn’t stop Hitler’s secret weapons, there would be no stopping the Germans. She had to remember that.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Two hours later Emma found herself in the cabinet offices. She carried her files and walked by Edward’s side down the hall toward the main conference room. As she walked, she expected someone to stop her and ask what she was doing there. She expected to be called out, but no one did. Instead, she was seated at a large conference table with Winston Churchill himself and all his chiefs of staff. All eyes turned to her as she gave her report. It took more than an hour to go through all the information, and she was pleased to see most taking notes. When Emma was through, she fielded questions, amazing even herself with the number of details she remembered. When all was quiet again, it was Churchill who was the first to speak.
“You are doing a fine job at Danesfield House, Miss Hanson. I appreciate all your hard work. That was the exact information we needed, and I’d like to come for a visit myself soon.” He chuckled. “Don’t tell my daughter, Sarah, though. I’d like to surprise her. When she decided to sign up for the WAAFs, I worried she didn’t have the right stuff. Thankfully she’s proven me wrong.”
Emma knew she was being dismissed. She slid the files across the table to Edward. “Thank you, sir. We all would love a visit. And don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me, although I will tell Sarah that you send your regards.”
“Very well, then.”
She rose and moved to the door. Edward did the same. “I’ll see you out.” She slipped into the hall, and he followed her. When the door closed, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Very well done, Miss Hanson. You did a fine job in there. I’m sure they’ll ask you back.”
“That’s good to know.”
Edward glanced at the door. “I still have a few hours of meetings yet. There’s a small pub across the street that makes a decent fish and chips.”
“Don’t worry about me, sir. I also know of a bookstore a few blocks from here. If you don’t mind…”
“Not at all. London’s safe enough these days, especially for a woman in uniform in broad daylight.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful, sir.”
Edward entered the cabinet room once more, and Emma made her way back down the long hall. She checked out at the front desk, telling the security officer she’d be back in a couple of hours.
The August air was warm, and the noise of the city made Emma come alive. On the way to London on the train, Edward had told her about a new army exhibition that had been set up on the bombed site of the John Lewis department store on Oxford Street. In addition to visiting that, many military personnel in London also visited the Regal Cinema for a show. She and Edward had chuckled together that the most recent film was Watch on the Rhine.
“We do that on a daily basis, don’t we?” Edward had commented.
“Yes, the Rhine and every other river in Germany.”
Yet no matter how much those places drew a crowd and brought a bit of fun to the war-weary, Emma couldn’t think of anything more interesting than the bookshop. In addition to finding a few more books to read, she was also eager to see if the mural of the woman by the sea was finished. She appreciated beautiful art even more since spending time with Will. She enjoyed those who brought beauty into the world, especially when it seemed so much easier to focus on the frightening newsreels that spoke of destruction and loss.
Her mind was lost in thought as she passed an alley near an apartment complex. Then suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement coming out of the alley toward her. A man dressed in black lunged for her. Emma turned to run, but before she could get away an object struck the back of her head and a gloved hand clasped over her mouth. Emma attempted to struggle and kick, but the man was too strong. Before she could call out for help, he pulled her into the alley.
Fight. Fight. Don’t let him do this! her mind screamed.
She tugged on his hand with all her might and kicked him hard in the shin. Her attacker cursed and loosened his grip slightly. Before she had a chance to call out, something sharp pressed against her abdomen.
“Stop struggling,” a voice hissed. “I just need you to answer a few questions. I won’t hurt you.”
“I can’t!” The words came out in a raspy whisper, and Emma resolved not to give in. Her mind’s eye flashed through all the important images and reports she’d carried with her today. She could see it all as clearly as if she’d taken photographs with her mind. But she made a promise to herself that no matter what he did to her, she would not tell him anything. She would not give away the secrets of her work.
“You will do as I asked.” The sharp blade pushed even harder against her side, and she wondered how it hadn’t already broken the skin.
A knife. Her heart pounded. So this is how I’m going to die. Her knees softened, as if unable to hold up her weight. She heard footsteps beyond the alley and prayed it was a constable patroling the streets, but it was only an old woman, walking up to her doorstep without a second glance.
“Where is he?” There was a strong odor of garlic on the man’s breath, and her stomach lurched.
“Who?” she managed to mutter.
“You know who I’m talking about. We’ve seen you together.”
She thought first of Edward, but then changed her mind. Will? For some reason she knew the man—whoever he was—was talking about Will.
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words came out as a jagged whisper. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her heart ached at the thought of her parents receiving another death notice delivered by telegram.
“You recently had a visitor to Danesfield House. And he gave you something. What did he give you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Will had given her a few things, including a sketch and a painting. But there was nothing else he’d given her that was important, was there?
“It was a book,” the man hissed. “What was inside the book, Emma?”
And then she knew. It wasn’t Edward or Will the man was talking about. It was Robert.
“I can see you’re not going to talk.” The man spoke from deep in his throat. “But I just need to know one thing.”
The man pulled a photograph from his pocket and held it up to her. A man in a pilot’s uniform lay twisted in an awkward position on the ground, as if he’d fallen from the sky. From the angle of his neck it was clear it was broken, yet his face was calm, as if he were only sleeping. A small trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, and his blond hair fell across his forehe
ad.
Emma released a groan seeing the man lying there. She wished she could brush his hair from his face. Her hand instinctively moved to the photo. The man in the photograph reminded her of her brother. They looked similar enough to be brothers, even though she knew that was impossible. Tears filled her eyes.
“Who is he?” she asked, telling herself to hold on and be brave. She had to stall. She had to pray that someone would come.
“You don’t know him?”
“No.”
A harsh laugh escaped the man’s lips, and then suddenly she felt his grasp loosen. With a jerk he released her and then pushed her away as if he were kicking a piece of garbage to the curb.
She turned and got a good look at her attacker. His black hair was slicked back, and she had a feeling she’d seen him before. Then she remembered. It was when she was in London with Vera—the day she’d picked up the book about Grace Darling and the Agatha Christie novel. It was the first day she met Will. And she remembered where she saw the man too. That moment when she stopped in front of the restaurant, sure that she was being followed, he had been there. He had been watching, following her.
“You don’t know who this is?” He laughed again. “That’s all I needed to know.” And with that he was gone. He walked around the corner and went down the street as if nothing had happened. Emma lay in a crumpled mess on the ground.
Her breaths came hard and heavy. She didn’t know who that man was or what he wanted. She just knew to escape.
She rose and left the alley. Instead of continuing to the bookstore, Emma returned the way she came, walking with quickened steps. The guard at the front door seemed surprised when she returned, and Emma made up an excuse that she had a headache.
It was only as she got into the water closet that she understood what could have happened. The trembling began at her knees and moved upward. Emma looked at her face in the mirror, shocked by what she saw. She’d lost all color, and half of her hair had been pulled from its pins.
She replayed the events in her mind, but none of it made sense. Why had she immediately thought the man was talking about Will? And what did Robert have to do with anything? He’d just been her brother’s friend, coming to deliver a Bible, hadn’t he?
She ran the cold water, splashing it into her face, and tried to decide whether she should report the attack. Should she at least tell Edward about it?
The thing was, she hadn’t given anything away. Inside she still held—and protected—all the information about the secret weapons project. She was trustworthy. She’d always wondered how she’d respond if faced with such a test. Now she knew she’d passed.
And yet. Would this change Edward’s opinion of her? Would she appear weak to her other superiors? And what about Samuel—had he been involved in something beyond his normal duties? Would this tarnish his memory? After collecting herself, Emma decided she wouldn’t tell anyone about what had happened. She hadn’t been harmed—not truly—and no information was given. But the questions still tugged at her. What did the stranger want with her brother’s Bible? And what was the connection between that and a dead pilot?
Emma searched her mind, but nothing came to her. She told herself she needed to do a better job at keeping herself safe. She would no longer venture out alone. In addition to the war being fought around her, there was another war, a secret war—one she didn’t understand. Yet she needed to be aware of it, to be careful, lest the next time she wasn’t so lucky.
“Is this seat open?”
Emma patted the train seat next to her, offering to the woman what she hoped was a welcome smile. “Yes, of course.”
The woman settled into the seat next to her. Edward had chosen to sit a few rows back, next to one of the commanders who was also on his way to Medmenham.
The woman had a round face, but her gray dress hung on her as if it were made for a much larger woman. Smile lines creased around the woman’s eyes, hinting of happier days. She looked to be in her early thirties, only five years older than Emma, but she moved with the slowness of someone twice her age. It was as if she personally carried the weight of the London Bridge on her shoulders.
The sound of bombers returning from their bombing raids roared overhead, and Emma stilled her movements and lifted her ear toward the sky. Her lips moved in a silent prayer as she thanked God for their safe return.
“Do you have a sweetheart up there?” the woman asked.
“Sweetheart?” It took a moment for Emma to realize the woman was talking about one of the men on the flight crews.
“Oh, no. I have no sweetheart. Just saying a prayer…you know, for their safety.”
“Your mouth speaks one thing, but your eyes tell a different story, love. Hearing the roar of those bombers hit you personal like.”
Emma sighed, wishing she could just enjoy the ride home without talking about it again—talking about him. “It’s my brother. He’s a pilot. Or rather, he was a pilot. His plane went down months ago. No one from their crew survived.”
“That’s an awful shame. So many lives lost. So many stories cut short.” The woman picked up a novel she had brought and turned it over in her hands, as if feeling the weight of it. “Not too many happily-ever-afters these days like in the novels. Or at least not yet.” The woman attempted a smile. Attempted the right words. She cleared her throat. “So your brother, did you have a chance to say good-bye?”
Emma jerked back as if slapped. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
The woman shrugged. “Last good-byes. I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. We never know when or if we’ll see our loved ones again.”
Ropes of pain wrapped around Emma’s heart, pulling her down as if attached to an anchor. Emma sighed and feigned sadness. She didn’t have the energy to let her emotions take her there again. “No, I can’t really say I did.” She thought back to Samuel’s Bible. “Although maybe he knew.”
In her mind’s eye she thought about the inscription. Then she considered what he’d written. Emma, your brother will rise again. She also thought about the photo the man held. The photo of the dead pilot. Her mind ached, trying to figure out what was happening and who was involved. Then, like the mosaics she created by placing the covers together to create a full picture, the pieces began shuffling into view. And in the center of it was Samuel.
Had he been trying to tell her something? Was it possible that someone else had died and they’d assumed it was him by mistake?
Don’t think about that, Emma. Don’t let your mind go there. Don’t get your hopes up.
The woman next to her continued to talk. Emma tried to pay attention but wasn’t successful. Finally, the train reached Henley. The woman patted her hand. “Don’t worry, dear. The war seems hard now, but there is some good waiting at the other end of it. I’m just sure of that. Weeping may be in the night, as my grandmother always used to say, but joy comes in the morning.”
Emma nodded and smiled at the woman. “Of course.” She wanted to believe that. She had a new relationship with Will, after all, but at the moment Emma’s life seemed to be shifting. Like sand slipping through her fingers, she didn’t know what to hold on to. The only thing she could fix her mind on was God. At least he’d be steady when everything in her life felt like it was slipping away.
Emma sat up in her bed, her body covered in a cold sweat. Her heart was racing, and she almost expected to hear the air raid sirens, but there were none. Only the sounds of women breathing in the darkened Nissen hut. Only the pounding of her heart in her ears.
“Samuel.” His whispered name was on her lips, and immediately she knew why. She’d dreamed of him. It wasn’t the dream of seeing Samuel climb into the bomber and wave as he’d flown away, as she’d dreamed so many times before. Instead, it was of Samuel as a small boy.
They’d been playing at a lake, the name of which was long forgotten. They’d walked side by side, the slope of the lake gradual. Samuel was pointing to a bird, and then he was gone. Instinctivel
y, she’d reached out and grabbed him, pulled him to her. Water sputtered out with a cry, and her mother ran toward them, scooping them up. They’d been walking on a sandbar, she’d later learned, and he’d stepped off the edge. If she hadn’t been there he would have been lost to the lake’s depths.
For years after that, whenever they’d argue, Samuel had jutted out his chin with a challenging grin. “Well, you’re the one who saved me. So it’s all your fault,” he’d proclaim. They both knew he was talking about the lake, but the truth was she hadn’t been around to save him when it really mattered.
An odd sensation filled Emma and traveled up her arms. She had an uneasy feeling she was being watched, even in the dark, but as she squinted her eyes and scanned the room, it was clear she was the only one awake. She thought back to the dream, realizing it was different somehow.
The same events played out, at least at the beginning. They’d been walking. Samuel had looked at the bird. He’d disappeared, and she’d reached for him. But in the dream this time he hadn’t been right at her grasp, and she had to reach deeper. And then when she pulled him up, there was no cry. No sputtering breaths. Instead, there was only silence. And instead of her brother’s boyish face, there was the face of the man in the photo. A man in a pilot’s uniform. A man who looked so much like Samuel but wasn’t. A man who’d died and who’d been photographed in death, but why…and what did it have to do with her?
Why did the man approach me? Did he think the man in the photo was Samuel? she wondered again. If so, why ask now? What did it matter?
Her head ached where he’d hit her with some object, and her abdomen did too. She touched the place where he’d pressed the blade into her stomach. When she’d looked at it during her shower, there had been a dark purple bruise. She grew sick to her stomach thinking about what would have happened if he had pressed a little harder. It would have been so easy to have killed her. But he hadn’t. Would it happen again? And why couldn’t she shake the feeling that Will had something to do with all of this?