by Diane Moody
“Wait, how can you know for sure that was cat meat in tonight’s stew?”
“Because of its pungent odor and taste. Dog meat is much more flavorful.”
He leaned his head back. “I think I’m gonna be sick. Again.”
She rather enjoyed making him squirm. “It’s an acquired taste, Danny.”
He turned to give her a sick smile. “Evidently.”
“Now rat meat, on the other hand—”
“No!” he said, holding up his palm to her face. “No more food talk.”
“Are all Americans so weak-stomached?”
“Of course not. But can we please change the subject?”
She blew a sigh, louder than necessary. “If we must.”
“You spoke earlier of making deliveries. What did you mean? Is that part of your work with the black market?”
“Trust me, our black market does not make home deliveries.”
“Then what did you mean?”
She folded her arms and tried to focus on anything apart from the compassion in his face. “From the beginning, most of my work with the Resistance has been transporting people here or there. Most of them Jews, mostly children.”
“Oh my goodness. I’m impressed. You save lives! In all this madness, you’re saving people’s lives. That must be very rewarding.”
“This is war, Danny. Hardly anything feels ‘rewarding’.”
“Maybe when it’s all over, you’ll look back and see it that way. But it also sounds extremely risky. Is it?”
“Always. But then everything is a risk now.”
It was so easy talking to him. Before she knew it, she was telling him all about her work and the many children she’d taken here or there. She always called them by name, her “little ones” who often clung to her, frightened and wanting nothing more than to go home to their parents. She told him about her many close calls and the various acting roles she’d had to play whenever the Gestapo began to nose around.
She never forgot he was there beside her, letting her talk. He seemed to hang on every word, all the while watching her. At first it made her uncomfortable, such scrutiny by someone sitting much too close. Then, the more he asked questions, she began to relax.
When telling of a fellow Resistance worker who’d been arrested, she lost her voice for a moment. When it returned, she couldn’t hide her emotion, hearing the graveled attempts in her own voice.
“We know what goes on in the prisons. We have infiltrators who report back to us what happens in those places. Things no human should ever have to experience. The beatings, the rotting, bug-infested food, the filthy conditions, and so much sickness. Many die from illness soon after they arrive. With so little nourishment, most of us have no way to fight off infection or disease. But those are the lucky ones. For those who survive, they face unspeakable abuse. Every time I hear of this one who was assaulted by a guard, or that one who was shot for no reason at all—every time, I wonder what it must have been like for Father in one of those places.” She straightened her back, speaking through clenched teeth. “And I admit to myself how glad I am Mother died before she got there. Better to die than endure such horror.”
She stared at nothing, seeing everything, tired of talking about it.
Danny gently took her hand in his, slowly entwining their fingers. She knew she should pull back, but she didn’t. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t.
“I used to think people were inherently good,” she said, barely over a whisper. “That deep down, most people try to live good lives and be kind to one another. But I know that’s not true. I believe it’s quite the opposite. The good ones are few and far between.”
She grew silent, gazing down at their hands and finding it hard to swallow. She felt him still watching her and wondered what he was thinking. Did he think she was crazy? Did he think she was bitter, merely finding fault with others? No doubt he still believed the world was full of good and kind people. After all, he was one of the Allies—one of thousands from all over the world who had joined together to stop Hitler’s madness. Who would do such a thing, risking their lives for people they didn’t even know in countries on the other side of the globe?
“Anya, tell me. What was the last good memory you had? I mean, before the war. When was the last time you remember being happy?”
She tilted her head, facing him. “What? That’s a silly question to ask.”
“Maybe so, but I still want to know. Think back to the last time you had a good laugh.”
“You mean, other than at dinner tonight?”
He rolled his eyes. “Please, let’s not bring that up again.”
“Why do you want—”
“Humor me. So much heartache here. So many awful memories. I just thought you’d like to think back on happier times. Like that snotty girl you sucker-punched in Girl Scouts.”
She smiled. “Ah, Tilly.”
“Yes, that’s her name. I remember now.”
Anya shrugged. “She had it coming. I’m still not sorry, even though Father made me apologize to everyone. I’d do it again, if I had the chance.”
“Do you ever see any of your old friends?”
“No, not many. Everyone stays to themselves as much as possible. It is best not to draw attention to yourself. Ever. From time to time I see people I’ve known, but we rarely speak. You become very suspicious. You have to be. No one can be trusted. So many traitors all around us and most of them, people you’d never suspect. But of course, turning friends and family over to the Gestapo is quite lucrative.”
She took a deep breath and stretched, weary of it all, dropping his hand in the process. “I talk too much. Talk, talk, talk.”
“Not at all. We’re just catching up. It’s been such a long time since our letters.”
Anya wondered what time it was, then realized she didn’t care. She turned to rest on her side facing him, propped up on her elbow, her head resting against her fist. She felt drowsy and relaxed and strangely comforted here beside him. How long had it been since she’d felt so . . . secure? She brushed away the thought.
“Then it’s your turn to talk,” she said. “Tell me how you got here. Last I heard you were working for your father at the theater.”
“Whoa—that seems like a lifetime ago.”
“It was a lifetime ago.” She pulled at a thread on his sleeve and toyed with it. “So tell me, did you go to university? What was the name of it?”
“Northwestern?”
“Ja, that’s it. Did you go?”
“I did. Dad eventually recovered from the beating those thugs gave him—I wrote you about that, didn’t I?”
“Ja, I remember. It was horrible, how badly they hurt him.”
“It was bad. I wasn’t sure he’d ever really get over it. But he was finally able to go back to work. In the meantime, I’d saved up enough to get me through the first year—barely—but I made it. Even lived on campus.”
He stopped for a moment. She could tell he was remembering something. She watched him, studying every detail on his face. It’s a good face. A kind face.
“What was I saying?”
“You said you lived on campus. Did you like this university, Northwestern?”
“I did. At least at first.”
“What happened?”
He scratched his chin whiskers. “Well, that’s a long story and not a particularly happy one.”
“Surely it is more happy than mine?”
He nodded. “You have a point.”
“Then tell me. What was it like, living on this Northwestern campus?”
“Great. Well, sort of. I had this roommate named Craig. He was such a carefree spirit, at least on the surface. And boy, did he love the girls on campus. And they seemed to love him just as much. I never saw much of him, unless he’d run out of clean clothes or needed a textbook for class. Not that he went to class much. I think his college experience had more to do with carnal knowledge than anything he learned in the class
room.”
She felt her face warm, shocked by such a statement. “You’re making that up.”
“No, if anything I’m sanitizing the situation.”
“Sanitizing?”
“Cleaning it up. He seemed to hop from one bed to another, and never seemed to run out of willing partners.”
She felt her brows arch high on her forehead. “Surely you are exaggerating? Is this normal in Chicago, America? This bed-hopping?”
“No! Well, I mean, I guess it goes on, but nothing like—well, no. Certainly not.”
“You don’t sound very convincing,” she teased, enjoying his reaction.
“It’s just that . . . well, the thing is—”
“Danny, did you also have many girlfriends at Northwestern?” She continued to play with the renegade thread on his sleeve, twisting it around and around on her finger. She raised her eyes slowly, waiting for his response.
“Nothing like that, I assure you.”
“Not even one girl you fancied? Even a little?”
“Well . . . okay, yes, there was someone.” He nodded, looking down at his ankle. “Do you think maybe I should rewrap my ankle? Or just check the—”
“What was her name?”
“Who?”
“Danny . . .”
“Oh. Her name was Beverly.”
“Was she pretty, this Beverly?”
“Oh, well, yes. She was very pretty, actually.”
“Does she write you letters?”
He twisted his mouth to one side. “No, we broke up before I enlisted.”
“What happened? Why did you break up with her?”
He huffed, his eyes widening. “Well, if you must know, she broke up with me.”
“What?” She lifted her head off her hand. “Why would she do a stupid thing like that? Een dom meisje.”
“And that means . . .?”
“A stupid girl.”
He smiled. “Should I have sucker-punched her, you think?”
Anya pursed her lips, recognizing the tease. “I should hope not, as you are a gentleman. But this Beverly obviously didn’t deserve you.”
He took a deep breath. “As it turns out, we were apart that first summer. I stayed for summer school and she went to her family’s lake house. And while she was there, she fell in love with her brother’s best friend who came to visit. He and her brother both played football for Northwestern.”
She shook her head. “What is it with you Americans and your sports? Always the baseball or the football—”
“And I seem to remember how much you truly loved hearing about my Cubs.”
She pressed her lips hoping to camouflage her grin. “Back to the girls. Were there others? Surely she wasn’t the only one.”
“Well, sad though it may seem, she was. But what about you? I know there’s been a war going on, but have you met anyone along the way? Another Resistance worker perhaps? Frederic’s kind of handsome, don’t you think?”
“If you like a man who’s fascinated with his own belching and other bodily noises.”
He laughed. “Ah. How very romantic. But no one else?”
What a thing to ask, she thought. “I don’t know what it’s like for the Allies, but here in The Netherlands, we’ve hardly had time for romance.” She didn’t mean to snap at him but knew that’s how it sounded. “What with the war going on, as you said.”
“What about that guy . . . what was his name? The one at the farm where you used to help out.”
She never saw it coming, the knife he’d just shoved in her heart. His question took her breath away. She could only stare at him, unable to form a single word.
“Come on, you know who I mean—Willard? William?” His eyes danced. He seemed to enjoy his line of questioning.
“Wim,” she whispered.
“Yeah, that’s it! Wim. He broke his leg, right? As I recall, he had a crush on you, right?”
She dropped her eyes.
“C’mon, you can tell me. Were you in love with him?”
His playful grin only twisted the knife in her heart. She couldn’t bear it. Without a word, she rolled back on the bed, then stood up.
“Anya, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have pried. I didn’t mean anything by it. Hey, I was mostly just teasing.”
She turned around to face him, her fist knotted over her mouth. She shook her head.
“Anya, please—” He reached out for her, but she pulled back her hand.
She turned, rushed across the room, and fled up the stairs.
51
“Anya! Please don’t go. Come back!”
Danny couldn’t believe he had been so insensitive. He had no idea what had caused her to up and leave like that. Still, with everything else she’d been through, he should have been more cautious. He should have known to tread carefully with such personal questions. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut?
He leaned back against the pillows, mentally kicking himself for being such an inconsiderate fool. He looked around and found only a few of the guys looking his way. Had they heard everything? Did they know something he didn’t?
“You Americans, you are . . . how you say—fumble?” Frederic came around the corner, puffing on some kind of cigarette. It smelled like dried manure.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Danny said, wishing the conversation was already over.
“You have Anya here,” he said, pointing his cigarette toward Danny’s bed, “but now she’s gone. You fumble.” He shrugged as if Danny should clearly understand his meaning.
“I didn’t know football was so popular in The Netherlands.”
Frederic’s bushy brows drew together. “Eh?”
“Never mind,” Danny said, waving him off.
Frederic rattled off something in Dutch then punctuated it with a perfectly timed flatulent. He offered a proud smile then wandered off.
Wonderful.
Before he could brow-beat himself further, a sudden burst of commotion came barreling down the stairs. Everyone was talking at once, shouting in both English and Dutch. Then, out from the middle of the knot of people, a scruffy man in uniform broke free.
“Danny!”
“Lane!”
The navigator rushed to Danny’s side as he tried to stand up. When he did, Pendergrass hugged the stuffing out of him. “Where on earth have you been?” he croaked.
“I can’t believe it’s really you!” Lane said, finally stepping back. “They told me a co-pilot had been brought in a couple of days ago, and I hoped it was you. Are you okay?” he asked, just then noticing Danny’s faltering stance.
“I’m fine, I’m fine! Come here and have a seat.”
“Lieutenant, we need to debrief Lieutenant Pendergrass,” Eduard insisted, finally reaching them.
“And you will,” Danny said, “but just give us a couple of minutes, okay?”
Eduard held up two fingers. “Two minutes and not a second more.”
Lane helped Danny sit back down on the side of the bed. “You’re obviously hurt,” he said, falling into the wooden chair.
“Just a sprained ankle, nothing serious. I can’t believe you’re here! I’ve had them asking all over about you and the other guys. Are they with you?”
Lane’s face fell. “No, I was hoping to find them here. No word? Nothing?”
“Nothing. These Resistance folks even contacted the 390th for me, but they were told I was the only member of Sophie’s crew they’d heard from. What happened? How did you get here?”
“I landed somewhere in Germany, not far from the border.” Lane pulled his hand roughly over his face. “Never did see Tony after we jumped. We got separated on the way down. Somebody up there must’ve been looking out for me, because I landed in the middle of nowhere and was never approached by any Germans. Not once. I gathered up my chute and made a run for it. I heard their tanks coming, but I hid in a ravine surrounded by a bunch of bushes.”
“Is that where you’ve been all this time?”
>
“At first, I thought better safe than sorry. If no one knew I was there, better to stay put and keep it that way. Then early this morning just after midnight, I decided to take my chances. Took me a long time, trying to stay out of sight—darting here and there, always watching my back. Once the sun came up, I hunkered down in a bombed out church. Crawled up in the chimney. Stayed there all day.
“Then long after the sun went down this evening, I made tracks and finally crossed what I thought must be the border. Came across those other guys,” he nodded toward three RAF men huddled around a table with some of the Resistance workers. “They’d just jumped from their Lancaster,” he said, pointing at the Resistance men, “and those guys were there picking them up. I’m here to tell you, it had to be a miracle. A minute before or after, and they would’ve been gone and I’d still be out there. Those guys work fast.”
Danny reached for Lane’s hand with both of his. “A miracle. Had to be. I’m so glad you made it, Lane.”
“Glad you made it too, Danny. Real glad.”
Eduard patted Lane on the shoulder. “Now, I must insist we spend some time with Lieutenant Pendergrass.” Eduard handed the navigator a cup of tea. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” he answered, both hands on his stomach.
“While we chat, I shall have the ladies prepare you a bowl of stew.”
“Thank you. That sounds great. I’m absolutely famished.” Lane patted Danny on the knee then followed Eduard across the room.
“Enjoy,” Danny said with a smile, picturing his navigator chowing down on kitty cat stew.
Anya never came back downstairs. Danny couldn’t get her off his mind, but had no idea what to do. Once the guys finished their questioning with Lane, they took him upstairs for a midnight meal. Danny hated to miss out on watching that, but decided not to try the stairs. He’d no doubt hear all about it later.
One of the RAF pilots came back down and chatted briefly with Danny, updating him on the progress of the Allied efforts. Most everyone seemed to believe the war would soon be over. “We’re liberating towns and cities left and right. Besides, apparently there are so few targets left to bomb, there’s precious little left to do. We’ve all done our part and Jerry’s all but finished. Any day now. Any day.”