by Lucy Sanna
“Aren’t fireworks illegal, with the war?”
Clay mussed her hair. “Don’t worry. We’ve got boys watching for the Coast Guard down by the shore.”
Kate laughed and kicked off her sandals and ran barefoot down the lawn with the others, writing sparkling messages across the dark sky.
When their sparklers fizzled, Clay led her to a blanket on the grass, just the two of them. Roman candles bursting from shore sent sprays of sparks high into the sky. Noisy things popped, and Kate ducked into Clay’s arms to escape the sounds.
“Be right back.” Clay scrambled to his feet and left Kate alone.
Scanning the lawn, Kate spied Lizzie, sitting on a blanket with a group of girls in pajamas, watching her.
Clay returned with ice cream cones dribbling with a rich sauce that smelled of liquor. Flasks of fiery drinks made their way from blanket to blanket—brandy, whiskey, scotch. Fireworks blurred.
KATE WOKE IN THE DARK to the pulse of crickets in the night. Clay’s arm lay across her stomach and she realized where she was. She sat up in a panic. What time is it?
Her skirt was skewed, crimping her waist. She had to pee. She slipped from under Clay’s arm and stepped carefully around couples lying on blankets across the lawn, some sleeping, others whispering. She used the bathroom, found her satchel, and returned to Clay.
“I have to go.”
He moaned.
“Clay?”
“Kate. Oh.” His voice was flat. “Can’t you stay until morning?” He reached up to pull her back.
She shook away. “I can’t.”
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I’ll drive you, then.”
Clay was silent most of the ride, his eyes on the road. Kate didn’t want to distract him. He was tired, maybe drunk. Kate’s own brain fizzed and her head bobbed sleepy on the seat, scenes of the party floating through her mind. That thing that happened in the lake. Would Josie know what that meant? No, Kate wasn’t going to ask. It was too private, intimate. Maybe that’s what love is, secret things you don’t share with anyone else.
So drowsy. She startled awake with the thought of Lizzie. Would he go to her blanket and lie with her?
“You’re quite the little athlete,” Clay said, breaking into her thoughts. “I could hardly keep up with you swimming.” He glanced her way. “And you shamed me in croquet.”
“I’m just strong . . .” She hesitated. He was used to dainty debutantes who went to charm school. He wouldn’t want to think he might lose to a girl who built up her strength lugging pails of milk and shoveling slop every morning.
“Not just strong, but . . .” He paused. “You win because you’re smart about it. And you’re fun.”
“Sylvia said that boys don’t like girls to win,” Kate ventured. Ben had always cheered for Kate when she made a goal in broom hockey on the frozen pond, or when she hit the softball in a direction he couldn’t catch. “Is it true? Are college boys so fragile?”
Clay laughed and reached out to grab her hand. “That’s what I like about you, Kate. You’re not afraid to say and do whatever you want.”
He swung onto Orchard Lane, slowed to a stop, and turned off the headlights. He slid from behind the wheel and put his warm arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair.
She pulled back. “What about Lizzie? The way you danced together—”
“Lizzie?” He sighed. “We were childhood sweethearts, and sure, we dated for a while, but it’s long over.”
Could she trust him?
“I need to tell you something, Kate. I’ve waited until we’re alone.” He paused.
He’s going to tell me he loves me . . .
“I joined up. I’m in the Navy.” His white teeth gleamed in the moonlight.
Her heart nearly stopped. “You’re leaving? Going to war?”
“It was you who knocked me out of my complacency.” He looked so proud. “Oh, Kate, after our talk, I realized this is what I want to do. What I have to do. I’m a commissioned officer. I’m going to flight school first, then—”
Kate sat stunned. “But you haven’t finished college.” She grasped at random thoughts. “My father never graduated, and he regrets it to this day. Why don’t you finish first and—”
“I haven’t told my father yet. Not anyone. You’re the first.” Clay frowned. “He’ll be furious, of course, and would probably agree with you, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.”
Kate could feel tears starting to spill down her cheeks. “It’s so dangerous, torpedoes and mines and—” It was all her fault. She wished she had kept her opinions to herself.
His body bent toward her, his wide shoulders and vanilla scent. He gently dropped kisses on her face, then he pulled her close.
“You don’t have to do this for me,” she said, breathless from his kisses.
“Not just for you, Kate. I did it for me, my duty to our country. How can I sit here while others are over there . . .” He paused. “Besides, I’m eager to fly for real—” He was kissing her neck, opening her blouse, a hand on her camisole, brushing her nipples, the other under her skirt, moving up her thigh, making her dizzy. “My beautiful Kate.”
“Clay . . .” She gripped his arm. “When do you leave?”
“I’m driving home tomorrow to pack and make arrangements.”
Tomorrow!
“I’ll come back to see you before I ship out.”
“Will you?” His hand on her leg left her limp as a ragdoll.
He pulled her to him. “I will, Kate.”
His mouth found hers again. When his hand swept across her breasts, she didn’t stop him. Instead, she lay back, drawing her arms tight around him, wanting more.
“Oh, Kate.” He sighed. “I better stop before we do something we’ll both regret.”
He sat up and pulled away. Kate shivered with the loss of his warmth.
CHAPTER TWENTY
FEARING THAT MOTHER WOULD BE WAITING UP, Kate declined Clay’s offer to walk her to the door. She hurried along the path through the dark orchard, wary of the prisoners in the bunkhouse on the far side of the property. Approaching the house, she saw a glow coming from the parlor window. Heart racing, she crept forward through shadows and peeked in. Mother was lying on the couch under a quilt.
Kate slipped around to the front of the house and climbed the oak tree to her bedroom window. After changing into a nightgown, she stole quietly down the stairs. She washed up in the kitchen, then tiptoed to the parlor and knelt next to the couch. “Mother,” she touched her shoulder.
Mother startled. “Oh. Kate.” She rubbed her eyes. “I guess I fell asleep. What time is it?”
“Time to go to bed,” Kate whispered. “I didn’t want to wake you when I came in earlier. You looked so peaceful.”
Yawning, Mother pushed herself from the couch. “Did you have a good time?”
“Oh yes.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHARLOTTE PUT A QUART OF GOAT’S MILK into her bicycle basket, rode into Turtle Bay, and parked in front of the dry goods store. Inside, Ellie Jensen was organizing soaps on a shelf in the sundries aisle. When she saw Charlotte, she hurried to the front. “Charlotte, how lovely to see you. Of course you’ve heard the news.”
Yes, Charlotte had heard. The Allies had taken Caen. “Your Philip, we’re all so proud of him.” Ellie’s husband was fighting in France.
“And your Ben in Italy.” Ellie grabbed Charlotte’s arms. “They’ve got the Germans on the run. Our boys will be coming home soon, victorious. Just you wait!”
Charlotte had imagined the scene many times, Ben arriving on the train, waving his cap, strong and sure. He’d run to her and they’d hold each other, crying, laughing.
“Came by in case you could use a quart of Mia’s milk. Sweet from the summer grass.” She took the bottle from her satchel.
“Why, I do believe I could. Thank you. And what can I do for you?”
“A box of my favorite stationery. And three pencils,
please.”
“Of course.” Ellie went to the stationery department and returned with the supplies.
Charlotte picked out a pink barrette from a basket of notions on the counter.
“That’ll be mighty pretty in your blond hair.”
“I was thinking of Kate.”
“Ah, yes. Take it then.”
“I’d like to thank you for encouraging her in sewing.”
Ellie smiled. “If I had a daughter, I’d want her to be just like your Kate.” Yes, she had told Charlotte many times how she enjoyed spending time with Kate. “What did you think of her outfit?”
“The dress is lovely. Just lovely. It was kind of you to give her the fabric. Thank you.”
Ellie’s eyebrows dipped into a question. “She decided to make a dress? I thought—”
“Yes. She made me a beautiful dress.”
“Oh.”
Charlotte saw something odd in Ellie’s expression. “What did you think she was going to make?”
“I don’t know.” Ellie fiddled with the receipt. “I thought she was going to make something for herself. Something special.”
“Special for what?”
“Her new boyfriend. I thought—”
“Boyfriend?” Charlotte’s scalp bristled. Karl!
“She was going to tell you—”
Charlotte blanched. Did everyone know but her? “Oh, that’s right,” she said as calmly as she could. “So hard to keep up with all that’s been going on, the war news. Dear me. Now I’ve even forgotten his name.”
Ellie pursed her lips in a way that made Charlotte wonder what she might be hiding. “Kate didn’t mention a name.”
CHARLOTTE TUCKED THE STATIONERY into her satchel. I knew it! I just knew it! Her head throbbed with a growing ache. She would go right up to Kate’s room and confront her. Or if she saw Karl first . . . Karl and his precious violets! Oh! What a fool I’ve been, to think that . . . She shook impossible thoughts from her head.
Riding down Orchard Lane, Charlotte saw Thomas on the tractor off across the property. I must tell him. If Karl is encouraging Kate in this ridiculous affair, he needs to be sent back to a prison camp. “We won’t miss him!” She said it out loud to tamp down the other feelings that bubbled below the surface.
But if Karl was sent back, the whole county would hear about it. Big Mike and the rest of them. It would be just as they predicted—Nazis luring innocent girls. They’d demand that all the prisoners be sent back. That would mean no harvest. Another year without income. How would they survive it? Charlotte went cold at the thought. No, Thomas mustn’t know. It was up to her to nip this in the bud.
Kate’s bicycle wasn’t in the barn. “Where is that girl!” With that bad influence Josie, no doubt. Josie probably knew all about Karl.
Charlotte heard a floorboard squeak on the other side of the barn. “Kate?”
She waited, listening. All was silent.
Ginger Cat jumped from out of the shadows.
“Oh, so it’s you. What were you chasing over there?”
The cat skittered past her and out the door.
On the way to the house, Charlotte fumed. Where do they meet, those two? Thomas had given Karl privileges, allowing him to roam the property without a guard. Charlotte had never been one to monitor her children. As long as they got their chores done and were home in time for supper, she trusted them on their own. During the school year, Kate spent her spare time at the library. Once the harvest came, she handled the sales at the roadside fruit stand. But in the meantime, Kate had far too much time on her hands. The devil’s workshop. Well, there was plenty of work she could give Kate to keep those idle hands busy.
Charlotte boiled water and made a cup of mint tea to calm herself, but it was no use. Looking toward the garden, she decided to take out her anxiety on the weeds. She rinsed her cup and returned to the barn.
The garden tools hung on the far wall. As she reached for a hoe, she heard scuffling behind her. Heavy steps thudding toward her. A thick sweaty hand clapped over her mouth. Hot breath on her neck.
She bit down on the salty palm and tasted blood. A grunt. A knee banged against the back of her own knee, knocking her to the floor.
In front of her now, squatting over her, was that crazy-eyed Nazi, the lurid scar purple across his cheek.
“No! No!” She caught his beefy arms, digging her fingernails into his flesh, flailing her body from side to side, thrashing her legs. She reached for his face to poke thumbs into his eyes. He seized her arms and pinned them to the floor above her head, holding them in a meaty paw. With the other hand, he pushed up her dress and tore at her underpants, ripping them apart. He put a knee between her legs, his thick body looming over her. He fumbled one-handed with the buttons on his trousers, muttering words that sounded like a curse.
The more Charlotte struggled, the firmer he held her. There was no way he was going to let go unless . . . She lay still and calmed her breathing. He let her hands loose to focus on his buttons. When he pulled out his bloated penis, she found her moment and shoved her right knee hard into his balls. He moaned and clutched at his groin.
She rolled away and screamed and pushed herself from the floor. She stumbled toward the wall and grabbed a butcher knife.
A hand caught her ankle and jerked her down. Her shoulder banged against the floor, then her head. Ears ringing, she swung the knife at him. He tried to seize it but caught it by the blade. She jerked it forward, slicing through flesh, blood dripping. He cried out and let go.
She scooted away and tried to regain her footing, still holding the knife.
He lurched toward her, and she swung again, missing his throat but gashing his chest, sending blood spurting across her face and dress.
He howled. His hand pulled back, and she watched, slow motion, the solid fist coming. Her head jerked sideways with the punch.
Through blurred vision, she saw a hand reach for the knife. Not Vehlmer’s meaty paw. No, this large square hand she knew.
The two men struggled over the knife. Karl lurched forward. His eyes cold, his face distorted in rage. “Umkommen!” he yelled, slicing the knife across Vehlmer’s throat.
“MRS. CHRISTIANSEN. AUFWACHEN! WAKE UP!”
She opened her eyes. Karl knelt over her, his face and clothes splattered with blood.
She screamed and pushed away. Her breath came in gulps. Her head throbbed. Her right cheek pulsed with pain.
“Shh.” He sat on the floor and pulled her gently into his lap, rocking her. “It’s over. You are now safe.”
She glanced around, wary.
“You were so brave,” he said.
“There!” She pointed, trembling. Vehlmer’s eyes crazy open, throat slashed, brown trousers caught around his ankles. Blood oozed and puddled beneath him on the wooden floor. And next to the body, the butcher knife, smeared red.
“Get Thomas!” she cried. “Thomas!”
“He cannot hear you. He is on that tractor.”
“Go get him. Get a guard. Now!” she demanded, struggling to push herself to a sitting position.
“Shh. Mrs. Christiansen, you need to calm.”
“Calm?” Why was Karl here? Was he in on this? Karl and Vehlmer together? “Go!”
“Bitte!” His eyes pleaded. “Do you want for me to hang for that murder of a man who was to rape and kill you?”
“What?” She shook her head. “You’re not guilty. You saved me!”
“But your Army . . . they will hang me.”
“I’ll tell them I did it.”
“Blood is on my clothes. I am not now with the others. They will know.” He breathed heavily. “You must hide me.”
“Hide you?” Her mind spun with questions, her head spun with pain. “If you hide they will know it was you. They will find you.”
Karl’s eyes widened, his mouth opened and closed. He stared at the dead man. “We have to get rid of it.”
Her heart raced. “Getting rid of the body . .
. that’s as much as admitting guilt.”
“If they see him, they will stop your harvest.”
Karl was right. The county would take all the prisoners away. They were so close, so close. She couldn’t lose the harvest now. And Karl . . . would they really hang him?
She grabbed his shirt. “Do it then.”
“I will take him to the woods—”
“No.” She sat up, her head heavy. “Dump him into the lake. Take the motorboat. The lake drops off about twenty yards beyond the dock. Dump him over and let the fish eat him.”
“The lake, it drops off. Gut.”
“No.” She caught his arm. “Go north with the current so he won’t come up around here. Let them find him in Escanaba or Marionette.”
Karl nodded.
“But bring the boat back. Promise me.” She searched his eyes. “If you run, they’ll suspect you.” She let go of his arm.
Karl brought the wheelbarrow to where Vehlmer lay. Charlotte found an old horse blanket to wrap around the body so it wouldn’t trail blood. She peeked out the barn door, scanned the yard, then hurried to the boathouse and turned the winch to lower the motorboat into the water.
Standing on the dock, Karl dumped the body into the boat and stepped in. He eased out the choke and pulled the cord. Rainbows of oily gasoline floated across the placid surface.
Charlotte shuddered and pushed the wheelbarrow back to the barn. She opened the supply cabinet and took out a bucket and filled it with water. She lathered the hand brush with soap and got down on her knees and scrubbed at the stain on the dark wood floor. She poured bleach into the water to clean the butcher knife. She doused the wheelbarrow.
Finally, she plunged her hands into the bucket. But how could she ever feel clean again?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JOSIE AND KATE SAT CROSSED-LEGGED facing each other on the warm south side of the lighthouse balcony. The two girls had grown closer now that Clay would be fighting the enemy too.
Josie held a cigarette aloft. “I was worried he was a coward.” She blew smoke through her nose. “The war’s nearly over, at least in Europe. But he’s finally doing the right thing.”