Easter Sunday (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 7)
Page 19
“Daddy, when I first read through, I didn’t know what to think. Grandfather made a confession, like he told me this sin of his. He said he kept the medal but he didn’t know why. Brave men got medals but he received it for being a German soldier.”
Hank stared at his son. “A German soldier? I don’t understand. We thought he was hiding his Jewish religion. In those days no one fought as a Jew and a German soldier at the same time.”
Bobby clenched his hands. “I got so mad. I started thinking of him as a man with a whip in his hand. He wrote that when people called him a Jew in River Sunday, they reminded him of the evil committed by his native country in the war.”
Hank shook his head. “Displaced people from Europe sometimes appeared to people as Jews. He didn’t talk about Jews.”
“You remember Mrs. Steers. Turns out she had German connections to get him false papers. Those documents in the desk are all fake. His real name was Heinrich Grien. He wasn’t a Jew.”
Hank stood up and walked back and forth in the small room. “Is this really true, son?”
Bobby nodded. “After reading the letter, I tried to figure out whether I loved him or hated him.”
“Why didn’t my father tell me all this?” asked Hank. “I thought the letter disappointed you about your boat, about not getting any money. You were so angry.”
Bobby answered him. “No. Nothing about a boat. He wrote he wanted to tell me all this because I was young and not in any war, not a soldier. He said the guilty are best judged by the innocent, not by other guilty ones. I was supposed to be what Jesus spoke when he told about the pure of heart.”
“I never guessed all this,” said Hank. “I mean, I thought maybe a guerilla fighter or something, but not a real soldier. He didn’t like war. He didn’t like when I went to Vietnam.”
Bobby went on, “He said maybe I would understand how he made so many mistakes, did so much damage, and then I wouldn’t do the same myself. He said if he told you, you might think like a soldier and not understand his sorrow.”
“I wouldn’t think killing Jews was right,” said Hank. “I understand why he fought for his country, though.”
Bobby said, “He said he wanted to be forgiven, or at least understood, by someone not a warrior. In his letter, Daddy, Grandfather wrote he pleased his father by volunteering to join the U-Boat service.”
“U-Boats?” asked Hank.
“Yes. He was a captain. Grandfather said he arrived on the American coastal patrol in the spring of 1944. The United States destroyers and aircraft attacked constantly. The depth charges terrified his crew.”
Hank observed, “That explains his fear of closed places. Those subs must have been hell when the depth charges came down on them.”
Bobby continued, “He wrote on Easter Sunday they surfaced to fix a problem with the dive planes. A huge storm had arrived and the boat rocked hard. He was manning the conning tower watch when the lookouts sighted a lone American warplane.
“He knew the aircraft would spot his boat soon and notify the enemy patrols. His men worked hard to get the repairs finished before a destroyer or subchaser arrived.
“The plane made a lower pass over the submarine. When the pilot opened his cockpit to get a better view, Grandfather aimed his rifle. He thought he hit him because the pilot closed the cockpit. The plane wobbled in flight and headed toward land, to the west.”
Bobby paused, “He wrote that he found out later the fighter had the same number as Zinnie’s plane.”
“What a strange story, those two people ending up fighting each other,” said Hank.
The boy continued, “All his men went below and the boat started to dive. He was the last man on the tower. A destroyer attacked. He wrote the storm was so bad the ship came on them without being seen in the high waves.
“The destroyer cut right through the metal of the submarine hull, the sub bending in half. Both ships blew up. With the impact he felt himself being thrown in the air and twisted around, almost flying, until he hit the water surface about fifty feet away. Dead bodies were floating around him.
“The current brought him toward shore. The destroyer bow section moved ahead of him. It crunched, upside down, into the sand beach a hundred yards from him.”
“The wreck remained on that beach for years,” said Hank.
“He dressed in the clothes of an American sailor. When the beach patrol arrived, he hid among the dunes. He ran inland, far away from the beach. In the sailor’s clothes he passed as American when he met people on the road.”
Hank said, “He must have been in pretty bad shape.”
“He was. He knew about a German agent and went to her house. She helped him hide.”
“That must have been Missus Steers. She was the only one suspected by the authorities in the area. Nothing was ever proved.”
Bobby nodded. “He became her gardener during the rest of the war.”
Hank said, “People in River Sunday claimed U-boats anchored near her house to pick up gold from Nazi sympathizers before the war started. Grandfather would never say anything bad about her.”
Bobby asked, “Should I have left the medal in the swamp?”
“You did the right thing. The medal rests in the swamp mud with Zinnie’s ring. If anyone ever finds the plane, the town will have a mystery about all of this.”
“Jimmy said the Native American heroes were buried there. I figured the mound a good place. Grandfather was a hero to his own people.”
“How did he get the medal?”
“He wrote he was awarded the Cross for bravery in sinking ships coming into England. He said he got it even though he was not a member of the Nazi Party.”
Bobby stared at his father. “What will you do, Daddy? You must think about Grandfather, too.”
“I will try to understand him,” Hank said. “You know, Bobby, he could have died never having told us anything. I think this letter was an act of love.”
“A weird one.”
“I agree,” said Hank.
“I did decide to keep on loving him,” said Bobby.
“I guess I will, too,” said Hank. He went on, “While you were talking, I started to think we might not even be citizens.”
Bobby frowned.
Hank grinned. “Then I remembered the law. We’re citizens because we were born here. So, you left the medal and letter in the plane?”
“I tore little pieces, balled them up, and fed them to the muskrats. Kept them busy too. I listened to them chomping away.”
Hank began to laugh.
Bobby, grinning, began to laugh, too.
Melissa knocked and opened the door slightly. “What are you guys laughing about?”
Bobby spoke quickly, “Some secrets a father and son got, Mom. Come on in. We’re all done.”
“Maybe we ought to try to help the white muskrat after the water goes down. I mean, get him a new home,” suggested Melissa.
Betty followed her into the room.
Hank said, “The mound will come back up after the water recedes.” He smiled at Melissa saying something positive about animals.
“The white one only,” she added.
“I’m going to rename him Sachem,” said Bobby.
“Is Will all right?” asked Hank.
“He’s fine. He’s down the hall in bed figuring out how to dredge out the P47,” said Betty.
Bobby asked, “Where’re Cathy and Richard?”
“They will be here later to visit you.”
Later Betty and Hank walked down the littered street in River Sunday. They approached the colonial courthouse still untouched and serene among the nearby churches for which River Sunday owed its name.
On the street, families passed them, returning from Easter services.
Stevie Nicks and her Fleetwood Mac song “Landslide” eased through his mind. He slowed his pace to keep time.
To the left of the courthouse in a boxwood garden stood the Confederate memorial, forever looming
over the life of River Sunday, its bronze battle flag tarnished by a thousand rains.
With the rhythm of the song still in his ears, Hank glanced to the right of the Courthouse door where a statue stood of Frederick Douglas the famous Northern leader, born into slavery near on a plantation near River Sunday. A rough marble stone with a brass plaque about Zinnie Allingham rested on the ground to the right of the Douglas monument. It was heavily overgrown.
Hank asked Betty to wait as he cleared some of the long grass. He pulled back a section of the surrounding boxwood to make sure a bit of afternoon sunlight shimmered on the wet brass.
“I never read these words,” he said.
Melusina Allingham
Easter, 1944
“She used her light to free others from earth’s darkness”
Hank touched the stone with respect.
“I’ve got to get my tools and come over here and clip back more branches,” he said to Betty as she crouched beside him. “You can’t even see the inscription and that’s a shame for a heroine.”
He said, “Strange how that black Nazi cross ended up buried in the Wilderness with her ivory crucifix.”
“Evil and good,” she said.
“Wonder which one will survive the mud in the future?” he said, looking into the eyes of his old friend.
She nodded and kissed him softly on his mouth.
“What was that for?” he smiled.
“I should have done that a long time ago,” she said.
“Yeah, maybe we both should have,” he said, reaching his hand up to caress her cheek.
“From now on, I’m going to help you plant your daffodils, Greenie.”
Acknowledgements
Acknowledgements: The author wishes to thank C. Michael Curtis of the Atlantic Monthly for his kindness and encouragement in the writing of Easter Sunday. Also thanks are due in remembrance of my former mentor, Elliott Coleman, of Johns Hopkins University. Gratitude is extended to the dedicated, professional and extremely knowledgeable staff of the United States Department of the Interior, Fish and Wildlife Service, Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge in Cambridge, Maryland, for touring the author through the swamp and teaching him much good lore about muskrats. The author hopes all the wetlands in the country have people of this quality taking care of them.
Songs referenced in the book are "Green Green Grass of Home" by Johnny Darrell, Music and Lyrics by Curly Putman and Sheb Worley, 1965, "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac, music and lyrics by Stevie Nicks, 1975, “Blowin’ in the Wind,” Bob Dylan, 1962, “Wind Beneath My Wings, Jeff Silban and Larry Henley, 1982, “The Thunder Rolls,” Garth Brooks and Pat Alger, 1991.
Finally thanks are given to the research staff of the Boston Athenaeum for its hard work in sourcing books for research on various aspects of this story. Last but not least thanks to my fiction workshop friends for their suggestions on some of the chapters and to my family for their patience.
About the Author
Thomas Hollyday brings to life strong Chesapeake characters showcased in their stunning, unique Eastern seaboard landscapes. Reviewers praise his rich sense of place and his respect for the great machines that made our era possible. His stories resonate with a deep awareness of history and legend. The humor in life shines through as Tom draws on a comedic sense honed sharp from an accomplished cartooning background. His characters have the depth and insight learned from a business life in international trade and as president of a manufacturing company building animal watering systems.
In his River Sunday Romance Mysteries series, Tom honors the battles for love of land that have recurred over and over in the Chesapeake Bay. Past victories and defeats created mists of legend and history which shroud the present landscapes. Throughout Tom’s stories, he incorporates both the machines that have left lasting imprints and the wildlife that enriches the captivating natural landscape. His modern and timely novels feature memorable characters from the small town of River Sunday, Maryland, and reveal their compelling stories as they search for answers to achieving love, unveiling mystery, and vanquishing evil.
Tom grew up in the Chesapeake Bay, and his love for his native land shines through in every word.
Part of the proceeds from the sale of Thomas Hollyday fiction and non-fiction goes to support drinking water resources for wildlife.
Check out other novels in the River Sunday Romance Mystery Series:
Slave Graves
Magnolia Gods
Gold
Powerboat Racer
Terror Flower
China Jewel
Easter Sunday
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Acknowledgements
About the Author