Whisper on the Wind

by Maureen Lang

  “Yes. Yes, sir. I’ll do as you say.” Tomsk reached out to pick up the key, but his hand shook so much that Edward doubted he could do such a simple thing.

  “Breathe easily, man.” His tone made Tomsk withdraw his hand, the key still sitting there. “Do you have the issues yet to be distributed?”

  Tomsk leaned forward, his jacket falling open. Inside he wore a harness something like the one Edward often wore, designed to hold a few hundred sheets of thin paper, divided into packets of fifty to be given to various distributors in the city. Edward saw those Tomsk had were each neatly folded into their envelopes. One was identical to any other—and therefore likely to cause suspicion if seen.

  “Wait for those two men to pass,” Edward whispered, eyeing two men walking by not far off. “Then take off your jacket and harness together with the issues inside. Leave it here on the bench between us. Pick up the key at the same time. Then wait a moment, take a breath, and go.”

  Edward waited until Tomsk had reached the edge of the park before glancing at the abandoned jacket. When he stood some moments later, he tucked it over his arm. He would deliver those left, because as Tomsk’s supplier, Edward knew each and every “subscriber” on his list.

  He often performed various tasks vital to the paper, delivering finished prints or finding blank paper to be used on whatever press they could employ. He’d even written an article or two under the pseudonym Bespawl, a name he’d chosen from a poem he once read because it meant “to spit.” And each word he wrote was meant to do exactly that, directly into the German eye. But even now he had no idea of the editor; he simply passed on his articles to the man who supplied him with the copies he distributed, and somehow they found their way to the innermost secret circle.

  Edward delivered the last of the papers; broad daylight was sometimes the best cover of all. Leaving the luxurious appointments of Quartier Léopold was easy for him, even now, when all of Belgium was united. Fleming and Walloon. Rich, poor, and in-between. Despite the temporary equality among most Belgians, Edward remembered his place, and Upper Town wasn’t it—such a place was Isa’s.

  Still, he couldn’t stop himself from passing her old home. As expected, it was still occupied.

  Descending the streets to Lower Town, he returned to the park he’d left behind some time ago. He wasn’t sure what caught his eye first—the shadow of a slight, crouched boy or the woman in peasant garb so obviously trying to hide him. Curiosity made him slow his pace, but anger quickened it when he recognized the two faces.

  “Have you both entirely lost your minds? Jonah, what are you doing?”

  Jonah popped to his feet, his hands covered with dirt, fingernails black. On his face was a look that flashed between surprise, fear, and then relief when he recognized Edward. “N-nothing.”

  “Well, Edward,” Isa greeted him. “What are you doing coming from that direction? I didn’t think you liked my old neighborhood.”

  He ignored her, noting the obvious guilt on his brother’s face. “What have you been doing? You can’t plant a potato under a bush.”

  Even as he asked the question, he saw Isa move back, casually stamping on whatever Jonah had been burying.

  “Looking for dropped coins,” Jonah said.

  Isa looped her arms with both of them. “Come, Edward, let’s all start walking. We’ve been in one spot long enough. We’ll be perfectly honest, shall we, Jonah?”

  His brother looked horrified, but Isa’s smile was so easy Edward nearly couldn’t resist smiling along. People smiled so rarely anymore, it was as if they’d forgotten. Probably she would forget too, after she’d been back for a while.

  “We were burying a treasure. One we’ll dig up after Belgium is ours again. And it will be someday. We’re finished now, anyway. So shall we go back to Viole’s and have lunch?”

  “What treasure?” he queried. “Not the flute?” Some of Jonah’s horror landed in Edward’s gut.

  “No, no, that’s back in my satchel behind the cupboard at Viole’s. Although,” she added, “I think perhaps we should find a better place for such a valuable instrument. I have just the spot for it, once I’m living in my home again.”

  He nearly harrumphed over that silly notion but thought the better of it and stopped midstride. “What were you burying, then?”

  “Not to fret. Jonah’s old tin bank, for safekeeping. He thinks the Germans might go house-to-house looking for tin and metal and didn’t want the bank your father gave him to be requisitioned.”

  “So you buried it in broad daylight?” He shook his head at Jonah. “You both could have gotten into trouble if you’d been caught.”

  “But we can’t go out after dark, Edward.”

  “And we weren’t caught.” Isa’s voice was as untroubled as always. Here, in the middle of occupied Brussels, she sounded as if she hadn’t a care in the world. It irked him. “So, what were you doing in Quartier Léopold?”

  “I went past your old house. Still occupied by German troops, so you might want to rethink where you’ll be living.”

  Her smile hadn’t the sense to dissipate even the smallest bit. “I went to see Brand Whitlock today, and he’s promised to help.”

  “Ambassador Whitlock will see you in your house again?”

  “He didn’t promise, but he’ll try.”

  Edward smirked. “Of course he didn’t promise. What do you think he is, Isa, a miracle worker? He’s a good, decent man who probably had a hard time saying no to his old friend’s daughter. You had no right to put him in such a spot.”

  “I have a right to my own house, haven’t I? He’s just doing his job, protecting American interests. Believe me, if Mr. Whitlock didn’t want to help me, I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

  “I think we’d better come up with another place for you to live just in case he can’t achieve the impossible.”

  Isa raised one brow. “Such as . . . wherever you’re living?”

  “No. I was thinking you might be more comfortable with an old neighbor or another friend of your parents. Anyone come to mind?”

  She cocked her head with a teasing smile. “Most of them went with King Albert when the royal court left the country.”

  “Why don’t we just take you to see Mr. Whitlock and he can arrange for you to follow that path, right out of Belgium.”

  Instead of being offended, she patted his arm. “I wouldn’t dream of deserting you now, Edward.”

  He sighed, soft and brief, then set a brisker pace.

  “Halt! Halt!”

  Edward stopped and saw that the others did too, in the same step. His heartbeat quickened, and he looked around hoping to see a soldier calling attention to someone other than them.

  There was no one.

  Slowly, Edward pulled his arm from Isa’s and slipped his hand around hers. He took Jonah’s hand as well and the three of them leaned together on the pavè as one. For a moment he was tempted to thank God he’d just rid himself of his contraband, but the thought ended there.

  “You will show your papers, please.”

  Edward saw Isa scramble to get her papers first and stuff them under the nose of the stern German soldier. He was broad shouldered and strong, despite his thick glasses that no doubt guaranteed his position in occupied territory rather than at the front.

  “And you?” He eyed Edward.

  The soldier looked at his Passierschein, perhaps less closely than Isa’s, and when he handed them back, he didn’t even address Jonah, who still stood nearby but, Edward noticed for the first time, had not produced his identification.

  “Very well. You may go.”

  Edward was the first to turn away. He thought he’d gotten used to these searches. Blast Isa; why did she have to be here to see things like this, anyway?

  After they turned the corner, Jonah laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Edward asked.

  “I didn’t have my papers!”

  Edward eyed him. “And you find that funny?”


  “He didn’t ask for them, did he?”

  “He’s right about that,” Isa said with a grin. She winked at Jonah. “I thought you were going to give those angels a rest?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Edward asked.

  “Only that I’ve been important to God lately,” Jonah said.

  Isa tousled Jonah’s hair. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  * * *

  They reached the home they shared with Viole and her husband by noon, although Jonah left them before that. With so many school days interrupted for one reason or another—German raids, imprisoned teachers, lack of supplies—Jonah was one more Belgian with too much time on his hands. He disappeared when they passed a house he said belonged to a friend.

  Noon was one o’clock German time, the clock having been changed shortly after the invaders arrived. Other than for the trams and trains, no Belgian seemed to pay attention to the change.

  Genny and Viole sat on stools just outside Viole’s home, busy making lace. Isa watched, amazed as their fingers nimbly chased thread bobbins through a maze of pins protruding from a stiff, round pillow inset with a patterned cylinder in its center, each with a set on her lap.

  “Genny! I didn’t know you made lace.”

  She laughed. “I don’t, at least not well. Viole is the expert. She’s been trying to teach me for years.”

  Viole looked up. “It’s the only way to make a bit of money these days now that your American ambassador’s wife arranged for lace makers like myself to make my own designs. We’ve had only this one grace since they came, those dirty Germans.”

  “Go on in and have a bit to eat,” Genny said without looking up. “There’s fresh bread on the table.”

  “Fresh bread?” Isa repeated.

  “The CRB provides the flour to the baker,” Genny explained. “And he sells to those who can afford it or accepts the bons—you know, the tickets—of those who can’t.”

  Isa shook her head. That the Committee for Relief in Belgium had set up a process to sell bread wasn’t what shocked her. “In England they’re only selling bread that’s at least twelve hours old. I came from America to England, and from there to Holland—”

  Viole broke in. “We don’t want to hear about that, mademoiselle. Why do they sell old bread there, anyway?”

  “Because fresh bread makes one eat more.”

  The others laughed, loud and long, starting with Edward.

  “Oh, Miss Genny,” Viole said after a moment, “I know you’ve blood as English as it comes running through your veins, but those Englanders you left behind can be a silly lot, can’t they?”

  Isa was glad they seemed cheerful, although she wasn’t convinced the British were as silly as all that, especially when people were hungry there, too.

  Edward led the way inside, and Isa followed him.

  “You didn’t laugh,” Edward said once they were in the kitchen.

  “I don’t find starvation funny.”

  He faced her, and she felt her heart skip a beat at his sudden, unexpected attention. “We don’t either,” he said softly. “But if we can pretend we’re handling our hunger better than others, well, so much the better.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something, Edward? You’re a British citizen.”

  “For all practical purposes, I’m as Belgian as they come, especially now.” Then he added, “Like you.”

  Isa’s heart danced in her chest. This was the first friendly exchange they’d had since she’d returned.

  Isa accepted the bread and cheese Edward cut, even though she wasn’t hungry anymore. Being alone with him always robbed her of her appetite.

  “Don’t you have anywhere you must be?” she asked. “A . . . job?”

  “The hotel is gone. Where would I work?”

  “I don’t—”

  He leaned forward. “The Germans control everything. Everything. And so we stand in the food lines rather than work for them.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? For me?”

  She nodded. “I’ve never known you to be idle. It must be difficult for you, this forced unemployment.”

  He didn’t reply, but she was unwilling to let the topic go. Surely he trusted her enough to let her know what he was involved in?

  “You’ve always liked to work. How must you pass your days, then?”

  His gaze lingered on hers. “Isa,” he said at last, “I wanted to tell you something I should have said this morning.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Please don’t scold me for going out alone.”

  He shook his head. “No, not about that, although you should not. And I don’t consider Jonah an adequate escort, either. He didn’t even have his papers.”

  “Well, I had mine, which clearly state I belong in Brussels. In fact, I’m not to travel outside of the city, so I must belong again, at last.”

  “Blast it all, Isa, you make it sound like Brussels is paradise. Those soldiers think they can occupy every part of this city, own anything or anyone in it. I don’t want them to get a glance at you, or one of them might decide to try to own you.”

  “Edward—”

  “As a matter of fact, when you leave here, I want your promise that you’ll wear the hat you had on the other night. Yes.” The volume of his voice increased when she opened her mouth to speak. “That awful hat, that dark, dowdy, peasant cap. And a coat, and for heaven’s sake keep your eyes averted. Look at the ground instead of any soldier. Do you understand?”

  She gave a slight nod, not looking at him. “Like this?” She kept her eyes down, and when he failed to respond to her exaggerated example, she laughed. “Oh, Edward, you’re so solemn when, at least for the moment, all is well. Is that what you wanted to say to me, to give me instructions for when I go out?”

  “No.” He sighed. “What I wanted to say was thank you.”

  “Why?”

  He leaned into the table, bringing his face closer to hers and taking her hands in his. “You were childish, naive, downright foolhardy to come back. But,” he added when she tried to pull her hands away, “you were also brave. I’ve never wanted to admit that a little slip of a girl could be so brave, but I can’t deny it anymore. Thank you for wanting to bring my mother out of this place. I wish she would agree to go.”

  Now she held tight to his hands. “We both know the way to get her to do that.”

  “I haven’t given up trying to convince her, and neither should you.”

  “We won’t leave you behind.”

  “You’ve made that clear.”

  Isa studied his hands—had he forgotten he still held hers?

  “It’s generous of you to offer your jewels,” he said. “I’m sure they meant a lot to you.”

  “Not so much,” she whispered.

  “You said your father gave them to you.”

  “They’re more useful here.”

  His hands pressed more deeply into hers. “You confuse me, Isa. You always have. Why should you use your father’s gifts for us?”

  Growing up with so many visits to Edward’s home, she’d only rarely been alone with him, and those occasions had been more rare as they grew older.

  “Every year, my father presented me with one of those rings. An expensive item to pacify me.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “Charles used to tell me the gifts were because our parents felt guilty about not spending time with us and we should take advantage of it. Bribes, of a sort. I suppose my brother received his own share.”

  He let go of her hands and leaned back in his chair. Her fingers felt cold without the warmth of his. “Yes, well, all those engagements at the palace and the queen’s garden parties and endless dinners do have a way of taking one’s time. Your parents were busy.”

  He said it with nearly as much scorn as she would have herself. “Exactly. Not like you, working so hard on your studies and going to the university so young. I’m sorry it burned. I know you wanted to be a professor there someday.”
/>   “Who told you that?”

  “Your mother.”

  Edward didn’t deny it. “Even though she wanted me to take my father’s place. But it doesn’t matter anymore because the university is gone along with my father’s hotel. But you, Isa, now there’s a different story. You were born into your parents’ way of life, everything revolving around a social season that’s been honored for centuries. When the war ends, you’ll inherit such a life just as soon as you’re old enough.”

  “Old enough!” Her hands lost the memory of how he’d held them so tenderly and clenched into fists. “First of all, Edward Kirkland, I already am old enough. I’m to be eighteen later this year, and that’s plenty old enough to participate in any of my family’s wretched parties, if I wanted to. Which brings me to my second point: I don’t want any such inheritance. I have no intention of being as self-satisfying, as silly, as shallow as my parents.”

  “How did you get away from them?”

  “I left. Perhaps they haven’t even missed me yet.”

  Edward’s brows rose. “They don’t know where you are?”

  “I left a note that I would be traveling and not to worry.”

  “Not to worry over someone traveling to unknown places during an international war.” That he didn’t believe it was possible was all too obvious. “But your brother knows where you were headed.”

  She shrugged. She wasn’t about to tell Edward how she’d manipulated, deceived, overpaid, and circumvented various government authorities to get where she was. How she’d deserted Charles in England when he demanded she return to America. That had been especially heartbreaking, considering he seemed so different from the last time she’d seen him, before the war.

  Sometimes God’s ways weren’t so easy to explain. “I’m here, so God must want me right where I am.”