by Julie Rowe
“Yes.”
“He’s talking to the conductor.” Michael’s hands curled into fists. “We’re going to have to run.”
She immediately sat up and hopped off the bench, her intention to get dressed as quickly as possible, but her legs were unable to keep her upright.
He caught her before she could hit the floor, hauling her against his hot body, one arm behind her back, the other under her buttocks.
Jude gasped at the intimate position, blushing all over again at being in contact with his hard muscles and soft skin. “I’m sorry,” she breathed out.
His eyes were shuttered, his mouth a thin line. “How badly did I hurt you?”
“You didn’t.”
He snorted but released her, keeping a hand on her waist to steady her.
Unfortunately, she needed it. Getting her buttons done on her plain beige dress seemed to take forever. Finally it was accomplished, and she turned to ask him if she looked presentable.
He’d gotten dressed himself, looking completely normal. But as she faced him, he scooped her face between his hands and kissed her like he had while inside her.
A helpless little moan slipped out of her mouth.
“There’s no time now, but you and I...have unfinished business to discuss.”
She wanted to tell him he was mistaken, but more shouting and the sound of running feet inside the train had her jerking out of his grasp. He examined her face, nodded once, then opened the door and looked down the hall. He held out his hand and she let him pull her from the room.
They walked, at a sedate pace that made her want to scream, towards the front of the train. Once the locomotive began to move again, they quickly stepped off near the end of the platform. Several small groups of soldiers moved around the perimeter, searching for something—or someone. But they didn’t give Jude or Michael a second glance.
She overheard shouted orders to search the surrounding area and buildings. “Who are they searching for?”
“I don’t know. It seems someone important is on the loose, but it isn’t us.”
“Should we get back on the train?” She turned to look, but it was gone.
“It’s better to avoid that officer. If he recognised either of us, we’d be the ones they’d be hunting. Come, let’s find somewhere to talk that’s not so crowded.”
Scowling at him, she took his proffered arm and he led her past the ticket station and down a set of stairs. A public toilet—a squat stone building, its base crumbling with age—stood at the bottom of the steps. “I need to stop for a moment.”
Michael nodded and she went inside. It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. A shuffling sound drew her attention to the far corner.
A man crouched there.
She managed to stop herself from screaming by the barest of margins.
The man didn’t move.
She wasn’t sure he could. He appeared to be hurt, one arm tied to his torso with what looked like dirty bandages, and he was breathing far too fast for someone immobile. There was blood on his face and clothing, what she could see of it. He wore something odd around his legs. She took a step closer and realised she was looking at the puttees of a British uniform.
She met his gaze. His eyes were wide and a sheen of sweat covered his face.
He jerked back as male voices called out in German, asking who was inside.
Jude motioned for the man to stay where he was and turned to block the doorway. “Hanz?” she called out as she stepped outside. “What is it?”
Four German soldiers stood in front of Michael, who was partially blocking the entry.
“Excuse us, madam, is there anyone else inside?”
“No, no one. I was about to—I mean, do you need me to leave?”
The soldier looked at Michael. “Have you seen anyone else nearby? We’re searching for a man in a British uniform.”
“Only my wife and I. A British soldier? Here?”
“A prisoner. He’s wounded and couldn’t have gotten far.”
Michael shook his head. “I would have stopped a man in a British uniform. There are a lot of people in this area—perhaps he lost himself in the crowd.”
“Shout if you come across him.”
Michael gave the soldier a sharp nod and the group moved on.
“Is it safe for me to go back inside, or will I be interrupted again, do you think?” Jude continued in German.
“I think it’s fine, dear.”
“Nevertheless, give me your overcoat to block the door.”
He raised an eyebrow but handed her the coat without complaint. She took it and went back inside.
The soldier hadn’t moved, though his facial expression had changed. Fear no longer dominated, confusion did.
She held out the coat and mimed him standing and putting it on.
He didn’t move.
She crouched down as close to him as she dared and whispered in English. “You can’t stay here. The Germans will find you. My...husband and I can help you.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
“We are your only chance, though I admit, it’s a slim one.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“I didn’t give you up a moment ago.”
He bit his lower lip and stared at the floor.
“Make your decision quickly. It’ll look strange if I’m in here for much longer.”
“How can you help me?”
“Hide you to start.”
“I would rather die than fall into German hands again.”
“Then it’s a good thing my hands aren’t German.” She extended one to him. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it.
She got the coat around him but realised the puttees would give him away in seconds. She knelt and, using her small knife to cut the fabric, unwrapped them from his legs. She stood. His trousers were heavily wrinkled but less conspicuous than the puttees.
“Follow me.”
She walked out of the toilet and cleared her throat. “Darling,” she said in German. “Your brother fell again. Next time he wants to go drinking, perhaps you could keep him from rolling around on the ground. He looks like he’s been in combat.”
The British soldier shuffled out behind her then stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Michael.
Who didn’t miss a beat. “Johann, could you have gotten any more mud on yourself?” He came around Jude, shaking his head. “This is the last time I’m taking you drinking on our time off. Come on.” He put a hand behind the soldier’s back and continued to grumble loudly about how they should have eaten before drinking as he guided the man away from the train station and into town.
“Dear,” Michael called to Jude. “Could you nip on ahead to that tavern to see if they have any rooms left? Preferably one with space for three.”
“Of course.”
She hurried towards the tavern and went inside. A few locals were sitting at tables eating and drinking, but it was otherwise empty. The barkeeper did have a room with two beds, and she had the key in her hands when Michael and the soldier entered.
They went straight upstairs.
As soon as the door was closed, Michael guided the man into a chair.
He was breathing heavy, sweating and watching Jude and Michael as if certain they were picking his pockets. “Who are you people?” he asked in German.
A British soldier who could speak German. He was educated, whoever he was.
Michael peeled the coat off him and gave him a once-over. “Broken arm?”
“A couple of ribs too.”
“Where did all the blood come from?” Jude asked, peering over Michael’s shoulder.
“Stab wound in the side,” the soldier replied with a grunt. “That’s what broke the ribs.”
“How did you get off the train?” Michael moved back to let her take a closer look.
“Jumped. I think I might have broken another rib in the process.”
“You’re completely barmy
, friend. And damned lucky.”
The soldier frowned at them. “Why are you helping me?”
“I’m a nurse,” Jude said.
Michael just smiled.
“Let me guess,” the soldier said, his voice coloured by sarcasm. “You’re a nurse too?”
“I think I like him,” Michael said to Jude.
Of course he would. “Does this mean you’re going to recruit him?”
“If we live and manage to get away, quite possibly.”
“Recruit me for what?”
Michael looked at the Brit as if he’d done something clever. “The British Army, of course.”
“You’re a little late, friend. As you can see, someone else beat you to it.”
Michael took a seat in the room’s only other chair. “Bucking for a promotion already?”
The soldier chuckled as he looked from her then back at Michael. “Is this is some sort of new interrogation technique?”
“No,” she told him with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m afraid he’s always like this.”
“Why did you marry him, then?”
She snorted.
“Now, now, dear, don’t be rude.”
She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “Darling, I need some clean clothing for him. And purchase something I can tear up into bandages as well.” She examined the soldier’s torn and stained uniform. “I doubt I’ll be able to salvage much of this.”
“Anything else?”
“Wine—and something to eat on the road. We’ll need to feed ourselves after we leave.” She began unpicking the knot in the bandage tying the soldier’s arm to his torso.
“Very good.” Michael didn’t move. He was staring at the soldier. The soldier stared back. “Just so we understand each other, lad, if you touch this woman with anything less than the utmost respect, I’ll kill you. Slowly.”
Frost turned the air in the room icy.
“Fair enough.” The British soldier inclined his head. “I’ll treat her as if she were my own mother.”
Michael smiled, but there wasn’t a stitch of humour in it. “I won’t be long.”
Jude found herself frozen in place long after he was gone.
“Your husband is the most intimidating man I’ve ever met. And after the week I’ve had, that’s saying something,” the soldier said finally. “No offence.”
“None taken. He can be somewhat...intense.” She continued removing the bandage.
“Are you really a nurse?”
“Yes. How long ago did you injure yourself?”
“A few days. I don’t really remember how it happened. I woke up in a German trench and knew something had gone wrong.”
She finally got the fabric unravelled and opened his uniform jacket and shirt from the bottom up. First she exposed the wound on his side.
“Has a doctor seen this?”
“Not that I know of. I don’t know who bandaged me up.”
Frowning, she reached for his head. “You must have hit your head.” Her fingers searched his scalp and found dried blood. She parted his hair. “You have a bullet wound here.”
“I do?”
“A glancing blow, just a furrow, but it must have knocked you unconscious. No wonder you don’t remember what happened.” She went back to his knife wound, peeling the bandage away carefully. “This is a shallow wound, what I can see of it. It bled a lot. A good thing, probably why there’s no infection.” She gave it a sniff. “Smells clean.”
“What about my ribs?”
“Not much we can do about them other than wrapping a bandage around your middle to keep them stable. No more jumping off trains, though. Now let’s have a look at your arm.”
She finished removing his jacket and shirt. He cradled his left arm against his chest and winced as she pulled the sleeve away. There was a pronounced bump and bruise a third of the way up from his wrist to his elbow.
“At least one of the bones of your forearm is broken, possibly both. Did anyone try to set this?”
“No.”
She checked his fingers. His skin with a healthy pink under the dirt. “Since your circulation seems fine, my advice would be to wait for a doctor to do it. I’ve set a few bones, but never without a doctor’s direction.”
“Whatever you think is best.”
“We’ll wrap it up, then, use a stick to keep it stable, and secure your arm to your chest a little better than it was done before.” She headed towards the door. “I’m going to get some water and soap. Don’t go anywhere.”
He shrugged. “As if I could.”
* * *
Michael found a small shop selling a variety of household items including clothing. He purchased a set of men’s work clothing and a chemise made of relatively poor cotton. He bought a few loaves of bread at a bakery, some fresh cheese and a couple bottles of cheap wine.
He returned to the tavern and arranged for an evening meal to be sent up to their room, telling the tavern keeper’s wife that his brother-in-law probably wouldn’t feel better until after he had a good meal in his belly. Getting drunk on an empty stomach was never a good idea.
He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door once before entering.
Jude crouched next to the soldier, a basin of water on the floor in front of her, a bar of soap and a cloth in her hands.
Michael closed the door and took off his pack. “How goes it?”
“Not too bad. He’s got a broken arm, some broken ribs, a shallow stab wound in his side and a flesh wound on his head.”
“That’s quite the list. Is he mobile?”
“I believe so.”
“He’s sitting right here,” the soldier grumbled.
Michael turned his attention to the soldier and grinned. “Has he got a name I can use instead?”
The soldier didn’t respond except to return Michael’s grin.
“Why did the Germans take you prisoner?” Jude asked.
“You’d have to ask them. Or perhaps you should ask your superiors.”
“I beg your pardon?” She sounded insulted.
“You really think this is some sort of ruse to get you to talk?” Michael asked.
“All I know is that a German soldier who speaks perfect English and a woman claiming to be a nurse rescued me from certain capture.”
“You think we contrived all this just to get you to talk?” Jude sounded even more insulted.
“Don’t be too hard on him. I’d be as suspicious if I were in his shoes.”
“How are we to manage if he doesn’t trust us?”
“I think the better question is, should we trust him?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again without saying anything.
“Do you want to leave him here to fend for himself?”
“No.”
“Then we take him with us and pray he’ll follow my orders.” Michael looked at the soldier. “What do you say?”
“Depends on the orders.”
“We’re heading towards the border with the Netherlands with the intent to cross it and return to England.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Jude asked. “Why what?”
“Why do you want to go to England?”
“I don’t want to go, but he won’t let me stay in Belgium.”
“And I’m under orders to make sure she gets to England. That’s all I’m willing to trust you with,” Michael said with a wink. “Now, what can we call you?”
“Bert.”
“Bert, are you willing to go along with us. No argument?”
“Fine.” Bert sounded about as enthusiastic as a raw recruit asked to lead a charge over the top.
“I must say, I’m overwhelmed with your spirit of camaraderie. It should be a pleasant journey. What do you think, dearest?”
She rolled her eyes. “Did you bring the clothing?”
“Indeed.” Michael tossed it on the bed. “Wine?”
“Yes, let me cut a few bandages and soak them in some of t
hat. Bert can drink a glass before I sew up his side.” She pulled the chemise out of the pile and nodded. “Perfect.”
“Don’t need a glass.” Bert the British soldier held out his hand. Couldn’t the man have come up with a better name than that?
Michael handed him the bottle. “Bottoms up.”
“How will we get to the border now?” she asked. “Bert can walk, but not far or fast.”
“The three of us will take a boat from here to Maastricht in the Netherlands.”
“And then?”
A knock at the door saved him from giving an answer he knew Jude wasn’t going to like.
Chapter Nine
Jude watched Michael answer the door, grab a tray loaded with dishes, then step back and close it with his foot.
“Our dinner has arrived.”
“It will have to keep for a few minutes. Help me finish binding Bert’s arm. After that he should finish washing and change into the clothing you brought.”
“I’ll do well enough on my own,” Bert said, an embarrassed blush colouring his face.
“You’ll do as ordered. I’ll not have you injuring yourself further because you tripped or some such nonsense.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“At least one of you is wise enough to follow my advice.” She grabbed the chemise and began ripping it into strips.
Michael chuckled. “When your advice makes sense, I have no problem following it.”
“I could have done so much more good where I was,” she continued, the cloth tearing under her fingers like paper. “Why couldn’t you have left me alone?”
“You’d have been dead within three days.”
His stark comment dropped like a bomb into the room, killing what little cheer she felt.
“You don’t know that. Not for certain.”
He stood, all evidence of mirth wiped from his features. “I’m certain.”
He didn’t understand. For the first time in her life, she’d felt truly needed. No one, least of all Michael, had ever needed her. “I was helping.” It came out as a whisper. “I was making a difference.”
“You’re making a difference now.” He nodded at Bert. “If not for you, he’d be in German hands as a prisoner or dead.” Michael knelt on one knee in front of her. “You gave me something to fight for.” He lifted her hand, turned it palm up and kissed the tender skin there. “Someone to fight for.”