by Sarah Monzon
Though the thick mass of green leaves and twining vines obstructed her view, she could easily pick out the officer’s form, her attention unnaturally riveted to the red band circling his upper arm. Fear thickened her tongue and seeped all moisture from her mouth as she watched the Nazi gesture with his hands to the person with him. His squared shoulders and wide back had hidden the other man from her view, but she assumed he was giving orders to a soldier in his unit.
A thought pierced her mind with the shock of a lightning bolt, and she had to cup a palm over her lips to silence the gasp. What if these men were searching for her?
Given the intelligence she’d heard, the Nazis were close to these mountains, devising a plan of action to snuff out any hope in the release of France from Germany’s iron fist. Anybody even remotely close would have seen and heard her plane, the bomb, and the explosion, not to mention the massive rockslide that closed off any route through the valley.
It made sense that the Nazis would send out an elite officer to scour the vicinity and expose the pilot, especially if they’d witnessed her crash landing and knew she hadn’t been able to make a clean getaway. Her heart hammered against her ribs as her hands began to shake. What would they do with her if they found her? She’d heard reports. A single bullet to the back of the head, open trenches for graveyards, with bodies rotting. Would her fate soon resemble that of those unsung heroes?
Cleansing breaths did little to stop the rise of panic that filled her body. Every nerve hummed, every muscle coiled to spring into action. But if she ran, she’d give up the only advantage she had at the moment, and a bullet traveled faster than her legs could carry her.
Pressing her eyes closed, she prayed, lips moving a silent plea. If God could shut the mouths of the lions for Daniel, He could cloak her from the enemy as well.
“Heil Hitler.” The heels of the officer’s boots clicked together, his arm and hand raised straight as a board.
Alice watched him march down the mountainside, each footfall that took him away from her allowing her lungs to expand to accept more oxygen, until her breaths came in regular intervals again. She swung her gaze back around to determine the remaining threat. There had been two men moments before, and only one had left. Danger was still a close companion.
Tiny pinpricks of pain needled her feet and calves, and she had to grit her teeth in her strain to stay upright. A tree partially shielded the remaining man so that all she could make out was a swath of curly blond hair and a camera hanging about his neck. Brown tweed trousers and a sweat-stained shirt with cuffs rolled up to his elbows caused her to swag with relief.
Eyes widening, she felt herself tilt backward, legs giving out from their forced folded position. Moss-covered ground softened the blow and the sound of her bottom slamming the earth’s floor. Nothing could have masked the movement nor the swish of wind that blew the bush’s leaves against each other in a tinkling sound that was a crash of cymbals to her ears.
She froze, and to her horror, the man did as well. His hands slowly went to his camera, and her eyes followed every centimeter of motion.
Was he a soldier in disguise? A spy? Did he plan to take photos of any trace he saw on the forest’s floor that would help the Nazis discover where she was located? A propagandist perhaps, collecting ulterior truths to spew to the masses for their great cause?
He turned toward her, his face still hidden by a low-hanging branch.
He hadn’t seen her yet, or surely he would move forward or call out, but he likely suspected. If she stayed still enough, would he pass off the sound as a forest creature, or would he investigate to satiate his curiosity?
Blood pumped and filled her limbs as he took a step in her direction.
Only one choice remained.
Turning, she shot to her feet, legs in motion, arms swinging as she flew past straight, tall trees and leaped over low-laying rocks. Her pulse drummed in her ear, washing out the sound of her feet pounding and eating up the ground beneath her.
“Wait!”
Her brain registered the English word, but caution pushed her forward. Either French or German with a natural accent, or he was a traitor to the Allies and the Crown. Either way, the familiar language brought no sense of safety but were a noose about her throat.
She glanced over her shoulder, her vision bouncy and blurry as she continued to run with all her strength. The man gained on her, the length of his stride increasing his speed. She pulled in air through burning lungs and willed her legs to stretch farther, go faster. Adrenaline increased her endurance, but she found the effect draining from her body in frightening degrees.
“Stop! I’m not going to hurt you!”
Lies. No one conversing with an SS officer could be trusted. At this point in the war, everyone was aware of the atrocities they’d committed.
A hand gripped her good arm, but she flung it off as she would a snake that had sunk its fangs into her.
Only three more strides until his hands were on her again, this time his arms circling her waist, chest pressed against her back. The world tilted as they stumbled, and the ground rushed up to meet her. She’d be crushed beneath his weight. At the last second, he rotated, taking the brunt of the collision on his hip and shoulder. The momentum propelled them down the incline, rolling like a log. She felt the dirt on her back, the bite of a solid floor against her shoulder blades and the scrape along the roundness of her backside. They spun, and he was down and she up. With her good arm, she pushed against his solid chest, trying in vain to untangle their bodies so she could spring free and run away. But his arms only increased their pressure, imprisoning her in a cell made of sinewy muscle and rock-hard determination. If only a stone would loosen his grip, she might have a chance to wiggle free and escape.
Their trajectory slowed. She tried pushing off the ground with her feet, but their legs were too tangled to do any good. His grip about her middle loosened as he thrust an elbow into the ground to stop their spiraling descent. An opportunity. One she took. With an open hand and as much force as she could muster, she rammed the heel of her palm into the man’s nose.
“Ah!” He rolled off her and covered his face with his hands.
Bursting to her feet, she set her sights to the east and pushed off her toes at a dead run.
Fingers closed around her ankle in a death grip, tripping her. Breath punched from her lungs as she landed hard beside her captor. Her injured wrist throbbed from all the jostling, but she couldn’t focus on the pain. She bucked and kicked, desperate to rid her leg of the human tether and race away to freedom.
Another hand clutched her wrist.
Moving away wasn’t working. Going against instinct, she rolled toward her assailant and landed an elbow to his groin.
A moan like that of a wounded animal passed his lips, but his hold didn’t loosen. Instead his body curled into itself, bringing her along with it until they lay side by side on the leaf-strewn ground, like the heirloom silver spoons in the hutch below the stairs at White Oak.
His breath whooshed across her cheek in spurts, dislodging the hair about her ear and blowing it in wispy tendrils on her skin. Pressed this close, she could feel his heartbeat against her back, smell his scent of musk and…cloves? A niggling of memory registered. She’d smelled cloves on only one man before, his penchant for the chewing gum endearing to her.
The man at her back shifted until he straddled her frame and looked down at her. His mouth tilted in a half smirk, his blond curls disheveled and sticking up with bits of leaf debris. “Alice.”
He said her name like he wasn’t surprised in the least to find her here.
Unlike her. “Henry?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Present day, Florida
Jack licked her lips as she stood in front of the airport, her seabag slung over her shoulder. “You promise you’ll give him the letter?”
“I’ve already promised you three times.” Adam smiled down at her, but it didn’t have any of the tea
sing in it that she’d become used to. Instead the tilt to his lips appeared sad. “You should stay, you know. He’ll come around. He’s always been a bit thick headed but able to see reason.” His hand lifted, and he pulled it across the back of his neck, his eyes on the ground. “I can’t help thinking this is all my fault.”
A thick lump had taken up residence in her throat, and she tried again to swallow it. “It’s not your fault.” A weak shrug lifted her shoulders. “I thought I could be strong enough for both of us, to fight, you know? Always thought of myself as tough.” She forced a wry grin. “Being raised in a house of all men will give you a false sense of strength, I guess.” But when it came down to it, she didn’t have what it took. The man she loved had pushed her away, and she hadn’t been strong enough to push back. Worse, she was running away, leaving him to fight the battle against himself alone.
Or maybe not completely. “You’ll stick by him, won’t you? Make sure he comes out on the other side of this? Whatever this is exactly.”
“Of course. We all will.”
It was time. If she didn’t turn around and head through the automatic doors and into the airport, she’d never make it through security in time to catch her flight. A cold like she’d never felt frosted over her limbs and caused a shiver to run down her spine despite the humidity that clung to the air.
Adam’s head tilted. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? I might need to stop by the undertaker and make funeral arrangements once Michael gets wind that I let you go home unescorted. Weren’t you in some kind of danger?”
“Mostly an overprotective brother.” She waved away his concern. “At any rate, I’m not going home. I took a temporary job in England. Michael has nothing to worry about.”
“I doubt that,” he mumbled.
Legs leaden, she compelled them to move. “Thanks again for the ride.”
“You sure I can’t convince you to stay?” His hand rose a few inches before falling back to his sides.
She shook her head as she looked at him with sympathy. “I think I’ve let you convince me of too many things already tonight.”
His bark of laughter was sourced from anything but humor. “A little jealousy usually prods a man to action.”
“Oh, there was action all right.” She took another step back. “Nice attempt at stalling, but I need to go. This is for the best.”
“The best for whom?” The question was spoken on a plea.
“Make sure you tell your family thank you for me.” The doors opened with a whoosh. “And don’t forget the letter.” She turned and pushed her legs to take step after step. Her stomach twisted, and a wave of nausea hit, causing her to stumble. A hand to the wall caught her, and she squeezed her eyes.
This wasn’t how it was all supposed to turn out. Didn’t love conquer all? Wasn’t love the one constant that could slay any dragon, overcome any obstacle? Yet here she was, heart hurting so much she found it difficult to even stand, much less function. And there he was, perception so skewed that it imprisoned him without the need of lock and key.
She took a deep breath, trying to clear her head of the noise, of the drowning emotions. If she didn’t get ahold of herself, she’d become as paralyzed as he was.
***
Michael sat, legs bent, chin resting on his left knee, while his stump rested on the steel mechanism of his prosthetic knee. Shame had replaced his anger, and now he slumped in the sand looking out on the endless horizon, listening to the cadence of the waves, too embarrassed to return to Trent and Summer’s reception. What had he been thinking, storming out like that?
Sand crunching beneath feet alerted him to someone approaching from behind.
He didn’t turn. Whoever it was, he’d tell them the same thing. “I’m sorry.”
The person didn’t answer but lowered beside him. He caught the shine of silver from the moon’s glow in his peripheral vision. His mom had come to check on her baby boy. She sat in silence, sharing the view with him.
Finally, he turned his head, took her in. As far as heroes went, she was one of his. Took life with grace, generous beyond measure, kind to a fault, and possessed an unshakable character. He knew her life hadn’t been all sunshine and roses. She’d weathered her storms and came out on the other side more connected to Christ than she’d been to begin with.
“How did you do it?”
Her forehead pleated. “Do what?”
Life, with all its twists and turns, disappointments and setbacks. Balance, the grief and the hope, her own needs against those of her family. “How’d you move on after Trevor died?”
She rocked back, thoughtful but not surprised. “The only way anyone can.” Sitting straight again, she turned toward him, looked at him like only a mother could. Compassion for his pain, understanding for his confusion, and a parent’s unconditional love. “One day at a time.”
That was it? Those were her golden words of wisdom? One day at a time? He’d had months of days at a time. Days where he’d been lulled into thinking everything was settling in, where he was finding his stride, where he could see the blessed silver lining to his black cloud. Then, bam!—he was right back where he’d started, unanswered questions rising bitterness like yeast in dough. Despondency and an unknown future shaking the foundation of the core of his identity. One day at a time sounded like it belonged in a fairy tale along with once upon a time and happily ever after. Had his mother really accepted the death of her infant son with such meekness?
“Didn’t you ever, I don’t know, rail against God?”
Not even a span of breath past before she answered. “Of course I did. I flung accusations, beat my fists at the heavens, bowed under the weight of my grief.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Pleading with God, asking questions, these things are not a sin, Michael. God is big enough to handle anything you throw at him.”
Why, O Lord, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?
How long must I cry for help, but you do not listen?
Let this cup of suffering be taken from me. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Verses he’d learned, either from sermons or his own reading, he wasn’t sure, filtered through his mind one after the other. David, Habakkuk, even Jesus Himself. They all questioned God yet remained firm in their faith and belief.
“The one thing you have to remember though, son. When you throw something, it’s no longer in your hands.”
Had he been holding on instead of letting go? Didn’t seem like it. Felt more like he had been doing everything within his power to release the anger, even so much as replacing bitter and negative thoughts with positive ones. Only nothing worked. He still felt stuck in a dark circle with no way out.
“When Trevor died, I wished I’d died as well. My heart still beat, my lungs still expanded with oxygen, but it was like I had shriveled up inside. The pain consumed me. There were even times I’d thought about ending it all.” She looked out over the ocean, the moon illuminating a straight path across the surface of the water. Her dangling earrings twisted with the slight breeze. “I thought, if I’m gone, then George and the kids would be better off. He could remarry, and you guys would have a mother with a heart that was whole, unbroken, capable of giving you the love you needed.”
“Mom. No.”
She looked at him, her smile sad. “It’s true. I really thought you all would be better off without me.”
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tucked her close, kissing her on the temple. They sat there for a while without a word spoken between them, her head on his shoulder. Music and laughter from the reception filled the silence as Michael grappled with the revelation of his mother’s struggle with suicidal thoughts. Never would he have believed it. Not his mother, women’s Bible study leader, outreach coordinator, and overall pillar of their community church. A woman of indomitable faith, and she’d still struggled.
“I know it’s been hard for you, your accident, not being able to fly
for the navy anymore, getting used to the prosthetic.” She lifted her head to look him in the eye. “But out of all my boys, you’re the overcomer. You just have to take it one day at a time.”
Life seemed an insurmountable divide he’d never learn to cross and maneuver again. The big picture a hazy mess he couldn’t focus through. But maybe that was the problem. He’d tried to piece together every facet of his life. Get a picture of where he was going and where he fit. But like the jigsaw puzzles always laid out on his mother’s dining room buffet, the pieces could only be connected one at a time. Maybe his need for control, to force the pieces to fit all at the same time, was the root of his struggle all along. He wasn’t the one to put his puzzle together—he was the puzzle. It was only in God’s timing that everything would come together to make the complete picture.
He imagined his mother then. Body leaning back on her heels as she peered down at the thousand-plus pieces, hand cupping her dominant chin as she assessed each dip and curve of the cardboard cutout laid before her. Which ends would match and align to broaden the scope of the image?
Jack, the Piper Mr. McClaren had gifted him. These were the pieces God had placed in his life, and instead of connecting himself with them, he had pushed them away and tried to force his own choices to fit within his unique design.
Michael snorted. No wonder nothing in his life was working out.
“What?” His mom looked at him.
Standing, he reached down and helped her up. “Just realizing that yet again, mother knows best.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Present Day, Florida
Michael stepped off the sandy beach and up to the deck of the rental house. The crowd’s numbers were dwindling, but still there were couples on the dance floor and groups lounging around the tables dressed in white linen cloths, tea-light candles, and seashells.
He scanned the people, searching for the only woman who had ever set his blood on fire with a single look, who was tougher and braver than any of his military compatriots yet still possessed a heart so tender that she’d melted his resolve. Did she deserve a man better than he? A million times over, but he knew he’d never find another woman like her. Call him selfish, he no longer cared. Instead of fighting against Jack, he was finally going to fight for her.