by Lou Cadle
She woke Will and they moved again, venturing out from the rough side of the road now that it was so late at night. No cars had passed, so she believed her signal had not been detected. They stuck to the road edge and the walking was easier for her. Will was staggering with exhaustion and pain. After a quarter-mile, he fell.
She dropped to her knees by him. “Are you okay?”
“Clumsy,” he said, but he made no attempt to sit up.
“I know you’re tired. I’m sorry I can’t help you more than this.”
“How much farther?”
She debated between saying the truth and telling him it was close.
“Don’t answer.”
She’d hesitated too long to tell a comforting lie. “You can make it. We can be under cover by dawn. It’s not our final destination, but it will keep us safe for the day.”
“A day? I could sleep for a week.”
“I’m glad you can sleep still, considering who had you.”
“They didn’t let me sleep much in jail. How long was I there?”
“Five days,” she said.
“Not a month? Seriously? Damnation.”
“Let’s get you up and keep going.”
“You’re a mean woman.” But his voice was kind.
“I know,” she said, matching his tenderness. “And you’re a lazy oaf. But no more of that. Let’s get you on your feet.”
She left her bags sitting on the road and used both her arms to help him up. Her calf gave another twinge. Whatever she’d done, she was making it worse every time she put extra strain on it. A day of rest would be good for her as well, though she’d have to sleep lightly to listen for trouble.
She held onto him while he found his balance, and walked a few feet with him, making sure he didn’t stagger and fall again. When she was sure he was walking and balanced, she ran back for the bags and hauled them over her shoulders. Her shoulders too were getting sore from the straps rubbing there, so she crossed both straps over her head, giving them a new spot to rub raw. It wasn’t comfortable, but they only had two more legs of the trip to go.
The moon was setting when she finally saw the barn, and the stars were fading from the sky as the sun threatened to rise. They had made it just in time, and Will was beyond exhausted. She guided him around the side of the barn and helped ease him to the ground. “There’s an old woman. She collects eggs in the barn early in the morning. I want to wait for her to do that, and then we’ll go inside and rest.”
“Can I sleep now?” he said, sounding like a hurt child.
“You can sleep. She pulled him to a patch of dried grass. “Here’s your bed.”
He lay down. She left her bags by him and returned to the road, staring back at where he lay, making sure he wasn’t obvious from the road. She couldn’t see him from here, so she went back and lay by him, gently curling herself around his back to keep him warm. He didn’t stir.
It seemed to take forever until the barn door opened and closed, and the old lady’s voice came through the wall as she talked to her chickens again. Antonia lay still, hearing the sound of the woman removing the lid of a barrel. She must be scattering their feed. Then the voice stilled, the barn door closed again, and the old woman was walking away.
The sun was up, and people would be going to town soon, those who drove or bicycled from a country home into the city to work. Antonia checked the road, and then peeked around the corners of the barn to make sure the old woman wasn’t still outside. It was still too early in the spring to plant crops, she thought, but in a week or two, she might be outside planting peas or lettuce seed.
She took her bags in first, and then woke Will for the last time in their journey and helped him stagger into the barn. There was no way he could climb into the loft, so she settled him in the empty horse stall where she’d spent her first night in France, what seemed like half a lifetime ago.
She took out her secretary’s clothes—the remnants of the torn shirt and the skirt—and rolled them into a pillow for Will.
It would be best to stay up and on guard, but she was tired, and she needed a bit of rest. When she woke, she’d wake him and examine his injuries. Her first aid kit was pitifully small. Its contents could fit inside her boot with room left, but she would do for him what she could.
Tonight they would need to move again, no matter how he felt. It would probably take two more nights’ travel to arrive at the old house in the hills, but then they’d be safe for a while. It would also be time to listen for a message from England. And then they might be told to meet a plane two nights later, and she’d have to turn him around without rest to make it to the extraction point.
If only she could stay here, it would be easier.
It struck her that if she killed the hens, the old woman would have no reason to come out here.
But no. She had changed for the worse, true—she had become a cold killer who had reveled in killing. But she would not take from a helpless old woman her sustenance, not even to save Will.
Chapter 27
Antonia woke to find Will’s head on her arm. She turned her head to look at him. He looked so young and helpless. And hurt. His eyes were blackened, deep purple bruises with lines of red reaching down one cheek. A thin line of dried blood revealed a split lip. A shock of hair was over his forehead, and she reached out to push it back. She couldn’t resist stroking it a second time, and it took all her willpower not to continue caressing his forehead.
She watched for another five minutes, studying his face. He was a man in the prime of life, a smart man, a brave one, and he had risked all to try to help the war effort. It was a damned shame the circuit had not kidnapped—or at least killed—the Nazi scientist. Will had paid dearly for the attempt, and they had gained nothing from it.
Belatedly, it struck her that this news should have been part of her message last night. Or no, it was implied in the fact that “Bernard” had been captured. He would tell them the rest of it when he was debriefed back in England.
It hurt her to think that, that in two or three days he would leave and she would probably never see him again.
And she had to stop indulging these feelings. It wasn’t helping him, and it wasn’t helping her. She tried to wiggle her arm out without waking him, but his eyes popped open. For a moment, he looked afraid.
Then he saw her and smiled. “Just you.”
“Just me,” she said. “And I’d like to treat your wounds if I may.”
“I need to use the WC,” he said, using the French.
“I’m afraid our facilities are somewhat limited.”
“I’m afraid to pi—. Sorry,” he said. “Language.”
“Use whatever language you want. You’re entitled. Why afraid? Does it hurt?”
He said, “There was blood the last few times. It’s frightening to see that.”
“Those bastards,” she spit out, pulling her arm away and sitting up. Her hate for the Nazis woke her up, cut through the tender feelings and reawakened the killer in her.
“Can’t help but agree,” he said.
She tamped down her swelling anger. “Sorry. You have more reason than I to hate them.”
“No, you have plenty. And it’s not a race. Let’s say we both despise the Nazis a good deal and leave it there. Truce between you and me, right?”
“Truce,” she said. “Let me help you.”
“I’d rather do this myself,” he said. “Besides, I won’t want you looking at the other.” He winced. “It isn’t pretty.”
She wasn’t quite sure how to phrase this. “You should let me look, as a medical matter.”
“I don’t think there is anything you can do for me.” He cleared his throat. “And frankly, I don’t think I want anyone touching me there for a few more weeks. Or possibly months.”
“All right. Let’s get you up, and I’ll check outside to see if it’s safe for you to stand there. We don’t want anyone to see you. By now, they must know about the wreck at the br
idge and be searching for you. We were lucky the search for you didn’t begin last night.”
She helped him up and left him hanging on to the side of the stall. Outside, the day was growing cloudy. She wished the barn door wasn’t visible from the house, but it was. It made it more convenient for the farmer, of course, but it was inconvenient right now for Antonia. She watched the house for two or three minutes, studying the windows, watching for a face, or movement, but she saw nothing.
She went back to get Will and led him outside. “Lean against the wall. And hurry.”
“I’ll be as fast as I can,” he said, sounding exasperated with her suggestion.
“I’ll be just inside the barn door, waiting.”
“Great,” he said, meaning the opposite.
It took him a bit of time to start, and she heard the stream of urine stop and start two more times. She wasn’t a doctor, so she had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t seem normal. The SOE had trained her in staunching wounds, plucking out bullet fragments with a pair of tweezers, and setting broken bones. It had taught her to sprinkle sulfa powder over wounds and told her when not to. It had told her how to make a tourniquet out of a scarf or undershirt and a sturdy stick. The best she’d be able to do for Will was clean any split skin and put a sticking plaster on him here and there. And force aspirin down him to ease the pain.
She had no water. The chickens did, but she didn’t want him drinking from that. The thought made her thirsty, and the more she thought about it, the thirstier she grew. She hunted around the barn, and found a large metal cup inside the feed barrel, used to scoop out the chicken’s feed. That would suffice.
He came back in, holding to the door, and she said, “Any trouble?”
“You mean personally, or did someone see me?”
“Either. Both.”
“No one saw me,” he said.
She helped him back to the stall. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to get water.”
“Where?”
“There’s a pump outside the house.”
“What if you’re seen?”
“I have to risk it. I want to clean your wounds and give you aspirin.”
“I don’t know that I should take aspirin.”
“Why? No, never mind. Tell me when I’m back with water. If I call out and don’t come back, it means you should hide yourself. Somewhere else, I mean, not in the barn. Get out, and find a place to hide. There are trees by the road.”
“I wouldn’t leave you.”
“There’s no sense in both of us being captured. But only an old woman lives here. She’s not going to capture me. I was thinking more of being seen from the road by an enemy.”
“I don’t need water that badly. You gave me some last night, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” She had found a pump near to the road.
“It’s all a bit fuzzy, you know.”
“I imagine it is.” She raised the empty cup. “I’ll be right back, if all goes well.”
“Can I help? Stand watch?”
“You can lie down and let your body heal itself. If you want to undress so I can examine you, go ahead. If you want me to help you do that, then wait for me.”
She watched the house again, and when she saw no movement, she went for the pump. It was closer to the house than she’d have liked, but of course it would be. Maybe she’d be lucky and the old woman was half-deaf. She worked the handle, cursing the squeaking noise, and in a few seconds, water began to flow. She washed her own face and hands first in the cold water, scraping at dried blood on her hands, and then she drank her fill. She’d carry a full cup back to Will.
She was eyeing a bucket sitting by the back stoop, thinking how that would be better, when the back door slammed open.
Chapter 28
Damn.
She looked up and saw the old woman, who was holding a long gun. A rifle, a gun to shoot foxes and weasels and rabbits, not a large-caliber weapon. It could still do Antonia plenty of damage, and it was pointed at her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, and then she hesitated, trying to come up with a story. She probably looked a mess, sticks in her hair and mud on her clothes. Blood, in fact, on her clothes as well. So why would this strange muddy woman be here, stealing the old woman’s water, on a cold morning in March? Her mind, exhausted from the night’s labors, emptied of all possible excuses.
“Are you a friend of Claude’s?” the woman said.
“Claude?” Antonia said, her mind working furiously. What was the right thing to say?
“From the Résistance.”
Antonia knew even less what to say than before.
“Answer me, or I’ll shoot.”
Honesty, then. “Yes, I am in the Résistance.”
“With Claude?”
“What makes you think that Claude is?”
She snorted. “Because I’m not addle-witted.” The gun lowered by a foot.
“I hope you are the only person who knows it,” Antonia said. There was no reason to deny it.
“I wouldn’t spread such a rumor. And we shouldn’t talk out here. Come in.”
“No,” Antonia said, though the sound of a warm kitchen, maybe herb tea on the stove, made her feel all her aches and pains and the cold all at once. She thrust all that from her mind. “It’s not safe for you to have me in your home.”
“What then, are you in the barn? Disturbing my chickens?”
“I like your chickens,” Antonia said. “They are happy and quiet birds.”
“Any who aren’t get stewed,” she said. “Well, are you coming in or not?”
“No. I want you to be safe. All I want is to spend a night or two in your barn. I won’t bother you. I won’t ask you for anything but water.”
“Do you have food?”
“No,” Antonia admitted.
“Then why wouldn’t you ask me for food?”
“Because you have little enough yourself. Because I’m putting you at enough risk. Because I care for Claude, and he cares for you.”
“Is that man with you? I saw him.”
Damn. There was nothing for it now but to tell part of the truth. “Yes. He’s English, and we’re trying to get him out of France. When I know where to take him, he’ll be picked up, and you’ll never see either of us again.”
“Is he a soldier?”
“No.”
“Does he kill for a living?”
“Only sheep. He raises sheep, he says. Or did, before the war.”
“That’s sensible. Surprising in this day to find sensible young men.” She lowered the rifle all the way. “Will you kill me if I let you come in?”
“No. And if you want us to leave, we’ll leave. But he’s hurt, you see, and if he could only rest and heal a day.”
“Then why do you want him in the barn?”
“I don’t,” Antonia admitted. “But I don’t want to put you at risk either.”
“You don’t know me. Why do you care?”
“Partly because Claude cares. And partly because you’re innocent. You’ve done nothing to me. You didn’t deserve this war, or any of this. You deserve to live out your life in peace.”
She snorted again. “That duck has left the pond. Three years ago, when the Nazis came dancing in here, the sons of whores, my life was changed.”
“I’m sorry. Sorry for your country. Sorry if you lost anyone.”
“Are the English going to help us ever?”
“I’m trying to help. I’m from England.”
“No you aren’t. Spanish, I think, from your accent. Maybe Basque.”
It was far too good of a guess. “I hope you’ll keep that to yourself. I don’t even want the man I’m with to know that. Or Claude.”
“Claude’s no fool. He’s my nephew, after all. We don’t have many stupid ones in the family. Well, two stupid ones. Can’t be helped. But you’re no fool, which is why you’ll get that man from the barn and come in to the house with him.”
&n
bsp; “What if they find us there?”
“Are they looking for you?”
“Yes, but I doubt they are looking hard in this area. Claude and I—well, we did something last night, in another place, to take the man back from the Nazis. They’re looking for both of us, Claude and myself, and for the Englishman, but they don’t know it’s Claude and me they are looking for. The only face they know is the man’s in the barn. So there’d be no reason to come all this way and search your house in particular.”
“They might do it because they’re efficient sons of whores,” she said.
Every time Antonia thought of her as a sweet old lady—and she was, at least with the hens—she was disabused of the notion. The old woman hated the Germans, that much was clear, and Antonia hoped it was enough of a connection between them all. “I want us to sleep out there, just in case they find us, and then you can deny you ever saw us and act upset we’re there.”
“But. There’s a ‘but’ in there.”
“But he’s hurt, and if I could have warm water and a light to help nurse him for an hour or two, I’d be terribly grateful.”
“And that would give me a chance to make you a meal.”
“That would be so very kind of you,” Antonia said, and she was surprised to find tears filling her eyes.
“Well, don’t stand there and bawl like a toddler. Bring the man here.”
Antonia didn’t trust herself to answer. Her throat was tight from more unshed tears. She turned and ran back to the barn.
Will had gotten his shirt off, but it seemed to have sapped his strength. He was sitting outside the stall door with the cuff still around one wrist. One of the hens was about a foot from him, studying him curiously.
“Shoo, hen,” she said. “Will, we’ve been found out.”
“Oh God, I don’t think I can run right now.”
“You don’t need to run. She invited us in for warm water and a meal.”
“Is it safe?”
“As safe as it can be, trusting any stranger. I’ve done so twice in the last day. Maybe it’s my lucky day, eh?”