Bear In The Rough: Book 1: Treasure Hunt (BBW Bear Shifter Romance) (42 page)

Part Four: Spiritus Sancti

10 years later

Abigail Bradshaw ran around the garden. She picked up a stripped yellow and red ball and tossed it gently to her brother.

'Good job, Johnny! Great catch!' Abigail said.

Her baby brother cooed and tried to put the ball in his mouth.

'And what do we have here? Trying to eat before the barbecue?' Kate took the ball out of Johnny's mouth. Johnny sat and pouted.

'Leave it to you to grab a man's balls.' Matthew teased. He took the ball from Kate and gave it back to Johnny. The small child smiled.

'Are you going to be this stingy when little Mikey is born?' Matthew asked.

'You mean little Susanna! It's a girl, I can feel it!' Kate rubbed her rather large belly.

Henry and Laura walked out to the patio. Laura was carrying a drink for Jenny. She placed the gin and tonic down and turned a straw towards her guest. 'Extra lime, darling.'

'Oh, you're an angel. Sam doesn't let me have these at home. Says it might ruin my figure.'

'Sam must be blind. You’re gorgeous. I'd scoop you up if it weren't for the missus here.' Henry teased. Laura shot him an elbow to his ribs. 'Ooof!'

'More like Woof! Some man of God you are!'

'I can't believe it’s been 6 years since he's gone.'

'To Father Andrew!' Jenny toasted. She held her drink to the sky and took a swallow.

'All right! Time for food! Abi! Bring your little brother to get washed up please!' Laura called.

Abi walked over to her brother and led him by the hand indoors. Kate and Matthew ventured towards the patio table.

'Someone say food? I'm starving!'

'You're always starving!' Matthew teased.

'I'm eating for two. What's your excuse?'

'Are you saying I am getting fat?'

'I think the scale says that, Matty.' Henry joked.

'Hey! I thought you were a man of the cloth now! Aren't you supposed to be nice to me! I am one of your sheep!' Matthew protested.

'More like the man who ate most of the sheep. I may be a man of God, but I can see you should do a few jumping jacks or you may not be around to see little Doris grow up!' Henry advised.

'Doris? Who said we're naming the child Doris?' Matthew retorted.

'What's wrong with Doris? Doris is a great name!' Henry gasped.

'Doris was the name of the girl I hated at school!

'Like I said! A great name!'

Kate sat next to Jenny and put her two plates down. Abi and Johnny came together and Laura put Johnny in his high chair. Matthew put his plate down next to Kate and winked at Abi. Laura finally got to gather her food and sat next to Abi.

Henry stood up, took a quick look at all his companions, then with his head bowed…

“let  us pray...”

Eternity

The stairs lay in front of Greta like a great, dark mountain, looming in the distance. Just

looking at them made her knees twinge and back sore. The doctors had said she needed to wait at

least a week before taking part in any strenuous activity, but she had never been a patient woman.

Stairs aren’t strenuous, she thought. I have been climbing stairs since I could walk, and

no surgery is going to stop me from continuing to do so.

She had always been an active and adventurous, with a passion for the outdoors and an

ignorance of the effects of time. In her mind, she was still the rambunctious tenyearold that had

gallivanted through cobblestone streets of Rothenburg with her brother in tow.

Greta closed her tired eyes and was transported back in time. She could feel the sun on

her face and a slight breeze ruffle the youthful skirt that had replaced her outdated nightgown. In

the distance, she could hear the familiar toll of the bells that resided in the chapel at the center of

town. The mischievous giddiness of not having to go to church filled her again. It was a bright

Sunday morning and she was free to do as she pleased, unlike the other little children that were

stuck in the stuffy chapel. The stairs that had loomed in front of her were no longer the creaky,

wooden ones that led to the attic of her house, but the strong, stone ones that led to the top of the

wall that had surrounded her little German town for centuries. She bounded up to them, as she

had done a million times, and began to climb.

The pain of old age pushed Greta back into reality with a force that took her breath away.

The wall and the stone steps melted back into wood and carpet. The breeze returned to the

mundane blow of the air conditioner. The magic was lost, and Greta was standing on the first

step of her staircase.

This sudden recollection surprised her. It has been decades since you thought of these

things, she told herself. Decades since you remembered home. Why now? You know what

happened. All the heartache will come back to life if you continue to do this to yourself.

It was too late. All the memories, good and bad, came back to her in a gust of nostalgia

and pain. She stood there, helpless to do anything to stop them. The only thing left to do was

continue to climb the stairs.

The next memory came with so much power that Greta was forced to cling to the wooden

bannister lining the wall as she was, once again, transported back to her youth. This time she

found herself in a parlor room, sitting on a small stool that stood near a fireplace that still held

the glowing embers of what used to be a cozy fire. Greta’s eyes wandered to the room’s dark red

walls that were filled with paintings and portraits of what seemed to be a very happy family. The

only wall without pictures held a large, oak bookshelf that was stuffed with what seemed to be

hundreds of books. Besides these things, the room was sparsely furnished, with only four

wooden chairs to seat the house’s inhabitants. I know this room, Gretta thought.

Chapter Two

Before she could investigate, a darkhaired woman in a green dress entered, carrying a

basket filled with sewing supplies and a brutish yellow fabric. Her grayblue eyes seemed tired,

but her smile was as warm as the glowing embers when she saw Greta sitting on the stool.

Mother. That is my mother. Greta could feel tears welling up inside her, but she dared not

ruin this moment.

“Hello, little one. Have you come to help me with the mending?” her mother asked,

sitting down in the wooden chair closest to Greta. Unable to speak, Greta nodded in response,

averting her eyes to the basket of sewing supplies.

Her gaze rested on the pile ugly yellow pieces of fabric and her heart stopped. Each piece

was cut in the shape of a sixpointed star, with a word etched into the middle with faded black

ink. Jude.

The shock pushed Gretta back into the present, with her aching bones and her old

nightgown. She now stood in the middle of the staircase, but that fact escaped her attention. The

tears she had been holding back poured down her face. She could barely breathe. After what felt

like a lifetime, she had seen her mother again.

I should have run to her, she thought. I should have wrapped my arms around her and

never let go. Why did I have to look at those bloody stars? I want to see my family again!

The tears poured down her wrinkled face, like a waterfall falling over jagged rocks, as

she thought about everything she had seen and everything she knew would come. She had lived

through this life once and, in some cruel twist of fate, seemed doomed to do so again. She just

wanted to sit down on the steps and stay there until her tears dried up and the memories faded

once more. However, Greta knew that if she gave into this longing she may not rise again.

Instead, she dabbed her wet eyes with the hem of her nightgown and braced herself for the

memories to consume her once more.

She did not have to wait long, for almost instantly she found herself lying on a small cot

in a room awash in moonlight. Sitting up in the bed, she saw a small assortment of dolls and

books lining the walls of the serene room. On a chair sat a pile of plain, petite dresses that were

marred by the yellow stars she had seen before.

Her observations were cut short when a startling BANG resonated throughout the house.

The noise was followed by a chorus of angry, muffled voices and a battery of clunking boots.

Frightened and unsure of what to do, Greta hid herself under the quilt that covered her bed.

She lay there, listening to the muffled voices for what felt like hours, unable to move for

fear of being caught. She was too distracted to hear the creaking of an opened bedroom door and

the tiptoeing of cautious feet. An urgent whisper finally penetrated her fear.

“Greta? Greta, you’ve got to get up. We have to go now!”

She peeked out of her quilt. The voice belonged to a young boy, only twelve or thirteen at

the most. His messy brown hair and blue eyes were illuminated by only by a small candle he

carried. Gretta saw that, though his face was youthful and boyish, he was quite lean and gangly,

with his short breeches, kneehighs, and jacket hanging from his frame. Slung over his shoulder

was a pack that was nearly as big as he was. Something about him seemed familiar to her, like

recalling a dream from a night long past.

Chapter Three

“Jascha?” she suddenly remembered. She had not said that name in years. It felt rusty on

her tongue, but the meaning behind the name was still not forgotten.

“Little sister, you’ve got to get up. The Gestapo took Mother and Father. They are still

downstairs, and if we don’t hurry they will take us away too.” The boy, Jascha, said as his eyes

darting around, nervously. His expression were full of fear and concern.

Obediently, Greta rose from her little cot and began to change into one of the dresses that

was folded on the nearby chair. Jascha stopped her.

“No silly! They will catch us for sure if we wear the stars. Here,” he held out an old,

brown dress, free of the ugly yellow fabric. “Mother hid it away for you. Now hurry and put it

on!”

She threw on the dress with all the haste she could muster, while Jascha opened the

window and looked out at the calm, moonlit night.

“How are we going to get past those men?” Greta timidly asked. He turned around,

silently beckoning her to the window in response.

Quietly, she creeped to his side and peered out into the night. The moon was full and

bright, without a cloud to cover its beauty. Her bedroom stood on the second floor of the house,

allowing her to see a hint of the ancient wall over the roofs of surrounding houses. Looking

down, all she could see was the the green of the overgrown bushes that hugged the house’s brick

walls.

“You are going to have to jump,” Jascha finally whispered, pulling the pack down from

his shoulders. He handed it to her, avoiding her incredulous gaze.

“Tie the bag to you so it will break your fall. Some of the bushes have thorns, but

hopefully it will help with that too,” he continued.

“What about you?” she asked, worried.

“I will be fine,” he said. “Thorns can’t bother me. Besides, I’m supposed to worry about

you, not the other way around.” He tried to smile at his little jest, but it only came out as a

grimace.

When the pack had sufficiently been tied to Greta’s little frame, Jascha helped her onto

the window’s ledge, turning her to face him instead of the empty, night air. Though she could not

see the drop, cold air blew on her back, making her stomach writhe and her knees weaken. She

was going to jump from the window. She had to jump from the window.

This isn’t real, she told herself. Any moment now, you will wake up and realize it was all

a memory. It’s just a horrible memory. It didn’t feel like a memory. All the fear she had felt in

her childhood was just as real in that moment as it had been decades before. Everything, her

family, the Nazis, were all alive again, resurrected from the dark recesses of her mind.

“Now on the count of three I’m going to let go,” Jascha’s voice brought her back from

her thoughts. “Be brave, Greta. Once we get out of Rothenburg, we can find a nice place to live

where we won’t have to worry ever again. But, now we need to run,” he said, reassuringly. “Are

you ready? One...two…”