Dorothy Garlock (11 page)

“So we can’t do nothin’?”

“Not for now.”

“Goddamn it,” Riley complained. “Why the hell did she have to come over?”

Because you opened your big mouth, that’s why!

Ellis turned his frustration at Riley toward himself. In hindsight, it hadn’t been a good idea for all three of them to be
seen together in town; they’d just been asking for trouble. His error now meant they would have to be extra careful and bide
their time even if that was the last thing they wanted to do. Though he’d just been trying to do his part, to drive the Nazis
out from their midst, he wasn’t fool enough to believe that all of his fellow townspeople would see it the same way. No, it
was best if they didn’t draw too much attention to themselves. Once things quieted down, then they could act.

“What about the cripple?” Riley asked.

“What about him?”

“Who in the hell was he and what was he doin’ stickin’ his nose where it just don’t belong?” Riley pulled a pack of smokes
from his shirt’s breast pocket and proceeded to light one, striking a match on the heel of his ragged boot. “I ain’t been
in this here town but a couple of years and his ain’t a face I recognize.”

“That’s Jason Ambrose’s brother,” Ellis explained. “If I remember right, his name is Cole. He must have been sweet on the
Kraut. Thought that playin’ the hero might be how he could charm his way into her pants.”

“He gonna be trouble?”

“Naw,” Ellis chuckled. “Not if I remember him the way I think I do.”

“What are you sayin’?”

“Cole Ambrose ain’t the sort of fella that measures up. What with that bad leg of his, he’s the kind that stands to the side
and watches as things get done. That’s the way it was when he was a boy and that’s the way it’s gonna be now he thinks he’s
a man. He’s gonna get in our way about as likely as he’s gonna go off to war.”

“But what if that ain’t the way he thinks about it?” Riley argued, small lines of worry knitting their way across his forehead.
“Sure didn’t seem like the sort that’s accustomed to watchin’ this afternoon.”

“That’s on account of the German,” Ellis snorted. “Hell, it ain’t as if you and I ain’t never gotten in over our heads because
some cheap twitchy twat raised her skirt and gave us a whiff. He’s just gone and bitten off more than he can chew is all.”

“And suppose that he wants another bite?”

“Let him take it.” The older man shrugged. “What harm can he do?”

“I’m just sayin’…”

Ellis Watts took another long pull on his whiskey and didn’t speak until the last drop of alcohol had landed in the bucket
of his gut. His thoughts swam with the booze but he was able to find land. When he finally spoke, his eyes were little more
than slits and his words a growled whisper.

“If Cole Ambrose interferes in our business, it ain’t gonna make no goddamn difference if he’s an American and a cripple,”
he warned. “I promise you it’ll be the last thing he ever does.”

Graham Grier hurried down the road in the scant light left to the day. The last rays of the setting sun clung to the far horizon,
leaving blazing reds and purples that colored the hazy low clouds. A curious wind sniffed at his feet, chasing along behind
him and stirring the dust. The impending gloom of nightfall was appropriate; it more than matched his mood.

As he quickened his already fast pace, Graham kept his eyes on the road and his shoulders hunched. Though darkness was falling,
the chance of his being recognized heading to Ellis Watts’s shanty was still greater than he would have liked. If someone
were to see him now, if he were to be recognized…

Why in the hell am I doing this?

Loath as he was to admit it to himself, Graham already knew the answer to his unspoken question, and the truth nearly made
him sick. In a moment of weakness, Sophie’s words of rejection still echoing in his mind, he’d turned to another woman in
solace. But that had just been the beginning. He thought about that fateful night often; he often marveled at how fast his
excitement had turned into abject shame, and he still had a hard time accepting responsibility. Coming to grips with what
he had done was harder than he would have imagined. The results had been disastrous. Even if he wasn’t entirely certain of
his own guilt, he knew that simply being accused of his crime would be a wound from which he and his father’s honor would
not be able to recover. That one moment, that one instant of weakness, had led directly to his current predicament.

No matter how you look at it, you know what you did!

Still, the events of the last couple of weeks haunted Graham. Everything had gone faster than he had thought possible; it
was as if he were rushing down a steep hill in the midst of a heavy spring rain, unable to get his footing, let alone stop.
It had all felt inevitable; from his reckless actions in another woman’s arms to the burning of the Hellers’ barn. It seemed
to have happened in little more than the blink of an eye. Even now, he couldn’t believe he had been part of it.

How could I… how could I have done this to Sophie?

Try as he might, Graham could not erase the image of Sophie in the diner. When Ellis had first noticed her coming in the door,
Graham had uttered a silent prayer that she wouldn’t notice them. But when Riley had opened his big mouth, the slur that came
out made Graham’s skin crawl, and he’d known his wishes had no chance to be answered. When she approached the table, he’d
tried to remain perfectly still, so as not to draw her attention, but she had noticed him just the same, just as he supposed
he deserved.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing with these two?”
she’d said.

Graham hadn’t been able to so much as look at Sophie, so great was his shame. It was already enough to hear the shock and
disbelief in her voice; if he had had to gaze into her eyes, he would not have been able to bear it. As painful as it was
for him to admit, he was still in love with Sophie Heller. He supposed he’d been in love with her from the first moment they
met. Even the bitter sting of rejection had done little to quiet the intense feelings he had for her. He had been dejected,
even a bit angry, but he still believed that Sophie would eventually return his romantic longings and that they would be together…
together forever. What he had done next was supposed to have been temporary, nothing but a ripple in the long and wide river
of his life… but he had made a mistake.

A mistake that costs me to this very day!

Ellis Watts had discovered his secret. Graham didn’t know how the bastard had found him out, but the answer hardly mattered.
Armed with such knowledge, it took little effort for a man such as Ellis to entice Graham into doing his bidding; the threat
of his secret being revealed was enough to force him to toe the line. He knew that it was his closeness to Sophie that Ellis
and Riley needed, that and the fact that his father was Victory’s mayor and wouldn’t want to see his son locked up behind
bars. Graham was absolutely certain that the Hellers were no more Nazi agents than he was, but squeezed between a rock and
a hard place, he had little choice but to go along with the men’s plan.

I’m nothing but a goddamn pawn!

That fact had never been clearer than the night the Hellers had been attacked. Graham had done nothing but stand silently
by as Sophie’s father had been bludgeoned into a bloody mess. He’d been too frightened, too interested in protecting his own
skin to even move. Some part of him had wanted to stop it all, to protect the woman he truly loved by putting a stop to Ellis’s
madness, but in the end, protecting his secret had been more important. After all, his own life, as well as that of his father,
had hung in the balance.

Slowly, the outline of Ellis Watts’s home came into view in the scant light left to the day. Little more than a shack, its
doorway sagged as if it were an elderly woman, and the roof was covered in pieces of tin that had been haphazardly patched
together to provide a ramshackle defense from the elements. Just looking at the dump gave Graham a shiver of disgust. The
light from a bare bulb shone dully through the cracked windows that fronted the place.

How in the hell do people live this way?

Graham paused outside for a moment, composing himself and gathering his thoughts in the prayer that he could somehow endure
another meeting with these despicable men. Sighing deeply, he knocked three times and entered.

“Where in the hell you been?” Riley barked before the door had even shut behind him.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Graham shot in answer. His contempt for Riley was obvious. Ellis Watts was a dangerous man in his own
right, but Riley Mason was nothing but a follower, a pistol needing only to be aimed and fired.

“Don’t you dare take that tone of voice with me! I’ll show you—”

“You ain’t gonna do a goddamn thing,” Ellis snapped. He leaned back casually in his chair, savoring the lingering taste of
his whiskey with the air of a man enjoying a Sunday afternoon social, even if his choice of words suited a whore more than
a preacher. “Save all that rotten piss and vinegar you been storin’ up for them Nazis and what I got planned next.”

“What are we going to do?” Graham asked, sick to his gut that there would be more violence.

Ellis Watts leaned forward and smiled as he lightly rubbed the fresh stubble on his square jaw. His eyes danced and Graham
came to the sudden, sickening revelation that Ellis enjoyed all of this; terrorizing helpless people and inflicting pain upon
them was his pleasure.

“I do believe,” Ellis said, “that these folks just ain’t scared enough.”

C
OLE’S FIRST THOUGHT
upon waking was of Sophie. Bright yellow and orange sunlight flooded through a crack in the drawn curtains of his eastern
window, announcing the day to the accompaniment of the noisy chirping of birds. He absently ran a hand through his tousled
hair, stretched, and gave one last yawn before getting out of bed. All the while, his head was filled with the memory of the
easy smile she had given him at the diner, the sweet sound of her voice, and even the woman smell of her as she rode beside
him in the truck.

Still, his wonder was tempered by the many questions that continued to roll around in his thoughts…

What did Ellis Watts have to do with Sophie Heller?

Who was the man who violently grabbed her by the wrist?

Was it the confrontation at the diner or the sight of my crippled leg that sent her running to the house in tears?

Would she tell me the truth were I to ask?

The most difficult question for Cole to answer was how he was going to meet her again; that he wanted to spend more time in
Sophie’s company was a given, he just had no idea how to go about making it happen. He knew where she lived and where she
worked, but he felt uncomfortable with the idea of simply showing up at either place uninvited. Confusion raged in his head
as he dressed and made ready for the day.

At the head of the tall staircase, Cole sighed deeply. Every day held the same problem; to slowly and carefully descend the
treacherous steps, making sure to set his bad leg before moving, for fear he would tumble forward and be seriously injured.
It would take only one wobble, one misplaced step, and he would be gone. Though it would have been much easier to stay in
the small guestroom on the ground floor, he took a measure of pride in refusing to leave the room in which he had grown up.
Going up and down the stairs was a time-consuming and arduous task, but one that he deliberately overcame. Cautiously, he
began to descend the steps.

Halfway down the staircase, Cole paused. His eyes held fast to the still distant bottom of the steps and he could not help
but be assaulted by memories of his mother, of the horrific sight of her lying broken and bleeding on that very floor. As
long as he lived, this image would haunt him. Even after all of the intervening years, he had never fully healed from that
day, but being back in his father’s home made the pain feel as raw as an open wound. Not for the first time, he wondered how
his father managed to bear his grief; after all, he had to look upon that spot every day.

What if I had gone for help? What if I hadn’t been so afraid? No wonder he hates me so…

Robert Ambrose sat silently at the kitchen table. Dressed for work in a shirt and tie, his hair slickly pomaded, he stared
over his small glasses into the newspaper, a plate of bacon and eggs half-eaten before him. When Cole entered the room, he
didn’t look up.

After pouring himself a cup of black coffee, Cole leaned back against the stove and looked at his father. He’d been back in
town only a couple of days, but it was long enough for him to realize that little or nothing had changed between them. For
the most part, it was as if each was living alone, but when they did happen to run into each other, no more than a few words
were exchanged, often less than between complete strangers on the street. If he were to remain silent, Cole was certain that
this morning would be no different. He resigned himself to change that.

“Do you know the Hellers?” Cole asked. The question sounded awkward in the previously silent room. “They have a farm out to
the east on Colvin Road, just before Baker’s Corner.”

“I do,” his father answered, his eyes never leaving the newspaper.

“Did they come to you for supplies for a new barn?”

“Hermann placed an order with me right after the fire,” Robert explained in a tone that Cole thought contained no small amount
of weariness. “They’re waiting for one last delivery from Springfield before they start building. It shouldn’t be more than
a few days before the order is filled.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“What interest do you have in the Hellers?” Robert asked, looking up from the table for the first time, his hazel eyes locked
upon his son.

“I met Sophie Heller in town yesterday afternoon and gave her a ride back out to their farm,” Cole explained, happy to have
finally garnered some attention from his father. “She seemed like a nice girl. I wondered if her family traded with you. It’s
a shame their barn burned. I suppose I was a bit worried about her is all.”