Lovers in Enemy Territory (31 page)

"Has he vomited?"

"No."

"That’s good. We’ll keep him warm and calm. I'll clean the wounds on his arm, then we'll just wait and see."

"What did he say just now?"

"I don't know. It sounded like a name. The new sister has been teaching me English, but I don’t know enough yet to understand him."

"Ah, you have a nurse to replace Sister Nina since I last saw you?"

"Yes. The most beautiful sister in the world, Luis. I love her."

The old man crossed himself. "Holy Mother of God, what insanity is this? A nun? You love a nun?"

"Don't worry, Luis. I love her the way one adores a saint. There will never be anyone but her for me, not ever. "

"You talk foolish, Miguel. It’s good you are here. We must have a long conversation. Come and eat," he grunted, then added, "and tell me all about this holy love in your life."

"All right, and after that, I will help you hide the airman. "

"I've been thinking the root cellar should be a safe place, underneath the wooden bin at the back."

"Good. Have you destroyed his uniform?"

"Yes, I burned everything but the harness and the wallet. They’re in the cellar."

They began eating the stew. "Have you ever seen hair that color, Miguel?"

"Not up close,” he mumbled around his food.

"You must bring black dye the next time you come."

Miguel nodded. Suddenly the airman began muttering again. Luis's eyes darted to the loft. Miguel put down his bowl and climbed up the ladder. Perhaps now the Englishman was waking up. The blanket was on the floor and the man was thrashing about on the bed.

There was perspiration on his upper lip and forehead. Miguel pulled a chair to the side and watched as the man started to come out of his deep sleep. The Englishman had been many days in hot sun. His skin was tanned the color of

leather. The same word was repeated over and over.

Finally, the man sighed and his eyes slowly fluttered open. Miguel leaned forward to get a good look. Their color was like the clear sky on a summer's day. Miguel had never seen a blue so intense.

Jeffrey tried to focus. The wooden beams of the ceiling came into view. One hand was resting on his chest and his fingers rubbed the sweater. The fibers felt foreign to him, and he was lying in a bed. He vaguely remembered the little hut from the night before. It was impossible to move his leg, which felt heavy and stiff. He changed positions and winced from the pain.

He carefully moved his aching head to the side, anxious to survey his surroundings, and then he blinked. His eyes met a young man’s, and their blackness came as a great surprise. The last thing Jeffrey remembered was the kindly face of an old man. Jeffrey rubbed his eyes and stared hard at the dark, young Basque.

"Hello," Miguel spoke first, in the best English he could muster. "My name is Miguel. A friend.” He smiled broadly. Jeffrey appraised the man, surprised beyond belief that he was hearing English.

"Hello," he answered back with a faint smile, and held out his bronzed hand which Miguel shook with enthusiasm. "Where am I?"

Miguel thought he understood. "House of Luis, my friend.” He pointed to his chest. Jeffrey fell back against the pillow. He felt for his leg and discovered a splint had been applied and expertly wrapped. He pulled up the trouser leg. "You did this for me?"

"I.” Miguel smiled.

"Are you a doctor?" How could it be that he’d run into such a godsend!

"No.” He shook his head emphatically. "A friend."

"Thank you. Thank you very much," Jeffrey replied, and grabbed Miguel's hand to shake it firmly.

"Is nothing," Miguel grinned. Then he put his hand to his head. "It hurts?"

Jeffrey winced. "Yes."

"Are you hungry?"

Jeffrey's eyes opened wider. "Yes.” He flashed a grateful smile.

"Good. You eat now."

Jeffrey smiled and expelled a heavy sigh, but the exertion of trying to make himself understood caused the eyelids to close and he was once more in a light sleep.

Miguel had seen enough to satisfy himself that the Englishman was not suffering a severe head injury. He went down the ladder and told Luis to come up and help him get the flyer down the stairs. He tapped the flyer on the arm. The eyes opened, instantly alert. That was another good sign. "We help you down," he pointed to the floor.

Jeffrey wasn't sure what Miguel meant but he tried to sit up and do their bidding. Luis went around the side and together they got him to his feet and over to the ladder. In a moment they had him downstairs and lying on a mat in front of the fire. The fire felt deliciously warm to Jeffrey.

Miguel spooned out some stew in a bowl and placed it in front of him. "Paella," he said and pointed to the stew. "Eat!"

Jeffrey needed no second invitation. His hands shook so hard, he had trouble holding the spoon. He was offered bread and goat milk which he ate and drank with equal relish. The more he ate, the better he felt.

There was nothing wrong with the Englishman's appetite. When

he was full, he looked over at Luis and smiled. "Thank you for the food, for your house."

Luis didn’t understand the words, but he saw the look of gratitude on the bronzed face. He nodded back and his smile stretched from ear to ear.

It was that face Jeffrey remembered in his muddled dreams. Miguel took the bowl away. Then he squatted in front of him, staring.

"Your name?" he pointed to him.

"Jeffrey Norwood."

"Jeffrey?" Miguel repeated, stressing the last syllable. The Englishman nodded. Miguel reached for his hand. "Luis and I, we hide you." He

looked around as if he were afraid. "The Boches. They come."

Jeffrey concentrated on his words. Boches-- he knew that word well enough. Now he understood and squeezed Miguel's hand.

"Come," Miguel spoke with authority. "We go outside." Luis went for more blankets and together they helped him around the back of the hut and into the root cellar. They pulled away a long bin half full of vegetables and spread out a blanket on the floor where he would lie down.

"You stay here," Miguel explained and helped him to lie down. Once he was flat on his back, Miguel put the other blanket over him. Then the bin was wedged up against him as tightly as possible and the boards over the hole were put back in place.

"Okay?" Miguel called out.

"Okay," came the muffled reply. The footsteps went away and he was sealed in the cool darkness. The sudden movement had caused his leg to ache and he cursed the fact that he had so little mobility. It smelled of onions in the damp space, and it suddenly struck him how unbelievable it was that he was lying in a hole, utterly alone, somewhere in the Pyrenees.

He was wide awake now and the reality of his precarious situation assailed him. It was a miracle he was alive. His thoughts wandered to the other two who had jumped ahead of him. How long ago? He'd lost all track of time. The poor devils. By rights, he should be dead. He sighed again.

How was it possible he'd been found in that storm and taken care of? It appeared he'd come out of this with nothing worse than a broken leg and a few bruises. He touched his cheek, aware for the first time of the puffiness at his temple. It hurt if he applied even the slightest pressure.

There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but he'd have to be patient. They might leave him in the hole for days. The Basque men had thought of everything. They’d risked their lives for him. There was literally nothing to do at the moment but think, and it was then that memories of Catherine and Michael swept over him, till his face was wet with tears.

He had to get out of this alive so they could be together. She’d promised him they'd be married. Would it ever really happen? Right now he could only pray that the Germans wouldn’t discover his hiding place. The men who’d helped him would lose their lives for it.

Jeffrey had no idea how long he lay there before he was oblivious to his world. His thoughts were back in England with Catherine and Michael, and the remembrance was so sweet and poignant, it erased the pain and the uncertainty of his present situation. He slept on and off till nightfall.

Miguel and Luis had just finished their evening meal when there was a loud banging on the hut door. Someone was trying to force it open. Miguel's black eyes darted to Luis and he got to his feet. "Who is it? What do you want?"

"Open up in the name of the Third Reich, and be quick about it," the gutteral words reached his ears. The urge to kill was foremost in Miguel's thoughts just then. He reluctantly undid the bolt and three soldiers burst in, almost knocking him over. One motioned for the two of them to get over against the wall, waving a gun in their faces.

The other two began a very thorough search of the hut, starting with the kitchen cupboard, the fireplace and finally the loft. When nothing in the hut looked suspicious, they helped themselves to the rest of the stew and stuffed their pockets with cheese and vegetables they’d found on the counter.

Finally they all went outside and the two Basques were forced to watch as the soldiers sifted through the hay with a pitchfork. Still they found nothing. One of them overturned Miguel's cart and set fire to it. Miguel's face was livid as he watched this insanity, helpless to stop it. Never had he been so close to taking a human life.

The soldiers walked through every inch of the upper and lower pasture, breaking into the upper hut. A few minutes later and they were reassembled, trying to decide where to go next. Miguel understood German fairly well, and picked up enough to realize that the soldiers were satisfied that no one was here.

Apparently they’d searched the entire area surrounding the plane crash and had come up with nothing. The pilot and crew must have burned to death. They started walking off, but one of the men caught the metallic gleam of the handle of the root cellar door and called to his friends in a loud voice.

They rushed over and pulled the boards away. Jeffrey was awake and heard the noise. His heart stopped beating. Outside Miguel stood poised for a struggle. If the soldiers discovered the airman, Miguel was prepared to fight, hand to hand. Luis had similar feelings and girded himself up for a fight he figured was imminent.

The soldiers rummaged through the bin, taking their time. There was a lot of conversation. With famine still plaguing the land, the sight of vegetables was difficult for the German soldiers to resist. They stuffed their coats with potatoes and onions. Jeffrey guessed what was happening and praised the Lord that their desire to fill their bellies was greater than their desire to conduct a further search.

The men finally stood up and walked off without replacing the board. Jeffrey could feel fresh air on his face. The footsteps grew fainter. After a minute there was total silence. "Thank God," he muttered to himself.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Jeffrey," a familiar voice whispered. "The Boches, gone."

"Yes," the exultant voice replied. In a moment, all three were back in the hut, but Jeffrey hadn't failed to notice the charred remains of Miguel's cart, nor failed to smell the smoke which filled the air. His hand gripped Miguel's shoulder.

"I'm sorry. It’s my fault."

"No," Miguel shook his head. "It’s nothing."

"Thank you for helping me."

"You-do-same-for-me?"

"Yes," Jeffrey nodded, and cursed again that he couldn’t communicate. The goodness of these mountain men would never be forgotten. His thoughts returned to his two crewmen who could be lying dead anywhere. What was their fate by now? He shuddered to think. By some miracle he had landed in a pasture. The perspiration poured off him and his leg began to buckle from weakness.

Miguel felt the dead weight and tightened his grip on the airman's arm. They got him into bed immediately and took him more food. Jeffrey sat in the bed, deep in thought, weary from the tension. Miguel handed him a plate of bread and cheese.

"Thank you," was all he could say. It wasn’t enough. Because of him, Miguel had lost his wagon, and the two men had risked everything. What a mess. Jeffrey had no way to repay them, but when and if he got back to England, it would be a different story. He gobbled his food. Miguel could not help but smile at the ravenous airman.

"You stay here now.” Jeffrey hesitated, then answered with a broad smile.

"Good," Miguel replied and they shook hands. "Now you sleep!"

Jeffrey nodded. The urge to sleep was overwhelming. The close call with the soldiers had depleted him of his last ounce of strength. He closed his eyes and it wasn't till the following morning that he awoke and looked into the warm, dark eyes of the old man. This morning his head was clear and the bed felt warm and comfortable. The pain was not as bad in his leg.

"Good morning."

The old man nodded.

"Where is Miguel?"

The other one shook his head, not understanding.

"Miguel?" Jeffrey said the name distinctly.

Luis stood up and gestured. Apparently Miguel wasn’t here. Then the man pointed to the hot milk and cheese on the table. Jeffrey ate in silence and felt the man's eyes on him. When he finished eating, he tried to work himself over to the edge of the bed.