Scent of Triumph (14 page)

Gently, Irma took Nicky from Sofia and kissed her. “I’ll look after him for you.”

Jacob touched his lips to Sofia’s forehead. “Good-bye, my beautiful lady.” He pulled back, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Don’t cry for me,” Sofia murmured. “I am soon free.”

Jacob forced a smile through his tears and, within seconds, he was gone.

Sofia got up, wincing as she did, and limped to the front of the shed; she opened the door. A black raven, surprised, flew from the shed’s roof and perched in a tree near the door. Standing just outside the doorway, Sofia blinked. Soldiers were charging over the hilltop. Six, seven, eight of them now.

I am tired, so very tired
.
My pain will be over in a moment
.

Shouts erupted when they saw her. She stood perfectly still, her posture erect.

“There’s one,” a soldier called out.

The voice sounded strangely familiar.

“Only one?” An older voice now.

“
Ja
, only one.”

Sofia tilted her head toward the hill.
That voice
.
Why, it couldn’t possibly be
. She squinted, but the dim light of dusk played tricks on her old eyes.

“Look around.”

Sofia cleared her throat. “There is no one else. They’re hours from here, across the border by now. Don’t waste your effort. I’m tired, take me back.” But she knew they wouldn’t take her back. She was an insignificant old woman.

A silence ensued, broken by the raven’s screech.

“Let’s get rid of her, then we can go back.”

That voice
. Sofia pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. She knew that voice. Still, she could not see clearly. “Coward, show your face.”

The lead soldier stepped forward. The last ray of sun slanted across his face, illuminating his steely blue eyes.

Sofia grasped the doorjamb for support. Sorrow sliced through her and she suppressed a gasp. The soldier was Heinrich, her husband’s nephew, whom she had loved as her own child.

Heinrich pointed his gun at her, and though a flicker of recognition crossed his face, he did not waver.

The older voice rang out. “She’s old. Hardly worth our effort.”

Sofia pushed her sadness and disappointment aside. “Then they’ll think you didn’t find me.” Only the safety of Nicky and Jacob and his family mattered now. Nothing else. And every second would help them.

Laughter rolled down the hillside. “Then we’ll take your head back.”

The raven screeched again, calling a passing flock into the barren trees as if to witness the drama. A straggling bird flew low over Heinrich, and left a chalky splotch on his gun.

Heinrich cursed under his breath, but held his gun level. His gut churned.
Why did it have to be her
? he thought with a grimace. Taking care of Max was one thing. He’s always hated Max for his superior attitude. But when Max had married Danielle, why, that was the ultimate betrayal. And how Aunt Sofia had catered to her! Nothing had been the same since Danielle had arrived on the scene, and then their bratty boy Nicky. Why did Aunt Sofia make a fuss over such inferior beings? He couldn’t understand it. But he’d decided long ago that she had lost her mind.

The older voice bellowed, “Let’s get on with it.”

Heinrich shifted uncomfortably. He was expected to act. He could not disobey. Squinting, he brought Sofia into his sight and steadied his wavering hand.
She’s just a sick, crazy old woman, ready to die anyway.

Sofia stared at Heinrich. All emotion had drained from his handsome young face, replaced by calculating ambition and a cool evil that sent a chill down her spine. Sofia had no doubt as to what he would do. But he would have to live with that.

“I surrender,” she said, stretching out her words, stalling for time. In slow motion, she raised her arms straight out to her side, her palms and face turned upward toward the birds and the sweet towering trees and the endless canopy of sky. To heaven.

The command rang out.

Another moment of hesitation—a piercing silence—then gunfire ripped through the murky dusk.

A cacophony of cries and the flapping of wings erupted in the trees overhead as the flock took flight, a dark mass lifting to the sky.

The first shot burned into her, robbing her breath and shattering her ribs with the force of steel, and yet, she felt strangely little pain. It must be shock, she thought, as the sweet, smoky smell of gunpowder rose to her nostrils. Then she felt her own warm blood flowing onto her freezing skin.
Run Jacob, run
, she screamed in her mind. Another shot buckled her legs and she sank to her knees.

Her arms were still stretched wide, hovering against the pain that now began to seize her body. The longer she took to die, the farther away Nicky and Jacob and the others could be.
Run, run, run!

With Heinrich at the forefront, the soldiers advanced on her. They seemed perplexed by her, a dying woman, whose curious, proud actions stalled them for another moment.

Sofia closed her eyes as they came closer. A metal barrel jammed against her skull. She knew to whom it belonged.
God forgive him
.

The noise was deafening.

A bright, opalescent light flooded her being. As she soared high above the treetops she could see Jacob racing through the forest below with Nicky in his arms, the little boy’s arms clutched around his neck...running far, far away.

In her soul, she knew her little Nikolov would make it.

An indescribable peace set in, covering her like a whisper-soft cashmere blanket, coddling her frail limbs. Warmth spread throughout her body for the first time in these frigid winter months. The iridescent glow spread from her limbs to encompass her, bathing her very being in a strange, shimmering white light that shone with such clarity. So beautiful, so transparent, so ethereal. Her pain dissolved and fell to Earth, like chains cast aside. She could breathe without effort, of sweetly perfumed air that refreshed and revived.

Through the pearly white haze, she could see Danielle, who seemed to be writhing in pain.
Such pain
. Sofia went to her and tried to comfort her, but only briefly, for she knew it was time to go.

Sofia felt a loving presence surround her; she raised her eyes. Max appeared above her, his serene face wreathed with love, his hands outstretched. She grasped his hands, strength returning to her grip, as the satisfaction of knowing that her work was complete flooded her with joy.

“Here it comes again,” Danielle cried, panting through a contraction. “I can’t bear it, Jon.”

“Yes, you can. Breathe, Danielle, breathe.” Jon gripped her hands. He and a midwife, Madame Chaumet, sat on the bed in her room at her uncle Philippe’s home, one on either side of her. “Hold on, squeeze my hands. Come on, squeeze hard.” His face was grim with determination, his eyes bloodshot but supportive, urging her on. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Danielle gulped and gritted her teeth through the pain, then flopped against the damp, linen-covered pillows, her energy spent.

Jon adjusted her pillows, tenderly covering her bare arms with the sheet. She glanced at the clock on a stand next to her bed.
Twenty-seven hours in labor
. As she turned her face to the window, the first tendrils of dawn crept into the room where Jon had kept vigil with her.

Turning back, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Perspiration beaded on her brow, her hair hung in damp strands, and her eyes were glazed with exhaustion.

Suddenly, she cried out again, the spasms mounting, tightening like a vise across her belly and back.

Jon helped her lean forward, his strong arms bracing her. “That’s it, breathe, Danielle. Can’t be much longer.”

Reaching deep within for renewed resolve, Danielle panted through the contraction, striving to alleviate the searing pain.

Her agony crested, then subsided, like a tide sweeping out to sea. Her body shook involuntarily. She fell limp against the stack of pillows, sticky with her perspiration. The iron bed creaked beneath her movements.

The grey-haired midwife pressed her fingers to Danielle’s wrist to monitor her pulse rate. Danielle saw her shoot a worried look at Jon.

Danielle could tell her pulse rate was declining. Grey specks clouded her vision and her head felt light. “I’m not sure I can continue much longer,” she mumbled.

Jon pressed a cool washcloth to her forehead. “Just rest, Danielle.”

As Danielle fought to calm her breathing, the midwife beckoned Jon to a corner of the room. Danielle could hear them speaking in serious, hushed tones.

The past day had been a blur, shocked as she was by Max’s death, the news that had sent her into premature labor. Now, besides her memories, this child was all that remained of her dear Max. Danielle pressed her lips together, determined.
I will not let him down.

Danielle saw Jon’s expression grow graver as he spoke to the midwife. “Where is Philippe with that brew he promised?” He pushed his hands through his disheveled hair and continued. “She was delirious last night, calling for Max and saying that she’d seen Sofia.”

Danielle closed her eyes, weary. Jon was partly right. She was fighting to maintain not only her physical stamina, but also her sanity. During the night, she’d imagined Sofia sitting with her. She’d always loved and admired her mother-in-law, and in a strange way that Danielle couldn’t explain, her unearthly presence had comforted and strengthened her. Sofia brought news of Nicky, saying that he was safe and would be protected until he and Danielle were reunited.

Sofia also assured her that she would look out for Max. The vision had been incredibly vivid. Suddenly, Danielle realized the sad meaning of it.
Had Sofia died, too?

Or had she just been delirious?

In her dream, Sofia had looked well, without the grey pallor she’d had the last time Danielle had seen her. She’d felt Sofia’s soothing touch upon her brow and detected her rose perfume, the one Danielle had blended just for her. She’d even heard her speak, her words ringing out as clear and vibrant as a well-toned bell.

Take up the reins
, Sofia had told her,
you are the new matriarch of my family
.
You shall rise to the task. Guide my grandchildren, and their children. And in all ways be strong
.

Still, for all Danielle’s willpower, physical strength eluded her.
I must hold on
, she thought, though she felt her body slipping away.

Just then, the door opened and Philippe entered. Jon and the midwife swung around.

“Have her drink this.” Philippe passed a cup of herbal tea to the midwife. “It’s a special blend designed to help her dilate.”

The midwife smelled the concoction and placed it on the dresser. “Good, very good. This might just do.” She clapped her hands. “Now, both of you must leave. I have work to do.”

Jon knelt by Danielle, his eyes misting as he smoothed the hair from her damp forehead. “I know you can do it, Danielle. This little one is depending on you now.” His lips brushed her hot cheek. Reluctantly, he rose and turned to leave the room.

Danielle watched him go, too weak to call him back.

Downstairs, Philippe and Jon sat in the kitchen at a smoothly worn wooden table. Philippe stood, walked to the white enameled stove, and lifted a pot. “Another cup of coffee, Jon?”

Jon ran his hands over his stubbled face and looked up. “Thanks. That’s strong stuff you brew.” He liked Danielle’s uncle and was glad Philippe had received him so warmly. This had been a tough mission on many levels. His guilt over Max’s death had nearly consumed him, and worse, he realized he was falling in love with Danielle. In fact, he had loved her from the moment he’d met her on board the ship.

Philippe poured coffee into a pair of French blue earthenware mugs. He slid one across the table to Jon and glanced to the counter at a clock, ticking loudly. “Almost noon. You must be starving. Care for a plate of bread and cheese?”

Before Jon could answer, the midwife appeared at the kitchen door. Jon leapt to his feet.

“Mother and daughter are doing fine,” she announced.

“A baby girl,” Jon exclaimed. His pulse quickened. “Is Danielle really all right?”

The midwife gave a weary smile. “She’s suffered a tremendous ordeal, but she’ll mend. She’s resting now. The baby is small but well-formed, and like her mother, she’s a real fighter.”

Danielle sat alone in her white washed bedroom, on fresh linen sheets that were cool to her touch. The sun warmed her shoulders and a delicate spring breeze drifted through the open window.

Since September, a tsunami of events had destroyed her world. In the quiet, she thought of Max’s death, of Jon’s support, of her poor little Nicky. And now, she had a week-old infant to care for. A bittersweet blessing, she thought, blinking back tears.

She alone shouldered the burden of their family now, or what was left of it. There were so many decisions to make, she thought, her mind reeling.
How can I find Nicky? Is he still alive? Where will we live? And how will I manage it all, especially with this new baby?
With a quivering hand, she brushed hot tears of frustration from her face.

Somehow I
will
manage, she decided.

Jon tapped on the door and pushed it open. That morning he’d volunteered to bathe the baby. He held her now, tiny and pink and clean, wrapped in a fluffy white towel. For a sad split second, Danielle’s mind transposed Max’s face over Jon’s before she pulled herself back to reality.

His smile faded when he looked at Danielle. “Have you been crying?”

“Silly of me.” She sniffed and pushed her hair from her face. “What a mess I am.” She repositioned herself against the stack of pillows and reached for her child.

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, really,” she insisted. She felt her face tingle with embarrassment.

Jon sat beside her and handed the baby to her. He leaned forward and smoothed a wayward strand of hair from her face. As he did, she could smell his fresh scent and felt his breath warm on her cheek.