Take Me Home (9781455552078) (28 page)

“Did he tell you who he was? Did he tell you that he's a traitor?!”

Otto knew that his temper was beginning to get the better of him. He would have to act soon. Maybe he should have his way with the whore now, kill her, and leave her broken body for Becker to find. Then he could—

Suddenly, he heard footsteps racing up the stairs.

Quickly, he grabbed Becker's woman and clamped a hand over her mouth; he couldn't let her shout a warning. Clutching the pistol tightly, he dragged her away from the door. When the knob began to turn, he was excited.

The moment Peter whipped open the door to his apartment, he realized that he'd made a terrible mistake. There, standing ten feet away, was Otto, with a pistol pointed straight at him. Billy lay on the floor to his right, unmoving; Peter wondered if he was still alive. To make matters worse, the brute had Olivia. Taking the steps two at a time, Peter had been so preoccupied about making certain she was safe that he hadn't stopped to consider what to do if she wasn't. Barging in the door, he'd placed himself at Otto's mercy.

His heart pounded and his chest heaved. The sweat that slicked his body grew cold. At any moment, he expected a bullet to tear into him, but much to his surprise, nothing happened. Otto's sneer grew wider.

“Traitor!” he growled.

“Let her go,” Peter replied; he had been speaking English for so long that German sounded strangely odd to his ears. “She doesn't have anything to do with this.”

“The hell she doesn't! You turned your back on who you are, on your Führer and your nation, all for this slut! You decided that these people,
these Amerikaners
, are more important, and for that, she will pay!”

Peter's mind raced as he desperately searched for a way out that would spare Olivia's life. She stared at him wide-eyed and frightened; any doubts she might have had about the truth to Peter's story had surely vanished the moment he spoke German. Silently, he swore that he wouldn't let anything happen to her, even if it ended up costing him his life.

“Listen to me, Otto,” he began calmly. “The war is over. Germany surrendered yesterday. Surely you heard everyone cheering. There's no longer any reason to fight.”

His words shook Otto; the man's sneer faltered but the anger quickly returned. “Lies!” he exploded. “That…that was the Japanese!”

Peter shook his head. “It's the truth.”

But instead of defusing the situation as Peter had hoped, his revelation only enraged Otto further. The murderer trembled with fury and his hand squeezed Olivia so hard that Peter saw the pain in her eyes. The barrel of the man's gun shook but never turned away from Peter's chest.

“This is a trick!” Otto hissed through clenched teeth. “You're trying to make me believe something that isn't real! Hitler would never give up! The German Reich is meant to last for a thousand years! It has to!”

Suddenly, before Peter could say another word to try to calm Otto down, he heard a sound that sent shivers racing up his spine.

There were footsteps outside on the stairs.

Instantly, Peter knew that it was John. It had to be; the sheriff had followed him to the apartment. Indecision filled him. He stood a couple of feet inside the apartment's door, so John wouldn't see him until it was too late. If he yelled out, Otto would know what was happening. It could cost them all their lives. But if he stayed silent, if he didn't try to warn Olivia's father, they were no safer.

No matter what he did, the end was coming.

When Peter had first burst through the door of the apartment, Olivia had experienced a strange mix of both fear and hope. She was going to be rescued! But now, still held in Otto's fierce grip, with the Nazi's rage becoming even more unstable, she wondered if either of them would survive.

But she never would have expected what happened next.

Suddenly, her father stood behind Peter. He looked winded and sweaty, his face colored a bright red. When he saw Olivia, his eyes widened and his hand reached for the gun holstered at his waist. But he was too slow. Otto squeezed the trigger and his pistol fired, bucking slightly in his hand. In the small space, the sound was deafening. The bullet tore into her father's shoulder, sent him spinning sideways, and forced him to drop his weapon, which fell with a clatter at his feet.

Olivia should have screamed, but didn't. Instead, she saw this as the only chance they were going to get. Pulling back her elbow, she drove it into Otto's stomach as hard as she could. It wasn't much, it felt like she was hitting a brick wall, but it was enough to stagger him; his grip loosened just enough for her to break free.

As soon as she hit Otto, Peter moved, trying to close the gap between them. Startled, the Nazi managed to fire off another round, but his balance had been thrown off and the shot went wild, hitting the wall beside the door. An instant later, Peter's fist slammed into his jaw. Otto reeled backward with Peter right after him. The two men crashed into Olivia, knocking her to the floor.

Otto shouted in German, spittle flying from his mouth.

Peter didn't say a word, his face determined.

Grabbing the wrist that held the pistol, Peter raised it toward the ceiling. Otto strained against him, but Peter held on strongly, the muscles on his arm standing out. Peter forced the other man back, driving him into the wall. In retaliation, the snarling Nazi threw a short punch that connected with the side of Peter's head, stunning him; still, he hung on tight, refusing to let go. In their struggle, another bullet was fired, hitting the ceiling.

While the two men fought, Olivia hurried over to her father. John lay on his back, half in the sunlight, his fingers pressed against his shoulder; blood seeped between them, darkening his shirt. His face was a twisted mask of pain.

“Dad!” Olivia shouted.

“Don't…don't worry none about me…” John mumbled. “Just go get help…it's our only hope…”

But Olivia stayed where she was. She couldn't leave Peter, Billy, and her father, not when all of their lives hung in the balance.

The brawl continued, growing in ferocity. Peter barely avoided a punch before bringing his knee up into Otto's ribs, causing the murderer to grunt in pain. Moments later, either in desperation or as a roughhouse tactic, the Nazi drove the crown of his head into Peter's face. Blood spurted from his nose. Peter wobbled, shaken. Otto lashed out and succeeded in knocking him to the floor. With his gun hand finally free, he grinned maliciously as he began to lower the weapon.

Without thinking, Olivia began to run right at him. Otto had been so focused on Peter that he didn't notice her until she was practically on top of him. She crashed into him as hard as she could; though it wasn't enough to topple him, he staggered.

“Hure!”
he shouted, cursing her in German.

With his bare hand, he struck Olivia in the face and sent her sprawling. His eyes brimmed with hate as he began to turn the pistol toward her.

But Olivia's desperate act had borne fruit; before the barrel could reach her, Peter was back in the fight. He landed a blow to Otto's stomach, causing him to double over, and then threw another punch to the man's chin. With both hands, Peter again grabbed for the gun. Instead of pointing straight up as it had before, the pistol stayed low, between them. Grunting and groaning, each man struggled for an advantage. The gun fired again, sending pieces of wood flying from the floorboards.

Slowly, the gun's barrel began to rise. Olivia held her breath; Otto and Peter wrestled so violently that she couldn't tell who it was aimed at. When the pistol discharged, Olivia shrieked in fear. For a long moment, neither man moved. The smell of gun smoke filled the kitchen. Then, suddenly, Otto collapsed to his knees. The hand that had gripped the pistol slowly slipped off. The other was pressed against his stomach; when he pulled it away, he stared disbelievingly at the wet mess of blood that stained it. Otto slowly looked up at Peter; his mouth opened but no sound came out. Then, he tipped over onto his back, dead.

“Peter,” Olivia said through her tears, rushing to him.

He enveloped her in his arms and held her close. When he saw that he was still holding the pistol, he threw it away, sending it skittering across the floor. Peppering her cheeks with kisses, he tried to speak.

“I…I thought that…I was afraid that I might…” but the emotion of the moment was too great for him to continue.

“You saved me,” she told him.

Suddenly, her father groaned; they ran to him and Peter checked the wound.

“We need to get the doctor,” he said to John, then looked over to where Billy still lay on the floor, “for the both of you.”

“I'll go,” Olivia said.

She was about to take the first step down to the street when she stopped and looked back. Peter's eyes found hers and words passed between them unspoken.

One nightmare might have ended, but another was about to begin.

Olivia went for help.

Three days later, soldiers from the United States Army arrived in Miller's Creek. When they opened the door to the police station, John, Peter, and Olivia were waiting for them. In the aftermath of Otto's rampage, Olivia had hoped that another solution could be found, anything that meant Peter wouldn't be taken away from her. But in the end, it was Peter himself who decided that he should surrender, just as he'd intended weeks earlier.

The two soldiers looked as if they meant business; Olivia wasn't as unsettled by their impassive faces as she was by the sidearms they wore. One of them began to ask John questions. The sheriff had been stitched up and bandaged, yet was still sore and weary. Elizabeth had argued that he should stay in bed, but John had insisted on being there for Peter's sake.

The other soldier walked over to Peter.

“Hold out your hands,” he said.

Peter did as he was told and had handcuffs snapped around both of his wrists. The cinching sound of the metal made Olivia's skin crawl.

“It's all right,” Peter tried to reassure her. “I'm leaving town in much the same way I arrived.”

Olivia had to look away to keep from breaking down.

Soon, everything was settled. Peter would be going to the same internment camp to which he'd originally been assigned. One of the soldiers grabbed Peter's elbow and started toward the door. They'd only gone a few steps when John stopped them.

“If it's all right with you gentlemen, I'd like to give the two of them a moment together,” the sheriff said, nodding toward Peter and Olivia. “Why don't we step outside and have a smoke. One for the road, and all that.”

The two soldiers looked at each other, and then agreed. As Olivia watched them leave, she knew that they didn't have long.

“I keep thinking that this is just a bad dream,” she began, a tear sliding down her cheek. “How can this be happening?”

Tenderly, Peter raised his cuffed hands and wiped away her tear with his thumb. “This is the only way.”

“But why? The war is over! You shouldn't be a prisoner anymore!”

“I can't change who I am, where I come from, or what I've done,” he explained. “And the truth is, I wouldn't want to. Because I was a soldier, captured on a battlefield, I was brought to America. From there I survived a train crash, escaped into a storm chained to a lunatic, and made my way here. I was a fugitive on the run, the enemy. But if I could do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing. If I hadn't made those choices, I never would have met you.”

“But it's so unfair,” Olivia answered, the tears now falling too fast to be wiped away. “I've waited my whole life for you, but now that you're here, now that I've finally found happiness, you're being taken away.”

“This isn't forever,” Peter said, tilting her head up so that he could look into her eyes, his handcuffs jingling. “I'm coming back. No matter how long it takes, no matter what I have to do, I promise you that we will be together.”

With that, he leaned down and kissed her. It began softly, but its passion grew. Olivia felt as if she was pouring out her heart, trying to show him that she, too, was thankful that their lives had intersected, even if for a short time. When it ended, she opened her eyes to find him smiling at her.

“I love you, Olivia Marsten,” he said.

“And I love you, Peter Becker,” she answered, using his real last name.

There was a knock on the door. “Time's up,” one of the soldiers said as he leaned inside.

Peter started for the door but Olivia didn't move; just the thought of watching him being driven away was almost enough to break her heart in two; there was no way she could actually see it happen. Just before he stepped outside, he stopped and turned back to look at her, sunlight streaming through his blond hair.

“I'll be back,” he told her.

When the door closed behind him, the only sound in the police station came from Olivia's sobs.

O
LIVIA STOOD BESIDE
her father inside the train depot. Outside, the cold winter wind raced down the tracks, battered against the building, and shook the doors that led to the platform. Snow swirled into drifts. Frost covered the windows. Their breath clouded in front of their faces. Other than the woman behind the ticket counter absently reading a paperback, they were the only people there.

“What time is it?” Olivia asked.

“About two minutes since the last time you pestered me,” John answered.

“I just worry that he'll be late.”

“The schedule says 11:18. You've still got ten minutes to go.”

With a frown, Olivia went over to the window and looked down the rails, hoping that her father had been mistaken, that the train would be chugging toward her, carrying the man she loved.

Today was the day Peter was coming back to her.

Eight months earlier, the moment he had been driven away by the soldiers, Olivia had wondered if she would ever see him again. That first night, she had prayed for his release. Her father had decided to do more than that. In his position as Miller's Creek's sheriff, John had written letters and made telephone calls to anyone he thought could help; congressmen, military personnel, and his fellow law enforcement officials had all been contacted. When one lead resulted in failure, he tried another. In the end, he had enough clout to be heard. Over and over, he explained what Peter had done, not shying away from the man's deceptions, but also detailing how Peter had risked his life by rushing into two raging fires, including one which saved the life of John and his family. He emphasized the role Peter had played in stopping Otto's bloody rampage. Finally, after months of persistence, John had helped to secure Peter's release.

While they had waited, life had gone on.

Huck's funeral had been heartbreaking; even in the celebratory aftermath of the war in Europe's end, the town had been deeply saddened by the loss of their beloved deputy. When Sylvester Eddings had stood beside Huck's grave and delivered an impromptu eulogy for a man with whom he'd often argued, there hadn't been a dry eye in the crowd. Olivia knew that her father still missed his friend, though John rarely talked about it.

As for the other person who had died that fateful May day, Olivia had no idea what had happened to Otto's body; she hoped that it had been tossed in an unmarked hole in the ground and forgotten.

“What time—”

“Olivia,” her father scolded.

It took every ounce of willpower she had not to look out the window again.

Billy had gone to his naval training in Chicago as scheduled. But before he could ship out, the Japanese had surrendered and the war ended; the scene in Miller's Creek that afternoon had been every bit as euphoric as the one in May. Billy returned, disappointed yet safe, and resumed his duties at the bank, though Olivia felt that things between them never truly recovered; just as Billy had feared, their relationship had changed. They still talked, had lunch at Goslee's Diner, but Olivia saw the way he occasionally looked at her, longingly, as if he was about to request she give him one more chance. To his credit, he hadn't. Sadly, his love had come full circle, once again locked behind closed doors. For her part, Olivia never mentioned Peter in Billy's presence, though he was always in her thoughts.

Her father was the first to see the train. “There it is,” he said.

Olivia looked up. The engine's light shone through the snowflakes as it dragged its cars to the depot. She'd been so lost in thought that her attention had wandered from the tracks.

Peter!

Olivia's heart pounded. It was hard for her to believe that all of the months she had spent trying not to get her hopes up, preparing herself for a different outcome, were finally coming to an end. That morning, she'd tried on countless outfits, looking for the one that was just right, turning one way and then the other in her mirror, but now she worried that she'd made a poor choice, fearing that he wouldn't find her as beautiful as he once had.

“Well, I'll be,” John said, checking his pocket watch. “Looks like they're a couple minutes early. I hope this leaves your mother with enough time to get supper ready. If it doesn't, I reckon I'll get blamed for it,” he said with a chuckle.

There was a time Olivia would have agreed with her father, but not now.

After their home had been burned down by Otto, the Marstens had rebuilt. Because of John's position and popularity in town, there had been so many volunteers that help had been turned away. Elizabeth had been right in the thick of things, distributing both lemonade and words of encouragement to friends and neighbors. The experience seemed to have changed her for the better. Though she could still be judgmental and short with her daughters, there was more genuine warmth and affection as well. Nowhere was this more evident than in her relationship with Grace. The fire had changed Olivia's sister; the rambunctious girl had grown up a bit. She still preferred spending her days tromping through mud puddles looking for frogs, but nowadays Grace was always clean and on time when meals were served.

Strangely, chaos had brought order to Olivia's family.

Before the train had shuddered to a stop, clouds of steam hissing as the engine settled, Olivia was already outside. The wind was bitterly cold, making her blond hair swirl around her shoulders, but she paid it no mind. She ran along the platform and peered into windows, hoping for a glimpse. But then, two cars ahead of her, Peter stepped down the stairs. He wore a dark peacoat turned up at the collar and a duffel bag was slung over his shoulder; ironically, Olivia's first thought was that he looked just like a soldier returning from war. He turned toward her; when he saw her, he smiled.

Unable to control her happiness, Olivia hurried to him as tears began to fall down her cheeks. Before she reached him, Peter dropped the bag at his feet, then swooped her into his arms, holding her tight as he swung around in a circle.

“I can't believe it!” she cried into the crook of his neck. “I can't believe that you're here!”

“I made a promise to you,” he said, setting her down. “And I've kept it.”

Olivia rose up and kissed him. It was sweet, tender in all the right ways, something that had been many long months in coming, and it nearly made her swoon. Everything about him was as she remembered it; how he looked, his smell, the sound of his voice, the way his lips felt pressed against hers.

No, it was
better
.

Once she was certain where Peter was, Olivia had begun to write him letters. Every night, she sat down with paper and pen to tell him about her day and how badly she missed him. Slowly, a few letters had trickled her way in return. He never burdened her with the life he faced in the camp, but instead he asked questions about her family, encouraged her to stay positive, and above all else, told her how much he loved her. Unfortunately, not all of Peter's news had been good.

In November, Peter had learned that his mother had passed away back in Germany. Fortunately, she had died peacefully in her sleep rather than in a bombing raid or some vindictive Nazi act. Peter was sad to have lost her, but saw it as another sign that his life was to have a new beginning.

“Look at you,” he said, rubbing the redness that colored Olivia's cheeks. “You must be freezing.”

“I'm fine,” she replied. “For the first time in far too long, I'm fine.”

“You're more beautiful than I remember.”

Olivia blushed.

Peter smiled. “So much time has passed since I saw you last that I can't take my eyes off you. I want this moment to go on forever.”

“It will,” she said, and meant it with all of her heart.

Once Peter's release had been granted, the process had begun to formalize his new citizenship; because his father had been an American and a veteran, they hoped it wouldn't take long to be granted. But Olivia was impatient; she wanted them to be married sooner rather than later. Whenever she thought about their future, of the children she hoped to have and the incredible story she and Peter would someday tell them, Olivia was filled with wonder.

“You look just like I remember,” John said warmly as he shook Peter's hand. “Seems like only yesterday you were here.”

“It feels a lot longer to me, I'm afraid.”

“I reckon it would.”

“I want to thank you, sir,” Peter said. “For everything that you did.”

“Don't worry,” Olivia's father replied with a smile. “I might just have a way for you to repay me.”

John was still in need of a deputy. After Huck's death, the sheriff had made do with a ragtag group of part-timers, but hadn't hired anyone on a more permanent basis; Olivia suspected that her father held out hope of Peter's someday taking the position. Once his paperwork was finished, they'd just have to see.

While John went to get the car, Olivia stood with Peter inside the depot. Since she'd first thrown herself into his arms, Olivia had yet to let him go. She also hadn't stopped smiling; it was as if she could finally exhale.

“I love you, Olivia.”

She looked up to find Peter staring at her; his expression was serious, yet warm, even a bit playful. Olivia thought about all that had happened, about the accident that had brought them together, the adventure that they had shared, and especially the romance that had bloomed from it. She even thought about his deception. “You're not lying to me, are you?” she asked.

Peter grinned. “I may not have always told you the truth about my life,” he said, “but I have never lied about my feelings for you, and I never will.”

“Do you promise?”

Gently, he kissed her forehead. “With all my heart.”

And that was just fine with her.