Whisper on the Wind (17 page)

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said as she backed away.

“But you’ll want to wait for Frau Kirkland, won’t you?” the same Hauptmann asked. “To see if she returns with her son?”

“Do you think there is a likelihood of that? that she’ll be allowed to bring him home?”

“Once again, I cannot say. I wish that I could, for your sake.”

“I am going to a family friend, one who will want to be here when she comes back—especially if she comes alone.”

“Very well.” He detained her a moment longer with a smile she was sure he meant to be charming. “But might I say,
mademoiselle
, that if you’d been in residence when I first came to stay, it would have taken the entire German army to have me leave?”

Isa turned away at the first polite moment.

She went up the carpeted stairs, to her room, and back down without stopping, carrying her
Passierschein
. She would have slipped into the kitchen without a word, but the Hauptmann caught up with her just as she entered the butler’s hall separating dining room from kitchen.

“I would be happy to accompany you,” he said. “It’s getting late, and although I cannot offer my car—Max has that—my company will ensure your walk will go unstopped.”

As tempting as a guaranteed unhindered journey sounded, to accept his offer was ludicrous. “No thank you,” she said. “It’s not far, and I’ll be back shortly.”

He opened the kitchen door for her, holding it wide until she passed. She didn’t look at him, just entered the kitchen and never turned back, waiting until she heard the door close behind her. She went to the pantry.

Henri was just behind the door. He looked at her closely as he handed her the money. Then he pointed to himself and to her, but she shook her head. “No, Henri.” She tucked the precious cargo away. “I’ll be all right if I go alone. That is, if I go quickly!”

Once again she ran most of the way, slowing only when she heard voices or footsteps ahead or behind. This time she didn’t have to search for the right townhome. Edward’s friend approached her at the end of the street.

“Edward isn’t back,” he said, leading her to the right home. Rosalie was nowhere to be seen.

Inside, he offered her one of the chairs. “I would get you something to eat, only it’s Rosalie’s house and she doesn’t have much in the kitchen these days.”

“No one does.” Isa looked around. “Is Rosalie here?”

“She is with Edward. My name is Jan, by the way.”

He still watched her, and Isa wished she were bold enough to stare back. He was nearly as tall as Edward but somehow slighter, less handsome. Yet he was attractive with a somewhat-triangular face, the wide end at his broad forehead, his jaw tipping the other end.

“You are the one Edward’s mother used to take care of, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “Did you know Edward before the Germans came?”

“Yes. We were at the university together. We started together, though I was eighteen and he just sixteen. But then you would know that he started young, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I know his parents are—were—very proud of him.”

There was a long silence after that, and Isa could think of nothing to say that wasn’t a question about Edward and Rosalie, where they’d gone, about the work they did that this man so obviously shared. About how closely Edward worked with Rosalie and if . . .

“It’s generous of you to use your money to help Jonah.”

And yet his tone hadn’t sounded grateful at all; rather, he’d sounded curious.

“I would do anything for Edward and his family.”

“You mentioned something interesting earlier,” Jan said. “That you’d hidden your money in a room. What was all that about?”

“I brought with me what I could, in the hope of getting Edward and his family out of Belgium. But Edward won’t go.”

“Yes, I’m not surprised. Do not give up on him, though. There may come a time when he must leave at a moment’s notice. And the room?”

“It’s a room in my house where I’ve kept money and jewelry safe.”

“How can any room be safe in your house with a German officer living there?”

“It’s safe. It’s very safe.” If she wasn’t so filled with worry over Jonah, she might have realized this opportunity sooner. “And it’s available for use . . . should such a secret place be needed.”

Just then they heard the door open and Rosalie came in. She took a packet from under her cloak, the size of a large textbook but soft, as if it were cloth wrapped in paper.

“Is Edward with you?” Jan asked.

“No. I’m to take the money and meet him.” She turned her dark eyes on Isa. “Do you have it?”

She handed the notes to Rosalie without hesitation.

“You should go home now, Isabelle Lassone.” Rosalie said the name as if it were a title. “Let Jan take you.”

“Where is Edward?” Isa asked.

“He is arranging for a new
Passierschein
. I’m to bring him this.” She held up the packet and the money. “He will come to your house as soon as he can. Expect Father Antoine tonight.”

“Father Antoine?”

“He will say he is the nephew of Genevieve Kirkland, in case anyone sees the resemblance. False papers for a priest are expensive because their passes allow them outside after curfew, like doctors and Germans. Go now. His mother will want to know he’s on his way. And I must go too.”

She turned away but Isa caught her hand in a gentle touch. “Thank you,” she whispered.
For keeping him safe, for helping him. I would trade places with you . . .

Isa moved to the door and Jan followed, but she stopped him. “I can make it alone.” She looked back at Rosalie. “Warn Edward there are German soldiers at the house. Four, without the Major who lives there now.”

Then Isa hurried from the room.

16

Is there any way but war in this mad world of ours? A world where ill-advised, shortsighted, yes, downright maniacal generals are blindly worshiped? What other defense is there against such folly, except to fight?

La Libre Belgique

Edward walked up the half-dozen cement steps leading to the elaborate door of the Lassone home. Carved wood edged two intricately cut, frosted-glass panes that afforded the occupants privacy at night but sunlight during the day. It was an impressive door to an impressive house.

He twisted the bell next to the door and the chime sounded as bold as Edward himself needed to be if he was to succeed with this disguise.

A tall shadow appeared through the glass and the door swung open. Before him stood an officer roughly the same size as Edward, with slicked hair and an assessing gaze, even directed as it was to Edward in the one outfit that normally guaranteed respect. But too many priests had been arrested to let Edward believe the Germans held the cloth in any esteem.

“I am here to see Genevieve Kirkland.”

“And you are?”

“Father Antoine, from the parish of St. Eugenio.”

The German looked him over once again, finally stepping aside to let Edward enter. He, too, spoke in French. “I suppose you have identity papers?”

Edward nodded, patting the pocket of the black cassock he wore before he stepped past the soldier and went into the parlor.

The soldier came up behind him. “Then you don’t mind if I look at them?”

“Oh!” Edward said, as if the question came as a surprise. “No, not at all.” He fished for the papers, adding as he handed them over, “And may I say your French is excellent, Hauptmann.”

The German inclined his head ever so slightly as he looked over the
Passierschein
and then returned them. “This is Father Antoine,” he said to several other soldiers as he stepped around Edward and took up what had obviously been his wineglass. “And how do you know Frau Kirkland?”

“She is my aunt. I was given a message earlier this evening that she might have need of my comfort. I came as soon as I could from the bedside of an ailing parishioner. Is my aunt here?”

“No,” the Hauptmann said. “But we expect her soon. So the messenger did not wait for you?”

Edward shook his head, watching as the Hauptmann looked toward the stairs and then toward the hall.

Another of the officers approached, distracting Edward’s attention. He wore two pips of a Rittmeister. “Do you speak German?” he asked in his native language.

Edward found himself nodding before considering consequences. How bold this disguise made him, to be so honest before the enemy.

“You are young to be a priest,” the Rittmeister said, and at that pronouncement some of Edward’s boldness drained away as all four Germans eyed him now.

“God revealed my vocation to me when I was a boy. I went to the monastery for secondary school at sixteen.” Which was partially true anyway. “I wasted no time to do the Lord God’s bidding.”

“He told you? Just like that?” said the Rittmeister, who couldn’t have been much older than Edward himself.

“Not audibly, if that is what you mean. His word came by way of desire, as it often does.”

The Hauptmann was clearly distracted as he stood near the butler’s hall, but the discussion seemed to have caught his attention at least momentarily. “Desire?”

Edward glanced at the Hauptmann. He had yet to meet a German soldier he could like, but this one was especially irritating. “Yes. Desire, when within God’s will, is a good thing. A motivating force.”

“Please,” the younger man said, “I must ask you, since you are a man of God. Whose side is God on in this war?”

The other three soldiers burst into laughter, and the Rittmeister beside Edward flushed a deep shade of red.

“Everyone knows God is on our side, Rolf,” one of the others said. “Every soldier in the trench knows that. It’s inscribed on his belt buckle!”

Nonetheless, the man at his side did not retract his question, and now all of them looked at Edward expectantly. He had his own ideas about this war, but common sense told him to keep those views to himself. Instead, he pulled his response from years of his father’s tutelage.

“The Bible says God is the one who appoints the times to each nation and draws its boundaries.”

“So whoever wins proves God is in their camp?”

“Not in the sense you mean. Who can say what corrupt nation He may use to a greater end?”

The young German’s brows drew together, as if he was confused and dissatisfied by the answer. Edward decided to take the tack his own father would have used. “God is interested in the state of every man’s soul. On the night before He was crucified, Christ prayed for His people to be united so the world would know God. He would rather we not fight to begin with.”

Even as he spoke, Edward watched the Hauptmann. He was clearly obsessed with the kitchen.

Just then the front door opened and his mother stepped inside, a German Major shuffling in behind her. Obviously he was the one who lived here, yet he wasn’t nearly as disabled as Edward expected. He had full use of a wooden appendage filling in for his missing foot.

Edward hurried to his mother’s side and put his face close to hers as if to kiss her in greeting. But instead he whispered one word: “Antoine.”

In that very moment she flung her arms around his neck and half laughed, half cried, “Antoine! How glad I am you’re here.”

“Yes, Aunt Genny, I came as soon as I could. What news is there of my young cousin Jonah?”

She looked at the Major beside her. “Major von Bürkel arranged for me to see him. Jonah is well, and we have reason to hope there will be no trial.”

“Trial! What sort of crime did the boy commit?”

“Oh, nothing really,” his mother said. As she removed her shawl, the Major took it from her.

“Boys being boys,” the Major added.

To Edward, his mother and the Major suddenly seemed of another world, one where it was hardly odd that an Englishwoman of Belgian residence should be so familiar with the German soldier beside her. He took his mother’s hand and led her from the Major’s side just as Isa burst from the butler’s hallway.

“Genny! Where is Jonah? What’s happened to him?”

His mother put an arm around Isa and smiled away the fear on Isa’s face. “I came from St. Gilles. There are a dozen boys there, and from what I saw, they are not being mistreated—except they must sit on a hard floor and spend the night.”

“But what happened? Why was he taken there in the first place?”

The Major spoke before Edward’s mother could answer, looking at his fellow officers. “Do any of you know a Herr Oberland? He was brought from the homeland to teach here.” He spoke in German, and Edward wondered if he knew they could all understand him—he, his mother, and Isa too. “He is the music teacher at Jonah’s school. Evidently he’s rather zealous in his appreciation of German music, and the boys wish to expand their musical education a bit beyond the German horizon.”

All the Germans in the room laughed. Laughing was as easy as breathing to them. And why not?

“I’ve assured Frau Kirkland that our friend Herr Lutz will settle the matter by tomorrow.” Then Major von Bürkel looked at the Hauptmann. “Perhaps you could see that he does.”

The man drew his gaze from Isa’s profile. “Yes, of course. I shall not sleep until the matter is settled satisfactorily.”

“Very well,” the Major said. “Then as I see it, the evening is at an end. You may take your leave, boys.”

They seemed none too eager to do that, yet they set aside what little was left in the wineglasses and prepared to go, taking up their shiny helmets. As they bid Major von Bürkel farewell, they admonished him not to let too much time pass before they heard from him again. Then, at last, they were gone.

The Major was not as tall as Edward, particularly leaning on his cane the way he did. Edward watched him as he struggled to a chair, where he closed his eyes. When he opened them, his gaze was directed at Edward.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” he said. “Pardon me if I do not rise.”

“Of course,” Edward said. “My name is Father Antoine Marcellan, of St. Eugenio Parish here in Brussels. Madame Kirkland is my aunt.”

“Ah.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m terribly sorry. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been outside my room, and as much as I might have wished to leave it earlier, I’m finding myself pining for it now. I’ll take a moment to rest before I conquer the stairs.”