Whisper on the Wind (23 page)

It was dark except for the moonlight shining through the window in the door behind her. Without lighting a lamp, she found the coats and the Hauptmann’s helmet and gloves along with Herr Lutz’s felt hat resting on the shelf.

“I will help you with those.”

Startled, Isa turned to see Hauptmann von Eckhart. Instead of reaching for the items in the tight quarters of an alcove meant for a single servant, he stepped close.

“It’s no trouble.” She was determined to make the statement true. She held the heavy headpiece between them, only one thing on her mind now: returning to the parlor, which from here was both out of sight and sound.

But the Hauptmann gently pushed aside the helmet so that they stood with nothing in between. So close his breath skimmed her neck.

“I know how to obtain the painting taken from your dining room.”

She gave a timid laugh, but it sounded strange, like someone else’s. “It really doesn’t matter, Hauptmann. I never cared for it.”

His hand touched her shoulder, one finger slipping beyond the edge of her gown to graze the skin at the base of her neck. “It must be worth something, since the artist is dead and won’t be adding to anyone’s collection now.”

She took a small step to the side, clinging to the cold metal helmet he’d refused to accept. “I do not care.”

She took another step just as he grabbed her hand, and the helmet rolled from her arms, landing with a dull thunk on the hard wooden floor.

“I don’t think you understand,” he whispered, closing the gap between them again. “I could be of great help to you. See that you are always fed, always warm, always safe. I am offering you my protection.”

“How very kind of you, but really, we’re fine under the protection of the Hague Convention. We may not often enjoy the kind of meal we had this evening, but we’re not starving. The CRB is seeing to that.”

“Then, as a token of our friendship, I hope that I may call on you?”

“Friendship, Hauptmann? Conversation at the dinner table proved how different we are. Friends usually have something in common.”

“Perhaps you can convert me to your beliefs.” Now he had her by both arms, holding her in a grip from which she couldn’t pull away. Not without a fight.

She glanced beyond his shoulder, wondering what would happen if she screamed. “I shall pray for that very thing. Unceasingly. Now if you’ll let go—”

But he did not. Instead, he lowered his face, and as his mouth neared hers, his grip loosened while his lips came down on hers. Jerking away, she did what came naturally, without thought to consequence—she raised her hand to strike. The slap sounded sharp and definite just as shadows approached. From the corner of her eye, Isa saw the silhouettes of Edward in his priest’s garb and the Major behind him.

The Hauptmann stepped back, his jaw hard, lips now taut. He bent to reach his fallen helmet and brushed past Edward, who barely had time to step aside, not acknowledging the Major, who looked on with concern.

Edward stepped toward Isa, placing his hands gently on her arms where the Hauptmann had held her a moment ago. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “Yes, yes. He—he was rude, nothing more.”

The Major stepped closer as well, his brows drawn. “He does not represent his regiment well. I’m sorry if he offended you.”

The Hauptmann’s regiment was part of
their
army. She wished them all gone . . . from the Hauptmann to von Bissing. That included the Major. “I hope the Hauptmann will not be back in this house.”

“No,” the Major said, frowning. “He will not be invited again.”

Edward retrieved the hat, still on the floor along with the fallen gloves, then took Isa’s elbow with his free hand. Only Herr Lutz stood at the door with Genny nearby.

Herr Lutz accepted his things. “Von Eckhart left in a hurry,” he said in German to the Major. “Did he misbehave once more?”

The Major said nothing, but that seemed a satisfactory answer for the other man. Herr Lutz bowed stiffly Isa’s way, thanking her for the evening. Then he left.

Finally the door closed and their “guests” were gone. Isa began a deep breath, but her gaze fell on the Major. Too soon for that breath of relief.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he moved toward the base of the stairs. But he turned to Genny before battling the sixteen steps ahead of him. “I wish to thank you—all of you—for an entertaining evening. I bid you good night, then.”

No one spoke, and as he topped the stairs using the polished walnut railing, Genny turned away. She went toward the kitchen. “I’m going to help Clara,” she said over her shoulder, as if leaving it up to Isa and Edward whether they would join her or not.

Isa followed, and so did Edward.

“Since I’m here,” Edward whispered to Isa once they were well away from the Major, “I’ll work on refitting the press. Send Clara out of the kitchen so she won’t notice where I’m going.”

That proved easy with so many abandoned dishes still left to retrieve from the dining room. Both Isa and Genny offered to help, and Edward was gone when they came back to the kitchen.

It was quite late by the time the kitchen was neat again. Clara thanked them for their help before excusing herself for the night.

Alone with Genny, Isa said, “I found it interesting that God chose Edward to defend Him tonight, didn’t you?”

“He’s not letting go, is He?”

Isa shook her head, looking toward the pantry door. “Will you wait up for him with me?”

“No, I’m tired. Go downstairs; tell him he needs to leave before it gets too late.”

Isa had hoped for an excuse to wait for Edward, but this was better. A reason to join him.

So she went down the stairs, noiselessly letting herself into the secret room. Edward stood on an upturned crate above the main casting of what looked to be a bigger press than she’d expected.

“Have you ever noticed this little opening up here next to the light? What room is above here?” No greeting, just the question.

“The dining room. Or the butler’s hall. I can’t be sure.”

“And above that?”

“That would most likely be the music room.”

“I’d like to take a look there.”

“What will you be searching for? I might be of some help.”

“I have a feeling that opening might have served as some kind of warning system for those who used this room before us.”

“Henri can show us if he knows.”

Edward returned his attention to the pieces in front of him, having placed them in some sort of order. “We’ll have to test for noise once we have it running, perhaps use mattresses to absorb the sound if necessary. Have you any extra that won’t be missed?”

“I’d offer the Major’s, but . . .”

Edward didn’t laugh. He kept himself bent over the parts.

“There may be something in the attic. But, Edward . . . I wanted to tell you I admired what you said tonight. About God.”

He didn’t respond; she couldn’t see his face at all.

“Did it ever occur to you,” she said quietly, “that God is pursuing
you
, and that’s why He gave you the opportunity to defend Him tonight?”

Edward stood to his full height, only an arm’s length away and nearly as high as the ceiling while standing on the crate. He looked down at Isa with an expression she’d seen before, one that said she was pestering him. “Isa, whatever I said tonight wasn’t because of faith. It was out of hatred. For them. I knew if I was on God’s side, I wouldn’t be on their side. I doubt God used me as a mouthpiece with that in my heart.”

She lifted a brow. “I believe somewhere in the New Testament, St. Paul says he doesn’t care why the gospel is being preached, only that it’s being preached.”

Edward ignored her and returned to his task, hovering above the press where he could reach more of its surface.

There was but one thing to do. Act the pest he believed her to be. “I don’t know why God spared you from that camp when He let the others die. Maybe we’ll never know. How can we know the mind of God? But I do know I’m grateful, and so is your mother. I don’t think we could have survived losing you with so many years of our own lives left ahead of us.”

Edward stopped what he was doing. She saw his hands become still, but he kept his back to her. “You worry too much about me.”

“It isn’t worry. It’s sadness. Because I know that nothing . . . neither height nor depth nor any other creature shall be able to separate you from the love of God. . . . And it must sadden Him that you don’t think Him worthy to be trusted anymore.”

Nothing. No response, no interest in her words.

“Have you no fear of God anymore?” She rounded the press so she could see his face but still he didn’t look at her. “Would you like to know what I’m beginning to think? That you’re prideful. You think you can do a better job running things than God can.”

His gaze shot once to hers, but he said nothing, only picked up a tool.

“You’ve backed yourself into a corner where your only company is pride. You
haven’t
stopped believing in God. Only you’re angry He didn’t answer your prayers to save those other men from the camps. You’re angry He took your father when your mother and Jonah—and
you
—need him more than you’ve ever needed him in your life.”

Edward dropped whatever tool he’d held and it landed with a clank that made Isa jump. “You’ve spent some time guessing!” His eyes were black, brows trying to hide them in the fiercest frown. “It’s actually worse than that. I believed in God because that’s what my father taught me. He raised me on the pure milk of God’s Word. He believed every bit of it. But do you know what else he believed in? Pacifism! That mankind could solve differences through things like the Hague Convention, not with guns. Spend our national money on social reform; give it to the poor—do anything except spend it on an unnecessary army. We all know now what a fool he was to believe that. Maybe he was a fool to believe the rest, too.”

Isa stared, eyes wide, but didn’t interrupt.

“He was wrong, my father. All those years he lived with the honor and respect of everyone who knew him—and he died like a fool. Shot in the street. And for what? Because somebody thought he was going for a gun? Who knows?” He gave a deep sigh, and Isa saw his hand tremble as it rippled through his hair. “All the things he did, Isa, all the righteous things he did, I tried to emulate. I was the best student at school from the time I wore short pants to the day the Germans burned the university. I was the child who always tried the hardest, helped anyone who needed it, played games fairly. And do you know why?”

“Because that’s what your father taught you?”

“Yes, that’s what my father taught me. But
he
did it for God’s glory. I did it for my own.”

He sank onto the crate now, so that Isa had to chase around the press again to look at him. Exhaustion wrinkled his eyelids. “You’re right, though. I’m full of pride. Why do you suppose God would want any part of me? Somebody who doesn’t even have enough faith to stand on it without my father right here beside me.”

There was just enough room on the corner of that crate for Isa to sit beside him. “You said it yourself tonight at the dinner table. God pursues us. It’s all in the Bible you won’t read anymore.”

Edward shook his head.

“Oh, it’s okay for God to love the Germans but not to love you?”

He stood, leaning against the wall that, with the press right behind them, wasn’t so far away. Suddenly he lost the frown and smiled. “How did things get so tangled, Isa? I’ve always been the one telling you what to think or do, not the other way around.”

She stood, the pace of her heartbeat multiplying. “I’m all grown up now, Edward.”

She thought his gaze slipped—or wanted to, for the slightest moment. His smile dimmed. “I can see that.”

“Can you? And yet you’ve done nothing but treat me as a child since I’ve returned.”

“I wish you still were. Children are less likely to attract trouble from the Germans.”

“Edward, why did you follow me to the closet earlier? when the Hauptmann tried to kiss me?”

“Aren’t you glad I did?”

“Of course! I just want to know why you followed.”

“Because I saw the Major watching that Hauptmann with what I took to be mistrust, all the while the Hauptmann was watching you.”

She smiled again. “Because I’m no longer a child?”

He ran both hands through his hair now and shrugged away from the wall, looking at the press again. “Yes. Well. I should be going; it’s late, and I won’t want to take advantage of using my passes after curfew too often.” He neared the door. “Why don’t you go up first, just to make sure Clara hasn’t returned unexpectedly? I’ll go out if the coast is clear.”

Isa stared at him a moment, wondering what he would do if she simply kissed him. Would he slap her, the way she’d slapped the Hauptmann? Kissing was certainly a personal thing, and one ought not do that without an invitation. Having just suffered such an assault, she should be the last one to consider doing something like that now.

And yet she wanted to, if only to forever erase the feel of the Hauptmann’s lips violating hers.

But she couldn’t. Instead, she passed him and went up the stairs to make sure no one would see him leave.

* * *

Edward let out a breath the moment Isa was gone. What was he thinking? He’d very nearly taken her into his arms just now—in an embrace that would in no way resemble any number of hugs they’d shared in the past.

And what had
she
been thinking? Reminding him like a little coquette that she was all grown up now? Any idiot could see that. Certainly the Hauptmann had.

It reminded him of that day the horses in the street had made him throw her to the side; he had reacted in the way any man would, holding someone so lovely. He’d written it off as a by-product of feeling strong and protective of her at a point of danger.

But now this. It wasn’t as if he liked her. Even if there were no war, he couldn’t possibly entertain the notion of loving Isa. Her family was not to be tolerated, particularly that arrogant older brother of hers. He was no doubt having as much fun as ever, safe and free and far from any hint of war, sacrifice, or danger. Very likely never gave the war a thought.