Whisper on the Wind (37 page)

Max handed over what he had. “Consider this the first installment. Tell me what more it will take, and I will get it.”

Von Eckhart took a moment to count it, then looked up at his old friend. “Double this and she will walk out with you.”

“I want to see her,” Max said.

But to that von Eckhart shook his head. “That would not be wise if we’re going to alter her sentence, old man. For now it’s best we keep this between you and me.”

Max had no leverage. He must accept what he could get. He headed to the door, hearing von Eckhart retreat behind his desk.

“You know, Max, you’re lucky you know me. I’m not normally so agreeable. But for you, well, exceptions can be made.”

Max never turned around.

38

Does it do any good to shut your eyes against danger? No, my fellow Belgians, we must be awake, alive, alert to all that is around us and not listen to the falsehoods spread by the German propaganda.

La Libre Belgique

Edward ran the streets for three days between the American Legation, Painlevé’s office, and most recently, the back of a cardboard factory, where he once again met Mr. Jocosa. That was not his real name, but Edward knew no more of the man’s actual identity than Jocosa knew of Edward’s. Even so, the two became well acquainted. Recommended by Father Clemenceau, it was the mysterious Mr. Jocosa who knew which soldiers were safe to bribe and which to avoid. When he learned Edward wanted to gain the freedom of no less than three prisoners—one even sentenced to death and held at the prison in Vilvorde—he laughed. He only accepted the challenge after Edward produced one of the largest diamonds in Henri’s collection, promising more.

Edward received word on Jan first. Jocosa told Edward that Jan would be on a train bound for Germany with other prisoners condemned to deportation. Jan was to be shuffled from one car to another at Aix-la-Chapelle at the German-Dutch border, where he would have three minutes of freedom. If he was recaptured after that, it would be his own undoing, but it was the best offer Jocosa could get. Some of the soldiers welcomed such games, betting their own skills against the prisoners’, all for the money and love of a battle of wits.

Edward trusted Jan’s wits to get him safely to Holland.

The news Jocosa brought of Edward’s mother baffled him. The guard through whom all bribes were channeled in that block was reported to have acted oddly. He easily took the money but already had a plan for her release that differed from the one Jocosa proposed. Far simpler, though it involved an officer, which usually guaranteed success but was normally more expensive.

Nonetheless, Jocosa said Edward’s mother would be free before the end of the week.

Isa’s release filled Edward’s mind every moment of the day. He’d already funneled thousands of francs Jocosa’s way, to no avail. He’d gone back to Mr. Whitlock and Barrister Painlevé so many times he was sure they tired of him, yet neither offered any hope. Painlevé had been the one to tell him where Isa was being held and that he wasn’t sure if it was good news or bad that her sentence had been delayed until the twenty-seventh. Normally such sentences were carried out immediately, but in honor of the Kaiser’s birthday they would dispense with the traitors as part of a dawn tribute to their leader.

Edward rejoiced. It gave him more time. But it also added an unwanted element: with so much emphasis on the celebration, anyone in the German army connected to the sentences was beyond reproach. Dutiful, dedicated, devoted to the Kaiser. Unapproachable with a bribe.

But Edward would not give up—and wasn’t about to let Jocosa give up either.

* * *

Max took the few steps up to the front door slowly. The frosted glass that once had been framed within the carved front door lay in shards on both sides of the jamb, letting the cold January air howl into the hall.

Glass crunched beneath his shoes as he stepped inside. The open, deserted home in a desperate society had fallen prey to looters. There was nothing left. The blue upholstered furniture was gone, the once-bright carpeting now more black than gray. No light fixtures, no brass knobs on any of the doors. Indeed, even one of the doors was missing between the parlor and the butler’s hall. But there was no damage to the structure except where fixtures had been ripped from the walls. It looked like a house ready to be let, except for repair and cleaning.

Max went to the kitchen, through the pantry, and down the stairs to the cellar. He saw piles of wood and bricks, gaping holes in three of the four walls. Two led to dirt. The last was the largest hole, large enough for him to step through.

There was no press but there were remnants of crumpled paper and a few cylinders left behind. He’d believed the report, but something inside had spurred him to see for himself.

Was this why you spent so much time with me, Genny? to keep me distracted?

But he found it didn’t matter. The truth was, he loved Genny and would do anything to free her, including using the last of his savings and selling a ring that had been in his family for three generations. He didn’t regret doing it, even if Genny had felt nothing for him. He’d never expected anything from her. How could he? He still had a wife. One to whom he must return, even though she couldn’t remember his name.

Max left the secret room, picking up the longest lengths of wood he could carry, scraps of what had once been wine racks. He had no nails but hoped to find some. As thoughts of boarding up the front door blossomed into the idea of moving back in, at least for a few days, Max found himself climbing those stairs with the agility of a whole man.

* * *

Isa lay still on the cot, her back to the bars. She breathed steadily but was far from sleep. In the past three days she’d used slumber as an escape, and God had granted her the blessing of rest.

At last she turned on her back and stared at the low, curved ceiling. This was the crudest of the cells she’d been in, the most isolated. She was surrounded by cold, damp cement; it had the feeling of a hole in the earth. Water dripped from somewhere, but she was the only living being, other than the occasional passing rat, to inhabit anything within hearing range. Two sets of bars separated her cell from any other she’d passed when first brought in. There were no windows, no electricity, no plumbing. Just a cot and one thin blanket. And a bucket.

Guards changed every twelve hours. One sometimes sat between her cell and the next set of bars, close enough so she could hear him move, far enough so she felt the isolation more sharply.

Of the guards she’d seen so far, only one had looked her in the eye. He’d even managed to produce the blanket and bring her tea with the tasteless gruel yesterday. He’d also spoken to her, telling her he’d enjoyed her song the night before. It was a hymn she’d sung while hoping to banish the absolute silence and to invite the presence of God.

She had thanked him politely, the way Genny had taught her no matter the source of such a compliment. And then she watched him go, to be replaced by one of the others who blended in so well with the gray walls surrounding them.

Since then she had lain on her cot, nearly unmoving. Praying the numbness would last. Until the end.

* * *

“He’s left messages in every parish in Upper Town, trying to find someone who knew Father Antoine.”

Edward turned his full attention to Father Clemenceau, who had sent for him through various connections, not one of whom would know how to find Edward if the chain was broken. New identity papers were stuffed in his pocket: he was now Faas van Folkvaror, the son of a wealthy Dutch shipbuilder.

“What rank did you say this officer held?”

“Major.”

Edward’s heart sped. “But he wouldn’t leave a name?”

“No. He said if Father Antoine wanted to see his aunt again, he should come to the Lassone residence.”

Edward made a hasty track to Isa’s. He didn’t listen to his own cautious nature. It could be a trap. After all, Father Antoine had been at the Lassone residence countless times while the press was there. Surely he was suspected as well; that was why he’d taken the trouble to change his identity. But something told Edward this was one German Major he need not fear.

The door was boarded, glass swept to the side. Edward knocked and it sounded hollow inside. He knocked again, hearing nothing and fighting to hang on to his hope even as it sank. Pivoting to look around, he half expected armed guards to appear. But the front garden, the street, the neighborhood, appeared deserted.

At last he heard an uneven footfall approaching the door. Edward breathed easier. He hadn’t been mistaken.

When he opened the door, Major von Bürkel looked at Edward, obviously perplexed, then surprised, and finally pleased.

“Major,” Edward greeted.

“Come in out of the cold,” he said, stepping out of the way. “Though I can’t promise it’s much warmer in here. Come to the kitchen. I’ve lit the stove at least.”

Edward followed, seeing Isa’s home devoid of its former splendor. It might have rankled or pleased him once, but the loss seemed trivial now.

It was indeed warmer in the familiar kitchen. The table was gone and in its place stood a smaller version and two plain wood chairs.

“I found these tucked in a corner of the garage. Evidently the looters missed that spot.”

Edward took a seat, and the Major produced two cups, hot water, and tea. What might have once been awkward for Edward now seemed ordinary, that he should sit at the same table with this German officer.

The Major looked at Edward as he poured. “I see you aren’t a priest, but you aren’t her nephew either, are you?”

Edward shook his head.

“I thought as much, to be perfectly frank. I thought the resemblance too strong. Is she your mother?”

He nodded. “How do you know she will be freed today?”

“Because it was I who arranged it.”

“You . . .”

“I don’t know all that went on here,” he said with a glance toward the pantry door, “but I’ve come to know your mother. She doesn’t deserve to be in servitude and certainly not in prison.”

Edward nodded again, taking a sip of the hot beverage.

“I will be returning to Germany soon,” the Major went on. “I wasn’t sure she would know how to find you, so I hoped you would get my message. And so you have.”

Edward eyed the older man curiously. “Isn’t this quite a switch for you? dangerous, even, for you to show us such kindness? knowing what we’ve done?”

He shrugged. “Not dangerous. Foolish, perhaps, though my career in the army is over anyway.” He patted his injured leg. “I serve a higher General now.”

“God?”

The Major laughed at Edward’s expression. “Is it so surprising?”

“I . . . no. My mother once told me you followed the same God. I am indebted to you for helping her.”

“No. Don’t be.” The Major stood, going behind his chair and leaning on it rather than on the cane still hanging on the edge of the table. “Your mother will be here soon and I think it’s wise that only you be here to greet her.”

“You don’t want to see her? Even though you came here to help her?”

The Major started to speak but at the last moment held back, looking away and shaking his head.

“What shall I tell her?” Edward asked. “Shouldn’t I tell her it was you who helped her? She’ll want to see you, to thank you.”

“No, she needn’t do that. When this is over, when she’s safely away, tell her . . . tell her I couldn’t see her again. Some good-byes are too difficult to do more than once.”

Edward wished he could put a hand to the Major’s shoulder, tell him that he understood, as incredible as it seemed to share such an unwanted bond. Saying good-bye to Isa would be unendurable.

But Edward didn’t know how to share that bond, and so he folded his arms and regarded von Bürkel a moment longer before speaking. “You’re going back to Germany, then?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll spend the night at the Kommandantur. There is a cot folded away in the pantry. I spent last night here. But it isn’t adequate for you and your mother. You must find another place to stay or somehow replace the missing furniture. I can fairly assure you the secret police have no interest in her—or this place—anymore.”

Edward said nothing about his plans to take her across the border as soon as he had Isa at his side, and to keep her well out of sight until then.

The Major took up his cane as if to leave, and Edward’s pulse sped. He’d scoured the city looking for help, and here before him might be his only chance. If he could ask.

“Major . . . you’ve helped my mother. Is there anything to be done for Isa?”

He leaned on his cane, shaking his head slowly, sadly. “I don’t think von Bissing himself could change it now, were he well enough to intervene. He’s quite ill, so I’ve heard.”

The pulse that sped went along faster, hotter, through Edward’s veins. “They have no more right to murder Isa than they did when they took the lives of all the others accused of treason. Treason! Tell me, Major, how is it that Isa is accused of treason when it isn’t her own government handing down that sentence?”

The Major looked at Edward and the implacable facade that Edward had seen covering the older man’s face a moment earlier softened. “Don’t you see? There’s nothing that can be done.”

Edward shook his head. “No, I don’t see that at all. You freed my mother. Why can’t you do the same for Isa?”

It was a childish question, even Edward could see that, but it was one he couldn’t help but ask.

The Major turned away. “It’s impossible. She is being guarded by the most loyal German soldiers. Everyone in Brussels awaits the upcoming celebration. Not a bribe on earth could make a difference now.”

“Can you get me in to see her?” Edward demanded. “At least that much?”

The Major looked surprised, then thoughtful. He rubbed his forehead again and studied Edward. “Do you still have your cassock?”

39

Have no doubt, my fellow Belgians, were Christ in our midst today, He would surely fight for a definitive end to this war and look with sorrow on every injustice.

La Libre Belgique