Whisper on the Wind (39 page)

“Marry her! Of all things,” the Major said. “It’s out of the question.”

They talked in the kitchen of Isa’s home, the Major seated while Edward leaned against the sink. “At the very least it’s out of the question because I suspect you plan something else. You don’t want simply to marry her. You think you can break her out of there, don’t you?”

Edward’s silence was enough to confirm the truth. He’d expected some resistance to his plan to visit Isa again, but not such a quick, flat denial.

“It’s too dangerous. Any attempt would be downright foolhardy.”

“Which? A wedding or trying to get her out?”

“Take your pick; either is equally foolish.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying,” Edward said patiently. “What I am saying is that I intend to get her out, and if that attempt works, all the better. If it doesn’t, well . . . it won’t matter.”

“And I’m saying it does matter. You’re a young man, Edward. What about your mother?”

His mother, who at this very moment hid at Rosalie’s, protected by Henri. Praying, as Edward did, for a way to save Isa. “My mother is a woman of faith, Major, as you know. I’ve made it clear to her I would rather live in the next world with Isa than without her in this one.”

The Major shifted in his seat, folding his hands on the table. For a long moment he said nothing, and Edward didn’t know if that was a good sign or bad.

At last the Major shook his head. “There is only one way to do this if you’re determined to go through with it.”

Edward stood straight as if at attention. “How?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Tell me.”

The Major came laboriously to his feet to stand before Edward, leaning on his cane with both hands. “Wait until the day of her execution.” He held up a hand to still Edward’s protest. “When they transport her from the prison at Vilvorde to take her to Tir National. It is the only way.”

Edward shook his head. “I won’t wait that long. To the day? No, I won’t have it.”

“
You
won’t have it? Young man, I don’t see that you have any choice.”

The Major was right. And yet to wait until the last minute, with no time for a second chance . . .

“If you think we have more than one try at this, you’re quite wrong. Either we get it right the first time or we die in the effort. That’s it.”

It was as if the Major could read his mind. However, one word caught Edward’s attention. “We?”

Major von Bürkel rubbed his eyes before looking again at Edward. “I’m tired of this war,” he said quietly. “I no longer believe in one side or the other. I am loyal to God, to justice. And,” he added with sudden color to his cheeks, “to your mother. Isa is important to her.” He cleared his throat and added gruffly, “My career with the German army is at an end. I might as well go out doing something I believe in, the same way I went in. In any case, I’m the only chance for help you’re likely to get. You must tell me everything you’ve been thinking. What resources you have, if we might be able to use any of them.”

“I have money,” he said, “and Henri. You remember Henri.”

“The giant gardener?” He nodded. “Yes, we can use both.”

* * *

Isa let the last note rise softly from her flute until it disappeared, leaving behind only peace. All in the hands of God. She needed that reminder. She needed it nearly every moment of every day.

“That was very good,
Fräulein
,” Franz said from his stool outside her cell. “Maybe you’re tired now. I will get you some water.”

Isa nodded, watching him go to the barrel in the corner of the outer cell. It had been three days since Edward’s visit, and ever since she’d expected him to miraculously show up at any moment with a legitimate priest at his side, to somehow perform a secret marriage ceremony so she would go to heaven married to him. It was the only dream that had gotten her through those days, but as each passed, it became less real, less hopeful. Tomorrow, just after dawn, would be too late. She had known it couldn’t happen; hadn’t she told him so?

Why, Lord? If I am to join You in heaven tomorrow, why not allow one last earthly hope, to marry the man I love? Is it too much to ask?

Only the knowledge of His presence, His peace, eliminated her self-pity. She’d read Jesus’ prayer in the garden of Gethsemene over and over, praying with the Lord:
Let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.

She was learning how deep the definition of
trust
must go for it to mean anything.

Franz handed her a cup of cool water.

“Franz,” she said, thinking if she was ever going to know, she must ask now, “I wonder why you’re so kind to me. I’ve been found guilty of a crime worthy of death by the army you serve. Why aren’t you like the others, who won’t even look me in the eye?”

“I was like that once.” She saw his gaze fall to the Bible on her cot.

“Do you know God, Franz?”

He looked at her somewhat vacantly and shook his head. “I know there is a God; at least that’s what I’ve been told. But I don’t think He’s very interested in me. No,” he said, “it’s not God that makes me nice to you. It’s her.”

“Her?”

“Fräulein Cavell.”

“Edith Cavell?”

Franz nodded. “I was her guard, too.” As he spoke, his eyes grew more vacant than they’d been a moment ago. “I wouldn’t speak to her even though she was nice to me. Do you know, when I first came back from the front, she tended my wounds? That was long before they arrested her. They didn’t know that, otherwise they wouldn’t have assigned me to guard her. And she didn’t remember me. Too many patients, I suppose. But I didn’t say anything, either to my superiors or to her. I knew my duty, and I did it.”

“Is that how you came to have her Bible?”

“It was left behind. The prayer book was taken by the chaplain. I don’t know what he did with it. And the letters . . .”

“What happened to them?”

“They were commandeered.”

“And then? Weren’t they sent to those she thought of in her last hours?”

He shook his head. “No,
Fräulein
. They were destroyed.”

Isa closed her eyes. She’d written more than one letter herself, so reminiscent of her diary. Letters to Genny and to her brother, Charles, to her parents and to Edward. Especially to Edward.

But now, to learn her letters would probably face the same fate . . .

Franz stood. “I vow to you,
Fräulein
, if you give me the letters you’ve written, I will get them out.”

“Thank you, Franz.” She swallowed hard, pushing away a sudden wave of terror, of fear, of helplessness. Such waves often came unexpectedly, washing through her body with physical force that dizzied her. In those moments she’d learned to steady her breathing, banish all thoughts, and pray. Dwell on the Lord. Abide.

Franz moved his stool away from the bars, back to where it normally sat when others were on watch. His shift was coming to an end. The next time she saw him would be the last, when they would come at dawn to escort her to Tir National.

She was weary of the emotional battles. She wanted to lie down, to sleep, to escape from the doubts that gnawed at her faith, her peace, and her sanity. But instead a thought came to her that helped. She turned to Franz.

“Franz,” she said gently, “tomorrow, after they come for me, this will be left behind again.” She lifted the Bible. “Will you take it and keep it as your own? read it?”

“It’s in English.”

She’d forgotten the difference in languages. “Can you get a German translation? Look at the areas that are underlined in here and then read them in your Bible. Will you do that for me, Franz?”

He looked at her, then at the book, and at last he nodded. She believed he would do it. Honesty was part of duty, and that she knew he did very well.

41

You may smash our buildings, crush our bridges, destroy our men. But our spirit goes on.

La Libre Belgique

Dawn was an hour away. Edward sat in a wagon outside the prison. He hadn’t slept more than a few minutes at a time all night and yet had no trouble staying awake now. He knew what would happen if he failed. He must not fail.

Edward’s mother had been taken to the meeting place with Father Clemenceau. She, at least, would escape before the sun rose this day, even if the rest of them never made it.

The wind stung Edward’s eyes and ruffled a bit of hair sticking out from under his spiked helmet as he held the reins on the horse before the wagon. He had to admit the Major was a formidable source. He was intelligent and thorough, forcing Edward to face all the possibilities—including killing another human being.

Edward had been amazed at the Major’s willingness to be part of such a plan. He was bold, even ruthless. And yet that ruthlessness was tempered with caution. If all went well without any deviation, they could succeed without a shot fired. He’d wanted Edward to be prepared but made it clear he hoped his treason did not stretch to murdering his countrymen.

The horse Edward directed was one of the finest specimens left in Belgium, and it had cost a hefty chunk of Henri’s money. The animal was worth every penny, as strong as any brewer’s horse. Smaller, admittedly, but faster. And that’s exactly what they would need if anything went wrong.

The wagon had once been a wooden flatbed, now fitted with iron bars so that it looked like a cage on wheels—something a circus might bring to town to show its most dangerous animals. But now it held Henri, the Major, and a coffin. The Germans were so very efficient.

He pulled up to the gate at the castle prison in Vilvorde. Despite warmer weather the day before, recent snow had been cleared to allow the doors to swing easily back and forth. The hooves made an odd tapping noise against the cobblestones. Edward had impaled nails into the very edge of each unguis to guarantee the traction they would need later.

The first test: Edward’s uniform. Amazing what money could buy. Edward now wore the identity of a Vizefeldwebel, complete with the worsted braid on the overcoat collar to show the NCO rank. It was even a perfect fit. Finding one for Henri had been a bit trickier and more expensive. He was now a Feldwebel, and it had been decided that he would accompany the Major inside the prison to retrieve Isa. Edward wanted to be the one to go inside, but the Major had refused. He wouldn’t take the risk of Edward being recognized after his visit as a priest.

The sentry at the door saluted and, as Edward anticipated, never looked him in the eye. He accepted the papers—papers the Major had taken such risk to obtain, stolen from none other than Hauptmann von Eckhart—and then opened wide the gate to let them pass.

So far, Lord. So far, so good.

Edward pulled up to the innermost curb in the yard where the Major and Henri alighted from the back without a word. They did not give Edward a glance as they went about the plan with military efficiency. And Edward took up his prayer again. It was all he could do, all he could think.

Keep her safe, Lord.

* * *

Isa heard the boots on the cement floor approach. If she’d been able to eat anything the night before surely she would have lost it now. The sound echoed in the predawn stillness along the curved ceiling, the metal bars. How soon that sound came. Earlier than she’d thought, but how could she know? Time had stopped mattering, as if she’d slept, then woke, and could no longer tell how much of the night had passed. She didn’t remember sleeping.

She had prayed through the night. Between her prayers she’d wondered what she would feel after they tied the blindfold around her eyes. If she would feel each bullet or just the first. If this side of death would hurt.

But this morning she was strangely calm. She knew within a few hours she would be in God’s presence. In some mysterious and unexpected way she found herself longing for the moment. Wasn’t that the way it should be if she truly believed as she said she did? Why, indeed, would anyone choose to remain on earth when heaven beckoned? She remembered a verse from Hebrews:
Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross.
She too would endure death by the hand of others but soon know that joy.

This was the only difference between her and most who died. She knew the moment death would arrive. And her moment was soon.

Only when her hand happened across the letters she’d written did that calm threaten to shatter. Leaving those she loved was her source of pain. She knew life would be hard for them until that day they too came to the joy.

“Shutz.”

The single word calling the guard started her heart galloping. It was time; it was time
now
. Could she face it without abandoning everything she believed?

She stood, gathering the letters atop the Bible. She must give them to Franz. Here was her comfort, knowing her words would reach those for whom they were intended. She prayed it would make it easier, not harder, for them to say good-bye.

Franz opened the inner bars. That lock had not been touched since the day Edward had smuggled himself in to see her. The iron hinges squeaked a protest when they moved.

“Franz.” She looked at his sad countenance and handed him the goods. “Remember what I said about the German Bible. Don’t break that promise, my friend.”

He accepted the book and the folded letters on top. He nodded, then looked away. Did his hand tremble as he took the bundle? Hers were so calm!

There was nothing left to do except retrieve her flute. Music was a gift from God. She would go to her grave holding the instrument through which that gift had so often flowed. She also took the blanket off of the cot. Tir National was a good distance away, and she would have need of it, at least until she got there.

Then she turned for the first time to the soldier who would escort her. And nearly gasped.

Major von Bürkel. Now her heart hammered anew with confusion and something else. What was he doing here? She swallowed down anxiety and unbidden hope. Surely he was here as nothing more than a comfort, to offer a familiar face instead of the cold, impersonal ones of the strangers who would end her life.