Whispers from Yesterday (33 page)

He stepped toward her. “Take care of yourself, too.” She nodded.

With the tips of his fingers, he lifted her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I believe this is a good thing that’s happened. Hal asked for me. He’s stopped running. Don’t despair. God is sovereign—remember that when it all seems too much and you can’t see the purpose. God is good, and He is sovereign.”

Tuesday, June 1, 1943

Dear Diary,

I was allowed to see Mikkel today. The Germans know now that we are Americans, but because of when we came to Denmark and the reason, they seem inclined to believe we are not spies. Or maybe this is only a trap. Maybe they are waiting for another mistake.

They did not leave us alone to talk, but I could see all the warnings in Mikkel’s eyes. Our home is sure to be searched. I will no longer be careless with my journals, Except for when I am writing, I will keep them in the secret hiding place Mikkel built such a very long time ago, back when I thought it would never be necessary. I will make certain there is no shred of evidence that might link either of us to the resistance movement.

I begged Mikkel’s forgiveness for the argument we had the last time we were together. I did not care if the Germans heard that. I told Mikkel how much I loved him and that he was not to worry about Rose and me. We will be fine, with God’s help.

He took my hands and held them tightly and reminded me that I must not look at circumstances from man’s point of view but only from God’s. He told me to look up Mark 8:33 when I arrived home, which I did. In that verse, Jesus rebuked Peter, saying, “Get thee behind me, Satan: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but the things that be of men.”

I understand what he wanted to show me in this verse, that I must see everything against the backdrop of the cross, that I must view it all with an eternal perspective. But did Mikkel also realize Jesus said this because He knew He was about to suffer and die?

Esther

Monday, August 9, 1943

Dear Diary,

They would not allow me to visit Mikkel today. I am afraid of the reason.

Sabotage has been increasing throughout Denmark. The press has become a powerful instrument, and the Danes know the truth about the war from both it and the BBC broadcasts which we all listen to nightly, even though it is forbidden.

The Germans are losing ground. The tide has turned in favor of the Allies. But will the war end soon enough for Mikkel?

Esther

Sunday, August 29, 1943

Dear Diary,

The Danish government has resigned following the demands the Germans made as reprisal for the bombing of the Forum. A state of emergency has now been declared by the Nazis. Freedom fighters who are captured will be shot or deported to concentration camps.

I have not been allowed to see Mikkel for nearly a month.

Esther

THIRTY-ONE

It was three in the morning, one week before Thanksgiving, when Karen closed the last of Esther Christiansen’s thirteen journals.

Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she made no effort to wipe them away. She hadn’t the strength. She was emotionally drained, while at the same time feeling a strange lightness in her heart. She couldn’t explain it. It simply
was.

She wished Dusty were back from Seattle. He’d called to say he was on his way home, having done all he could for Hal. He’d sounded hopeful about the boy’s future. “I think there’s a good chance the court will give me custody. It’ll be a few weeks before we’ll know, but it looks like he’ll avoid jail time.” He’d said he would tell them more upon his return.

But that wouldn’t be until late today. Karen wanted to talk to him now. She wanted to tell him what she was feeling. He would understand. He’d be able to explain what it all meant.

She closed her eyes, pressed her hands over her heart, and whispered, “What’s going on, God? Maybe You should be the one to tell me anyway.”

For a moment, it seemed all of heaven held its breath right along with her. It seemed she would get her answer. It seemed—

She sat up, listening. For just a moment, she’d thought she heard her name being whispered.

The wind playing tricks on her, no doubt. “Karen …”

No. She wasn’t mistaken. It was her name, but it wasn’t the wind. It was Patty.

She jumped out of bed and hurried to Patty’s bedroom, opening the door without knocking.

“Ohhh … Karen.”

She flicked on the light.

“It hurts … it hurts.” Patty lay on her bed, curled on her side, hugging her belly. Perspiration beaded her forehead and upper lip. “Something’s wrong. I think … I think it’s the baby.” She groaned in pain.

“But the baby isn’t due for weeks.” Another groan.

Karen hadn’t a clue what to do. That line from
Gone with the Wind
popped into her head, the one about not knowing nothing about birthing babies. She almost laughed out loud at the absurdness of the thought. Of course, the impulse to laugh was from nerves; there was nothing funny about this. If Patty was in labor, then the baby could be in danger. And maybe Patty, too.

“Don’t worry.” She tried to sound confident. “It’s probably false labor. Everybody talks about it. Happens all the time. Everything will be all right.”

She spun around and hurried to the kitchen where she flicked on the light and began searching for the number of the ambulance service. She knew it was around there somewhere. Dusty had called it when Sophia was ill. Where had she seen that number? Where?
Where?

She found it an instant before full-fledged panic overwhelmed her.

Muttering the number aloud to herself, she lifted the handset. The line was dead.

Panic won. She couldn’t seem to move. She couldn’t seem to think.

“Karen?”

There was no more welcome sound than that of her grandmother’s calm voice speaking her name. She turned around. “Are the phones out?” Sophia asked. Karen nodded.

“You’ll have to go for help. I don’t think this is a false alarm.” “But what if there isn’t time?”

“Then I’ll deliver the baby, and you’ll get back with help as soon as you can.”

“Oh, Grandmother—”

“Take the truck and drive to the Basterra farm. Yuli has a shortwave radio for times like this.” Sophia frowned. “Do you remember how to get there?”

“Yes,” Karen answered. “Yes, I can find it.” She hoped she was telling the truth.

“Then get going. God will go with you, dear. Don’t be afraid.” Her grandmother returned to Patty’s room.

Karen hurriedly dressed, bundling herself in coat, knitted scarf, warm cap to cover her tousled hair, snow boots, and gloves. When she opened the front door a short while later, the icy wind nearly knocked her down. Blowing snow formed a blinding curtain before her. She couldn’t see the barn or the bunkhouse. She had to find the truck by instinct rather than by sight.

How am I to see the road in this? O God, if You’re really up there, watching and caring, then You’d better go with me. You’d better. If ever I’ve needed You, now’s the time.

My son.

Dusty awakened with a start.

Arise and go.

A shiver swept through him in response to the clear but silent command. He tossed off the covers on the motel bed and reached for his jeans.

What’s wrong, Lord? What is it?

There’d been no bolt of lightning, no clear revelation of what was wrong. And yet he knew without a shred of doubt he’d heard the Lord’s voice telling him to go. The exhaustion that had dogged him during his return trip from Seattle lifted as he tossed his few things into his duffel and left the room, moving quickly toward the van.

The temperature was near zero, and the night was black as pitch. Not a star in sight. He could smell snow in the air, although it wasn’t falling there.

A hundred miles to go. Whatever’s wrong, Jesus, be there in the midst. Keep Karen and Sophia and Patty safe.

The drive to the Basterra farm was the most terrifying experience of Karen’s lifetime. Blinded by the blizzard, she hadn’t a clue how she stayed on the road, let alone found her way. Once there, it took what seemed an eternity of pounding on the farmhouse door before she was able to rouse the sleeping inhabitants. But once they did awaken and learned what was happening, they sprang into action.

“I’m going back to the ranch,” Karen told Celia while Yuli headed for his radio.

“Wait for us to get dressed. We’ll go with you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to wait. Grandmother may need help.”

“It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“No.” She opened the door. “I’ve got to go. I’ve been gone too long already.”

Celia called something after her, but the wind swept the words away before they reached Karen’s ears.

Fear clogged Dusty’s veins.

He’d come upon the blizzard suddenly. Heavy snow blew horizontally in front of the van, making the headlights virtually worthless. The road was little more than a sheet of ice. Dusty’s van had to crawl along at a snail’s pace or he risked ending up in the barrow pit.

If only he knew what was wrong at home. If only he knew why he was fearful.

God, protect them,
he prayed silently.
Protect them.
Then aloud, “Strengthen Sophia’s heart. I know she’s lived a good long life, Jesus. But I’m greedy—I want to keep her here with me. With us. And Patty … she’s just a girl, and she’s pregnant and her body’s going through all sorts of things I don’t understand. Keep her and that unborn child safe and healthy. And, Father, if it’s Karen …” His prayer faded to silence. He couldn’t find the words to go on. He couldn’t bear to consider losing her.

His fear multiplied.

I am your refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. I love her, Lord. I love her more than I can say. If I were to lose her …

Do not fear, for I am with you; do not anxiously look about you, for I am your God.

“Make my way straight, Lord. Keep this old van on the highway. Get me there in time. Please, God. Please.”