Clash by Night (53 page)

The days passed quietly. Laura read and took most of her meals in her cabin. The crew looked sharp the first few days for German boats in the Channel, moving in for an attack on the coast, but none were sighted. The nights, however, were enlivened by air traffic. The RAF and USAAF flew above them to drop bombs on German airfields, oil refineries and railroads. The passengers were warned to stay below, but many braved the danger to listen to the roar of the motors above them in the clouds, trying to catch a glimpse of the planes and cheer them onward. Laura sometimes joined them, glad that for Harris that part of the war was over.

The morning they were to arrive in New York she was up early like almost everyone else. Fog shrouded the coastline, but the rising sun began to burn it off as the ship moved closer to shore, and she was standing at the rail when a shout caused her to turn and look.

The Statue of Liberty rose out of the mist, the torch and flowing garments trailing cottony wisps. Details emerged as it came closer and Laura could see the tablet the woman clasped, the spires in her crown.

Laura’s eyes stung and she sniffed, stifling emotion.

The woman next to her, a French national Laura had met over dinner, patted her hand on the rail and said in French, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Laura nodded, dabbing at her eyes. “I feel ridiculous,” she said, smiling. “I didn’t think I would do this.”

“Why do you feel ridiculous?” the woman replied. “You’re an American. It’s normal to cry for happiness when coming home.” She examined Laura’s face. “Have you been gone a long time?”

“Yes,” Laura murmured in reply. “A very long time.”

“The statue is a gift from France,” the woman said.

“Yes, I know.”

“A sign of good luck, don’t you think?”

“I think so,” Laura answered, and went below to get her things.

The disembarkation process was a little better organized than the departure from France had been, and Laura got though immigration with no problem. As she passed through the roped off area and onto the cement quay her anxiety escalated. He wouldn’t be there. She knew it. Something had happened, they weren’t meant to be together, fate was snatching happiness from their grasp. Her heart pounded in her ears with every step she took through the high ceilinged pier building, vaulted like an airplane hangar. Her eyes roamed the crowds like a sonar scanner. Greetings and reunions took place all around her but she was oblivious, focused on the one face she wanted to see.

“Laura!” Her name rang out in a flat Midwestern accent and she spun around instantly.

Her eyes met his over the crowd that separated them.

“Dan,” she whispered, and suddenly she knew that everything would be all right.

She dropped the bag she was carrying and began to run.

Epilogue

December, 1950

Chicago, Illinois

Laura removed the roast from the oven as Danielle said, “Mommy, I still don’t know what to get Daddy for Christmas.”

“Why don’t you get him one of those woolen sweaters we saw at Marshall Field’s?” Laura cut off a tiny section of meat and frowned at it, then left the slice on the drainboard.

“Daddy has a million sweaters,” the little girl said, exasperated. “I want to get him something he doesn’t have.”

“Then get him a moose.” Laura decided the roast was done enough and left it on the counter.

Danielle giggled wildly. “What would Daddy do with a moose?”

Laura smiled mysteriously. “You never know.”

Danielle glanced at the clock. She couldn’t tell time yet but liked to pretend.

“Is Daddy late?” she asked.

“A little. You know the roads from O’Hare get treacherous when it snows.”

“What’s ‘treacherous’?”

“Dangerous, slippery, icy. Daddy has to go slow.”

As if on cue, the front door opened and the baby began to wail from the bedroom.

“Hello, ladies,” Harris said, kissing Laura on the cheek and scooping Danielle off her chair. Snow dusted the shoulders of his American Airlines uniform topcoat.

“Hi, darling.” Laura smiled at him.

“It’s bad out there,” he said to Laura. “The Studebaker skidded twice on the way home.”

“Your nose is cold,” Danielle said, wrinkling hers as she hooked her arms around his neck.

“Is that any way to greet your old man?” he said, swinging her in an arc. She squealed delightedly.

“I’d better get him,” Laura said as the baby made his presence known again.

“He’s always crying,” Danielle complained to her father.
 

“I guess he’s a cry baby, then, huh?” Harris replied and she laughed.

Laura emerged from the hall. “He’s hungry,” she said, patting Alan’s diapered bottom.

“So am I,” Harris observed, and popped the meat slice Laura had removed from the roast into his mouth. He set Danielle on the kitchen floor and took off his overcoat, glancing through the mail.

“A letter from Brigitte?” he said, holding up an envelope.

“Yes.”

“What does she say?”

“Read it for yourself,” Laura replied, teasing.

He made a face. “You know I can’t read French anymore.”

Laura gave the baby a bottle. “‘Anymore?’ You could never read it in the first place. Or speak it. That’s why you needed me, remember?”

“That’s not the only reason I needed you,” he said in a low tone, kissing the back of her neck as she passed him. “And who says I can’t speak French?
Je vous aime beaucoup
.”

“I take it back,” Laura said stoutly, rummaging in a drawer for a napkin.

Harris turned to his daughter and asked, “Hey, kiddo, did I ever tell you the story of how I met your mother?”

Danielle sighed with exaggerated impatience. “Daddy, you’ve told me that story a million times.” “Million” was her new word.

“Listen to this,” Harris said to Laura. “Five years old and she’s bored with me already.”

“Well, you’d better get a new routine if she thinks your stories are boring,” Laura retorted, laughing. She shifted Alan to her other arm. He had stopped sucking and she removed the bottle from his mouth, placing the protective napkin on her blouse.
 

“Believe me, little girl, living out that story was anything but boring,” Harris said, ruffling his daughter’s reddish hair as his eyes met Laura’s.
 

The baby spit up on her shoulder, missing the napkin.

“There goes my last clean blouse,” Laura said.

“I like you better without it,” he said.

Laura looked pointedly at Danielle. “Little pitchers,” she said.

“So what? It can’t hurt the kid to know her father’s crazy about her mother.”

“What kid?” Danielle said.

“You see what I mean?” Laura said and he laughed.

“So what was in the letter, anyway?” he said.

“Brigitte says that she and Kurt and Terry are moving. Kurt got a mine supervisor’s job at Essen. It comes with a brand new house, three bedrooms, indoor plumbing and central heat, the latest. And a garden.” Her voice dropped, as if there were someone to overhear. “She thinks Becker got it for them though Kurt is keeping his mouth shut on the subject.”

Harris sobered. “How does she feel about that?”

Laura shrugged. “She can’t stop the man from helping her husband if that’s what he wants to do. Becker’s corporation has a lot of mine contracts. It wouldn’t take much more than a properly placed word from him to do it. And he was just elected to the Bundestag. He could apply political pressure too. Plus Kurt’s a hard worker. I don’t imagine there’d be any objection from the mine management.”

Harris raised his brows. “Brigitte’s pretty stiff necked. It must be hard for her to take a favor from the man she holds responsible for her brother’s death.”
 

Laura shrugged. “She wants Kurt to be happy and she wants a better life for little Terry, a nice home, a good school.” She sighed. “I don’t think she’s ready to have Becker over for dinner yet though.”

“Speaking of dinner,” Harris said.

“All right,” she replied. “Hold your son.”

He took the baby, who promptly spit up on
his
shoulder. Laura grinned.

“Didn’t you tell me this kid gained two pounds at his last doctor’s visit?” Harris said, grimacing at his stained jacket. “I don’t see how he keeps enough down to metabolize it.”

Laura removed a stack of plates from the cupboard above her head. “Two pounds, two ounces,” she said. “He’s going to be a real Harris.”

“When’s Christmas, Daddy?” Danielle said from the floor, where she was denuding a glassy eyed doll.

“Next Monday,” he replied. “If she asks me that question one more time,” he murmured to Laura, rolling his eyes.

“She’s just excited,” Laura whispered.

“And when are Grandma and Grandpa Randall coming?” Danielle went on.

“Sunday night. Now stop violating that doll and sit in your chair like a good girl.”
 

“What’s ‘violating’?” the child asked as she climbed into her seat.
 

“That’s what I’m going to do to your mother when we go to bed tonight,” he said wickedly, chuckling.

“Fine,” Laura said to him. “I hope she repeats that for her teacher in kindergarten tomorrow.”
 

Laura took the baby from Harris and set him in the bassinet in the corner. He gurgled a few times while she waited breathlessly and then began to chew his foot.

“Good boy,” Laura said to him.

“When are we decorating the tree?” Danielle asked.

Harris turned to Laura.

“Don’t look at me,” Laura said from the stove, scooping potatoes and vegetables into serving bowls. “I’m not the one who stood the thing up in the living room and said we would be dressing it ‘soon.’ You know better than to say ‘soon’ to that child.”
 

“Later,” Harris amended.

“When’s ‘later’, Daddy?” Danielle asked.

Harris groaned. “Tonight, all right? Can we eat dinner first?”

Danielle clapped her hands.

Laura finished setting the table and sat down, with Danielle on one side of her and Harris on the other.

“Can I say grace?” Danielle asked.

“Go ahead,” her father said. His hand covered Laura’s on the table.

“Bless us, Oh Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, Our Lord. Amen,” she chirped, all in a rush. She didn’t understand a word but she was a great mimic.

“Amen,” her parents echoed.

Harris reached for the meat platter as outside the snow continued to fall.

Bonn, West Germany

“So it’s confirmed, then?” Becker said into the telephone. “Hesse will have the job?”

He listened to something from the other end.

“Good. And get his wife an interview at the company clinic too.”

He listened again and sighed. “I don’t know if she wants to work. Her son is almost six and in school, I think. But find out if she does, and if so get her the interview. Is that clear?”

There was another murmur through the line and Becker replied, “Fine. Goodbye.” He hung up and glanced at his watch. It was almost dinnertime. He had a last parliamentary session the following day and was staying in town overnight.

The intercom on his desk buzzed.

“Sir, your wife is here,” his secretary announced.
 

“Send her in,” he said, and stood.

The door opened and Lysette entered. Becker went to her and took her hands, kissing her lightly on the mouth.

“Darling, I’ve told you that you don’t have to check with Gretchen before coming into my office.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt anything,” Lysette replied.
 

 
She was dressed in a gray-blue cashmere coat with blue fox collar and cuffs and a matching cloche. Her hair was subtly styled, her jewelry real and her perfume evocative, expensive. She would have been just as happy in a sweater and the newly fashionable slacks, but Becker delighted in spoiling her and she didn’t have the heart to disappoint him. Also he was a very prominent man in the post war business community and in the new democratic government. She felt it was her duty to make a good impression as his wife.

“You couldn’t possibly interrupt anything more important than you,” he said. “Gretchen made dinner reservations for us. Would you like to stay in the apartment with me tonight?”

“I’d love to but I should go back to the house. The boys are coming for the holidays tomorrow, remember?”

“Oh, yes,” he nodded. His sons were due for a visit. After his divorce from Elise he had rekindled his relationship with them. His life had changed so much from the despair he’d often felt in Fains that sometimes he could hardly believe it. In the post war years the surviving Germans had distanced themselves from the Nazi horror as much as possible and sought leaders who were never involved in it. In this sunnier climate Becker had prospered, his natural gifts coming to the fore, the woman who had saved his sanity during his exile at his side.