Simple Faith (35 page)

Mikel had spent much of the day drifting in and out of consciousness. So when he heard the low murmur of voices right next to his bed, he was sure that he must be sleeping and dreaming. The monastery was home to an order of monks who had all taken a vow of silence. Once earlier in the day when he had opened his eyes, he’d seen Daniel admonishing Anja to be quiet as he and Peter left the room. She had stuck to that promise—feeding him spoonfuls of a clear broth whenever he woke, smiling but not speaking. So anyone talking now—in the darkness—must be imaginary.

“I must continue on tomorrow,” a man said. More words were exchanged—muffled. Then he heard what was unmistakably Anja’s voice.

“Why must you go on alone when you don’t know the way and will have no guide?”

Suddenly he was wide awake and eavesdropping on a conversation between the American and Anja. Everything in her voice told Mikel that she did not want the airman to go. He strained to hear more. “Mikel loves you, Anja,” Peter told her. More muffled words and then, “He will make a good father for Daniel. The boy adores him.”

“But Daniel loves you.”

It was true. Daniel talked of no one the way he spoke of the American.

Did you know, Mikel, that back in America Peter has his own horse?

Did you know, Mikel, that Peter is going to teach me how to play baseball? He says that baseball is the favorite sport in America, and he believes that I would be very good at it
.

What did he have to offer the boy? Or Anja, for that matter? Even once the war came to an end, they faced a life of struggle and hardship. Even if he recovered from the injuries he’d suffered, he was a nomad with no home or job he could offer her. The truth was he was pretty certain that he would not survive. There was a lot more going on with him besides a couple of broken ribs. That understanding made him even more determined to make sure that Anja and Daniel were safe. He closed his eyes when he heard the movement next to him and saw their two heads move closer to each other. He turned his face to the wall, unable to bear witnessing their kiss.

After a moment, Anja moved back to the corner where Daniel was sleeping and curled her body protectively around him. Peter stood up, stretched, and then blew out the candle on the window ledge, casting the room into complete darkness. Mikel listened until he realized that Peter was now sitting on the floor facing the cot, his arms wrapped around his knees, and his head resting on them.

He waited for the sounds of even breathing from Anja and the airman. It was not long at all before he could distinguish that she was sleeping but Peter was not.

“Trent?”

Peter was instantly alert. “You need something?” he whispered.

He fought for the breath he needed while Peter stood and reached for the cup of water on the tray. “Just be still and listen, all right?”
For once in your arrogant life, don’t have to be in control of everything
.

To his surprise, Peter sat on the edge of the cot.

“Tomorrow … do not go without her. Wait until I can speak with her.”

“She won’t leave Daniel,” Peter whispered.

“Yes she will. You are going to have to trust me.”

“I do.” Peter seemed surprised that Mikel would ever question that.

Mikel felt the now-familiar viselike tightening in his chest. “Water,” he murmured, and Peter expertly found the cup in the dark and tipped it to Mikel’s lips. When he’d had enough, he gripped Peter’s hand. “If you allow anything to happen to her,” he growled, “I will find you…. I will kill you.”

To his surprise, the American chuckled. “Anja would not approve of violence,” he reminded him.

Mikel collapsed back onto the pillows.
Was everything a joke to these Americans?

Peter gently used the edge of the cover to wipe Mikel’s mouth. “Get some sleep, my friend.”

Daylight seemed to come mere minutes after they had both settled into their places for the night. Mikel opened his eyes to see Anja busy stirring something into his cup. As if she sensed his wakefulness, she turned and smiled at him. “Your fever is down, and Brother Francisco brought me some honey for your tea. Oh, and the sun is shining.”

Mikel coughed to clear the overnight buildup of phlegm from his lungs—with every cough a pain ripped through his injured ribs. He pushed himself to a half-sitting position, and the room spun. “A good day for traveling,” he managed.

Anja gave him a strange look and handed him the tea. “I suppose,” she said, her eyes narrowing with caution.

“You and the American,” Mikel added, as he drank the tea and savored the warmth and thick sweet honey that coated his throat.

“You heard?”

He nodded.

“Then you know that it is Peter who is going. Alone.”

“And how far do you think he will get before he is either hopelessly lost or falls into the hands of a German patrol or some French gang loyal to the Vichy government?”

“You are the guide. You can show him the way—make him a map.”

“You are also a guide,” he reminded her.

She laughed. “Mikel, I have been all the way to the river only twice before, and that was months ago, and furthermore I was not on this route.”

Mikel shrugged and finished the tea then eased back down onto the stack of pillows and closed his eyes. “I can draw him the map—or rather tell you what to draw—and perhaps that will be enough. But we both know that there is much more to this than simply following some unmarked route. He has to sense unseen danger and know how to avoid it. He may have to change his path if, for example, the river is impassable. He—”

“I cannot leave you, and I will not leave Daniel.” She fussed with the task of straightening his covers. “You are not as … It will take some time before you will be well enough to travel.”

So she knew or suspected. Then she also knew that there was nothing she could do for him. He clasped her hand, forcing her to give him her attention. “Daniel can stay here with me. The monks will see that we are both safe and properly cared for, and by the time you return, we will be ready to go.”

“Go where, Mikel?”

He told her what he thought she wanted to hear. “Back to Brussels. Back to Denmark. Is that not what you want?”

“Yes, but—”

“Last night I heard you ask the American why he had to go. He told you that he had a duty. Well, so do we. We dedicated ourselves to saving as many of these Allied airmen as possible because we all know that they and their armies are our final hope for ever knowing a life lived in freedom. Get Peter to San Sebastian—to the consulate there. The Brits will take it from there. You can come back here, and we will decide what our next move will be. You can do this. You must do this.”

He could see that his decision to appeal to her sense of duty had been the right choice. If he had talked about Peter’s love for her—and hers for him—she would have denied it.

“And if we are captured?”

“I will come and find you,” he promised.

She touched his cheek, her eyes glistening with tears that he knew she would not permit to fall. “Mikel, if I do this and if something happens to me, promise me that you … that Daniel …”

“I have already thought of that,” he told her. “But it will not happen. You and Daniel …”

“And you …”

From the hallway, they heard her son’s footsteps skipping down the stone corridor. A knock and then the door opened. Daniel entered the room followed by Peter and Brother Francisco. He saw Peter look first at him and then at Anja.

“Daniel,” she said, gently guiding her son back through the open door, “let’s take a walk. I have something we need to discuss.”

Peter spent the rest of the day with Mikel and Brother Francisco going over maps of the region while Anja spent the day with Daniel. Occasionally he noticed how Mikel pulled the monk close and whispered to him. Brother Francisco nodded and sometimes left the room for a time and then returned. Mikel had calculated that they should leave around four so that by the time they reached the river it would be close to dark—the best time for crossing a waterway swollen with melting snow and treacherous even under the best of conditions.

“If you can’t find a calmer place, there’s a suspension bridge here,” the Basque had told him, pointing to a place on the map.

“What about other bridges? I mean you said the workers move back and forth between Spain and France.” He fingered the blue coveralls they both still wore. “That was the reason for these, right?”

“The workers move back and forth, but they also pass through checkpoints and are subject to searches. The danger is …”

“Okay. I get it. So the suspension bridge it is.”

“That way is also risky because of the age and condition of the bridge—the ropes are frayed, and many of the slats are broken or missing altogether. Also the area is heavily patrolled by Spanish border guards. Normally we would plan to make the crossing just before dawn. You may not have that option. Anja will be the one who decides.”

Peter understood that this last statement was a reminder that Anja was in charge and her decisions were not to be questioned. “Got it,” he said, folding the map and slipping it into the pouch that would protect it from rain and water damage. “We should get going.” He shook hands with Mikel, gave Brother Francisco a slight bow, and then went to find Anja.

“Ready?” she asked, and he heard in her voice that she was not—that leaving her son again was going to be more painful than he could imagine.

He nodded and tried to swallow around the lump that suddenly blocked his throat as he watched her say good-bye to Daniel. The boy fought his tears and hugged her hard, but he did not cling. He had had to grow up fast in the world he’d been given, and Peter had nothing but admiration for him—and for Anja.

She had walked backward away from the monastery, waving to Daniel, who stood with Brother Francisco at the gate. When they reached a patch of forest and she knew that Daniel could no longer see them, she turned and started up a narrow path that the sheep had etched into the ground. “This way,” she said. “And no more talking.”

They hiked in silence through a steady drizzle with much of the way shrouded in fog as dusk set in. Suddenly, after what Peter estimated to be more than an hour, they topped yet another in what seemed to Peter to be an unending series of rises, and Anja stopped. She turned her head this way and that as if sniffing the air or listening for something. Then she motioned for him to follow her down the steepest part of the trail, their feet sliding on loose rocks as they picked up speed. In the distance, he heard what she had been listening for—the rushing waters of the Bidassoa River. They were within sight of the border between France and Spain.

As they skidded to a halt at the base of the path, the fog cleared and there was just enough daylight left for him to consider their surroundings. His breath caught when he saw the river. It was wide, it was swollen, and it was raging as it clawed at the shore, staking its claim to land beyond its normal banks. How on earth were they going to get across this beast?

“We will need to wait until just before dawn,” Anja said as if reading his mind.

   CHAPTER 18   

A
s soon as she saw the river, Anja understood that they would have no choice but to cross the suspension bridge, and if they made it across without falling into the rushing river, they would then have to make it past the electrical plant and the temporary barracks that served as housing for the Spanish border patrol. Anja didn’t even want to think about the lights used through the night to illuminate the power plant. She had no doubt that Peter could make it across the bridge, but she wasn’t so certain that they could make it safely past those lights or the barracks without being seen. The area afforded little cover—at least not until they reached the tunnel where tracks for the railway that served the nearby ore mines ran.