Simple Faith (36 page)

She had one more reason for delaying the crossing—something Mikel had said when she went to say good-bye.

“When you reach the river, wait there. If no other guide comes by the hour before dawn, you must cross, but wait. Promise me.”

“No one will come, Mikel.”

“Just wait, please—promise me.” He had gasped for air, and his eyes had fluttered shut. She did not want to leave him, yet there was nothing that she could do for him. She suspected internal bleeding and knew that what he needed was a doctor. “Let me send for Josef,” she pleaded. “Brother Francisco could get word …”

“Josef is on his way,” Mikel managed. “Now go.”

She sat on the side of his cot and cupped his face in her hands. “I love you, Mikel,” she whispered. “Hang on until Josef can get here.” She kissed his cheeks, his dry lips, and his eyelids.

“Go,” he whispered as he raised his hand to touch her hair. “The American …”

“Hush,” she whispered as she laid her head on his chest. “Just hush.”

Now with every step she prayed for Mikel, prayed that Josef could be found and that he would get there in time, prayed that she could deliver Peter safely to the British and return in time to say good-bye if Mikel’s injuries were too severe and Josef could not save him.

Peter had been staring at the river for some time. “How are we ever going to …”

“It would be best if we wait until just before dawn,” she told him. “That’s when the guards are less likely to be on the alert.” She wasn’t sure why she had decided to keep to herself Mikel’s hint that another group might come—that a guide more experienced than she might show up in time to guide Peter across. It was important that Peter have full confidence in her. “It will be darkest then, and the guards are less likely to be as vigilant as they will be now.”

“And until then?”

She settled onto the ground, her back against a boulder, and patted the place beside her. “Might as well settle in,” she told him.

He sat down and eased off one of his espadrilles. Anja’s fist went to her mouth as she saw the blisters on his feet. At least two were large open wounds, bleeding and oozing. “Why didn’t you let me treat those when we were at the monastery?” she demanded, her concern for him finding voice in annoyance.

“I don’t know. You had your hands full with Mikel and Daniel, and it seemed like the rest gave them a chance to heal some. They didn’t seem so bad.”

Of course the two-hour hike they had just taken had only aggravated them all over again. They could get infected—they probably already were. Now what?

“Follow me,” she said as she started back the way they had come.

“We’re going back?” he whispered. “Don’t give up now, Anja. I can do this. I will do this.”

“There’s a stream we passed. We can get water there.”

“We have water,” he reminded her, holding up the goatskin that the monks had given them along with a supply of food for their journey.

“We also have some ointment and gauze in our first-aid kit,” she whispered. “That water is for drinking, and our first step is to clean the areas. Now come on.”

She scampered on all fours up the side of the hill, staying low to the ground—hopefully a reminder for Peter of her warning before they left the monastery that this area closest to the French side of the river was a favorite place for Germans and locals loyal to them to keep watch for evaders.

When they reached the stream, she was well aware that the water would feel like thrusting his feet into a tub of ice cubes, but there was no question that it would help. If nothing else, it would numb the pain. While Peter soaked his feet, Anja stepped out of the coveralls she wore over her hiking clothes and began tearing at the fabric with her teeth. When she had some strips of fabric assembled, she motioned for him to place one foot on her knee. She dried it with what was left of the coveralls, then stroked on a thin layer of the ointment. After that she wrapped his foot first in gauze and then in a layer of the thicker soft fabric she’d ripped from the coveralls. When she had tied off that, she eased on his espadrille and motioned for the other foot. Once she had repeated the treatment, she wadded up what was left of the garment and hid it beneath some stones by the creek; then she motioned for him to follow her as they crawled back through low shrubs and brush.

It was dark by the time they crawled back to the place that hid them and gave them the best view of the power plant and barracks. The spotlights were illuminated, although fully half of them were not working. There were also lights inside the barracks. She could hear voices as the patrol guards gathered in the yard to change shifts. She saw them walk up and down and around the power station, along the river, and then back again. But then she realized that this was not something they would continue to do. Once they had made one survey of the area, they retreated back inside the barracks or leaned against the side of the power plant and smoked as they talked.

“We wait for the next shift change,” she whispered. “If the routine is the same, then we will wait for the last shift before dawn and go.”

Peter squeezed her hand to show he’d heard her, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he tugged at her until she was sitting next to him; then he gently ran his fingers over her eyelids to close them. “Rest,” he whispered. “I’ll keep watch.”

Time dragged on, and between the lullaby of the rushing river and the utter quiet that surrounded them otherwise, Peter had to fight to stay awake. He tried concentrating on the stars. He’d never been any good at finding the constellations—much to his dad’s annoyance. “It’s right there, Petey,” his father would say when they would camp out in the backyard. Now he tried to keep himself alert by simply remembering the names: Big Dipper, Little Dipper, Orion—was that right?

He gave up and focused instead on the lack of activity around the power plant and the barracks. Light still blazed in both places, but there didn’t seem to be much activity. There was no way for him to know what time it was. He knew at least several hours had passed, for he had witnessed a second changing of the patrol. The routine had been the same as before—a cursory check of the area and then a return to the barracks. All he could do now was watch for the next shift of the border patrol to leave the barracks, circle the area, and go back inside. Then he and Anja could finally move out.

And then what?

If they made it across the suspension bridge and past the patrol barracks and through the tunnel, what then? More to the point, how much farther would Anja go with him? Mikel had pointed to a place on the map on the other side of the river past the tunnel where they would come to a house. They would stay there while someone from the house went down to the village and called the British consulate in San Sebastian to let them know that “the package was ready for pick up.” A car bearing diplomatic plates would arrive, and once inside that car, Peter would be truly safe for the first time since his plane went down. The car was considered British territory just like the consulate and embassy were.

Next to him Anja stirred and then settled back into sleep. How he longed to talk to her—to say to her all the things that were in his heart. Oh, he understood that she would go back to the monastery—how could she not? Daniel was there. But Peter did not want to say good-bye without making sure that Anja knew what she meant to him—would always mean to him.

Without warning she sat up fully alert. She clutched Peter’s arm—a reminder for him to remain absolutely still. He realized that once again she was listening for something. And then he heard it as well. A movement just yards away from where they waited. Everything went still, and then Peter heard the call of a night bird—the same one he’d heard from Mikel once before. It had to be a trick—a trap—but before he could warn Anja, she made an answering call.

Peter waited for the inevitable. They would be captured or shot. It was over just when he was within sight of freedom.

Anja was well aware that the signal could not have come from Mikel, but it was a signal that was known only to the guides along the escape line that she and Josef and Lisbeth traveled. She had to believe that whoever was out there was a friend—someone who could help them. Someone who could hopefully take Peter the rest of the way and let her get back to Daniel—and Mikel. At the same time, it was obvious by his sudden tenseness that Peter thought they had run into a trap. She had to keep him from attacking whoever was coming and perhaps causing harm to someone she cared about. “Wait,” she hissed and clamped her hand down on his arm.

“Anja?” A whisper as soft as the wind. A voice she recognized.

“Josef?” How was this possible? He was supposed to be back at the monastery treating Mikel.

A rustling nearby and there he was. With relief she fell into his arms. “Lisbeth?” she whispered.

“Safe,” he assured her; then he turned and offered his hand to Peter.

Anja did not miss Peter’s initial hesitation. He had always questioned Josef’s loyalty, but then he reached out and grasped Josef’s shoulder.

Below them they heard voices and looked over the rise to see the changing of the patrol.

“We have to go,” Anja said. She did not know how Josef had managed to find them, but at the moment all she cared about was that Peter’s safety was no longer solely her responsibility. The relief she felt was like one of the boulders they had scaled on their way to this place being lifted off her chest. She began to edge her way down to the place where the suspension bridge connected to the French side of the river. Peter followed, and Josef came last.

The bridge was in worse shape than Mikel had described, and while they waited for the guards to make their rounds and return to the barracks, Anja studied the only passage available to bring them to the other shore. She was lightweight and could move very quickly across as long as the bridge did not sway too much. But Peter and Josef were both heavier in spite of the fact that neither of them had eaten regularly or properly for months now. What if the frayed ropes or rotted slats gave way? What if the whole thing collapsed?

She decided that Peter should go first and motioned him to do so as soon as the last guard had gone inside and they heard the barracks door slam. Of course, he refused, but Josef understood her thinking and practically shoved Peter onto the swaying bridge. While trying to retain his balance, he traveled several steps out over the river. He could come back of course, but Anja and Josef both signaled him forward.

Step-by-step he made the crossing—sometimes having to make a leap when several of the slats were missing. That kind of sudden movement made the whole thing sway dangerously, and since one side rope was missing entirely, the chance that the whole contraption might spin around and dump Peter into the river was very real.

Anja held her breath, willing him to make it. If he didn’t, there was no reason for her or Josef to attempt the crossing, for Peter would surely be swept away by the vicious current and lost. They would do what they could to rescue him, but Anja knew that the chances of him surviving were not good at all. On the other hand, if he made it, then Josef could go next, and if he made it, then he could take Peter the rest of the way and she could return to the monastery.

Josef clasped her shoulder. “Anja, Lisbeth is at the monastery with Daniel.”

“And Mikel,” she said, thinking that she was completing his sentence.

His grip tightened. “Mikel was the one who sent for us—some smugglers you passed in the mountains?”

She nodded.

“They were not smugglers. Mikel knew that he was badly injured and …”

“But he’s going to make it—tell me that you got there in time,” she insisted.

Josef pointed to where Peter waited on the other side. “Go,” he urged. “We can talk once we reach the safe house in San Sebastian.”

“Mikel?” Her voice shook like the swaying bridge beneath her feet.

“Go, Anja.”

Even as she took that first shaky step onto the bridge, she knew that Mikel had died. Now she crossed the bridge on winged feet. The truth was that all she wanted to do was run and run and run until she collapsed—until she had no more strength to fight the defiance that drove her.