Whisper on the Wind (16 page)

She’d wished them all away then, silently but fiercely, until one of them said “old Lutz” had sent them with a motorcar for the Major’s use and to let him know he would check into the matter of Max’s note.

Upon hearing of the car, the Major had glanced Genny’s way, and as if they were suddenly the kind of old friends who could read each other’s mind, he handed her the shawl she’d only just discarded and they went on their way. That seemed an eternity ago, but it must have been only minutes, for they hadn’t been on the road long.

“Frau Kirkland,” the Major said quietly, “I can ensure that you see your son, and I can have my friend Herr Lutz look into the matter, but neither I nor Herr Lutz can free him immediately. You do know that? That he’s been taken here, of all places, suggests he’s done something wrong. Something illegal.”

She nodded, tearing her eyes from the flags on the hood to glance at him, then out the side window. Illegal according to German law, perhaps . . .

“It’s a rather fragile web we’ve woven,” he said softly, almost as if he spoke to himself. “We all do our jobs because we want to see our country victorious. We long for Germany to take its place among the great powers. Is that wrong?”

She peeked his way but he wasn’t looking at her, either.

“We have jobs that seem quite separate, alien even, to other compatriots who serve our country.” Then he cleared his throat and peripherally she saw him look her way. “That is why I’m unable to assure his freedom. Depending on the details, and upon the insistence and importance of his accuser, as well as upon the judge-advocate who hears his case, if one is to be heard, there may be nothing at all that I can do. In fact, were I von Bissing himself, I could do nothing unless those who are involved with the case allow it. It is all part of this web, do you see?”

She nodded again, although she didn’t “see” at all. Justice was justice; why must it be so difficult to apply universally, rather than allow only a select few to decide? Was true justice to be found in any court in Belgium while Germans were here?

She kept silent, afraid she might say something to cause him to withdraw his offer of help. He had no real reason to offer such aid, she knew that. And she wasn’t about to shun the precarious hand he extended her way.

At last they pulled up before St. Gilles. She’d seen it before, in passing. The turrets, the battlements, the arrow loops and perpetually guarded center gate. Only now those sentries were German. They spoke briefly to the driver. One flashed a light on Genny and the Major in the backseat while another examined their papers. Then they were waved through to an inner courtyard, and Genny heard the tires rolling over rough gravel before the vehicle halted. Here the driver exchanged a few words with another guard, who opened the door at Genny’s elbow.

She found herself surrounded by the medieval battlements of the prison. With little more than moonlight to illumine the structure, it was as intimidating as any prison should be, especially one with so many years of service. Genny hoped it hadn’t appeared so menacing by day, when the boys had arrived.

She exited the motorcar and waited for the Major. A soldier met them on the steps of an inner citadel. She watched Major von Bürkel move slowly, depending on a cane now rather than crutches. And it was then she noticed a difference: not one shoe but two, perfectly balanced, one at the end of each pant leg. How had she not noticed? When had this change occurred? In the dim light the only hint of his disability was in the careful steps he took. Genny paced herself to his gait.

Their footsteps echoed off empty halls. Soon she heard the noise of children talking—the first sound all evening that brought joyful tears to her eyes.

The room was large and dark, lit only by oil lamps set too high to reach without a wand, starkly devoid of furniture. In the center of a roughly tiled floor sat a circle of a dozen boys, all of similar size.

“Mother!”

Genny nearly tripped over the narrow hem of her gown to reach Jonah. For once he didn’t pull away from such a public embrace.

“You’re here!” he said into her ear. “Can I go home now? and my friends?”

Achieving a bit of calm for his sake, she shook her head. “Not yet, but soon. Very soon.”

“What’s all this about, Jonah?” the Major asked. “Why were you brought here?”

Jonah seemed to notice him for the first time. “Did you bring my mother here? Is that why she was allowed to see me?”

The Major said nothing, neither admitting nor denying the presumption. Instead, he said, “Answer the question now, Jonah. What’s all this about?”

Jonah stepped away, folded his hands behind his back, and before Genny’s eyes her son seemed to age a decade. He looked very much like Edward just now, taller and more mature, as if ready to accept whatever punishment was meted out.

“It was my idea,” he said, chin held high, gaze straight ahead rather than at his mother or the Major. “I incited a mutiny against Herr Oberland, the music teacher.”

Boys approached en masse, having stood the moment Jonah had but holding back until he’d spoken.

“No! It was my idea!”

“No! Mine!”

“It was a unanimous decision,” Jonah said over the rest, “but if there is to be special blame for the instigator, I’m ready to accept it.”

“Just what sort of mutiny did you incite, Jonah?” Major von Bürkel asked. “Was Herr Oberland harmed in some way?”

“No. We simply refused to enter his classroom.”

“And why is that?”

Jonah stiffened, still staring straight ahead as if he were already a soldier. “Because he taught us nothing but German songs. We believe the rest of the world has music to offer as well. Some even better than Germany’s.”

Genny nearly cried out to cover the words before the Major could take offense.

But then she heard laughter, deep and pure and so unexpected she could scarcely believe it came from the man beside her. Yet it was the Major himself, so clearly amused she felt her knees go weak with relief.

“Yes, Jonah, you have a point.” Then he became somber as he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But you must do one thing, and that is to promise your mother you will not speak if officers question you as a group. Do you understand what I’m saying? For your mother’s sake if not your own, you’ll not say a word.”

“But I—I’ve been elected spokesman.”

The Major shook his head. “Resign the post, boy, as it’s obvious everyone was in on the decision. Speak to a German officer only if questioned. Each of you. Do you understand?” He looked at the other boys, who still stood behind Jonah. “And for your own good, whoever answers will say the prank was aimed at this teacher because you don’t like the way he combs his hair or because he has foul breath. Keep it to that and you’ll be home by supper tomorrow. Do you understand? This is no time to make martyrs of yourselves, and that’s what they’ll do if you give them reason enough.”

A few of the boys nodded. Jonah said nothing.

Genny put a hand under his chin, beckoning him to look at her. “This is no time to try conquering the army. Let the soldiers take care of that.”

Still, he said nothing. She increased the pressure on his chin. “Jonah.”

At last his gaze faltered and he looked down, nodding as he did so. “I was scared half to death I’d be shot.”

With a low sigh Genny drew him back into her arms. “Well, now all you have to do is be silent unless asked directly to speak. And you’ll be home in no time.”

Genny looked around the room. It was chilly but not damp, and though it offered little by way of comfort, it was not unbearable. “I don’t know how long you’ll have to stay, Jonah. You’ll remember you’re never really alone, won’t you? God Himself is right by your side. Always.”

He nodded, his gaze meeting hers.

“All right then,” the Major said. “Your mother cannot stay longer. We’ll get word to the other parents that all of you are together and doing well, and that you’ll be home in no time at all. So go back to your circle, and if you do sing, it’ll have to be a song the teacher taught you. A German song. That’ll go well with the guards, and the tale of it will reach the dreaded teacher in no time and soften him up. You’ll see.”

Genny braced herself for a moan of protest, at least from her son, but even he showed wisdom and restraint, returning in silence to the circle. She didn’t want to leave, but when the Major put a hand beneath her elbow, she knew she must.

She took a last look at Jonah as the door closed between them, and for the first time since the crisis began, she took a breath without trembling.

“Must they stay the night?” she whispered as they followed their escort back to the main entrance. “You heard it’s nothing more than a trivial matter. Why must they spend any time here at all?”

“Evidently this Herr Oberland is a sensitive type. If he was offended, he’ll have to feel the crime was punished.”

“Surely that’s already been achieved.”

The Major lifted his shoulders. “The boys are fine, as you saw. No harm will come to them.”

Genny knew she couldn’t press the issue. “We must tell the other parents their boys are all right.”

The Major nodded. “We’ll go to the school. I’m sure we’ll find someone there waiting to pass the word along.”

* * *

By the time Isa let herself quietly into the back of her house, her lungs stung and her side felt as if a knife were embedded within. She hastened into the kitchen and found Henri at the door leading to the rest of the house.

“Oh, Henri, I need your help—”

He raised a finger to his lips, pointing to the door. She quieted, leaning her ear to the wood panel much as Henri had been doing a moment ago. Through the butler’s hall came the definite sound of voices. Men. German.

And she needed her papers—from upstairs!

“Where is Clara?”

Henri motioned something she could barely decipher, even accustomed as she was to his way of communicating. A coat. She must have gone out. A prayer. Perhaps praying for help—or looking for someone to help.

It was no use. She couldn’t send Henri upstairs; such an idea was too outrageous not to be noticed by the Germans. She must retrieve her
Passierschein
herself or risk another flight without them. But at least Henri could help with the other matter.

“I’ve hidden something in the cellar—in the special room. Will you go downstairs and bring me some of the money I’ve left on the table? A thousand marks, five hundred francs. And hurry!”

He nodded, then turned to the pantry door, the only access to the cellar.

Isa sucked in a deep, steadying breath. The sound of laughter pierced her. How could they laugh when men—and perhaps even boys—were being rounded up this very moment?

“Yes,” she heard one man say, “and like Lutz,
you
would have me believing he’s farther up the evolutionary scale than I.”

Whatever that meant, the room erupted into more male laughter—a sound Isa hadn’t heard in too many months to recall. She scanned the area for Genny but saw only uniformed men, each of them either smoking or drinking. What they drank, she had no idea. Nor was the Major present.

One of the men saw her and stepped forward, a Hauptmann by his insignia, and a well-decorated one at that. He clicked his heels and bowed formally before her, a young, clean-shaven man with well-oiled dark hair. His nose was not large yet it had a somewhat-pointed look to it. His chin, while not the jutting sort, had a precise cut. His cheekbones were well-defined, brows like two arrows emerging from the bridge of his nose. His eyes were dark like his hair—the searching kind, as if he saw more than most others. He looked at her now as if he knew her, and yet she’d never seen him before. She would remember if she had.

“You must be Isabelle Lassone, the American heiress who owns this home.” He spoke French as naturally as he spoke German. “It is a pleasure to meet you, after having once lived under your hospitable roof.”

Uninvited and unwelcome. She longed to refuse his hand but knew she could not. He let his lips linger on the top of her hand, and when he let go, she knew another battle against the desire to wipe clean the feel of his mouth on her skin.

The others introduced themselves, another Hauptmann, a Major, and the last a Rittmeister, all fit and strong. Only this new Major showed any sign that he’d been at the front, with a bandage on the side of his face and the scar of a laceration on the other cheek.

“Where is Major von Bürkel?” she asked.

“On a mission,” said the first man, who’d introduced himself as a Hauptmann Rudiger von-something-or-other. “With another woman who lives here. Frau Kirkland?”

Isa nodded.

“They went to see about her son.”

“To bring him home?”

He shrugged as if he didn’t know. “That, of course, depends on his offense and the person bringing the charges.”

Charges . . . “So this has nothing to do with what is happening in the provinces?”

The Hauptmann lifted one of those razorlike brows. “And what is happening in the provinces?”

“I’ve come from the American Legation, where they told me men were being rounded up and sent to Germany. I thought—”

The Hauptmann laughed. “You needn’t worry,
Fräulein
; all we are doing is providing work for men who are otherwise unemployed. With generous wages! There should be no complaints.”

She believed not a word, but it wasn’t something she could argue. “Then Frau Kirkland’s son isn’t among those being deported?”

“How old is her son?” another soldier asked.

“Merely eleven. A boy!”

They laughed again. “
Ach
, he will be ready in a few years, but not yet. By the time he is ready to work, he’ll know better what’s expected of him.”

“But if he isn’t being rounded up with the men, why would he have been taken from his school today? They said several boys were taken to St. Gilles—to the prison there.”

“None of us know,” the Hauptmann said. “But Max will find out and set any wrong aright.”

She wanted to demand what offense could be so great that an eleven-year-old child must be incarcerated in such a place but held her tongue. She only wanted one thing now, to retrieve what she needed and go back to Edward, to warn him about their house full of “guests.”