Drawing Blood (17 page)

Elliot took the last bowl from her, nodding to the living room. “Go help him.”

“
You leave the Pennsylvania station ‘bout a quarter to four, read a magazine and you’re in Baltimore …
” Abigail was singing as she joined Cleary in the living room.

“
Dinner in the diner, nothing could be finer
,” Cleary replied, then they both continued, “
than to have your ham and eggs in Carolina.
”

Elliot finished cleaning up the kitchen and made it in to the next room for the second number. Abigail was sitting next to Cleary on the bench, trying to coach him into the next line of the song. “
I've lost all ambition for worldly acclaim, I just want to be the one you love. And with your admission that you feel the same, I'll have reached the goal I'm dreaming of.
”

From the doorway, Elliot watched them. She was singing with all her heart, Cleary was watching her, rapt. He played effortlessly, not even looking at his hands, staring at her.

“
I don't want to set the world on fire … I just want to start a flame in your heart.
”

Elliot applauded and they both turned. “Hey Lieutenant,” Cleary said, striking up another tune. “Take Abby for a spin. I’ll play the song.”

“I’m a horrible dancer.”

Cleary used his best pompous Brit voice. “Oh no, dahling. What will the duke and duchess say if he can’t foxtrot?”

Abigail giggled, getting to her feet and holding out a hand. “It’s rude to say no to a lady asking for a dance, I know that much.”

“You’re asking for it,” he warned. “I really can’t dance. My wife never dances with me in open-toe shoes.”

Abigail stepped in to his arms, smiling. “I’ve got tough toes, trust me. And these shoes are over ten years old.”

Cleary was playing
We’ll Meet Again
. Elliot wanted to run for the other room. Abigail approached, put his hand on her hip, then took his left hand in hers. She must have seen his face, because she laughed. “I don’t bite, Lieutenant. It’s just a dance.”

If she hadn’t said that he would have been more comfortable.

They swayed easily enough. He spun her a couple times. When she put her cheek on his shoulder, he couldn’t stop himself; he touched his cheek to the top of her head. She squeezed his hand, sighing. When he closed his eyes and inhaled, he could smell traces of her soap. She was taller than Janet; Janet’s head would have only come to the centre of his chest. Abigail was so warm, her waist so narrow his hand almost spanned her lower back. His hand cradled hers close to his chest. She fit in his embrace perfectly.

The piano had stopped playing. Elliot looked up to see Cleary watching them, his face a mask of neutrality. He caught Elliot’s eye and offered him a sad smile. Elliot cleared his throat and backed up. Abigail turned from him, smoothing her hair. No one was saying anything, save for the grandfather clock, chiming out the hour.

“I think I’m ready for bed,” Cleary finally yawned. “The French make a good sparkling white though, don’t they?”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Abigail

Abigail wasn’t sure what woke her. She sat up in bed, eyes adjusting to the fact that she could actually see, which meant she wasn’t in the shelter. She was in the living room where her parents had slept. She threw back the quilt and crossed the area rug in her bare feet. The pocket door slid open with a squeak. Out the living room windows all seemed quiet. A peek between the curtains over the kitchen sink gave the same result. She padded back in to the living room, covering a yawn. A blanket was folded in half lengthwise on the sofa as though it was meant to wrap around someone, but it was empty.

Elliot had insisted on taking the sofa so she could sleep in a bed. She didn’t trust them enough to tell them about her shelter, so she relented and took the bed in the other room. Now he was up and moving around somewhere, likely what had woken her.

She slipped up the stairs quietly. The door to her bedroom was open, and she pushed it open a bit further. David was sitting up in bed too, straining backwards to see out the window over his shoulder. He jumped as she entered, hand going to his side. She saw that his rifle was on the bed next to him, barrel pointed at the door.

She froze where she was, but he recognized her before he touched the stock. “Abby,” he said, relieved. “Something woke me up. Sorry to be so jumpy.”

“It’s okay. It woke me up, too.”

She crossed the room to the window next to the closet. Nothing seemed to be stirring out the front of the house.

“Is Murphy down there?”

“I couldn’t see him anywhere.”

“Then it was likely him we heard.”

She looked back to the bed. “Where would he go?”

“To patrol the perimeter.”

She sat next to the bed, frowning. “Outside? By himself?”

David smiled. “I wouldn’t be much help.”

“But … it’s a big yard.”

“He’s one of those careful types. He’d keep quiet and assess the situation before firing off his entire magazine and running around shouting for help.”

She smiled. “That doesn’t sound like him when you put it like that.”

“He’ll take good care of us. Don’t worry.” He stretched his arms over his head. “You should go back to sleep.”

“You should, too,” she said, climbing on to the mattress next to him.

“Abby – what are you doing?”

“Move over. I want to stay here instead.” She couldn’t say why. She just … didn’t want to be alone. David was looking at her strangely. “What?” She asked.

“I’m not a fool, Abby. I was in the room when you and Murphy were … You like him. And God help us, I think he likes you, too. He’s a good person. He’s my friend. And this is where it gets tricky. I’m not usually this straight-forward but … I like you, too. And you’re married. The two of you could be fling but for me … it wouldn’t be. And if you’re not interested, I’d rather not have you here, smelling good, looking pretty, wanting to get in bed with me.”

She was speechless. “David, I only meant to -”

“It’s okay. I know you don’t mean anything by it but I’m sorry … it would be a cruel but fantastic kind of torture for me. I woke up this morning ready to fall in love with you, Abby.”

He sounded angry. And she felt terrible.

“I’m sorry, David. I had no idea. And as for Elliot -”

“Don’t. Like I said, he’s my friend. But I don’t need to hear how there’s nothing happening. He barely notices women and tonight … He noticed you. More than noticed you. And it’s not my business. I just don’t want to be in the middle of it.”

She stared at him, stupefied. “All right. I’m sorry.” She stood and crossed the room, muttering a “Good night” before partially closing the door behind her.

“Abby,” he called out. She stopped in the corridor, back to the wall. She could not remember a time when she had felt more ashamed of herself. Was he right? Was she behaving like a slattern? “Abby,” he repeated. “I’m sorry – please, come back.”

Champagne had always made her light-headed. And it had been a very long time since she’d danced with anyone. Not to mention the fact that when Elliot put his hands on her she wasn’t scared. He just touched her and didn’t, for example, try to choke her. On some lower level was she attracted to him? And lonely and missing her husband terribly? Admittedly, on all levels she was attracted to him. And male attention was still male attention.

“I have a headache from the champagne and it’s making me behave like an asshole. Abby? I’m sorry.”

She sniffled, and that’s when she realized she was crying. He was apologizing now, but he was right. She was behaving like someone she would have hated back in her old life.

“Abby?”

She went to the bathroom to wash her face and forced the tears to stop. She was going to straighten her act up. She wasn’t going to behave like that anymore. She was going to conduct herself like the married woman that she was.

She closed her eyes, trying not to remember how good Elliot had felt against her. So tall. Strong yet gentle.  And he held her like he really wanted to.

Tears came again. She couldn’t trade her marriage for the betrayal of her body. She faced herself in the mirror.
Think of James. He’s off somewhere, in danger, fighting for his country. The very least you can do is be faithful.

She’d have to thank David. He made her see herself for what she was.

The bathroom door opened. She spun around, wiping her eyes. “What are you doing in here? What if I was using the bathroom?”

David leaned on her father’s cane, wearing only her father’s pajama bottoms. On his face was a look of shame. “Abby. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It sounded immature and jealous. And I’m not judging anyone. I don’t have the right to do that.”

“David, you should get back in bed.” He hobbled forward a couple steps. Abigail sighed. “David, get back in bed.”

He sighed in response, looking down at her. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I meant what I said, about liking you. You can come sleep next to me if you want. I mean … I want you to.”

“And now I know that I shouldn’t.” They stood about two feet apart, studying each other. The tap was dripping behind her. She hated how hurt he looked. In a very short period of time she was developing a very protective feeling towards him. She wanted to see him happy. Happy people healed faster. “I wish it was you.” An admission that didn’t leave her feeling better for having voiced it.

He waited, then smiled that brilliant smile that she knew other women had fallen over themselves for. “Yeah, I wish that, too.”

So there it was. He had stripped her bare of all pretense. Then he held out his free hand. “Come on. Just come sleep with me. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I’ll behave myself. I promise.”

She was looking at his hand when a loud crash sounded in the kitchen. They both jumped about a foot in the air, Abigail even put a hand to her chest. “What the … wait here. I’ll see who it is.”

“Abigail? Where are you?” The voice sounded angry as it stormed around her kitchen.

David’s face was serious as he turned. “Fuck that. I’ll see who it is.”

She grabbed his arm, whispering furiously. “Don’t. Let me go see. Please. If I can just send them off without raising any attention it’ll work out better for everyone.”

He set his jaw, ready to argue, but he was smarter than that. He stepped out of the way and let her leave the bathroom, whispering, “I’ll be right here.”

Of course she already knew it was Phillipe, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what would have made him tear in to her house and start kicking her furniture.

She came down the stairs, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself. He was standing at the top of the stairs to the back door, staring down. She looked down too and saw the boots next to her rubbers, shined and clean. Elliot must have put David’s boots there. She was about to say something when Phillipe turned to her, eyes blazing. “Is he here?”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

He grabbed her by both arms, shaking her. “He’s here, isn’t he? Who’s boots are those, Abby? Who’s up in your bed right now?
Putain putain.
”

She was getting tired of being called awful names in other languages.

“Phillipe? What are you talking about? No one’s here!” The lie was weak but he was squeezing her so tight it hurt. “You’re hurting me,” she whispered, trying to diffuse his rage.

“
Montrez-lui pour moi! Amenez-le ici-bas!
”

She tried to shove him back. “No one’s here. Let me go.” He held tight.

“You’re no better than any other Nazi-fucking whore.”

The breath rushed out of her. His hatred also came from pain; she saw it right then in his eyes. It still felt like a punch to the gut to hear him say that. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t already know!”

“I don’t! Phillipe, please!”

“They killed them all.
Tourné dans leur sommeil!
Even the youngest. He was sleeping between his parents and they shot all three of them. All of them, in their beds. And they set the house on fire.”

Abigail shook her head. “Who? Who’d they kill?”

“The Boulangers. Right behind your fucking property. So how’d they find out who was helping us, if they killed them and not you? What have you done to do to escape a firing squad?”

“I never said anything.”

“Says the lying whore.”

She let him shake her. She had no defense; he’d never believe her anyway. “It wasn’t me. I swear it.”

“
Menteur,
” he snarled then spat on her floor. “You are a traitor to us. But how can we be surprised when our neighbours—your countrymen—sit there and let the Nazis come in to our homes and do nothing to help us. Hmmm?”

She could see the Boulangers in her mind. They, like their neighbours, only spoke to her sparingly. They had all been sharing rations and doing what they could to get by. The father had even helped her dig her father’s grave. It couldn’t be true. They had five children. The youngest was about five, just a baby when France signed the armistice.

“
Traîtres à obtenir ce qu'ils méritent.
”

From what she could understand, that sounded bad. Very bad.

He all but threw her against the wall, knocking her head roughly. “I must have misunderstood your protests against the captain last time, yes? Is that his brand of … what is it, foreplay? Is that what’s required of you to perform your duties?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You didn’t have to. You just had to lie there.” His voice was so calm and cold she felt it down her spine.

She wasn’t sure how it happened. Suddenly she was on her back, smacking her head hard on the ground. It even made her teeth hurt. But she wasn’t as concerned about that as she was about the fact that his hands were around her throat and he was squeezing as though he meant to kill not control. She tore at his hands with her nails, and he straddled her waist to keep her from moving around anymore than that.

“Don’t worry,” he continued. “I won’t violate you. I wouldn’t dare touch something the Nazis have already had their use of. I’m just sorry I had to see him fucking you. I’m sorry I felt any pity at all.”

She couldn’t talk, breathe or swallow. The intense panic did nothing to help. Black spots were creeping in the edges of her vision. She kicked her feet and shoved at him, even caught him across the cheek with her nails. It was like fighting a brick wall. He intended to kill her.

“Get off her.”

The voice was dripping with ice. She didn’t even have time to wonder who it was. Phillipe released her throat, then was reaching for his waistband before she could gasp out “Don’t!”

The shot had her ears ringing. Such sounds were not meant to be heard in the confined space of a farm house kitchen. Before she could cover her ears she was also aware of a warm splatter falling on her arms, hands and face. Her mouth was open so it struck her tongue as well, coppery and hot.

She rolled to her side, air flooding in to her throat. It made a horrible sound, and she knew her esophagus was bruised but at least he hadn’t had time to crush it closed. She could breathe. Abigail closed her eyes to adjust to the new sensation of drawing breath in to burning lungs. When she did open them, the black shadows had receded.

“
Sauvegarder. Pas une autre étape.
”

Abigail struggled to sit, dizzy as she rose. David was her savior, standing inside the entryway to the kitchen with his rifle in ready position. At the moment it was pointed at two more men she somewhat recognized, who were cowed against her back door. They had their hands up, eyes wide.

“Don’t shoot them,” she rasped, wincing at how much it hurt.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t look at her. He had steely and unnervingly cold eyes only for the two men he didn’t know.

“I’ll be fine.”

She looked at Phillipe. The impact of the shot had thrown him off her. He was slumped against the cabinets under the sink, blood running down his face. He was missing a lot of his skull. She had to look away. She cast her eyes down, bile rising in her throat, and noticed the chunk of black metal by his right hand. Even Abigail knew it was a Luger.