Sentimental Journey (30 page)

The paybook slipped; it fell through his legs, onto the ground. He dropped the pen on the footlocker, bent, and picked up the book, then set it next to the writing paper. The pages fanned open to the book’s center. There, printed in bold letters, was the slogan:

The German Army Is Invincible!

He stared at it for a long time, then picked up the pen again.

Perhaps the Wehrmacht was invincible, but he had to write to the parents of an eighteen-year-old boy and tell them that that their son was not.

“SHOO SHOO BABY”

It was getting cold out. Once the sun went down, the air had cooled quickly. Kitty rubbed her arms, but kept moving alongside Cassidy, who didn’t say much except to guide her around obstacles. Sharp, brittle weeds snagged her cotton stockings and her useless shoes—spectators with little holes along the seams and heels that sank. Her steps were constantly unsteady.

She stumbled again.

Cassidy’s hand steadied her, and he said, “It’s damned dark out here. I can’t see my hand in front of my face.”

“Me either.”

She laughed when he said nothing else. “It’s okay, Cassidy. You’re not going to offend me if you laugh at my blind jokes. I’ve lived this way a long time. Stand still for a minute, please.” She used his shoulder to brace herself and pulled off a shoe, then turned it upside-down and shook the dirt out of it. “My biggest problem is these shoes. They were good on the sandy slopes. The heels dug in and kept me from slipping down, but they’re bad on this uneven ground.”

“Give me your shoes.”

She did, then heard a cracking snap. “What are you doing?”

“Here. Try this on.”

She ran her hand over the shoe. The heel was gone.

“Better?”

“I think so. Here’s the other one.”

She heard the same cracking sounds before he started talking again. “I don’t want to stop until we get across this plain and into the cover of those trees.”

“Thanks.” She slid on the shoe. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“I’ll take a drink from that canteen.” He slipped it off her shoulder. After a moment he said, “All set.”

“What about the canteen?”

“I’ll carry it. You ready?”

“Sure, it’s a walk in the park.”

He laughed and they moved on.

The night air changed from a cool threat to cold and icy reality. For what felt like a few hours, they trudged across a giant plain of dirt that was hard or soft in turns, whenever you were just getting used to one or the other. The land was covered with brush that crackled like tumbleweeds and stones bigger than her feet.

Finally, she could feel the softness of grass underfoot instead of hard ground. Soon after, she inhaled the scent of pistachio trees. A blister on the side of her toe popped a few minutes later; she could feel the wetness and the sharp, burning pain of raw skin against shoe leather.

Please let him stop soon.

After about ten minutes more she was dragging that foot.

He stopped. “You’re limping.”

“I’m okay. Wait! Put me down.”

“No.”

“I’m blind, not lame.”

“Don’t argue.”

“You can’t carry me. Please, I want to walk.”

“It’s faster this way. And if you keep arguing with me about it, I’ll just throw you over a shoulder.”

“I would prefer to walk.”

Silence. Long silence. So she locked her arms around his neck and let her tootsies enjoy the ride.

He carried her for a good half hour, and he wasn’t even winded. She didn’t know if that impressed her or annoyed her. He stopped. “This is far enough.” He faced her. “Go ahead and sit down here. You’re on soft grass. I need to check out something.”

She heard him walking away, but then he stopped suddenly. “There’s a tree at
three o’clock
. About six feet away.”

“Thank you.” She moved closer to the tree and sat down in the grass. She was freezing and took off her shoes and rubbed her cold feet, then chafed her arms.

He came back. “This looks like a good spot.”

She could feel him looking at her.

“Cold?”

“Freezing.” She shivered and stood up. “The ground is even colder than the air.” She paced in front of the tree, because moving kept her warm.

“Give me a few minutes to get something to burn, and I’ll make a fire. We’re between dimples in the hills, so I’m not so worried about it being seen.”

She stopped. “Don’t we want to be seen? I thought you took the interior roads to lose Von Heidelmann.”

“I’m not taking any chances. He might have enough men to send in all directions. The sooner we’re out of here, the better. Now I’ve just got to figure out how the hell we’re going to do that.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Surely the plane will come back.”

He laughed at her. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

He laughed harder.

“I take it from your reaction the plane won’t be coming back at the same time tomorrow.”

“No.”

“I don’t understand. If we weren’t there waiting for them as planned, then they have to know we’re still here. Logic says we’d be waiting.”

“Or dead.”

She flinched.

“There aren’t regular daily flights scheduled for planes used in covert operations.” His tone was snide and officious.

She drew herself up and faced him. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. I asked an honest question. I’m not an idiot. I just don’t understand how these things work, okay?”

He was quiet and she knew he was looking at her. “You ask a lot of questions, Kincaid.”

“Yes, I do. I had to learn to ask questions a long time ago. The things you take for granted, Cassidy, things like the trees and the grass and sky, I can’t see.” She could feel her voice rising, and she didn’t like it. She sounded shrewish, so she stopped and took a deep breath. “Look, if I don’t ask questions, I can’t make adjustments.”

“Okay. Okay. I get it. Truce. I don’t know what it’s like to be blind. You don’t know anything about the Army.”

“If the plane isn’t coming back, what do we do?”

“We stay here tonight and then we keep walking.”

“Keep walking where?”

“As far away from where you were as we can.”

The man was a fount of information. She had six brothers who used that same tone of voice. Asking more questions would only get her more smart answers and no information other than the concrete knowledge that men could be horses’ asses. She gave up and leaned against a tree. The trunk was warmer than the air and the ground.

“I wish the hell I could clearly remember the layout on those maps. Damn.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the maps. “Here.” She tossed them toward his voice.

He didn’t say a word, but she heard his step and the crinkle of the maps when he picked them up and unfolded them.

“These shoes are killing me.” She braced her palm against the tree trunk and reached down, then pulled off her left shoe. Half bent over, she touched the broken blisters with her finger and winced.

“These are my maps.” He was looking at her. “How’d you get them?”

“I knocked them out of the truck when I slid across the seat to get out.” She straightened and pulled out the bent compass. “This too.” She held it out. “I stepped on it, but it doesn’t feel broken.”

He took the compass.

“I was going to give them back to you earlier, but you were busy in the back of the truck with the gas and were concerned about missing the plane. From the way you barked at me I decided it was more prudent to wait. Until you just mentioned them, I forgot I even had them.”

“Sweetheart . . . ” A second later he swept her into his arms and spun her around. “You might just have saved our necks. What a peach!”

“Put me down, you idiot.” She had to laugh a little. “And for godsakes, don’t mention food. I’m so hungry I could eat my hand.”

He set her on her feet.

“Cassidy?”

“Yeah?”

“Are any nuts on those pistachio trees?”

He took a few steps. “Nope. Not a single one. But here.” He moved closer, then took her hand and slapped something flat and rectangular into it. “It’s a chocolate bar.”

“Chocolate? Oh, God . . . ” She lifted it to her nose and smelled it. “Thank you. And thank you, Mr. Hershey!” She tore off the wrappers, laughing. “In any normal situation I adore chocolate, but now, oh . . . this is heavenly.” She stopped chewing and broke off another piece. “Here. Taste it.”

“No, thanks.”

She stopped cramming another piece into her mouth. “Wait a second. We are sharing.”

“Nope.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.”

“What?”

“You’re not going to go and get all noble and give the whole thing to me. You’ve got to be as hungry as I am. Take this.”

“I don’t want any.”

“I insist.”

“No.”

“I won’t eat it if you don’t.”

“Look, I don’t like chocolate.”

“Sure.” She snorted. “How can anyone in their right mind not like chocolate? Take it.”

“I’m allergic to it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I get these blisters on my tongue and my throat. My stomach burns, and soon it’s hard for me to breathe. Not exactly a nice thing to go through, Kincaid. You eat it. I don’t want it.”

He was describing an allergic reaction to a T. Poor man, couldn’t eat chocolate. She didn’t want to laugh. She should sympathize. Really. She should. She swallowed. Lord above, it tasted good, so smooth and sweet. She hesitated before eating it all. Perhaps she should save the rest of it for later.

“Eat the damn thing. If I get hungry, I’ll roast a squirrel.”

“A squirrel?”

“I spotted a couple in those trees. Squirrel tastes pretty good. Like wild duck or pheasant . . . well, they taste that way when they’re cooked. Raw they’re a little tough to chew and the blood has this . . . metallic taste, but you get used to it after a few mouthfuls.” He paused. “You want one? I’ll set a snare.”

“No . . . no. I’m fine with the chocolate.”

“Good. I’m going to get some wood and start that fire.”

She sat there holding the rest of the candy. Her stomach was somewhere near her throat. Her only image of squirrels had been furry little things that lived in the magnolia trees in
Long Beach
. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her skirt over them, then tucked under the hem. She tried to find that same mental image of them again.