The Chase: A Novel (19 page)

Fear overcame her. Claire did as he had told her, turning left around another corner, and another, until she could see into the heart of the ruins and past that into the car park. It was deserted. She wanted to collapse and cry.

Claire backed between two jutting sections of stone, crouching down. She was so afraid. Ian was unarmed. And even though he had said the gunman was after him, Claire wasn’t so sure. They were in this together, after all—she knew so much. And then she heard the footsteps.

She knew they weren’t Ian’s.

Claire picked up a rock and tried her best to melt into the stone wall at her back, praying the gunman would walk right past without ever seeing her. She raised the rock in case he did not. Waiting for him to step around the corner on her right.

Silence.

It yawned about her.

Vast. Frightening.

Claire’s own heartbeat was now interfering with her ability to hear. Worse, her labored breathing was loud and resonant—giving away her position.

Claire knew he was close. She could feel him. Every hair stood up on her body. She held her breath.

He stepped out from an adjacent wall on her left.

Claire looked into the muzzle of the gun. It was pointing directly at her.

Then she looked at the gloved hand holding the gun—and she saw the finger on the trigger. Then she looked up, into the man’s face, into his eyes.

She didn’t know him, but their eyes met and held, and she knew she was looking into the eyes of death.

He fired.

PART TWO

SARAH’S CHOICE

CHAPTER 7

North Wales, summer 1935

They had changed trains at Oswestry, and the closer they got to their final destination—they were being met at the rail station in Ruthin—the quieter and quieter Papa became. Rachel kept glancing anxiously at him. He no longer pretended to read the
Daily Mail
, which he had brought from Aldgate Station in London. The newspaper had fallen to the floor hours ago and had gotten tromped upon by his recently polished shoes. Papa’s reading glasses hung upon his chest, and he stared out of their window at the countryside.

Rachel didn’t know what to do. Sarah, who was sixteen, was making paper dolls with Hannah, who was turning six in another two days. Both sisters were smiling and it was nice to see. In fact, Sarah was starting to look like herself again. The weight she had lost when Mama died was finally returning. Her cheeks were filling out again, her hips had a womanly curve, and the sparkle Rachel was so accustomed to seemed to have reappeared in her hazel eyes. Hannah, however, had been the most inconsolable when Mama died—after Papa, that is. She had refused to speak for several weeks and had to be forced to eat. Now she was actually giggling as she made her paper doll dance and pirouette. Rachel was relieved to see her older and younger sisters so cheerful.

She didn’t know if she would ever be cheerful again.

Rachel shot another worried glance at Benjamin Greene. He was a handsome man in his late thirties with dark hair that was showing threads of silver at the temples and in his beard. He was a good man, Rachel knew, honest, godly, and hardworking. He owned a shoe store and a leather-goods factory. Growing up, he had been a cobbler like his father. Hard work, long hours, and frugality had paid off. Rachel had never known a time when she did not have a clean dress, new shoes, piano lessons, and plenty of food. There were even cinema tickets once a month for the entire family. For as long as she could remember, they had lived in a small, pleasantly furnished house with a little backyard on Fournier Street in East London. Fournier Street was a few blocks north of Brick Lane, the road made famous a half century before by Jack the Ripper. Papa owned the house and rented half of it to their neighbors, the Schwartz family. The Greenes had a parlor, one bathroom, two bedrooms, and a kitchen. They had an old stove, but Mama had insisted on a new refrigerator. Like the house, their backyard was evenly divided, but the whitewashed fence was low, and in good weather, both families often sat outside after dinner, reading the day’s papers and weeklies or playing a game of checkers or horseshoes.

Papa was an observant Jew. He observed the Sabbath as his father had before him and his father before that—on that holy day they did not cook, read, work, or even use electricity, and anyone who decided to go anywhere did so by walking on their own two feet. Even an emergency caused no exceptions. The Sabbath was God’s day. Privately, Rachel thought it quite bothersome, but she kept her irreligious thoughts to herself. Sarah had recently defied Papa on the Sabbath—she had used her bicycle to meet some friends. Papa had almost hit her, but Rachel had begged him not to, and in the end, he had realized some of Sarah’s stubbornness might be an offshoot of Mama’s illness and death.

Papa treated others fairly and often gave to those less fortunate than himself. He believed his success and bounty in life were due to living in an honest and morally upright way.

Rachel had thought so, too. Until recently. For now there was a huge problem. Why had God let Mama die?

Mama had been the kindest, nicest person Rachel knew, and she had not deserved to die at the age of thirty-five. Papa did not deserve such a loss, either. It made no sense. Rachel no longer understood God.

Papa suddenly realized she was staring at him, because he glanced at her, and their eyes met. Rachel was so distraught now, her musings adding to her worries, that she could not smile at him. Papa looked at his other two daughters. He seemed to soften when he saw that Sarah and Hannah were enjoying themselves. Then he turned and took Rachel’s hand, squeezing it. “Don’t be thinking so hard, Rachel-lay. You’ll be having frown lines before you be twenty.”

Rachel finally smiled, wanting so badly to make him smile, and the pain of it hurt her the way a knife might. “I’ll try not to think so hard, Papa,” she whispered. “But it’s not easy, you know.”

Their eyes held. “Mama’s happy today,” Benjamin said roughly. “You know that, don’t you?”

Rachel felt a lump of grief rising up in her and couldn’t speak, so she nodded instead. She wished Papa would not talk about Mama as if she were still alive.

Benjamin smiled once at her—a bit grimly—and said, “A few more minutes and we’ll be at Ruthin.” He turned away to gaze out at the sheep on the hills again, but he continued to hold her hand.

Tears flooded Rachel’s eyes. It was so unfair. Her whole life, Mama had wanted nothing more than to have peace between her and her brother, Randolph Elgin. But there had only been bitterness and anger, and Rachel knew very well why. Because Mama had married Papa, a Jew, and the rich and fancy Lord Elgin was a terribly mean and prejudiced man.

Rachel wondered if he was one of those Blackshirts. A few months ago, she and Sarah had been on their way home from school, which was held in the synagogue on Whitechapel High Street. They had turned a corner and come face-to-face with a parade of men in black uniforms, holding banners that vilified the communists, the Jews, Labour, and even Neville Chamberlain. Bobbies lined the street, with their hands on their nightsticks, but Rachel had been frightened anyway. The parade of men seemed ominous, as if foretelling some terrible disaster. Even Sarah, who was always audacious and never afraid, had been pale and speechless. Ultimately the girls had hurried home another way. Neither one had ever spoken of what they had seen.

Rachel knew that she had been to the Elgin home once when she was very little and just beginning to walk. She could not remember the visit, although Sarah claimed that she could recall white marble floors and a beautiful woman playing the piano. That would have been Elgin’s first wife. But they had never been invited back, not ever, and from time to time over the years, Rachel would hear Mama and Papa arguing. Their argument was always the same: Mama wanted to invite her brother and his family to dinner, and Papa would not hear of it. “They hate you now, Deborah, and when will you realize it?” Papa would finally shout. “His lordship’s ashamed of you because you are now a Jew!”

The argument always ended the same way, with Mama crying first, and then Papa. It was horrible.

Rachel knew Mama was somewhere watching over them all, because she loved them too much not to, even in death. And yes, Papa was right, Mama had to be happy now, even thrilled, because her brother, Randolph Elgin, had invited Papa and the girls to the country for a weekend. Finally, the two families would reconcile. But for Rachel, it was too late and horribly unfair.

How she missed Mama.

The train was slowing. Rachel blinked back tears just as Sarah nudged her with the toe of her patent-leather shoe. Rachel looked up and saw that Sarah’s eyes were sparkling with excitement and her cheeks were flushed like berries. “We’re almost there,” Sarah said in her unusually husky voice.

“I think it’s a ways to the manor house from the station,” Rachel said, clasping her hands in her lap. She wished they weren’t going, then was ashamed of herself for her cowardice and for betraying Mama’s hopes and dreams.

“We are being met by a chauffeur, Rachel, and a motorcar. Can you believe it? I have to pinch myself to remind myself that this is real.” Sarah was smiling. She was a beautiful young woman with dark blond hair, exquisite eyes, high cheekbones, and a full, rosy mouth. Rachel had noticed a few years ago how the boys looked at her; recently, men looked at her the very same way. Rachel found this open admiration for her sister fascinating. And Sarah, as a result, had become rather coy. She knew men adored her, and she seemed to enjoy it.

The train’s whistle was blowing. Hannah had jumped onto Papa’s lap. Rachel looked out of the window and saw that they were indeed entering the village. Her heart sank. In a few minutes, they would disembark, and after that, they would drive up to the country manor where Lord Elgin and his family were waiting.

Rachel was sick with apprehension.

And Papa knew. He patted her hand, Hannah still on his lap. “Don’t think so hard,” he whispered.

Rachel tried to smile and failed. “What if they still don’t like us?”

His smile faded. “Just be yourself, Rachel-lay. And his lordship will love you almost as much as I do.”

Rachel wanted to believe him, but she only had to recall all the times Mama had wept over her brother, and she could not.

The chauffeur wore a suit that was as fine as Papa’s, and a peaked cap as well. He carried their bags for them, refusing to allow Papa to help. Rachel knew this was the way the rich lived, and it felt odd for them to be treated this way now. The chauffeur opened their doors for them. Sarah jumped in first, so eagerly that her skirts went flying about her thighs. Papa murmured an admonition that nobody heard, as Hannah was following Sarah into the backseat, squealing with excitement. Rachel glanced at Papa. He was so grim.

He doesn’t want to be here
, she thought with a pang.
He’s only doing this for Mama
.

“Your turn, Rachel-lay,” Papa was saying.

Rachel sent him a smile and slid onto the smooth, gleaming leather seat beside her sisters. Papa closed the door before the chauffeur could and went around to the front of the car to sit beside the driver.

“Look, a cow,” Hannah cried.

None of the girls had ever been to the country before, but Rachel knew the difference between a cow and a pig. “Honey, that’s a sow.”

“It is?” Hannah seemed surprised. She was glancing all around the street. “Where is the chip shop?” she asked.

The chauffeur pulled out of the parking space in the lot behind the rail station. “No chip shop in Ruthin, little lady,” he said.

“No chips?” Sarah asked, bemused. She glanced at Rachel. “Just how big is this town?”

“We’ve got about two thousand people,” the chauffeur said proudly.

“Is there a cinema?” Sarah asked, holding back a snicker.

“Afraid not.”

Sarah looked at Rachel again.
Aren’t you glad you don’t live here?
her eyes clearly said.

Rachel poked her, warning her not to be rude.

“How far is the manor?” Papa asked.

“About half an hour, if we don’t get held up by farmers and their sheep. They like to cross a few kilometers out of town.”

Now Sarah jabbed Rachel. “Are there any boys in this town?” she asked.

“Sarah.” Papa turned to cast a stern glance at her.

Sarah pretended to be chagrined. “Just asking, Papa.”

The driver knew better than to answer. He said, “This is only the second time his lordship and her ladyship have used the house here. We’re all so pleased that they’ve come out to Wales. We’re hoping they will like the house enough to come more often. It’s awfully quiet without Lord and Lady Elgin.”

Papa stared out of his window.

“So why do they keep the house if they never use it?” Sarah asked, leaning forward.

Papa turned. “Randolph Elgin inherited the house from his new wife, who is Welsh.” His glance strayed briefly over Sarah. “I do believe Lady Ellen is not much older than you.”

Sarah’s eyes widened with a look of delight. “Really, Papa?”

“Do not get any ideas.” He turned back around.

Sarah smiled. “Now why would I get ideas from my uncle marrying a girl a few years older than me?”

Rachel looked at her and turned to gaze out of her own window; they were leaving the small, quaint village behind. Sarah had always been a handful, but recently, she was becoming even more than that. She had started dating a young man who had emigrated from Germany and then joined the army. Every time Rachel saw Sarah and her handsome beau, she couldn’t help thinking that, at twenty, he was too old and worldly for her. In truth, Rachel was afraid Sarah would do something terrible, like elope.

Papa turned to face the backseat again. “Listen closely, girls,” he said. “I expect everyone to mind their manners. Be on your Sabbath best.” His face was stern.

“Yes, Papa,” they chorused in unison.

“No mischief.” He looked at Sarah. “Randolph’s got two boys about your age. I expect everyone to get along.”

“We will, Papa,” Rachel promised. In spite of herself, she was curious to meet her two cousins, Lionel, who was a year younger than she was, and Harry, who was a bit older than Sarah. Mama had shown them photos once. They were handsome boys with blond hair. Rachel had thought they looked like Mama.