The Major's Daughter (36 page)

“I'm ashamed of myself,” she said, looking up finally.

“No, don't be ashamed.”

He took her hand.

“I am,” she said, and knew it to be true. “And the irony is that I have inflicted my own wound. You were nothing but kind, just as you say.”

“Yes, but I see now I did not carry through. I left too much unsaid.”

“Maybe the differences would have been too much,” she said. “But we might have tried.”

“Yes,” he said.

She drew back her hand. It was too late now. The world had kept spinning and the days had passed and swallowed them both. She wanted to ask about the woman she had met in his shop, but that was not fair. It didn't matter anyway. She was married to George, was a mother to Hazel, and those were the borders of her life. It was too late to change any of that.

“I will always wonder if you were my great love,” she said.

She leaned across the bench and kissed him. Then she stood and pushed the pram down the sidewalk toward the street. She bent over the opening to see if Hazel had come awake at the motion. But she slept soundly. Estelle pushed the pram slowly through the park, forcing herself to feel the shade of the trees and the brilliant light of the morning.

 • • • 

The clock refused to move. Collie had watched it all day, reacting to each minute that ticked off against the wall, to each phone ring, to each clatter of the typewriter, to each shuck of paper as Lieutenant Peters pulled it free from the typewriter platen. Her nerves felt impossibly alive. Tonight, within hours, she would leave with August. She would meet by the twitch horses and step into the forest and they would be fugitives. Yes, fugitives, escaped prisoners. In some ways, her status would be more dire even than his. It was their duty to escape, but her part in it, her complicity, would be a betrayal of everything she knew, everything her father stood for. She would receive no sympathy, no quarter at all. She understood that. Nevertheless, she felt as though she had been cast to live out this part, that it was inevitable as nothing else she had ever known could be. From the moment she had first set eyes on August she had been traveling toward this day. Her heart had brought her to it. Now she simply followed as she would follow air.

At four her father stepped out of his office and said he was finished for the day. He held his handkerchief to his lips. She knew, by a glance, that he did not feel well. Occasionally the residue of the gas rose in him and restricted his breathing. He usually blamed it on the weather, but today he simply appeared exhausted. She stood from her desk and went to take his arm.

“You don't feel well,” she said. “I can see it. Let's get you to rest before dinner.”

“I'm all right. Just need to take the weight off my feet for a few minutes.”

He panted slightly as he said this. He held the handkerchief to his mouth.

“Why don't I call a car for both of you?” Lieutenant Peters said, looking up from his desk. “We're done here today, aren't we?”

“Did you get the transport finalized?” her father asked, resting his hand on Collie's desk for balance. She stayed beside him in case he felt light-headed.

“Yes, sir. It's all arranged.”

“Yes, well then, maybe so . . . a car.”

Collie hurried to gather her things. A part of her mind marveled at the details.
Now I am putting the typewriter cover on for the last time,
she thought.
Now I am clearing the desk and placing the extra pens and papers in the drawers.
It felt extraordinary to be doing the ordinary with so much waiting at the end of the day. Her stomach grew tight and uneasy. She slipped on her jacket and then went and took her father's arm again. He looked at her. Then he nodded, his lungs, she understood, giving him difficulties.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Peters,” she said, realizing, as she did so, that she would not likely see him again. He was a good, honest worker, a kind man, and she wished she could tell him what he had meant to her in this final minute. But after making the call for the driver, he had already returned to his typewriter and his fingers blasted across the keyboard, creating a sound like wooden rain striking the roof. She smiled at him as she went out. He did not look up.

“Feeling a little rocky,” her father said as he settled into the backseat of the Ford. “Not sure why. It came on all at once.”

“To the boardinghouse, sir?” the driver asked, looking in the rearview mirror.

“Yes, to the boardinghouse,” Collie answered. “Right away, please.”

In no time they arrived back at Mrs. Hammond's place. Collie climbed out first and helped her father gain his feet. The chlorine gas, she knew, occasionally sapped all his strength. She thanked the driver and almost called him to help her with her father, but at that moment the major squeezed her arm with his elbow. He did not like to show weakness in front of the men. She stiffened herself and gave him more to lean on; he climbed up the steps and then swung around to sit on the glider.

“You should lay down, Father,” she said. “Let's take you upstairs.”

“I'll need a rest before I try the stairs, I'm afraid,” he said, then had difficulty saying the last two words. “Fresh air.”

“Yes, for a moment, and then to bed with you.”

She sat beside him. Already the light had begun to soften. It was afternoon, not evening, but shadows covered the porch. It was chilly away from the light. She held her father's hand as he tried to regulate his breathing. Twice he coughed violently into his handkerchief. The sound of his coughing made her wince. How could she leave him? How could she wound him as she planned to do? She felt heartless and vile. Naturally she did not intend her actions to be an assault to him, but he might perceive it that way in any case. She would have given anything to confess to him, to have told him about the anguish she experienced, about her love for August, but that was impossible. Maybe in time he would forgive her. She squeezed his hand as she thought that, and he returned the pressure.

“I'm ready for this to be over,” he said, his eyes scanning the river. “I don't like holding men in prison. It's not natural, no matter what they've done. I understand it in my head but not in my heart.”

“You've been fair to them, Papa.”

“Have I?” he asked. “I hope so. I've tried to be fair, but you never know. I counted on you, that's certain.”

“I was happy to help, Papa.”

He didn't say anything but kept his eyes on the river. She could not let her mind fill with too many thoughts of him. For a moment she felt like a little girl sitting beside her father. Then he rocked forward and slowly climbed to his feet.

“Maybe I better try the stairs,” he said. “I think I need to lie down.”

“I should have asked the driver to help.”

“We can manage.”

But they barely did. At last, after a great deal of trembling and awkward climbing while the banister rattled with the force of her father's weight, she propped him on his side on the bed. He preferred to be on his side when he suffered these attacks, she knew. She brought him a towel and left a waste can by the bed in case he needed to vomit. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and tucked an afghan over his shoulders. His breathing began to ease slowly despite the exertion of climbing the stairs.

“I'll let you sleep,” she whispered. “Sleep as long as you like. I'll wake you for dinner.”

“Tired . . . ,” he said, already drowsy.

“I love you, Papa. I love you very much.”

He nodded. She stood and tiptoed to the door. She kept her eyes on him as she swung the door shut.
Good-bye,
she thought.
Don't hate me. Please don't hate me.

 • • • 

The madness of small moments. That's what Collie thought as she took a single step away from the mowed area where the twitch horses were tethered. With one short step she entered the woods. One step changed everything, she reflected. A moment before she had been the major's daughter, a translator, a valued member of the community, and now, suddenly, she had entered the war. The war had come to her at last, ironically in its last throes, and she reminded herself that she must make that change in her thinking as well. If she were caught, she might be hanged as a traitor.

It was a soft night. It was still early. The guards had become lax, she knew. Why would the prisoners wish to escape when the camp was about to close? That was their thinking, she imagined, but they did not know about England. England changed everything. By informing August she had acted in a treasonous way. She didn't care. Not really. She felt finished with rules and regulations, compromises and imprisonment.

A few minutes later they appeared. August and Gerhard. The sight of them chilled her. They were German prisoners, soldiers, and she had thrown in her lot with them. Even the prospect of being near August, holding him, marrying him, felt secondary. She had not been prepared for that.

But he kissed her. He held her. And she felt better for it.

“We start,” Gerhard said in German.

She nodded. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. Two more steps, a mile, and she could no longer turn back. She knew that. The guard towers flashed their lights round and round, but she understood no one took them seriously any longer. The guards with dogs made circuits only occasionally. The war had ended for everyone but her.

She followed them through two long connecting paths, the woods pressed close in against her. They had no rucksacks, nothing. Neither did she. She had money in her pocket, a small purse of personal items, and that was all. She had matches in the other pocket and paper and candles. August had given her a quick list. They had no food. They planned to drink from streams, she knew. The less they took, the less suspicion, Gerhard had said. It was just three days of walking, perhaps only two. They could make it with nothing but what was in their bellies already, he insisted.

Walking, following their backs, she wondered if she wasn't making a horrible, horrible mistake. Besides the peril she put herself in, and besides the anguish her departure would bring to her father, did she even know this man she followed? She said she loved him, but what did that mean? Did it mean she should go with him through the woods, hike to Canada, collaborate in his escape from an American prison? It felt insane and wildly irresponsible, and twice, three times, a thousand times, she had to bite her tongue to not call out and confess it had all been a colossal mistake. The reality of what she had dreamed about suddenly confronted her. What a fool she had been. What a romantic, dazed idiot.

Fortunately they moved too rapidly for discussion. Gerhard seemed to know exactly the way to go. He was a farm boy, August had said. August trusted him. Gerhard possessed woodcraft, August promised. Collie followed and tried to still her mind.

Near midnight they stopped. A small stream ran through the understory. Gerhard fell on his belly and drank from his cupped hand. August turned to see if she was all right, but Collie fell on her stomach beside Gerhard and drank as well. Mosquitoes had collected near the water and buzzed in her ears. The water tasted of mint and metal.

“We should travel at sunset and sundown. At night if we can see,” Gerhard said when they finished drinking. “Traveling in the daylight is too risky.”

“We will sleep in the daylight hours,” August agreed.

“How do you feel?” Gerhard asked.

But to whom he directed the question was impossible to say. Collie bent and retied her shoes. Her feet hurt. Not horribly, but they hurt. She wore the same clothes she had worn to hike with Marie. She had not spent a moment talking to August. That felt curious. Was it shyness she felt? she wondered. If so, he suffered from it also. He directed his attention to Gerhard. Only Gerhard seemed natural.

“We'll walk to sunrise,” Gerhard said. “Do not speak. Make as little sound as possible.”

Collie nodded. August nodded to her right.

“I doubt they will come after us until the morning. With you, Fräulein, there may be more eagerness to find us. More incentive, perhaps.”

“I'm sorry,” she said.

Gerhard shrugged. August did nothing.

“Let's go,” Gerhard said, and got to his feet.

They moved better this time, she realized. Maybe her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but they followed the path with little difficulty. Twice they passed over streams and they waded across. Once, they started a deer—Gerhard whispered that it was a stag—and it lifted through the woods and disappeared in no time. Still, the noise it made in passing sounded loud in the surrounding silence. They did not move while the deer ran.

When the sun began to lighten the sky, they started looking for a place to sleep. To Collie's eye, the forest looked the same. But Gerhard whispered that he wanted someplace with height. “Lazy men do not climb hills,” he said, meaning that they reduced their risk of being surprised by hunters if they gained height. He led them up onto a small knoll covered by beech and birch stands. He searched the top until he found a depression.

“Here,” he said. “We will cover you.”

It took her a moment to understand. They were going to ground, she realized. Like animals they were going to bury themselves through the daylight hours and reemerge with the sunset. She guessed this must be part of the plan they devised. She laid down in the depression and let them cover her with branches and leaves. It felt like being buried, but she did not let herself think of it.

She listened to them as they found their own resting spots. Gerhard was the last to cover himself. By the time he was silent, the birds had begun to call. She listened to the birds. They sang in their spring voices, insistent and crazed with the desire to find nesting sites. Black flies and mosquitoes buzzed at her ears, but she did her best to let them be. If she began slapping them, she knew, she would be unable to stop.