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Authors: Gilbert Morris

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BOOK: The Unlikely Allies
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Closing all the cases and the book, she moved outside and saw that it was starting to rain. She had covered the case with the radio and the carboy with an old raincoat and stuffed them all into the wicker carrier she had made for the back of her bike. The rain began coming down harder, and it was starting to freeze. She had not gotten clear of town and was thinking of the project that she and James St. Cloud were working on. The new radio was more powerful than any she had been able to build, and now it was becoming more and more necessary to have more radio contact with Ajax. She heard a vehicle approaching and pulling over to one side, but when it stopped, she saw it was a German army vehicle and she thought at once of the revolver. She stopped and sat on the bicycle as the cold rain sifted down. She debated how she might get out the revolver if necessary.

Then she saw that it was Derek who was driving the vehicle. He came around, wearing a slicker over his uniform, but the rain immediately soaked the black peaked cap he wore. “You’re going to freeze to death in this weather, Mallory,” he said. “Come on. Where are you going?”

“I’m going out to see my friends, the Sorensens.”

“Get in the truck.”

“I can’t leave my bicycle.”

“We can put it in the back. You get in. I’ll handle this.”

Mallory tried to think of some way to object, for the radio was heavy, but nothing came to her. “All right,” she said. “Here, let me take these things out of the carriers.” Quickly she picked up the case and the carboy and watched as he lifted the bicycle and placed it in the trunk.

“Do you want to put those things in front so they won’t get soaked?”

“Yes, if there’s room.”

“Plenty of room. Come along.”

Mallory quickly opened the door and got in. She placed the case on the seat beside her and the carboy down on the floor.

“What’s all that?” Derek asked as he got behind the wheel and slammed the door.

“Just some things I’m taking out to the Sorensens. They don’t get into town very often.”

“You’ll have to tell me how to get there.”

Mallory sat tensely in the seat directing Derek, acutely aware of the incriminating radio and the concealed battery. She was planning ahead how she would run inside with them as soon as she got there and was only partially listening to Derek.

“There it is right over there. The stone farmhouse.”

“Who are these people?” Derek asked as he turned and headed for the house.

“Just some friends of mine. They’ve helped me a great deal with my work with the Lapps—raising funds and things like that.”

Derek stopped the truck, and Mallory promptly jumped out and grabbed the case and the carboy.

“I’ll help you with those things.”

“No, if you’ll just get the bicycle out, I’ll be ready.”

“Don’t be foolish. That looks heavy.”

Mallory turned, but Derek was already beside her, and she could not, without making a scene, help but surrender the case. He picked it up, and his eyes widened. “It’s heavy.”

“Yes, it is. But I can take it.”

“What is it—wine?”

“Oh, just something they asked me to pick up for them,” Mallory said evasively. The two walked toward the house, the rain soaking them. Derek’s cap was sodden, and the kerchief that Mallory used to protect her hair was also soaking wet. The door opened as they approached, and Einer Sorensen stepped outside. “Why, I didn’t expect you, Mallory.”

“I thought I told you I’d be here. I brought the things you asked me to get.” She handed the carboy to Einer and then said, “This is Major Derek Grüber. Major Grüber, this is Mrs. Sorensen.”

“This is rather heavy. Shall I put it inside for you?”

Einer shot a quick glance at Mallory, who nodded imperceptibly, then said, “Come in. You’re both soaked.”

When they stepped inside, Mallory found Bernhard and James St. Cloud sitting at the dinner table. James had on a black-and-red checkered wool shirt with the tail out. She knew he had a pistol under it and said quickly, “Let me introduce you, Major. This is Mr. Sorensen, and this is Mr. St. Cloud.”

“I’m happy to know you.”

“Here. Let me take that,” Einer said quickly. She had put the carboy over against the wall and now came to take the case.

“I’m afraid it’s gotten a little damp. It looks like fine leather. Water sometimes spoils good leather like that.”

“I’ll take it and dry it off,” Einer said, hurrying from the room, much to Mallory’s relief.

“I was about to get drowned when Major Grüber saw me on the road and gave me a ride.”

Mrs. Sorensen came back and said, “We were just having dinner.” She hesitated, then said, “Would you care to join us?”

“Oh, that would be an imposition!” Derek protested.

“Not at all,” James said. “There’s plenty here.” He was wearing a black stocking cap on the back of his head and looked somewhat like a farmer. Mallory had noticed before how smooth his hands were, not the hands of a farmer, and hoped he’d have sense enough to keep them concealed.

“Sit down, Major,” Bernhard said.

“Well, if I won’t be any trouble.”

“No, there’s plenty,” Einer said. They all sat down, except Einer, who served them all. The meal consisted of
kjottkaker,
Norwegian meat balls, served with creamed cabbage. There was also a nutty Norwegian bread to go with it, and Derek ate more than the others. “This is very tasty, Mrs. Sorensen. You’re an excellent cook.”

“Thank you. I learned to cook when I was a little girl.”

“What do you hear about the war?” James asked. “We get very little news here.”

Derek looked up and studied the man, wondering about him. He did not look particularly Norwegian and seemed rather thin to be a farmhand. “About as usual,” Derek said noncommittally. “You farm this land quite a bit?”

“Lately I have.”

“What kind of crops do you find grow best here?”

Mallory was stiff with fear, for she knew James hated farming and cared nothing about crops. She spoke up quickly, “If you want to know about farming, you should ask Bernhard. Everyone says he’s the best farmer in the country.”

Derek turned his attention to Bernhard, and the distraction gave a great relief to everyone else.

When the meal was over, Derek thanked the Sorensens and then said to Mallory, “It’s still raining hard. Are you going back to town?”

“Well, eventually. It’ll probably stop soon.”

“I doubt it. Why don’t you come with me. It’ll be no trouble. I’m going back anyway.”

The others watched as the two put on their coats, and as soon as they left, James removed the pistol from where it was stuck in the waistband of his trousers. He walked to the window and looked out, muttering, “I don’t like this. That man’s no fool.”

“What did she bring in the case?” Bernhard asked.

“A radio, I think. She was supposed to be getting a very powerful one, and that’s probably the battery for it.”

“If he had opened that case, she would have been exposed,” Einer said, fear gleaming in her eyes. “She’s playing a very dangerous game.”

“She is, and I don’t like it. It’s putting us all in jeopardy.” James shook his head and moved out of the room. “I’ve got to check that radio.”

****

As Derek and Mallory pulled out of the drive and headed back toward town, Mallory breathed more easily. “What have you been reading lately?” she asked.

“I’m interested in an American female writer now—Emily Dickinson.”

“Yes, I’ve read some of her things. They call her the ‘Nun of Amherst.’ ”

“Why do they call her that?”

“Because she never married. She lived in the little town of Amherst, Massachusetts, and led a very cloistered life, so they say. Supposedly, she fell in love with a man, but they didn’t marry, and she spent her life grieving over him.”

“Look. I brought the book with me. Open it where I’ve got the bookmark and read the poem there.”

Mallory picked up the book that was on the seat and opened it to the marked page, then read slowly out loud,

“My life closed twice before its close;

It yet remains to see

If immortality unveil

A third even to me.

“So huge, so hopeless to conceive

As these that twice befell.

Parting is all we know of heaven,

And all we need of hell.”

She shook her head. “What a sad poem.”

“Yes, it is.” He quoted the first line. “ ‘My life closed twice before its close.’ ”

“I think that might have been the death of her father and the loss of the man she loved.”

“Those last two lines are powerful. ‘Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell.’ I know what
that’s
like.”

“What is it, Derek? I know you suffered a tragedy.”

“I guess I’m like Emily Dickinson. I’ve had two losses.” He did not speak for a while. He peered out into the rain that slanted down across the road. “I suffered a great loss when my mother died.”

“You were very close to her, weren’t you?”

“Yes. I think I might have been different if she had lived, but she died when I was very young.”

“Sometimes it helps to talk about these things.”

Derek turned and said simply, “I’ve had no one to talk to, Mallory.”

“Not your father?”

“Especially not him. He was a great soldier, but we were not close.”

“What does this poem mean to you?”

“The first time I read it, those last two lines went through me like a knife. ‘Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell.’ It reminds me of the line from
Romeo and Juliet,
‘Parting is such sweet sorrow.’ ”

“That’s true, isn’t it? Parting
is
a sweet sorrow.”

“Sometimes when I read the Bible, I find certain verses jumping out at me like that,” he said. “Does that surprise you?”

“It does rather.”

“Well, I read a lot of it and it means nothing. And then suddenly I’ll read a verse and it’s like a . . . it’s like a bayonet driven through my heart.”

This was a side of Derek Grüber that interested Mallory intensely. “I know a little something about that. I think it’s the Holy Spirit that quickens those little verses.” She turned in her seat a little. “What was your mother like?”

Derek began to speak about his mother as he pulled up in front of the farmhouse where Mallory lived with the Klovstads. The engine was running, but his voice had grown soft, and she could see the pain he felt in his expression.

“I loved my mother very much,” he said simply.

“What about your other loss?”

“I . . . I’ve never talked about her to anyone.” The rain made a symphony on the hood of the truck as it came down in long, slanting lines. Everything outside was gray, but inside, the heater had warmed the truck, and Derek sat quite still for a time.

Finally he said in a spare tone, “Her name was Rachel.”

“I’ve always loved that name.”

“She was beautiful—and a Jew. . . .”

Mallory listened as Derek spoke. His voice became thicker, and he had more and more trouble speaking. More than once he had to stop to get control of himself, and after he told her how they had parted for the last time, he gave a sudden helpless cry and leaned forward, resting his forehead on his hands where they gripped the steering wheel. “And I lost her, Mallory! It was my fault!”

Mallory was shocked at the intensity of his emotion. His shoulders were shaking as he sobbed. Her heart went out to him in a way that it had rarely gone out to anyone. She reached out without thinking and pulled him toward her. Even in the
darkness, she saw the tears streaming down his face. His features were contorted as he struggled to control himself.

“Maybe I can help,” she whispered. She pulled his head down, and he buried his face against her shoulder and collapsed, shaking with sobs he could not control. She held him tightly, stroking his back and patting him as if he were a child. A torrent swept him, and she knew this was probably the first time this strong man had ever given way like this. She made no attempt to get him to stop but quietly soothed him. She put her hand on the back of his head and held him tightly.

Finally the torrent ceased and Derek stiffened. He straightened up and put the heels of his hands over his eyes. Clearing his throat, he finally said, “I . . . I haven’t cried since my mother died.”

“We all need to cry, even strong men. My father’s the strongest man I’ve ever known, but I’ve seen him weep.”

Derek withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, mopped his face, and cleared his throat. “You’re a loving woman, Mallory. You have love even for an enemy.”

Mallory reached out and touched his cheek. “I don’t think of you as my enemy,” she said quietly. She opened the door and got out and then waited until he got out and lifted the bicycle to the ground. “I’m sorry about your losses, Derek.”

He stood there in the falling rain as she turned and made her way to the house. Finally he got in the truck and drove away. His face was still contorted, and he could not believe that he had broken down. “I’ve never wept like that—not before anyone!” Still, he knew the weeping had been a catharsis, and he felt that at least some of his burden was lifted.

****

Mallory’s mind was occupied with the scene that had just happened, so she was startled when she stepped inside and saw Eva standing squarely in the hallway with a gun in her right hand. Her glance shifted into the room on Eva’s right, where she could see two people, a man and a woman, both
appearing to be in their late twenties. She stepped forward and saw that they had two small girls, who looked to be about ages three and four or five.

“Ritter’s rounding up all the Jews, Mallory. They’re going to be deported.” Eva’s face was fixed with grim determination. “This is Abraham and Leah Goldstein, and these are their children, Thora and Abigail. We’ve got to keep them here until we can get them to Sweden.”

“Of course.” Mallory smiled at the family. “We’ll make a place for you. I’m sure it will be all right.”

“The attic will have to do. It’s too small to stay in there all the time, but it’ll give them someplace to go when there’s trouble,” Eva said.

BOOK: The Unlikely Allies
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