Catching the Wind(18)

“Actually . . .” He paused. “I made reservations at the Garden House.”

The Garden House was an elegant, award-winning restaurant near Kew Gardens, known for insanely high prices and excellent food. A place she’d always wanted to try, but still—“You said I could choose the place.”

“I’ll cancel.”

She faced him again, people streaming around on both sides of them. “If I eat dinner with you, you’ll answer my questions.”

“I’ll answer anything I can.”

“Which probably isn’t much.”

He flinched ever so slightly before he regained his composure. “Mr. Knight asked me to tell you about the last time he saw Brigitte.”

Her breath caught against her will. “What if I decide not to search for her?”

“He thinks you can keep a secret.”

The word—secret—whistled through her mind, her thoughts jolting back again to that day with her mother long ago, to the secret she’d kept for more than twenty years. Ironic, really, since she searched daily for the truth about other people, often finding men and women who didn’t particularly want to be found. Just never the person who’d once mattered most.

Even as she sought other people to interview, she’d refused to seek the truth about her own past.

“Quenby?”

She turned toward Lucas, barely registering the use of her first name.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded slowly.

Mr. Knight was right—she could keep secrets. And whether or not she chose to search for Brigitte, she would keep his story secret as well.





Chapter 10




Belgium, October 1940

The dogs barked again as Dietmar stumbled around a lake, Brigitte lying motionless against his chest. There was still life in her; he could feel her breath in the cold, the heat from her skin.

He ducked into the dark forest, branches scraping his arms and face as he fled.

It would be impossible to escape a pack of dogs, even if she ran beside him now, but the alternative was unthinkable. They’d come so far these weeks, struggling to survive. If the Nazis didn’t kill them, they would surely separate him from Brigitte.

She would never survive their treatment, and he—

He didn’t think he could bear being torn from someone else he loved.

If the enemy overtook them, they would go down together. Nothing would make him leave her side.

A needle of light pricked the darkness, like the slender shaft drifting through a keyhole. Then he smelled woodsmoke mixing with the salty air.

Was another house nearby? He knew well the risks of seeking shelter, but if he didn’t try, he’d regret it.

Instead of running away from the house, he followed the trail of light and smoke.

Brigitte moaned softly, stirring in his arms. “Be still,” he whispered, so different from his commands to run.

This time she listened.

The light drew closer, but so did the dogs, the haunting sound of their hunt echoing through the trees. They had to get inside, hide from the animals and the men who hunted them.

But the light in the woods didn’t come from a house. It trickled out of a rambling structure built of towers and stone. A fortress of old.

Dietmar rapped on the massive front door, praying he would find a friend on the other side.

A man dressed in a black robe answered his knock, a lantern clutched in his hand and a silver cross dangling from his neck. He glanced down at Brigitte, then up at the flashes of torchlight in the trees.

“Quickly,” the monk commanded, ushering them into a great hall. The man shut the door behind them and slid a bolt. Nothing would keep the Nazis out, Dietmar knew, but perhaps the bolt would slow them down.

The monk lifted Brigitte from his arms.

“I won’t leave her,” Dietmar said.

The monk studied him before speaking again. “Come with me then.”

Dietmar heard a knock as they rushed through a series of stone corridors, up into a room with ten beds, six of them already filled.

There was no time to change into nightdress, but the monk took the knapsack from Dietmar’s shoulder and tucked it into a closet. Brigitte, he laid in one bed. Then Dietmar climbed into the one next to hers.

“You must listen,” the monk said in German, and Brigitte’s head turned toward him. “No matter what happens, keep the covers over your clothing and your eyes closed. The only children we house here are ones who cannot see.”

Brigitte’s eyes fluttered shut, but as the monk locked the door behind him, Dietmar glanced toward the window. Faint rays of moonlight stole into the musty space, and he saw the faces of the sleeping children around them. None but he and Brigitte were aware of the enemy downstairs.

Yet inside these formidable walls, he felt safe.

He prayed that God would bring them through this night. That He would provide food for their stomachs and nourish Brigitte’s empty soul.

When he heard footsteps outside the door, the lock clicking as it opened, he closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see the lightning stripes down the collars of men who wanted to take everything from him.

It seemed to him that the entire world was blind to the Nazis’ evil scheme.

Tonight he would pretend to be blind to their scheme as well.