Beyond the Shadow of War (39 page)

A few minutes later, he knocked on the Zankowski’s door then updated Joey and Lara. After a long series of dead-end calls, he finally got a number for the embassy in London.

“Yes, I’m trying to reach a Lieutenant Phillip Powell.”

“Hold, please.”

For the first time that day, Danny felt a sliver of hope as he waited for the connection. He would gladly reimburse Lara, but at the moment he didn’t care how much the calls were costing; he just needed to talk to someone‌—‌anyone‌—‌who might be able to tell him what was going on.

“Lieutenant Powell,” he answered.

“Lieutenant! This is Danny McClain, Anya’s husband, calling from America.”

“Yes, Mr. McClain‌—‌I mean,
Lieutenant
McClain, right?”

“Yes, but please just call me Danny. I’m hoping you can help me concerning news of the ship Anya’s on‌—‌”

“Yes, we’ve been monitoring the reports of the
Wisteria
and the other vessels caught in the storms. I was actually about to call you, when I was called into two back-to-back meetings.”

“So it’s true? Anya is on one of the ships?”

“I’m afraid so. We lost contact with the
Wisteria
late on Sunday eve‌—‌”

“Sunday?! Why wasn’t I notified? That’s been three whole days!”

“Lieutenant‌—‌I mean, Danny. I understand your frustration. But please understand, we’ve tried to make absolutely sure we had all our facts straight as there have been so many unfounded rumors and unsubstantiated newspaper stories covering these ships. Case in point‌—‌the rumors that one of our war bride ships was attacked by a German sub drowning all souls aboard. Utter nonsense, but it took massive amounts of manpower to put out the firestorm it caused. Which is why we have to‌—‌”

“I understand, Lieutenant. That makes perfect sense to me. I had no idea that sort of thing was going on. But is there
anything
you can tell me about Anya’s ship? How can a luxury liner lose all contact? Aren’t these boats equipped with telegraphs?”

“Yes, but their range only covers a few hundred miles to the nearest vessel. Then those vessels pass along information to other vessels. A relay system, if you will. The last message from the
Wisteria
reached a Canadian ship called the
Newfoundland
that was approximately 350 miles from them. The
Wisteria
issued a CQD wire at 11:30 that night‌—‌”

“CQD?”

“It’s the British version of SOS. A Morse code signal alerting ‘All Stations, Distress,’ requesting all other sending and receiving be stopped in order to leave the wireless channel open. The
Newfoundland
responded that they too were fighting treacherous storms.
The
Wisteria
telegraphed them saying they’d had a fire in the engine room and needed assistance. Unfortunately, the message was cut off before
Wisteria
gave her coordinates, and they have not been heard from since.”

Danny felt a knot tightening in his gut. He turned around to look at Joey and Lara and noted the worry etched on both their faces. He slid down the wall, landing clumsily on the hardwood floor.

“Danny? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Lieutenant, do you think there’s any chance … I mean, is it possible Anya’s ship …” He pulled his knees up and dropped his forehead on them. “Oh God.”

“Danny?” Lara whispered.

“Danny, listen to me,” Powell insisted. “Do not jump to conclusions. For all we know, the
Wisteria
is limping its way to New York as we speak.”

“Or sinking like the
Titanic.
”

“I refuse to believe that, and we have no proof whatsoever of anything like that happening. Fires happen on board ships like this all the time. Sometimes they’re minor; sometimes they cut the power. But there’s no reason to think the worst.”

Danny heard a voice in the background. Someone talking to Powell.

“Danny? You still there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Look, I’m late for another meeting. I’ve got your number right here, and I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”

Danny asked him to take down the Zankowski’s number as well. Powell offered him a few more words of encouragement then said goodbye.

As he stood to hang the receiver back on the phone, a rather large boulder settled on his chest, nearly suffocating him. He slid back down the wall and prayed as hard as he knew how.

43

Around three o’clock the next morning, creaking footsteps on the stairs woke Danny from his restless sleep on the sofa. He watched his father’s silhouette pass by and heard the shuffle of his slippers heading down the hall. He raked his hand through his hair and sat up, suddenly cognizant of the fact he’d had no calls through the night. The boulder still weighed heavy on his chest as the facts filed back into his muddled mind. He uttered another silent prayer for Anya and everyone else on the
Wisteria
as unsolicited images flashed through his mind. English war brides and babies huddled on lifeboats, shivering in the bitter cold. Muffled groans and whimpers. A baby’s sudden piercing cry, rousing cries from other children. Everyone cold and hungry and frightened.

Stop. Just stop it.

He rolled off the sofa and gave his face a rough rub. This would not do. He had to stay positive. Hopeful. He couldn’t give up. Anya wouldn’t. Neither would he.

Thoughts peppered his mind as he padded down the hall, compelled by the scent of strong coffee. He found his father taking a seat at the kitchen table, his familiar red and black plaid bathrobe wrapped loosely around him.

“Mornin’, son.”

“Dad.” He took a seat and let out a weary sigh.

“You get some sleep?”

“Some. Not a lot.”

“Holding up?”

Danny stretched with a yawn. “Not really. I keep thinking it’s all some horrific nightmare, and I’ll wake up from it.”

“No surprise there.”

They sat in silence for a few moments; the percolator’s rumbling rhythm at odds with the ticking of the clock on the wall. When the coffee finished brewing, Danny poured a cup for his father and one for himself.

“Dad, what would you do if you were in my shoes?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll lose my mind if I have to sit around all day and night waiting for the telephone to ring. Or
not
ring. Or grasping at some scrap of news on the radio or in the paper. I need to do something, but I don’t know what. If you were me, what would you do?”

His father stared at him over the rim of his reading glasses. He blew on his steaming coffee, then took a cautious sip before setting it back on its saucer. “Well, son, I don’t suppose it matters much what I might or might not do.”

Danny sat up straighter. “Yes, it does. I’d like to know. I’m so tired and frustrated, I can’t even think straight. So tell me what you’d do. Please.”

Dad waited a few moments then rested his elbows on the table and warmed his hands around his cup. “Pretty sure I’d be confused, too. But I’m not much good at sitting around waiting for news, good or bad.”

“I remember when Pearl Harbor was attacked, and we had to wait around all those days and nights wondering if Joey was still alive.”

His father’s eyes misted then narrowed as he looked away. “Those were awful days.”

“I remember you’d get so upset, you’d storm down the stairs to the basement and hammer out your frustrations for hours on end. What were you working on down there all that time?”

A slight smile tugged at his dad’s whiskered face. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “Just a box of nails I had a hankering to pound on.”

Danny slowly nodded. “Makes sense to me. Maybe I should go down and hunt for a box of nails.”

“What works for one doesn’t necessarily work for another.”

“I guess that’s true.”

They sat in silence again, sipping coffee, minds wandering.

Later, after refilling both their cups, Danny floated an idea by his dad.

“What if I hopped on a train for New York? At least that way I’d be there when her ship comes in.
If
it comes in.”

His father stared at him, his brows slowly inching up his brow. “You’d be out of touch for quite a while, wouldn’t you?”

“I could call from time to time, whenever we stop along the way. I’m guessing it would take around sixteen, maybe seventeen hours by train?”

His father shrugged again. “I suppose. Sure you wouldn’t rather just sit tight until you hear from that Powell guy in London?”

Danny blew out a huff. “I’m not good at sitting tight. Remind you of anyone?”

His father nodded. “I see your point.”

“I’ll let Lieutenant Powell know my plans. Then if he should call‌—‌or anyone from Army Transport, for that matter‌—‌you can just relay the message to me when I call. Sure beats sitting around drumming my fingers day and night.” He took a slow sip of his coffee.

“Yes, I suppose it would.”

“I can’t stop thinking about Anya and this whole mess trying to get her over here, Dad. When that ship docks at the pier in New York, and she first steps foot on American soil … I wouldn’t miss that for the world. I want to be there. I
have
to be there.”

“I can be packed in an hour.”

They both looked up to find Mom standing at the door. “When do we leave?”

Danny and his mother boarded the
20
th
Century Limited
at half past five that evening at the LaSalle Street Station. He’d debated the last-minute choice of the express passenger train which would make no stops until arriving at Grand Central Station in New York. But the speed of the sixteen-hour ride‌—‌most of it overnight‌—‌appealed to his underlying urgency to get there. After a quick call home to let them know, he and his mother made their way to the platform to board what was known as the world’s greatest train.

Several hours into their trip, the moonlit landscape flashing by did little to calm Danny’s nerves. Once he’d made the decision to make the trip, the day had vanished as he and his mother set the plan in motion. He would never have thought to ask her to come, but had to admit he appreciated her presence. He gazed over at her, grateful for her company.

She looked up, meeting his eyes. “What is it, honey?”

“It just occurred to me that some things never change. I’m not a little kid anymore, yet here I am, riding the train with my mother along to help find my bride.” He slipped his hand over hers. “Now that you’re here, I can’t imagine doing this without you. It’s a tremendous comfort to me, Mom.”

She shook her head, her face warmed with an easy smile. “If you must know, I’m a bit surprised to be here.”

“Really? You didn’t offer to come out of the mere goodness of your heart?” he teased.

“No, I’m afraid not. I was told to come.”

“Dad? Did he‌—‌?”

“No, not your father.
Our
Father.” She took off her glasses and turned slightly in her seat to face him. “I must say, it was the strangest thing. I didn’t sleep much last night either. But when I woke up, the first thought that came to mind was to get down on my knees and pray for Anya. So I slipped from beneath the covers and knelt beside our bed. I asked God to comfort and strengthen her and all the other brides and children on that ship. I asked Him to use whatever might be happening to draw Anya back to Him. And no sooner had those thoughts crossed my mind, than I heard Him say, ‘Go with Danny.’ It wasn’t audible, mind you, but such an intense and specific impression on my heart that I knew it could only have come from God.

“Of course, I didn’t have a clue what that meant at first. I was still a bit foggy and trying to wake up. But when I came downstairs and overheard you talking with your father about taking the train to New York, I knew immediately that was what God was telling me to do.”

“Whoa … I’m not even sure how to process that. I hadn’t even thought of going until I sat down at the table with Dad. And even while I was explaining my reasoning to him, I thought it sounded impractical. I knew I’d be out of touch if Powell tried to reach me. But at the same time, I knew I had to get to that pier. I can’t it explain it. I just
knew
.”

“Then it seems we both had a bit of a holy nudge to get on this train. Would you agree?”

“Absolutely.”

“Though I must also say, I feel a bit odd to impose myself on the two of you at a time like this.”

“Don’t be silly. How could you possibly impose on us, Mom?”

A sheepish grin accompanied her response. “I’m not so old as to forget what it was like to be a newlywed.”

Danny felt his face warm. “Oh. That. Well …”

“So once Anya joins us, I will give you as much privacy as I can. Whether at the hotel or on the return trip. Or if you’d prefer to stay in New York for a while after she arrives, I’m perfectly capable of riding the train home by myself.”

Danny leaned over to whisper, “I didn’t think it was possible to blush at my age, but I’m pretty sure my face‌—‌”

“‌—‌is quite a lovely shade of crimson. Yes, it is.”

He rubbed his face with both hands. “Okay, then. I think it’s time we change the subject, don’t you?”

“Whatever you say, son.”

“Good. Fine. Well, then. What would you like to talk about?”

“Let’s talk about Anya.”

“Yes. Good idea. What would you like to know?”

“Let’s think through what it’s going to be like for her once she arrives.”

He nodded slowly, his thoughts jumbled. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I’m still focused on hoping the ship didn’t capsize. That it actually makes it to New York, and she’s still alive.”

“Oh, I think if the ship had capsized or gone down, we would have heard about it by now. Anya’s friend at the embassy in London would surely have told you.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I’m not ready to take anything for granted at this point. Particularly with Anya. She’s had such a rough time for so long now. Sometimes I find myself starting to think like a pessimist. Almost expecting more to go wrong. It’s like every time she turns around, something bad has happened to her. It’s just the way her life seems to be playing out.”

“Danny, don’t let your mind stay on thoughts like that. Doesn’t help her, and it certainly doesn’t help you.”

“But face it. I assumed once the war ended and we got married, everything would start falling into place. Yet here we are, almost eight months to the day since I said goodbye to her in England and flew home. If you had told me the day I left that it would take eight long months before I’d see her again, I would have laughed in your face.”

“I know, honey, but war has a way of tainting everything it touches, including something as simple as the logistics of travel. And it’s not as if Anya is the only war bride needing passage to America.”

“I know.” Danny leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “But I’m only concerned with
one
of those brides.”

“I understand.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Danny opened his eyes again. “Mom, you said you wanted to talk through what it’ll be like when Anya arrives. In what way?”

“Only that we can’t pretend everything will simply be business as usual once she’s come to live with us. We will all need to be especially patient and understanding. Whenever I’m praying for Anya, I have a sense that I’m praying for a wounded little lamb. Sounds silly, I suppose, but that’s the image in my mind. I know you’ve told me she can be tough at times, but‌—‌”

“That’s an understatement,” he said. “She’s been that way since she was a young girl. Hans used to tell me all kinds of stories about the mischief she’d get into. And I remember him telling me they always knew where to find her if she’d done something wrong. She would disappear for a few hours, hiding up in a tree behind their home. Whether she was hoping to evade punishment or plotting her next deed, who could tell.”

“Oh dear,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “We don’t have a single tree worth climbing and no time to plant one now.”

“We’ll have to remember that come spring.”

“Yes, we will. The thing is, she may have been a rough and tumble child‌—‌and more than likely, that’s what helped her survive these past few years. But I would imagine her war wounds run much deeper than any of us can imagine.”

“I know.” His mind hobbled from one scene to another, stories of her journey from childhood to her years with the Dutch Resistance, to the girl he married in Framlingham. “Little by little, I’ve seen some of those emotional wounds begin to heal. But I’m sure there’s much more she hasn’t told me. Hasn’t told anyone.”