Promise Me This (31 page)

The hours stretched long into the humid night and crept through the next hot morning. The passenger train stopped innumerable times, or so it seemed to Annie, to take on civilians as well as more and more men in uniform. She’d never ridden a train so packed or with as many stops.

Each time a train carrying military personnel approached, the passenger train was forced onto the nearest side track to wait until the military train had passed—sometimes twenty minutes, sometimes as long as an hour. And each time, no matter how long the delay, the Germans—military and civilians alike—packed aboard the passenger train cheered and hurrahed the men of their passing army.

After the third such detour, Mrs. Sprague sighed so loudly Connie gently elbowed her. “Mother, we must not draw attention to ourselves.”

Annie turned her face to the window, pretending not to notice.

When at last she could wait no longer, Annie pulled Connie from her seat and the girls made their way to the water closet, excusing themselves in feeble German through the stifling corridor packed with soldiers in gray-green uniforms, toe to heel, and those who sat side by side, their kits stashed between their legs.

Some soldiers stepped aside for the young women to pass, either averting their gazes or nodding respectfully, but a few eyed Connie and Annie in ways Annie had never been eyed by a man. She felt her cheeks flame; how she wished she were a little child, able to climb into Mrs. Sprague’s lap and hide her face.

Back in her seat, Annie massaged her throat and knew her traveling companions must be as dry and parched as she.

“I’m dying for a drink to break this heat!” Connie commiserated. Mrs. Sprague nodded in sympathy.

But none of the ladies ventured to the dining car to purchase a cup of tea or a glass of lemonade.

By the time they neared the French border, Annie had lost track of the names of the towns they’d passed.

“If only your father could have stayed with us,” Mrs. Sprague whispered.

“Father’s resourceful,” Connie responded, but Annie heard no confidence in her assertion. “He promised to meet us in Paris.”

“If this train arrives in Paris! I cannot imagine these German soldiers are headed directly for the capital city of France!” Mrs. Sprague seemed to alarm herself with those words and immediately took hold. “All will come about as it should. We must keep our wits and our peace within.”

It was sound advice, and Annie might have taken it to heart—if the train had not lurched suddenly to a grinding stop.

Connie lowered the window, leaning as far out as she could, to see around the bend in the track. “They’re emptying the train.”

“We cannot have arrived in Paris yet—this is nothing like it!” Mrs. Sprague exclaimed.

Connie straightened her hat. “No, Mother. I don’t know where we are, except in the middle of the countryside.”

Soldiers in full uniform, their firearms and kits tightly stowed, ordered civilians from the train, communicating clearly, even though the women could understand few of the words.

Mrs. Sprague took charge. “Gather your things, girls, before they reach us. Out—out the door, quickly.”

Annie tripped, stumbling to her knees as she climbed down from the train. Stones by the track tore through her stocking and gravel grazed her hand. The moment she stood, she sensed the wet blood trickle from her scraped knee.

“Move! Move along!” a boy soldier, very near her age, shouted in broken English from behind her.

Flustered, Annie dropped her bag and bent quickly to retrieve it, but the soldier kicked it sharply away with the toe of his polished and heeled boot, barely missing her hand.

Connie jerked Annie to her feet, pulling her away. “Leave it! It doesn’t matter!”

“But . . . our luggage?”

“They do not seem interested in returning trunks, Annie. Keep going!”

For the next hour the three travelers walked quickly beside the tracks, placing one foot in front of the other, careful not to stumble or dawdle, never daring to look back. They knew the German soldiers followed them, making sure the discharged passengers continued their straight and narrow march to the French border—in sight at last.

“Where do you think Father is?” Connie whispered.

“Your father will find a way; he will find us,” Mrs. Sprague insisted.

“He wasn’t on the train, was he?” Annie worried.

“I hope he was, my dear. With all my heart, I hope he was.”

For the three remaining weeks of August, Maggie burned the morning porridge, and for those three weeks Michael did not notice; Daniel did not care. No word came from Annie—a sharp break in her twice-weekly cycle of letters to Michael or Maggie or both.

News from Germany alternately boasted of and justified its grim rape of Belgium and invasion of France in the battles of Lorraine, Ardennes, the Sambre, Le Cateau, and Guise—halting within thirty miles of Paris.

Michael swore like his uncle Tom the night his hammer pounded his thumb instead of the nail he had intended on the gazebo railing. When he smashed his thumb a second time within the hour, he not only swore but kicked the half-finished gazebo in two, then in quarters and eighths—he kicked and smashed until he had shattered a full week’s work.

“You’ll not bring the mail by laying low your work, Michael.” Daniel stood in the dim lamplight of the barn.

“It’s the only honest piece of work I’ve done these twenty-one days.” Michael threw the hammer aside, spent at last, and slumped against the barn’s supporting beam.

“Aye,” Daniel sighed. “It’s a hard thing, not knowing. But we can’t give up hope. The best you can do for Annie is to build these gazebos; work your heart out to bring her here.”

“The best thing I can do for Annie is to go to England and join up! The best thing I can do for Annie is to kill the Huns that started this idiotic war and find her!” Michael fairly screamed. “I’ve got to find her!”

“I understand your heart’s as splintered as this gazebo you’ve smashed. I understand that all the rage of the French army is nothing to compare with what’s grinding in your bones. But joining up will keep you in your regiment, not out searching for Annie. And getting yourself killed will not save Annie.”

“Neither will standing here like the coward that I am.” Michael spoke low.

“It’s not cowardly to build a life for the ones we love. If the time comes that America calls her own to go, that will be different. But if you go to England now and join with them—”

“Or Canada—I could go to Canada.” Michael stood, the light of that new idea flashing through his mind.

“Canada, England, Ireland—it won’t matter! You’ll lose your hopes of American citizenship if you run off to join through another country. And then you’d be an ocean apart from Annie for years and years! You must wait until America calls—and she will, surely, when—”

“When President Wilson stops sleeping at the helm!”

“When he knows he has the support of the people behind him. German Americans are leaving by droves to join the kaiser’s army—I heard it from Tom Hook himself, just in from Philadelphia. But it can’t last. The tide will turn. If Germany is hell-bent to rule the world, she’ll not leave America out of the fray forever. And when she strikes, the president will be forced to declare war.”

Michael stood. “I can’t wait for that, Daniel! I can’t leave Annie stranded in Europe alone. I’ll not fail her. I did not act in time for . . . for my own sister when she needed me, and . . . and then it was too late. I may already be too late for Annie, but I’ll not risk her a minute longer!”

Michael was grateful when Daniel stepped back, when he held up his hand in a sign that he would say no more, and walked out.

He packed his bag at first light, determined to catch an afternoon train and make his way to New York. He knew how to stow away if necessary—he’d surely done it before—and though he’d vowed he would never sail again, he determined to do exactly that.

Maggie had just tucked her Bible into the corner of his bag when Daniel returned from the post office, a letter in hand.

Dear Aunt Maggie,

By now you must have heard the frightful news from this side of the world.

As you might have surmised, the Spragues and I arrived in Berlin shortly before the kaiser declared war against Serbia. We had hoped—indeed, tried—to escape the madness and make our way to Paris by train, but the railways were bombarded by like-minded tourists frantic to leave the country. The entire city, it seemed, had taken to the streets—a veritable mob awaiting the kaiser’s proclamation.

Miraculously, Mr. Sprague purchased tickets, but we were separated from him at the last possible moment. Our train—painstakingly slow—neared but never crossed the German-French border. Trains in both countries were commandeered, used for soldiers bound for their front lines.

Mrs. Sprague, Connie, and I have returned to London after a fortnight spent trudging our way northwestward through the rough and mucky fields of France—and I mean, quite literally, “the fields.”

Connie tried to keep our hearts light by saying adventurers would pay a hundred pounds for such an experience—sleeping in fields and barns and haymows. But we were a weary, footsore, miserable group for both the terror of the war and not knowing what had become of Mr. Sprague.

Still, the French people were generous in every way, even when they had little to share—farmers, on occasion, offered us rides in hay carts drawn by their stalwart workhorses, and kindly women took pity on our blistered feet, driving us short distances in their little wagons bound for market. I never before knew the intense pleasures of cool well water and humble brown bread. We sailed, at last, from Calais to Dover. I blessed those white cliffs as we neared home. We reached London two days ago and have slept straight through until this morning. How very precious and rare are a clean bed, a hot meal, and a cup of tea laced with sugar!

Mr. Sprague telegraphed yesterday that he is in Le Havre and hopes to return to England within the week. Sailing schedules and timetables mean nothing in the midst of this chaos, but we are wonderfully relieved to know that he is safe and well. As you can imagine, it has been an anxious time for Mrs. Sprague, though I fear there is worse to come for everyone.

The world has gone mad, and I cannot imagine where this might end. Men and boys of all ages are queuing at the recruitment offices, eager, they boast, to “clean the kaiser’s clock.” They shout that they will “hammer the Hun” and return home before the leaves fall.

Well, September hovers at the door, and I read daily of Germany’s advance through little Belgium and poor France. Russia has invaded East Prussia, and Austria-Hungary has invaded Russian Poland.

The leaves are ready to turn, and the girls of the Red Cross came yesterday to talk of knitting mufflers for our boys in arms, just in case. We’re all anxious to do something useful, and of course nothing is.

Please give my regards to Mr. McKenica and Michael. Write to me, dearest Aunt Maggie, of gardens and harvests and birds migrating sanely through their seasons.

All my love,

Annie

“Will you wait, then?” Maggie asked softly as Michael finished reading the letter. “Wait and see. Annie is safe.”

“Safe for now. What if Germany invades England? It’s just over the North Sea.”

“Aye,” Daniel said. “I think Annie should come now—to America.”

“But wouldn’t it be safer to wait until this is over? This can’t last long.” Maggie’s brow wrinkled more. “Surely they’ll come to their senses!”

Daniel shook his head. “Germany’s built her military for years, waiting for such an opportunity. There’ll be no holding her back. She’s joined with Austria and struck her blow. She will surely plow ahead.”

“Until we stop her!” Michael set the letter on the table. “Until we all stand up and say, ‘No more!’”

“But it doesn’t have to be you, Michael,” Maggie pleaded.

“It has to be all of us, Maggie,” Daniel answered for him. “We must stand as one, or one by one, the nations will fall to the kaiser.”

“Then you agree I should go?” Michael dared to hope.

“I would go myself if they’d take me. It’s not what I want, but it’s right—or will be when the time comes . . . when President Wilson declares war.”

“But—”

“Let us both wait until then, Michael. And let us send for Annie now.”

Michael hesitated, then nodded. It was decided; Annie coming to safety and to America was what he wanted.

But once Annie came, could he—would he—enlist should President Wilson finally call?