Sins of the Flesh (45 page)

Now, in seconds, he was going to see her again. What a fool he'd been to shout her name like that. Even now he could hear it echoing about him. But it didn't matter—nothing mattered except seeing Mickey again. How would she see him? As he was now, exhausted, weary, filthy…older? So much older. The gray in his hair, the lined face that was wind-burned and raw from constant exposure to the icy snow? The anticipation was excruciating; he was trembling so badly he could hardly make his feet move. Yes, he could see her now, her dark form silhouetted against the white snow! He whispered her name, hearing it carried away on the wind. She was moving now, so slowly, or was he the one moving slowly? The moment. His heart raced, threatened to leap from his chest. Desperately he tried to clear his vision, to wipe the crusted ice from his lashes; his thick-lensed eyeglasses had long since vanished, a casualty to one skirmish or another. But even without them he could see—see his past, the present, coming toward him, arms outstretched.

How quiet it was suddenly, his thundering heart the only sound in the stillness. He heard his name carried on the wind, knowing her name would meet with his and echo down the mountain.

A waist-high boulder stood between them. It seemed insurmountable to his exhausted body, and in his over-anxiousness it never occurred to him to walk around it. He gave birth to an anguished cry at nature's injustice and stretched out his arms beseechingly. His hands touched other hands, hands he never thought he would feel in his own…ever again.

He could see her now, his eyes drinking in the sight. His arms yearned to hold her, his body hungered to feel her next to him. She was smiling, the warm, gentle smile that was just for him, just as he remembered it.

All his stored-up memories engulfed him, the past years forgotten as time stood still. A sob tore from his throat—or was it hers? It didn't matter, he was finally here, touching the woman he'd vowed to love unto eternity.

He could feel his feet moving, feel his arms sliding across ice and stones, as Mickey guided him around the boulder. Then she fell into his arms, her sobs matching his own. “Mickey, Mickey…” Her name on his lips was a benediction, an offering of profound gratitude and a promise of infinite peace.

“Reuben, my darling Reuben, I cannot believe you're here. How I dreamed and prayed for this moment, and now that you're here I cannot think of a thing to say.”

“Shhh, there's no need for words. I'm here and I'm never going to leave you again. Don't cry, Mickey, please don't cry. We're together, we must be happy,” he said in a choked voice. He held her tight to enforce his words, to give substance to his feelings.

“I'm remembering everything, every single moment we spent together,” Mickey said softly against his coarse coat. “I kept every memory alive by thinking of you each day.”

“And I did the same. I don't suppose this is the time for me to recite the litany from the winemaker's calendar,” he murmured.

She chuckled. “No, my darling, it is not the time. We have no time at all for our feelings. Our voices carry about the mountain. We must go on, the children must be taken to safety. There is a German with us, and he says we have only perhaps six or seven kilometers to go to reach free soil. From here on in the littlest have to be carried. Reuben…I want nothing more than to stay here in your arms and never move again. When I first saw you, time stood still for me. Nothing mattered but you. But that moment is gone, and we must—”

“I know,” Reuben said hoarsely. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, and then her mouth, a lingering kiss filled with twenty years of longing. When he released her he was giddy with feeling, his head full of…

“There's no time for more,” Yvette hissed, coming up behind them. “Now, Michelene, we have no more time. I can hear them, the whole damn German Army is after us. Quickly! I'll carry Sophie, Kort will take Stephan, and you, Reuben, will carry Bruno. Mickey will lead the way. Now move!”

The children were on their feet, staggering with exhaustion. At Mickey's motion, Bruno raised his arms for Reuben to pick him up. The little dog under his coat gave a soft yip.

“The German is…he's okay, Reuben, he's helped us,” Mickey said. “Without him we'd all be dead. Reuben, if anything…I love you. I've always loved you. When I go on to my other life, as we all will someday, I will carry that love with me. I wish we had more time, but I cannot ask more of Him. He has already sent me you. Pray now for the little ones, for these German swine will rip them from their necks to their groins if they catch us.”

She smiled at the little boy in Reuben's arms. “Bruno, this is my friend from America. He has come a very long way to help us. You must be quiet, and you must keep your friend quiet.”

“Oui, mademoiselle,”
he said, snuggling closer against Reuben's chest.

With a catch in her voice, Mickey said, “He is just like Philippe was at that age. Later you will tell me of Philippe.” Reuben nodded.

They walked and climbed, stopping only a few minutes each hour to rest. It was a tortuous climb. Reuben's lungs felt seared, his back one mass of pain as he struggled up one incline after the other. At one point he looked to Yvette, who seemed to be having no trouble at all with the little girl in her arms. The German was making good time, too. Clenching his teeth in determination, he kept on climbing. When the boy slipped out of his grasp, he tightened his hold and boosted him to his shoulders.

Bruno patted Reuben's shoulder to show he approved of his new position.

Suddenly Mickey's hand shot up and she turned calling a halt. “We've reached the plateau. We can rest now. We have less than a mile to go to Spain. A ten-minute rest and then, my little friends, I will tell you a story,” she whispered.

Bruno sighed with happiness. “Mademoiselle Mickey tells wonderful stories, monsieur. There is a red wagon and a blue bicycle at her château. She promised us a pony cart and a sailboat. It will be so wonderful. Did you ever have a red wagon, monsieur?” he asked wistfully.

Reuben's throat constricted. “No, I never had one, but I did see the red wagon and the blue bicycle at Mademoiselle Mickey's château. There are all kinds of wonderful things in…in Philippe's room. I saw roller skates, too.” Bruno sighed again; he was so relieved to hear Mademoiselle's American friend confirm all the wonderful things at the château.

They were sitting in a half circle in a copse of pungent evergreens, taking fast, shallow breaths in the thin air. For the first time in hours they were truly relaxed with the knowledge that freedom was less than a mile away. Suddenly, German soldiers came out of nowhere, their guns pointed, their heels clicking at attention. The order was simple. All weapons tossed to the ground. Mickey and the rest of them obeyed the guttural command, one by one. They were powerless, helpless in the enemy's hands. Reuben's stomach heaved, his eyes murderous. He took in the children with one glance. They were too young to die; they hadn't even tasted life yet.

Mickey rose up on her knees and addressed herself to one of the Germans, pleading for them to let the children go. In desperation she pulled out the small sack of diamonds Daniel had given her and held them out. The German snatched them from her hand and then knocked her backward with the butt of his gun. An animal cry escaped Reuben as he made a move to go to Mickey's aid. He felt a rifle ram into his neck.

“No, Reuben, I am all right!” Mickey gasped. “Do nothing. Nothing, Reuben!”

The children moved then, in unison, their small bodies hurtling forward toward the German boots. They were devils driven by their hatred of the Boche. It happened so quickly, the others were caught off guard. Yvette was the first to pounce on her rifle; screaming and cursing, she swung the gun butt this way and that. Kort was behind her doing the same thing. Mickey rolled to her feet with lightning speed and tossed Reuben his rifle.

The children were shrieking now, either with glee or hatred, Reuben couldn't be sure. Anna, the oldest girl, brought her foot up into one soldier's groin and crunched it downward. Marc kicked out with his foot and caught the man square on the side of his face. The sound of bone splintering made him laugh, so he kicked out again, this time toppling to the ground when the German's hand snaked out and caught his leg. Bernard dived for the man's arm and yanked it backward. The children showed no mercy as they kicked and kicked, their small arms yanking and pulling. The little dog, free of Bruno's warm coat, was busily tugging at a German's ear. Reuben knew the sharp little teeth would rip it from the man's head. He made no move to interfere.

There were so many of them. All around him was a frenzy as he jabbed down, then up, swinging the gun this way and that. Yvette was a dynamo as she fired round after round from her gun.

When it was over, the snow was scarlet with German blood. Bodies, a dozen of them, lay in various states of mutilation. Reuben felt sick as he stared at the children back in their pine nest. He heard Mickey say, “You are a brave little army, the finest warriors France has ever known. We are not prisoners, we are…almost free.”

“Michelene, Michelene, you've been shot!” Yvette cried. “Reuben, she's been shot!”

“It…it is…it is nothing…”

Reuben was at her side in a second, ripping at her heavy coat. The children surrounded her, their faces fearful for the first time. Reuben examined the gaping hole in Mickey's chest.

“It is not…
nothing,
Mickey, it is…
something.
Something I…Hold still, don't move. Mickey, don't move and don't talk.” He looked around wildly. “Bandages…anything?” he asked helplessly. Yvette shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. Reuben's mind raced back to the Great War, when comrades' wounds were packed with snow until medical help arrived. With clumsy hands he ladled snow onto Mickey's bare chest. “It's all I can do,” he whispered, and closed her coat. He knew it wouldn't help. She was going to die, and he was powerless to stop it.

“Reuben…come closer,” Mickey whispered. “Take them over the border, leave me here. You must,
chéri.
I have never asked anything of you, but this…you must do. We have come too…far, they have gone through too much…you saw what they did…go, Reuben, go now.” She began to cough blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

“No, mademoiselle, either we go together or we stay,” Anna said firmly. “I speak for all of us.”

“No…it isn't safe.”

“I'll help you carry her,” Kort said to Reuben. Yvette wrung her hands, sobs racking her body, all hatred driven from her. Kort prodded her, none too gently.

Reuben gathered Mickey into his arms, and Kort helped him to his feet. He walked alongside, bracing one arm while Yvette braced the other. An hour later they were at the border, where willing hands led the tired band of Frenchmen to free soil.

There were no shouts of happiness, no tears shed for their freedom. The promise of hot food and warm beds was ignored as the tight little group stood at attention waiting…waiting for Mickey to give them their new orders.

But she was in a bed now, her wound receiving attention.

Reuben ushered the children into the warm kitchen, where bowls of thick soup and warm, crusty bread awaited them. A jug of milk stood in the center of the rough table next to thick slabs of yellow cake.

“Sit down and eat,” he ordered. When the children remained where they were, he said, “Mademoiselle Mickey said you are to eat. So you will eat, that is an order!”

The moment the door opened, Reuben shouldered his way past the old woman with her basin of warm water. She pulled him back out with a firm hand. “I could do nothing but try to make her comfortable. She will die in a bed on free soil. The bullet is too deep. Even if we had a doctor, a surgeon, it is too late.”

Death circled the room…waiting.
Not yet, please, not yet,
Reuben pleaded.

The cabin they were in was coarse, erected quickly and none too substantially for those crossing the border. There were cracks between the pine boards in the ceiling as well as in the walls. It was cold, but then, death was always cold, Reuben thought as he dropped to his knees by the side of the bed. There was so much he wanted to say, needed to say, to this wonderful woman.

“Reuben, the children, they are safe?” Mickey asked weakly.

He nodded. “They're all safe. They're eating now, thanks to you. Mickey, I…I want to tell you so many things…to try to explain…”

“There is no time, Reuben. I know…I've always known. What is in my heart is in yours…I must…I must…Philippe…”

“He told me to tell you he loves you,” Reuben said gently. “And he does. As much as I do.”

“I need your promise…Will you—”

“Mickey, save your strength, don't talk. Let me talk. I need to tell you everything. I'll do whatever you want, you know you have my promise…”

“Yvette…will go back to the Resistance…I promised the children…after the war…my promise, Reuben…especially Bruno. At the time I told them all the…stories…it was to insure their silence. They weren't really lies…When the war is over you will take them all to the château, and Yvette will join you…You can find someone to…look after them…I need to hear your promise, Reuben….”

“I promise,” Reuben said, biting down on his lip.

“In…in my backpack there is…the wineries, the château, they are yours. I…knew you would come back someday…You will hang the calendar and do all the things I…couldn't allow you to do years ago—” She coughed, blood trickling from her mouth and nose. Reuben wiped it away with the edge of the blanket.

“Rest now,” he murmured. “It is my turn to talk.” He held on to her hand and stroked her hair. Through his tears he saw her as she was when he'd first left her. Once again time stood still as he spoke of his life after leaving her.