Chapter One
March 1944
The icy
breeze rushed past the generalmajor and the headmaster’s wife and cascaded over
the parapet, crossed the island of Helierhou, and plunged into the English
Channel. The Normandy Coast sparkled
white across the glimmering blue-green to the east. Sark, Jersey and Guernsey lay south, just
visible from the top of the ancient stone fortifications on which they
stood. One hundred years ago, the
skeletal stone parapet became the foundation of Helierhou’s Academy for
Dependent Children. In the 17th
century, it was a stronghold for various refugee Royalists. Prior to that, it was a monastery which
housed Catholic monks from 1400 until the Presbyterian Synod took over during
the 1600’s. Over the last three years,
it has housed the island’s headquarters for the German occupation force.
Wild
flowers – bluebells and daisies – scented the air despite it being only early
spring and vied with fish smells of the harbor to the west and the village of
Gueschlin nestled along the shore.
A plane
flew overhead quite low, and the two people watched it land in the airstrip
just past Helierhou’s forest.
“That will
be my replacement.”
She nodded
to the old man shrunken beneath his heavy woolen and ermine coat.
“Oberst Karl von Kruppstieg is a
fine man by accounts. Combat trained,
aristocrat by birth, but this is his first war, so he’s still hungry.”
She nodded
again.
He leaned
his shoulder against hers, “So be careful.”
She met
his eyes.
“I wish
you would come with me. You wouldn’t need travel documents at my side. You know you’d be welcomed.”
“Thank
you, but I belong here.”
“There are
children you could teach in Germany. My
grandchildren could use you as a governess.
My wife wants you to come.”
She turned
and took his hands, warming them in her own.
“When the war ends, come back.
You and your wife will be most welcome in my home.”
A car
wound through the forest towards the academy.
“It
depends on how the war ends…”
“Not to
me.”
He kissed
her forehead and they began the slow descent down the parapet’s icy stone
steps.
At the
base of the stairs, she glanced at the newcomer. He stood in the foyer; well-balanced muscles
and height; shoulders broad without looking like a beast of burden; tight butt
and narrow hips without a hint of femininity. Blonde and blue eyed, but his
skin had had a hard time with chicken pox.
The smell of him – crisp aftershave, pipe tobacco and male sweat –
wafted toward the headmaster’s wife. She
blinked in surprise at the desire his presence imbued. She was not one swayed by desires – denied to
her for so long - but her skin tingled of its own accord. Then his eyes met hers.
Power. Power was embedded within the flesh of his
face. Intelligence marbled his
features. He was at the age when men are
truly men, somewhere between 38 and 55, when the number of years lived no
longer matters, but the way these years are spent means everything.
Oberst Kruppstieg
didn’t smile, but he licked his lips and inclined his head. He turned to the man at her side and saluted,
“Generalmajor Brucke, I bring you greetings from Berlin. My orders.”
He handed an envelope to the tall thin man.
Brucke gave
them a cursory glance and pocketed them. “Come to my – your new office.”
The
headmaster’s wife walked past the Oberst, trailing a light scent of French
lavender. “I’ll bring you coffee after
I’ve settled your valet.”
It was
hard to tell, swathed as she was in a worn woolen shawl, but Karl got a definite
impression of sensuousness about her.
She moved like a tree sprite from out of the Nordic legends, sure of her
feet and the paths they trod. She belonged here; he could almost see the
ethereal threads binding her to this place and this place to her.
The
commandants sat, first the Generalmajor behind his desk, then the Oberst in the
rich leather and mahogany armchair beside the matching couch.
“Did you
have a pleasant journey?”
No, he had
not. But truth mattered little here where courtesy and form must hold
sway. “Yes, thank you.”
“How is
your father?”
Von
Kruppstieg raised an eyebrow at this informality.
“I knew
him. Served with him during the Great
War. We were in the cavalry
together. Your father sat a horse better
than –“
A light
tap on the door interrupted him. Both
men said, “Come.”
A
gefreiter opened the door and the headmaster’s wife carried a large wooden tray
to the buffet. The soldier grinned at
the new commandant; his uniform was neat and tidy, but too large for such a
young boy. As with most replacements at
this point in the war, he was barely older than fifteen.
Von
Kruppstieg looked again at the young private.
“Schmidt? Wilhelm?”
The boy’s
grin brightened into an adorable smile.
“Yes, sir. It is me.”
“I had no
idea you knew your new oberst. Why
didn’t you mention it, Schmidt?” Brucke asked.
The boy
reddened and looked at his feet.
Von
Kruppstieg gently came to his rescue.
“You look very fine in your uniform, private. It suits you well. Do you like it better than the livery?”
The boy
opened his mouth but frowned, unsure which answer would be best. “I am proud to be in the army.”
“But?”
“I miss
the horses.”
“I would
imagine they miss you, too. You have a
gift for horses, Wilhelm. And I’m sure my
children miss you, too. I will call you if we need anything.”
Wilhelm
saluted and quietly shut the door behind him.
Brucke and
Delamair exchanged glances. They had
both grown fond of the teenager. When he
was off-duty, Wilhelm played with the students rather than drink with the other
soldiers. He and an orphan by the name
of Pettigrew had become fast friends; Wilhelm taught him how to ride and
Pettigrew taught him how to read. The
fact that the new colonel also knew and liked the boy boded well for him.
Without speaking, the woman poured
two large cups with coffee and dropped a single sugar cube in one, followed by
a small dollop of cream. She ignored the utilitarian mugs the kitchen always
set beside the tray. She used the china
set her brother-in-law had given her as a wedding present. The pattern was Blue Willow and it was a
testament to her mind-set that even though the Germans occupied her island,
they were still guests in her house. She
brought the cup and saucer to Brucke and asked, “How do you like your coffee,
Colonel?”
“The appropriate
term is Oberst,” he corrected her.
Excerpt from
The
Island Remains
© Evelyn Rainey
Whiskey Creek Publishing
ISBN tba June 2014
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