Excerpt from The Island Remains Chapter Four

Wilhelm was enjoying his Sunday off.  He had just spent two hours in the stables and now was going to the church for morning services.  The path led him beside a small orchard of crabapples.

“Ow! Damnation!” The sound of ripped cloth accompanied the oath.

Wilhelm stopped and peered up into the tree.  “Pettigrew?”

“Bloody hell, keep your voice down, Willy, or Somersby will find us.”  Another sound of ripping and then the boughs danced.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m stealing apples.”

“You shouldn’t do that.  They belong to the Reverend.”

“That’s why it’s called stealing.” The teen stuck his head out and grinned.  “Come up and help me.”

“No!”

“Willy, I need your help.  My sleeve’s caught on a branch.”

“Oh.” Wilhelm climbed over the stone fence and reached for a low branch.  “Quiet!  Someone’s coming!”

“Quick! Get up here!”

The boy scrambled up and joined his friend.

The blonde hair and pink dress of their tag-a-long appeared as she climbed over the wall.  “I see you.”

“Go away, Gertrude,” Pettigrew hissed.

“I’m not!  I want to steal apples, too.”

“They are crabapples, Trudy.  Very bitter.  Sour.” Wilhelm tried to dissuade her.

“They are sweet at the top of the tree.”  She began to climb.

“No, Gertrude, you’ll fall and get hurt.  The branches are thin up there!”

The German reached for her in response to the panic in Pettigrew’s voice.

“I can do it.  I’m light.”  She passed by the boys and reached out for the bright red fruit.

Distracted by Gertrude, the boys had forgotten to watch out for the Reverend.  His voice boomed up at them, “I know you’re up there.  Come down at once!”

The three children obeyed.

“Pettigrew! And Willy!  Not you, too, Gertrude!” He stood with his hands on his hips towering over them.  “Just what did you think you were doing?”

Gertrude grinned, “We were stealing your apples!”

“Stealing?” He roared, “Thou shall not steal!”

Wilhelm stepped forward, sheltering the other two behind him.  “That’s in the Bible, sir.”

“Of course it’s in the Bible!”

“Pettigrew taught me to read the Bible.  Well, some of it.  And I read that part out loud last night.”

“You should have taken it to heart, boy.”

“Willy wasn’t stealing, Reverend.  He was only helping me get my shirt unstuck.”

Wilhelm pointed to Pettigrew’s shoulder.

“You’re bleeding.” The Reverend’s face clouded with concern.

“Are you going to die?” Gertrude grabbed his hand.  “Are you going to die like our momma?”

“Be silent, Trudy,” Willy scolded.  “Of course he is not going to die.”

“Promise? Promise me, Willy?”

“Gertrude, enough.” To the boys, the Reverend stated, “I need two altar boys this morning.  We’ll clean your wound and bandage you up before putting on your robes.”

Pettigrew opened his mouth to protest but was overrun by Willy’s excitement, “I can be an altar boy? Wirklich?  You’ll let me march down the aisle and light the candles?”

Somersby smiled.

“And we’ll get to wear robes,” Pettigrew supported Willy’s enthusiasm.

“I want to be an altar boy, too!”

“You can’t be an altar boy,” Willy argued.  “You’re a girl.”

“Girls should get to be altar boys,” she insisted as they all walked up to the church.

“Heaven forbid,” Somersby laughed.  “Next you’ll be telling me you want to be a priest.”

“You could be a nun,” Willy suggested.

“We’re not Catholic,” Pettigrew corrected him.

“Well, you could sing in the choir, then.”

She liked that idea so much, she serenaded them into the church.

#

“How is the headmaster?” Luther and Karl stood as Delamair settled their coffee tray.

“He’s over the worst.  We’re sending him to his brother’s next week, once he can travel.”

“Next week?” Karl’s voice deepened.

“The doctor has a car; he’ll be able to come Friday morning and transport him and help him settle in.”

“You’re not going?” Luther asked.

“I’m needed here.  The doctor will be staying with him at the manor.”

“Oh,” Luther didn’t hide his disgust.  Karl looked questioningly between the two.  She was pale, Luther was red-faced.  With a sudden clarity, Karl despised the headmaster.

Luther took a cup from her.  “So, you will be very busy this week.  Don’t forget to find a refuge for yourself.  You and the Old Man used to sit out in the garden.  Do you still visit it?”

She glanced at Karl and replied, “Yes.  It’s my second favorite place.”

His eyes twinkled.

#

They sat together in the garden and talked long into the night, but they discussed nothing of a personal nature.  They bantered jokes and debated politics, brushed on religion.  He walked her to the base of the stairs and took her hand in both of his.  He drew it to his mouth and kissed it.  He turned it over and pressed his lips into her palm.

He whispered, “Tomorrow night?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her hand again and watched her ascend the stairs.

The next night, he brought a bottle of wine and two glasses and they discussed Wagner and Da Vince; impressionists versus romantics.  She had never been to Paris, so he described the wonders of the Louvre.

The third night, she brought a basket of blackberries she’d gathered that morning.  They took turns feeding each other until he could bare it no longer.  He began licking her fingers, nibbling them as she laughed.  He kissed her then, while she was still laughing and released her before his passion grew too intense.

He stood and clicked his heels.  “Until tomorrow night, my Vor.” It took all his will power, but he left her still sitting on the bench.

She was late the next night and found him pacing.

“I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I was packing for Thomas but he doesn’t understand why he has to go.  He kept taking his clothes out of the case.  I finally got him settled.”

“Why do you have separate beds?”

She stood before him and stared up at the sky.

“Delamair,” he stepped closer.  “Does he make love to you?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Never?” He leaned in.

“Never.”

“How can you bear it?  To never be touched.  To never know that special bond between man and wife?”

She shrugged.

“You knew it once.  Your child-“

She stepped back as if he had slapped her.

“I think your husband is either a pervert or a fool.  What kind of husband is he to ignore your needs?”

“What kind of husband are you, to want to make love to me?”

It was he who felt slapped.

“Good night, Colonel.”

He continued pacing after she walked away.

Excerpt from

The Island Remains

© Evelyn Rainey

Whiskey Creek Publishing

ISBN tba June 2014

Excerpt from The Island Remains Chapter Three

April 1944

 

The moonlight lit a thin trail into the trees just beyond the flower gardens but before the vegetable gardens.  It was a cool night, but warm enough for only his jacket.  Karl followed the path, enjoying his solitude.  Night sounds filled his ears and the scent of lavender lingered.

He didn’t see her until she shifted on the garden bench nestled in a cove of trees.  He walked to her hidden refuge and stood before her.  Her hair was braided down her right side.  An aquamarine stole draped her shoulders, although the color was hard to define in the moonlight.  Her legs were covered with a woven skirt and her feet shod in those sheep skin boots she’d worn two days earlier.

“You are out after curfew.”

She released a deep sigh.  “I often am.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“It’s too beautiful a night to be trapped indoors.”

“Trapped – in a warm bed with your husband?” A branch shifted in the light breeze and moonlight caressed her cheeks.  “You’d rather sit on a cold bench in the garden than be in bed with him?”

“I’d rather be up on my parapet, gazing out to sea.”

“De la mair.”

She looked at the ground rather than continue being locked in his gaze.  “Yes.  My husband named me the lady who came from the sea.”

He sat beside her. “So, Stabsrichter Sizemore – I hear you call him Captain Luther – tells me your brother-in-law’s daughter’s child is not the only German bastard born here.”

“What a harsh word – bastard.”

“They are not married.  It is the correct term.”

“They are not legally married because you Germans have forbidden it.  But they are married – one flesh – personified in their baby.”

“How romantic.” He leaned back and stretched his arm along the back of the bench. “It is quite peaceful here.”

“Jacob loved it.  This was his favorite place.”

“Were you lovers?”

She turned to face him.  “No.  No, nothing like that.  He missed his wife every moment.”

“He told me you weren’t his mistress, but sometimes a man will lie to protect a woman he loves.”

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Lie to protect someone you love.”

He stretched his legs out in front of him and studied her face.  “A man of honor may refrain from telling the truth, but he would rarely lie.”

“And are you a man of honor?”

He started to trace his fingertips around her right shoulder, slowly pulling her closer to him.  When she began to resist, he whispered, “I want you.”

She stiffened.  “No.”

“Yes.  I do.  I think I always have, since time began.”

She blinked and breathed deeply.  The smell of him, the warmth of him, his gentle words filled her with a dangerous yearning.

He cupped her face with his left hand while drawing her closer with his right arm firmly around her shoulders.  “You want me, too.  I see it in your eyes when you look at me.  I feel it on your skin when you are near. You want me to know every inch of you.”

“Stop.” Panicked that she might not be able to resist him, she tried to stand but he wouldn’t let her.  “Let me go.  Karl, let me go!”

She covered her face with her hands; the rope burn scars were brilliant in the moonlight.

He released her.  “I’m sorry.  Delamair, forgive me.  I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She stood and straightened her skirt.  In a cold voice which masked her heat, she assured him, “I told you, nothing frightens me.  Good night.”

#

He was finalizing the morning’s work when he heard men whispering in obvious delight.  He followed the sound and discovered three soldiers hanging out the window, staring at something behind the kitchen.

“Look, there’s another one.”

“I bet it’s silk.  It sways like silk.”

“If I could, I’d buy her a red negligée, just to watch her hang it out.”

“That’s not all I’d want her to do with a red silk –“

The oberst cleared his throat.

Three startled soldiers spun around and saluted.

“The women of this academy are not to be molested in any way.”

They stared ahead, blinking in embarrassment.

“Report to Stabsfeldwebel Danon and tell him you are to have extra duties for a week.  Dismissed.”

They clicked their heels and marched quickly out of the room.

The scent of lavender teased him.  He stuck his head out the window.  Delamair stood below him behind the kitchen, pinning beautiful things to the clothes line.  He grinned and headed down to join her.

She heard him approach but continued with her laundry.  “We were given this spot to hang our personal items, so your men wouldn’t ogle them.”

“I needed to make sure you weren’t hanging out nauchrichten - signal flags.”  He reached out one finger and ran it lightly down the white negligée. “Silk signal flags.”

She glared at him, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

He reached for a camisole and fingered the lace.  “I remember this one.  You had it on underneath the olive blouse Sunday.”  He pulled it to his face and sniffed.  “You bent over.  It was quite pretty; your breasts – plump against the silk.”  He released the camisole.  “Your husband never noticed.  He never does.”

Her eyes widened and she swallowed.

“I like that you blush.  So few women do.”  He turned away, unpinned the camisole, and took it with him.

Excerpt from

The Island Remains

© Evelyn Rainey

Whiskey Creek Publishing

ISBN tba June 2014

Excerpt from The Island Remains Chapter Two

March 1944

 

            Stabsrichter Luther Sizemore kept an eye on the dining hall door.  When the new commandant entered, Luther stood to attention and made note of his staff who were slow to do so.  He had read Von Kruppstieg’s dossier.  He was old school, trained and molded between the wars.

            “At ease,” the Oberst allowed.

Luther was at his side immediately; deferential without being subservient.  Karl had met with him earlier and liked the young man.  Karl wasn’t in the habit of liking men under his command.

            Together, they walked toward the group of civilians.

            “Herr Oberst, this is Headmaster Thomas Appleton.”

            Of the four men in front of him, Karl was surprised to discover this man of at least sixty years was married to Brucke’s much younger friend. He was twice her age.  He bore intelligent features, bushy eyebrows, an aquiline nose, and fleshy lips – not unkind, but somehow unwholesome.  Appleton was tall and broad shouldered, but soft in an academic’s fashion.  The sweater vest over his shirt was frayed at the buttons, but the professorial cloak was shiny clean.

            The headmaster did not offer his hand, nor did the oberst.  Karl felt an immediate dislike for Thomas, much the same way two dogs in a dockyard raise their hackles on sight.

            Thomas introduced him to the three other islanders in quick and efficient, if bloodless, fashion.  “Beckert – professor of Math and Science.  Stuart – history and geography. Lanz – languages.”

            Rather than allow Thomas his coup, Karl smiled charmingly at Lanz, “Which ones?”

The young man paled, looked desperately at Appleton for guidance, and then answered, “German, English, French, Latin.  The students speak the various Norman dialects, so I have learned those as well – Auregniais, Dgernesiais, Jerriais, and Sercquiais.  And of course, the children from Heleirhou speak Heliersiais. It depends on which island the students were born, don’t you see.  Auregniais is almost – well – it is almost lost.  They have all abandoned that island since this occupation – only six people are left on Auberney. Six islanders, that is.  There’s no one to speak it.”  His voice fell to a whisper, “Don’t you see.”

Lanz was younger than the other professors, about the same age as Luther.  But where Luther was tall and handsome with an easy smile and healthy teeth, Lanz was stoop-shouldered on his left side and had the clammy grey skin of an addict.  It was easy to understand why he was left behind when his peers went off to war.

            “You have no female professors?”

            The math professor scoffed.  “They eat in the kitchen.  Well, the servants’ hall.  Same thing.”

The history professor peered out of thick glasses, “Better for the men, so they may relax without the attention to decorum required when there are ladies present.”

Appleton smirked, “Better for your officers.”

            Karl stared without comment at the patch of oily skin between Appleton’s eyebrows, ignoring the implied insult.

            “Here is Reverend Somersby,” Appleton sounded relieved as a man in black trousers, white shirt and cleric’s collar strode directly to Karl and stuck out a hand.  “Colonel, welcome to Helierhou.”

“It’s,” Lanz interrupted nervously.  “It’s Oberst.  Not Colonel.”

            “Yes, thank you, Geoffrey.”  Without taking a breath, Somersby continued.  “Sorry I’m late. Young Pettigrew needed a thrashing – insolent pup.  Well, shall we pray?”

The officers and academics bowed their heads as the Reverend’s voice boomed, “Grant us Thy bounty.  Forgive us our sins.  Create in us clean hearts and strong hands.  Let us never forget thy loving kindness and mercy in the face of eternal damnation.  Amen.”

Soldiers from the culinary corps served a buffet line loaded with fish, potatoes, green vegetables and Kaiser rolls.  The men waited.  Karl walked to the buffet and found Appleton at his side.  The Reverend was next, followed by Luther.  The remaining faculty and staff officers fell in line according to rank.

Appleton and his faculty sat at the far end of the table in an isolated clump.  Luther waited for Karl and then sat beside him. 

“I would like to tour the island tomorrow, but I have discovered my chauffer has only just arrived himself.”

            Luther offered, “Mrs. Appleton knows the island better than anyone born here.  After dinner, we can stop by the kitchens and ask her.”

            “Who else has to eat in the kitchen?”

            “Most of the students go home at the end of classes, but nine children live here – some are orphans, others are boarded here and didn’t get sent off the island to England before we arrived.  The headmaster’s maiden sister teaches the younger children basic reading and writing.  Matron Wellington – she’s the nurse – teaches recreation and health.  There are two cooks, Mr. and Mrs. Leloir.  She’s a good cook unless she’s angry.  He doesn’t say much, but he takes good care of the children.  The four of them sleep in two suites next to the children’s dorm.  Mr. Leloir’s brother was the gardener, but he died at Michaelmas.”

“You’re Catholic?”

“Not practicing.  I’m German.  It takes all my faith to remain so.”

            Karl played with his food but eventually surrendered his knife and fork.

            “Are you well?”

Karl grimaced and looked away.  “A long journey.  A slight headache.”  He sipped from his water goblet.  “And the rest of the villagers and farmers – how do they fare after almost four years under our wings?”

            “Better than the other islands.  Much better.  The Old Man billeted soldiers – three to a farm – and they work the land and keep the livestock. Other soldiers go out in fishing boats, so we are good with fish and vegetables with an occasional pig or sheep.”

            “The Old Man?” he put a slightly cold twinge to the words as a warning.
            “Generlmajor Brucke.  No offense, sir.”

            Karl nodded.  “He sounds like a wise squire.”

            “Eventually,” Luther sounded hesitant.

            Karl waited, expecting an explanation.

            “It took some convincing, but Mrs. Appleton finally got the Old – Herr Generalmajor to see the benefit in keeping soldiers busy and the island well-kept and productive.”

“The headmaster’s wife?”

Excerpt from

The Island Remains

© Evelyn Rainey

Whiskey Creek Publishing

ISBN tba June 2014

Excerpt from The Island Remains Chapter One

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 17^th 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