His bitter reunion with Delia led to a restless night, and he was bleary-eyed upon awakening. While he didn’t need Delia to agree about the money or his views on the war, they were going to beworking together. They needed to respect each other, and that meant opening her eyes to what was going on overseas.
He rose early and headed to the camp library in search of a particular publication. Camp Mills carried a number of newspapers shipped in from all over Europe, but there was only one he was interested in, and he prayed they had a copy.
The screen door creaked as he entered the hastily constructed library that smelled of sawdust and printer’s ink. The bare plank floors squeaked as he entered, and the young soldier manning the library desk snapped to attention, saluting Finn with brisk precision.
“At ease,” Finn said, still uncomfortable with his new status as an Army officer. He moved to the rack of newspapers on the far wall. The American press was doing a decent job of publicizing German atrocities, even though Delia dismissed it as propaganda. She’d probably feel the same about what was written in the British and French newspapers. While the American newspapers were all current, the foreign papers shipped from France were at least two weeks old, and none of them were from Belgium.
Maybe the library hadn’t gotten their hands on any issues of the specific newspaper he needed. He pulled up a chair, set his crutches aside, and began searching the stacks of newspapers.
“Can I help you, sir?” the desk clerk asked.
“Have you got any issues ofLa Libre Belgique?”
“La what?” the younger man asked.
“It’s a clandestine newspaper circulated by the resistance fighters in Belgium. A few copies usually find their way to the French newsstands. Have you seen it?”
“No, but I’ve only been here three days, sir.”
Finnneededthat newspaper. It contained the best insight into occupied Belgium, and since Delia wouldn’t believe him, perhaps she would believe the Belgians.
“I’ll help you, sir.” The clerk stepped forward to look throughthe various newspapers. Dust swirled into the air, and Finn watched with growing dismay as the piles of newspapers grew shorter.
“There!” the clerk said. Buried behind a stack of imported French newspapers was a single issue ofLa Libre Belgique. It was two months old. The flimsy issue, only eight pages long, had yellowed and was stiff. Cheap paper aged quickly, but this newspaper was rare and precious. People had risked their lives producing this newspaper.
His heart thudded as he stared at the newspaper. “Can I have it?”
“People are supposed to check them out,” the soldier said, and Finn gladly complied.
He tucked the paper beneath his arm as he made his way across the camp to meet Delia. People from New York had no experience of what it was like to be a prisoner in their own homeland, gasping for breath while being crushed by an iron fist.La Libre Belgiquereported everything ordinary Belgians experienced on a daily basis.
A little bell rang as he entered the Hostess House run by the Red Cross. It was a good place for a quick snack, a friendly card game, and a little relaxation. The scent of freshly baked bread and hot coffee got his blood going as he entered the large A-frame building. Men occupied wicker chairs arranged around card tables, where they read newspapers or played board games with each other. Finn ordered a cup of coffee and a doughnut, then headed to a seating area near the back to start reading. After three years of living in France, Finn could speak the language, but reading French was still a struggle.
Just as he’d hoped, General Ryckman featured prominently in many of the articles. There was only one person in the world Finn deeply and thoroughly loathed, and his name was General Hans Ryckman, the German officer currently serving as the commandant over occupied Belgium. War was never pretty, but General Ryckman used unnecessarily harsh methods to keep Belgium compliant beneath his steel-toed boot.
Finn concentrated on translating the article. The commandant’s latest edict required all Belgians to obey a six o’clock curfew each evening. The next line said something about random inspections of people’s homes in search of contraband. He didn’t even look up when the waitress refilled his coffee because all of a sudden it felt as though he were back in Belgium, huddled in the front room of Mathilde’s cottage.
A single candle flickered, and the curtains were drawn as he listened to men of the Belgian resistance strategize ways to avoid the general’s henchmen. A fine sheen of clammy sweat broke out across his skin. Even now, the friends Finn had made in Belgium were suffering under Ryckman’s oppressive rule. His stomach soured. Here he sat eating a doughnut while his friends in Belgium couldn’t enjoy a single breath of freedom. He blotted the sweat from his face with a jittery hand.
The trembling was odd. Maybe his hands shook because of the coffee. Or maybe it was that Delia was on her way, and he needed this morning’s meeting to go better than the one yesterday.
He closed his eyes.Dear God,please give me the patience to keep my head when Delia gets here.I did her wrong,I know that. I’ve tried to make it up to her, but I don’tknow how best to do that. I wanted her forgiveness for selfish reasons, but now we’ve got to worktogether to save Mathilde and millions of other Belgians from starvation. And that’s not going to happen if shecan’t look at me without wanting to sock me in the jaw. Please give me patience.
He opened his eyes, relieved that his trembling had eased, and returned to reading the news from Belgium.
At dawn the next morning, Delia set off for Camp Mills with her best friend, Inga, recently back in New York after three years of working at the American Embassy in Berlin. Inga had married an American diplomat during her time abroad and now worked as a telegraph operator for the Red Cross. Temporarily assignedto the new station near Camp Mills, Inga accompanied Delia to the U.S. Army base on Long Island.
The first leg of the journey was a ferry ride to Long Island. The benches were all filled, leaving the two of them to grip the cold metal railing of the ferry as it crossed the East River. Chilly mist gathered on her cheeks, and the murky air carried the scent of salt and industry.
“How does Finn feel about working with you?” Inga asked.
Delia winced at the memory of how they had parted last night. No matter their history or her disapproval of the war, she shouldn’t have insulted a man who had been wounded in combat.
“We argued,” she confessed. “He’s so convinced the war is right and refuses to see reason. We’ll both do our jobs, but I’ll be counting down the hours for it to end.”
“And then you’ll go back working for Wesley?”
Inga’s question hung in the air. Delia still couldn’t quite believe her audacity of the night before. Standing in front of Wesley and the entire board of the CRB while she cleanly severed her ties to Wesley still didn’t feel real.
