Rescue came from an unexpected source. “I’ll buy you a new coat,” Mr. Hearst offered. “But I want the stories that each of you submit to accurately report the heroism of Lieutenant Delaney and nothing else. Is that understood?”
Delia tried to smooth things over. “We are very thankful for your hospitality, everyone, but I should get Finn back to the camp now. He isn’t feeling well.”
It was an understatement. He felt nauseous and was twitchy, hot and cold at the same time. Reaching for his cane, Finn walked with Delia out of the restaurant.
Finn still couldn’t understand what had caused him to physically attack an innocent man. Delia sat opposite him in the carriage on the ride home, looking at him in confusion. The theaters had just let out, and the horse-drawn vehicle crawled slowly toward Broad Street. It was a damp November evening and chilly inside the enclosed carriage. It was so cramped, his knees bumped against Delia’s.
“Well?” Delia asked pointedly.
“I promised Bertie I would never talk about how I got out of Belgium. Especially not to the press.”
Bertie wouldn’t mind sharing the story with Delia. Actually, he would probably urge Finn to inform her of the situation so that she could help prevent the truth from ever getting out. Anxiety made the damp chill feel even colder. He shifted on the bench to release some of the tension coiling in his muscles.
“I broke a lot of rules when I escaped from Belgium,” he said, clenching his fist at the memory of those desperate two days of fleeing. “You’ve got to swear not to tell this to anyone, as it could ruin everything for the CRB.”
“I promise,” she said.
It would be a relief to tell her. Even Bertie didn’t know exactly what had happened, and it was important for someone to know. Finn would rejoin the war soon, and if he died, nobody would ever know how a terrified fourteen-year-old kid worked up the courage to save Finn’s life.
“Belgium has canals that run everywhere,” he began. “They built those canals all the way back in medieval times, and they’re still used today. The canals turned out to be a blessing.”
Finn relayed how, after Germany had conquered Belgium, they seized control of the railroads, trains, horses, and automobiles. The canals were the only means by which the CRB could transport relief supplies to the interior of the country. They used barges to send sacks of wheat and oats from the Port of Rotterdam to distribution points throughout Belgium. When the local volunteers arrivedto pick it up, they would always return the empty sacks from the previous week to be reused. The sacks were called “empties.”
Finn got to a distribution point with the help of Mathilde’s oldest son, Pieter, who was only fourteen, but war turned boys into men very quickly. He and Pieter hitched a ride on a wagon, which was heading to the distribution point loaded with hundreds of empties—canvas sacks to be returned to the barge.
It was a miserably cold, windy, and rainy night. They chose the night carefully, knowing the German guards were more likely to huddle inside the checkpoint shack rather than venture out for a close inspection of the barge.
Pain shot up Finn’s leg as he hobbled toward the barge tied up to the landing. A flickering light from a single oil lamp cast dim illumination over the checkpoint. Water sloshed against the wooden sides of the barge, and chains emitted a rhythmic clank as it rocked in the choppy water. Rain spattered the riverbanks and sent up the loamy smell of mud and wet canvas.
Two guards sat inside the checkpoint shack, sipping from steaming mugs. The Germans were rigorous when inspecting goods as they were being off-loaded from the barge, though they paid little attention to the locals who returned the empties.
Finn had to hobble on his own two feet as he carried armfuls of canvas sacks aboard. He clenched his teeth against the pain as he twisted his body to climb down the short ladder onto the barge’s deck that rose and fell with the waves. Pieter was right behind, carrying his own load of empties. The Dutch crew looked the other way as Finn went to the covered hold and eased himself down on the thick pile of sacks. The prickly canvas itched, and wheat dust swirled in the air.
“Bonne chance,” Pieter said quietly as he mounded sacks atop Finn’s.
Finn reached out to shake Pieter’s hand. “You’re a good kid,” he whispered in French. “I’ve flown with a lot of daring pilots, and you’re as brave as any of them.”
Pieter’s grin gleamed in the dim light. Their shared journey through darkness and danger would bind them together forever.
It took the better part of a day as donkeys pulled the barge slowly along the canal through a string of Belgian villages. Finn had no interaction with the Dutch crew. The helmsman and the line handler knew he was there, yet they never talked to him and instead kept their distance.
“Delia, those men risked their lives to get me out of Belgium. So did Pieter.”
Delia had the strangest expression as she gazed at him. “I’m envious. I think I would be scared to pieces if I had to do what Pieter did. I wish I could be brave like that.”
He laughed and swallowed back the lump in his throat. “Dee, we wereallscared to pieces. Sometimes you have to saddle up anyway and get the job done.”
“Why are you so worried about this story getting out? Nobody can identify those men on the barge, and there’s no need to bring Pieter’s name into it.”
He shook his head. “The Germans have been suspicious of the CRB since the beginning, but they were getting such bad press about denying free food to the Belgians that they finally caved due to the pressure—provided nobody working for the CRB cooperated with the Allies. By hiding me on that barge, that was exactly what they were doing. The Germans have no proof I leaned on the CRB to escape, and I need to keep it that way.”
At first Finn hadn’t understood how he could have endangered the CRB’s reputation for neutrality when he hitched that ride on the barge. Now he did, and he would do whatever was necessary to ensure Mathilde, Pieter, and all the other Belgians would continue to benefit from the humanitarian mission.
16
Fundraising over the next two weeks was more successful than Delia could have imagined. Despite Finn’s flash of temper displayed at the restaurant, Mr. Hearst’s newspapers came through for them in spectacular fashion. From coast to coast, Finn’s dashing photograph graced the newspapers, and his exploits inspired a nation. Mr. Hearst loved the story of the little girl who had offered Finn her cookies, and he hired an artist to create a drawing of a barefoot girl with a forlorn face, offering a cookie to a wounded soldier.
New donations flooded in from across the country. Churches held fundraisers, corporations wrote hefty checks, and even the Red Cross kicked in a few dollars. Most of these were one-time donations, and yet Delia gladly marked them down in the ledger to help rebuild the CRB’s bank account.
