“And when shall you hear back from New York?” Sister Agatha asked, her smile still tight. It was good the children had so fierce an advocate on their behalf, but Delia intended to visit the orphanage to verify the number of children before sending an appeal to New York.
“As soon as I can verify the number of children in your care, I will send the message.”
Both nuns instantly stood. “Come with us now,” Sister Gita said.
Delia couldn’t help but admire the two women with their barrage of relentless charm, fought on behalf of their young charges. Working for the CRB had never been easy, and it was likely to get even more heartbreaking as the war continued.
38
Finn placed one foot in front of the other, concentrating on the open door at the end of the corridor. It was time for his hour of exercise in the prison yard. Each step triggered a flash of pain that shot up his leg like fiery needles.
Every day he looked forward to this blessed hour in the fresh air, where he could see the sky and the clouds and the sun. Walking hurt, and his feet were getting progressively worse. The only thing he knew to do for the strange, prickly condition was to walk despite the pain.
He squinted against the afternoon glare as he headed into the yard. His eyesight was getting worse too, but he could still see coils of barbed wire topping the granite walls. It was completely unnecessary since neither Finn nor any of the other prisoners had the strength to scale a wall. All of them were suffering from the same debilitating sensation in their feet and hands.
Father Gerhardt was in the worst shape. The old priest sat on a bench in the shade of a scraggly oak tree. Finn lifted his hand in a wave and smiled when the gesture was returned.
Finn wanted to complete at least two laps of the yard before joining Father Gerhardt. Bracing a hand on the grainy stone wallhelped keep him steady as he walked, his eyes fastened on the glorious sky above. It was filled with more cirrus clouds today, those wispy clouds found at high altitudes. He’d read once that they were composed entirely of ice crystals. He had never been able to get his plane high enough to fly through them.
It was a relief when he finally completed the second lap and headed toward the benches. Father Gerhardt had been joined by Lucas de Koning, the youngest prisoner here. Lucas had been a music student before the war but got caught sabotaging a railroad the Germans used to transport weapons. Now he was just another prisoner with swollen feet and bad vision.
Finn lowered himself onto the wooden bench opposite the two men and glanced at Gerhardt’s feet, covered only by a pair of socks. The old priest’s feet had gotten so swollen that they could no longer fit into his shoes.
“How are your feet?”
“Good,” Gerhardt replied. “They don’t hurt so much anymore. It’s my heart that is bad today. It has been racing ever since I awoke this morning. So fast it makes me dizzy.”
Finn winced and looked away. Jacob Vinke, one of the prisoners who’d been here for two years, had complained of the exact same symptoms. The pain in his feet eased, and then his heart started acting strangely. He died a few days later. Jacob had been a young man, but Father Gerhardt was seventy-three. If he didn’t get decent medical help, he would probably follow Jacob into the grave.
“Maybe the war will be over soon,” Finn said, and Lucas’s young face brightened as he leaned forward to speak in a conspiratorial whisper.
“I heard that a German general carried a white flag across enemy lines somewhere in France.”
A jolt of hope speared Finn’s heart. “Where did you hear that?”
“Some of the guards were gossiping.”
Father Gerhardt frowned. “That doesn’t sound like the behaviorof a German general. They may want peace talks, but they wouldn’t ever let themselves be seen carrying a white flag.”
Yet was talk of surrender impossible? The American forces were probably at full strength by now. Over a million Americans were destined to be sent to the front, a development the Germans probably never expected when they started the war.
“The rainy season is coming up,” Finn said. “That means the tanks will get mired in mud, and the Allies won’t be able to break through the German lines.”
“No,” Lucas said. “The British have better tanks and—”
“Hush,” Father Gerhardt said with a quick glance to the door.
A cook with a gimpy leg hobbled into the yard, his limp so pronounced that water in his bucket sloshed over the side. All conversation ceased. It was impossible to know if this fellow was a wounded German sent here for light duty or a conscripted Belgian, but he was headed toward them.
The cook didn’t even meet their eyes as he offered a ladle of water to Father Gerhardt, who drank greedily. This was odd. They’d never had someone providing them with water before, and as soon as the priest had his fill, the cook dipped the ladle again, then offered it to Finn.
He took the ladle and sniffed the water. It didn’t smell off, and he was perpetually thirsty and couldn’t resist.
The water slid down his throat like a cool, blessed stream, alleviating the summer’s heat and clearing away the grit that had settled within him. Water from heaven itself surely didn’t taste this good.
“Thank you,” he said as he returned the ladle to the young man, who still refused to look at him before shuffling away to offer water to other prisoners in the yard.
Fatigue had set in, but Finn still had a little more time outdoors. Talk of a German officer with the white flag was surely a rumor. Belief that the Americans entering the war would magically cause a ceasefire was only wishful thinking. Peace might not come for months or even years, and unless he kept exercising, his conditionwould likely get worse, and he’d find himself as bad off as Father Gerhardt.
