She gagged from the imagined sensation.
Trees loomed over the pathway, but enough moonlight and firelight shined through so she couldn’t pretend to stumble in the dark. She couldn’t even trip on the hem of her dress anymore. The last time she’d done so, Beatrice had ordered her to hold her skirts high.
What other hope did she have? None.
Sebastiaan’s revenge was complete. In payment for her defiance, he’d stolen what she most treasured, her son. Now she’d die alone and forgotten.
Gray chiffon crumpled in her shivering grip. Gray as Oli.
Elephants never forget.“Olifanten vergeten nooit,”she murmured.
“What was that?” Beatrice said in a loud whisper.
Aleida shook her head. Even if her little boy no longer remembered her, even if the police ignored her death, God—God would never forget her.
“I told you.” Beatrice dug long fingernails into Aleida’s arm. “Not one sound.”
Aleida winced from the pain, but God remembered her. Even now. Even in the dark. Even with her footsteps drowned by the sounds of an air raid. Even as a foreigner in a foreign land.
He saw her. He remembered her. He loved her.
Just as the Lord held Theo in loving hands, he held her in his hands too.
He was with her. Live or die, she wasn’t alone.
Warm peace filled her, strengthened her. Live or die, yes—but she’d rather live.
Hugh—he wouldn’t forget her. If she died, he’d mourn the loss of another friend. Would he hold himself responsible for not coming to the banquet? Berate himself for not suspecting Beatrice earlier?
Would anyone even realize Beatrice was the killer? If Aleida lived, she could testify. She’d heard confessions to four murders. She had the duty to report them.
Somehow she had to break free.
Perhaps she could spin backward and break Beatrice’s grip. The woman would shoot, but if Aleida slipped through the trees, she might spoil her aim.
If only she could get the gun away from her.
Beatrice yanked Aleida between the trees and out into open lawn.
Toward the trenches.
Aleida’s heel sank into the grass, and she lurched to the side.
“Stop it.” Beatrice wrenched her closer.
Her heels ... the grass ... a delay ... a diversion?
She’d have only one chance, and she tossed up a prayer.
Her heel sank into the grass again, and she let it, made a show of it. “My heels. The soil is too soft.”
“Take them off.”
Aleida’s mind whirred. She wanted both shoes off so she could run. And she wanted time to plan.
With her right arm in Beatrice’s grasp, Aleida leaned over, lifted her left foot, fumbled under her skirts, and removed her shoe.
Taller than Aleida, Beatrice had to lean over to keep the gun pressed to Aleida’s ribs, to maintain her grip on Aleida’s right arm.
