The Stolen Years

He was about to undress her, but his hip brought him to a grinding halt. Swearing under his breath, he smiled apologetically, wondering what the hell to do. To his surprise, she turned her back to him and kneeled forward, leaning on the bed. Twisting her neck, she smiled invitingly. Gavin got behind her. Raising the stiff skirt above her waist, he gazed through the shadows at her pert, shapely bottom, encased in the ugly suspenders that held up thick regulation stockings.

Fumbling with excitement, he undid his pajamas, all danger forgotten as she raised her buttocks in a brazen demand for satisfaction, and slipped his fingers between her firm thighs, savoring her need, her stifled gasps, prolonging the moment for as long as he could before entering her with a swift, hard thrust. She moaned softly, writhing as he grasped her waist, and they fell into a frantic rhythm. When he came, he spewed all the pain, doubt and anger of the past months, and let out a sigh of satisfaction as he leaned against her, still feeling her throb. Then, as he opened his eyes, he heard Annelise mutter a strange name in a muffled whisper. All at once, he realized with a shock why she hadn’t wanted to look into his eyes. They were the wrong ones.

The sound of boots squelching in the mud had him extricating himself hastily. He pulled up his pajamas, while Annelise straightened her skirt and fumbled on the floor for her hairpins. Retrieving them, she gave her hair an expert twist, and he handed her the cap, laying a finger over his lips and listening carefully as the footsteps came closer. She trembled, and he slipped his arm around her as the sound grew louder. When the footsteps stopped outside the hut, she began to shake. A nurse who betrayed the fatherland would be shot, just as he would, if they were caught. Gavin felt suddenly ashamed for allowing instinct to overcome reason, annoyed that he’d put her in danger. After all, she was just a young girl, suffering the ravages of war.

All was silent now except for their heartbeats. He leaned forward against the rickety wall of the shanty, ears tuned, and peered through the darkness for another way out, reluctant to strike a match. As far as he could see, there was only the flimsy wooden door by which they had entered, and that opened onto the muddy path leading to the ward. He couldn’t risk letting her leave alone, he realized, squeezing her close. If she were caught she might scream rape to save her skin. Damn. He could tell by the sudden darkness and chill in the air that day was about to break. He was almost certain there was only one man out there. Probably the sentry, doing his last round, had stopped for a smoke. Gavin held his breath, feeling the girl’s heart beating wildly and her teeth chattering.

“Annelise, we must raus,” he whispered. “If they find us here, they will kill us.” He drew his hand across his throat, then pointed to her and at himself. She nodded tearfully and the trembling increased.

As a tiny sliver of gray light appeared, Gavin pressed his eye between the slats but could see nothing. Withdrawing, he turned again to Annelise. Then, as dawn broke, he distinguished clothing, hanging on hooks on the opposite wall and piled in a number of baskets. Looking closely, he saw they were freshly pressed German uniforms. He turned Annelise around by the shoulders and pointed silently to the baskets, indicating that he needed something to wear. She nodded, moving quickly, while Gavin picked up a heavy, unlit gas lamp from the shelf and stood with it raised behind the door, in case it opened.

Annelise rummaged through the piles, then turned, holding up a German uniform that looked about his size. He smiled and their eyes met as he laid down the lamp and took the uniform from her, putting it on over his pajamas.

“What about boots?” he whispered, pointing to his feet, clad in felt army slippers. Gavin watched in amazement as she opened a locker, where several pairs of immaculately polished boots stood in a symmetrical row. She went straight to the largest pair and handed them to him, along with some heavy, gray, knit socks. He pulled the boots on, ignoring the steady increase of pain in his hip and thigh. Finally, she handed him a cap. Gavin put it on, then grinned and raised an eyebrow. Annelise smiled despite herself, easing the tension as they tiptoed to the door. Gavin pointed to himself.

“Ich first. Count to ten minuten.” He held up all his fingers and she nodded. When she grabbed his sleeve, he saw the fear in her eyes and held her close, then dropped a hard kiss on her mouth. “It’ll be okay.” He used the universal American expression and raised a thumb. She nodded. Then he edged the door open and sent up a silent prayer that it wouldn’t creak.

Peeking through the crack, he saw the sentry’s back turned toward the telltale smoke rising above his shoulder. Gavin guessed that he was probably three-quarters of the way through his cigarette. The seconds dragged as they waited anxiously for him to finish. Other than the sentry, the coast seemed clear. All that lay between him and the field hospital was a muddied stretch of dirt.

Finally he saw the cigarette butt tip into the mud, and the sentry tramped off. With a sigh of relief, Gavin slipped outside and walked purposefully toward the ward, realizing he had no idea what rank he held. Two soldiers passed and saluted respectfully. He returned the salute, struck by the humor of it. This was easier than he’d thought. The other uniforms in the hut had set his mind working. As he walked quietly through the silent ward toward the curtain separating the officers from the men, he came to a sudden decision. Reaching Miles’s bed, he clamped a hand quickly over his mouth. Miles’s eyes darted open in horrified surprise.

“Don’t worry, it’s me,” Gavin whispered. “Just don’t squeal, that’s all.” He removed his hand and continued in an urgent whisper. “I think there may be a chance for us to escape, if we’re very quick.”

“How?” Miles asked, blinking sleepily at Gavin’s uniform. “Where on earth did you get that?”

“A couple of hundred yards to the left, outside the ward, there’s a laundry hut full of ’em. It may be our only chance. Annelise will help. She’s in there now,” he continued urgently, ignoring Miles’s raised eyebrow and amused admiration. “If anyone comes around, remember to address her as Schwester. Can you speak any German?”

“Not a bloody word.”

“Damn.” Gavin glanced over his shoulder and ducked when he saw Franz, lying in the next bed, move. He was too late, though. Franz pulled himself up.

“How the hell did you get that?” he asked, gazing at Gavin. Gavin turned quickly, gesturing for silence as Franz slipped from his bed.

Gavin and Miles eyed him warily. He could save them or sign their death warrants. As though sensing their doubt, he whispered urgently, “You can count me in. I’ve had enough of this bloody mess, too.”

“Okay. Then let’s get the hell out while we can. Franz, you’ve got your uniform. Better get it on.”

Franz returned to his bed and silently retrieved his belongings from beneath it, while Miles and Gavin made their way to the entrance of the ward, making sure no one was awake. “Make a run for it, Miles,” he said when they reached the door.

Franz joined them. “Wait. We’d better stick together. If anyone speaks to us I can talk to them and explain we’re taking Miles for questioning. Just look haughty, Gavin. You’re a high-ranking officer.”

“He’s right,” Gavin whispered. “Let’s go. First hut to your left across the stretch.”

The air was raw as they marched smartly toward the hut, the only sign of life a thin spiral of smoke from the kitchen chimney. Gavin breathed hard. There was still the risk that Annelise might have called someone. But his gut told him no, and silently they slipped inside the rickety wooden hut.

Annelise stood inside still, her eyes widening as she recognized Franz. “Was machen sie?” she whispered, horrified. “Why are you here? What is happening?” As her voice rose, Gavin clamped his hand over her mouth, then soothed her. “It’s all right. Franz, you explain.”

“We can’t.” His tone was cold and emphatic.

“Why the hell not?”

“We can’t risk it.”

“Okay, we’ll think about that in a minute.” Gavin pointed impatiently to the baskets. “You’d better change too, Franz. They’ll be on the lookout for you. As soon as the new nurse comes on, she’ll wonder where we all went.”

Miles was already climbing into a uniform, and Franz joined him, searching quickly through the piles.

“What about her?” Miles asked Gavin, looking doubtfully at Annelise as he buttoned his shirt.

“She’ll have to come with us. If they find her, they’ll kill her,” he replied, peering through the slats and missing the look the other two exchanged. “Do you know the layout of this place, Franz?” he asked.

“Not really. But Annelise probably does.” He turned and questioned her quickly in German. “Good. She knows where the Officers’ Mess is. We must get hold of a car. You’re a Haupt Kommandant, Gavin, so you can requisition whatever you like,” he added with a touch of humor.

“If we head toward the British lines we’ll be shot at,” Miles mused as he straightened his jacket.

“The Swiss border’s probably the best bet,” Gavin agreed, dropping a quick kiss on Annelise’s forehead.

“No. Too risky,” Franz countered. “But perhaps we can reach a place my parents own in the Black Forest, not far from here.”

“We can think of that later. For now, let’s just get out of here. Franz, explain to Annelise while I see if the coast is clear.” Gavin turned her around and kissed her again. “It’s okay,” he reassured her, pointing to Franz. “He will tell you what to do.” She nodded fearfully and he smiled at her. Then, going to the door, he edged it open just a fraction. It was raining and would get worse, if the dark gray clouds forming overhead were any indication. He glanced back. “This is it. Good luck!”

Gavin strode firmly ahead, the others following. Together they marched purposefully across the muddied road toward the main section of the barracks, Franz and Gavin in the lead and Miles and Annelise following slightly behind. They headed directly to where she had told them the cars were kept.

“Okay, this is it. It’s up to Franz now,” Gavin said, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as they approached the building, a large whitewashed farmhouse with a stable attached. “You stay here with Annelise, Miles. Franz and I’ll go inside. Look as if you’re flirting. Give her a cigarette.”

Miles nodded silently and took the cigarette from Gavin, offering one to Annelise. As he held her trembling fingers to light it, Miles exchanged a quick look with Franz before the two men left.

“Show authority, but don’t speak, even if they address you,” Franz whispered to Gavin as they marched up the stairs to the building.

It was barely light as they entered the office. A subordinate stood up from behind a desk, sleepily saluting. Franz took command, ordered a car—the best possible vehicle. It was to be handed over to the Haupt Kommandant immediately.

“But the orders, sir?” The young man hesitated.

“What orders, you idiot,” Franz barked. “Can’t you hear me, Dumkopf? These are your orders.”

Excusing himself profusely, the young corporal blushingly preceded them out of the house and ran to crank up the car. Gavin stood by nervously. Franz opened the back door ceremoniously for Gavin, then got in next to him. Tension was rife as two soldiers passed, eyeing them curiously, but they continued on their way after a prompt salute.

“Where the hell are Miles and Annelise?” Gavin hissed anxiously as the seconds ticked. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Miles climbed behind the wheel.

“Where’s Annelise?” Gavin asked, frowning and twisting his neck to see where she might be. Miles didn’t answer. Instead, he started the car and began to drive, picking up speed as they moved toward the entrance.

“Don’t look at the sentries. Just look straight ahead,” Franz murmured. But the guards merely saluted smartly and the car passed unimpeded. The three men breathed a little easier.

“Where is Annelise? Why didn’t she come?” Gavin shouted once they were on the road. “We can’t just leave her there, for Christ’s sake. What happened, Miles?”

“I killed her. I’m sorry, Gavin, but I had to. She was too much of a liability. She could have blown the whole operation.”

“You what?” The blood drained from his face.

“I’m sorry.”

“You bastard. How could you?” Helpless anger seethed through Gavin. Franz held him back as he lunged at Miles across the car seat.

“Control yourself, damn it. It’s awful, but he did the right thing.”

“How could you? She was my responsibility. I got her into this. Oh God.”

He sat trembling, horror and rage battling as he tried to reason, to remain in control. No liabilities. He could hear the sergeant at the training center repeating the same thing over and over. No feelings, no pity, no risk. But this was Annelise, a woman he’d made love to only a few hours before, a woman he’d brought this upon. It was his fault she was dead.

All at once he was tempted to look back, to jump out of the car, as though by doing so he could make her materialize through the rain, the trees speeding past.

Exercising every ounce of self-control, he stayed silent, dealing with the shock. The pain in his thigh increased, like sharp dagger thrusts.

“I’m sorry, Gavin,” Miles repeated, his voice icy, and for a second, as the car swerved onto a road that led to the forest, Gavin wanted to kill them both.

But a decision on their final destination had to be reached, and there was no time to grieve. Miles suggested the Swiss border again.

“It’s too obvious,” Franz replied, shaking his head. “We’ve only got a head start of a couple of hours before they’ll be on to us. I reckon we should go to Schloss Annenberg. It’s a small hunting lodge that belongs to my father’s family. At the beginning of the war we stocked it with provisions in case we needed to hide. My father was worried that my mother, being British, and my sister, might find themselves in danger. Nobody has lived there for years. It’s tucked away in the depths of the woods.”

“Where the hell are we, anyway?” Gavin asked, trying to escape the images of Annelise’s body sinking to the ground.

“Slightly south of Frieburg, I reckon.” Miles leaned across the dashboard and opened the glove box of the Daimler. Sure enough, a map lay neatly folded inside. He handed it to Franz, who opened it and began studying it. “We’ll have to head farther south. Now we’re going east. At the next crossroads, we’d better make a right.”

“How do you think your parents are going to take the news that you’ve deserted?” Gavin asked evenly, directing his anger at Franz.

“It will be a blight on the German half of the family, but I know my parents will understand. They know I feel more British than German and would rather be fighting for the other side.”

“Isn’t home the first place the Germans will look for you?” he asked scathingly.

“Perhaps they’ll go to the house in Hanover, but not to Annenburg. They will advise my family. The news will travel fast. But they’ll imagine we’re trying to reach the British lines or the border. And right now they’re too busy to spend much time looking for deserters. It’s my father I’m sorry about.” Franz looked away, his face bleak. “But I don’t believe in this war, and neither does he. I don’t believe in what Germany’s doing, in all the massacres that have taken place, and now this expansionist vision of Ludendorff’s. He thinks he can reinstate German culture in the Baltic states and Russia, and I don’t want to be a part of any of it. My sister and I were raised in London and I’ve always considered myself British. I can’t change that now.”

“Why didn’t you fight with us, then?” Gavin challenged, noticing that the forest had thickened and the road narrowed.

“The ironic part is that, if I’d offered my services to the British, they would merely have taken me for a spy, and I’d have spent the rest of the war rotting in a damn prison camp.” Franz sighed. “Of course, you chaps will want to get back as quickly as you can.” Turning, he glanced at Gavin as the car rattled over a particularly bumpy stretch of road. His eyes narrowed. “Your leg is hurting, isn’t it? You can’t go anywhere until you get well, or you’ll be caught immediately and expose the lot of us.”

“Maybe you should finish me off, like Annelise. After all, I’m a liability.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Miles snapped savagely as they began climbing a small road that wound its way farther into the forest, now a dense mix of dark, heavy branches.

He peered through the windshield at the drizzling rain that was making progress increasingly difficult. Gavin tried to change positions as the pain in his thigh grew more excruciating.

Just as they reached the top of the hill, the car jolted to a sudden stop, the bonnet tipped forward and the front wheels sank deep into a rut.

“Bloody hell,” Miles swore. Trying to rev up the engine, he succeeded only in producing a screeching of tires as they rotated in the mud.

“What rotten luck,” Franz exclaimed. “We’re not far from Schloss Annenberg now, only about twelve kilometers.”

Miles tried again, then threw up his hands, irritated. “It’s no use. I’m just making matters worse.”

A few straggling houses, their pointed roofs peering out from above the trees, formed a hamlet bordering the roadside about a kilometer down the road. “Do you think we should try and get help?” he asked Franz uneasily. “God knows what will happen if we’re found here by the wrong people.”

“We have to be very careful,” Franz replied, jumping out and avoiding the worst of the sludge. “It’s just near enough to Schloss Annenberg for someone to remember me, although I haven’t been here in years, so it’s doubtful. But you never know, and people can be very treacherous in a war. We cannot trust anyone to protect us.” He glanced at the cottages. “We can’t risk them seeing you wounded, Gavin. We’re too far from the front and your rank is too high for anyone to believe that you would not have been immediately transported to a field hospital. We must hide you.” He glanced at the forest, frowning.

Miles gave the engine a last try, then admitted defeat. “I think the village is our only chance.”

“Franz, you’re right.” Gavin gritted his teeth. “The blood on my uniform will make them suspicious.” He was feeling faint and wondered how long he could hold out. “I’d better get away from the middle of the road.” He glanced at the forest on either side of them “I’ll get into the forest and you two go find help together.” He began heaving himself out of the vehicle while Franz steadied him.

“Think you can manage?”

“Of course.” Gavin tried his best to walk straight. “I’ll make it. It’s not far. Now get going. And if for some reason you can’t make it back…well, for God’s sake, just go.”

Miles handed him a knife. “Better have this—just in case.”

“You might need it yourself.” Gavin gazed at it in horror, his stomach lurching at the sight of the tiny red specks of blood, still fresh on the flashing blade. He thought of Annelise’s blue eyes and silver-blond hair, and anger returned in a rush. But he was too weak to do more than hope he’d make it to the trees.

Reluctantly, he took the knife and pocketed it. “Good luck.”

Franz slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and took out a handkerchief, which he handed to Gavin. “I’ve had this since the beginning of the war. My mother embroidered it for me right before I came out, and it’s brought me luck. If, for some reason, we get separated, you can always try and reach my parents’ home in Hanover.” He quickly wrote down the address. “Give the hankie to my mother and tell her I said to hug Bubbles for me. She’ll understand. Don’t argue, we haven’t time. Just take it.” He thrust the address and the white linen handkerchief into Gavin’s hand. Their eyes met, then Franz turned and he and Miles trudged off, squelching through the ankle-deep mud toward the hamlet.

Gavin glanced at the initials exquisitely embroidered by a loving hand and pocketed the handkerchief, glancing at the backs of his two companions with mixed feelings. Dragging his leg he limped determinedly toward the trees, each agonizing step an effort. Taking deep breaths, he forced himself forward, determined to reach seclusion before any vehicles appeared. It took him awhile—he didn’t know precisely how long, for he’d lost track of time—to reach the edge of the forest, where he collapsed in a cold sweat beneath the shadowy safety of the fir trees. He stopped and sat, breathless, before pushing farther, making sure he was well hidden before sinking among the pine needles, exhausted but thankful for the branches sheltering him partially from the rain. He huddled painfully against a knotted trunk, barely conscious, and pulled the thick coat Annelise had handed him with the uniform closer, his delirious mind haunted by her image.

He slept, woke, slept again. When he regained consciousness, it was dark. He could feel his aching body, racked by fever. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered where the others were, wondered if he was back in the truck, returning to the hospital in Frieburg, but the effort to reason was too great and he drifted off once more.

5

Etaples, France, 1917

The first few days after Angus’s arrival were grueling. Endless convoys of wounded packed the corridors, as soldiers and enemy prisoners continued to arrive, day and night. Flora functioned in a numb daze, grief and exhaustion mingling with the putrid stench of flesh that permeated the crude operating theater. Preparing the frightened patients for surgery she strove to quell the terror in the eyes of those aware of the risks they faced. Over and over again she waited for the moment when, even in her weakened state, she felt the change within that warned of the imminent delivery of a soul ready to be released.

Flora saw little of Angus during those first chaotic days. The facility was inadequately staffed, and every hand was needed. There was little hierarchy at these times, V.A.D., nurses and the doctors pooling their energies in a superhuman effort to save as many lives as they could. Occasionally, she took a few precious minutes off, to walk outside and gaze at the far-off fields behind the lines, intrigued by a solitary cottage that stood alone. Like a dollhouse, it was surrounded by a well-tended garden of pansies and columbines. Against the hollow echoes of shell fire, it made her wonder if the rest was all a dream. The tiny cottage somehow made it impossible to comprehend that only a few miles away war raged, cruel and pitiless, and that the body of the man she loved lay buried in the blood-soaked earth.

By two weeks after learning of Gavin’s death, Flora’s shock had quieted down. She was able to get some sleep at night, and visited Angus occasionally during the day. He continued to spend his days sitting, pale and silent. Distant. And she worried, knowing she must give him some affection, concerned that the shell shock was worse than she had at first believed. She’d been too caught up in her own sorrow, she realized guiltily, and with all the critical cases, there was little time allotted to those suffering from psychological wounds. There was simply no one to help them, except the chaplain in the few moments he could spare.

Walking into his ward later that day, Flora saw the hope that gleamed, for these men knew they were going home. They joked with one another, denying the past, looking toward the future—or a reprieve, at least, from the hell they had left behind in the trenches. But Angus didn’t talk; instead, he sat alone and aloof, in a world of his own.

“How are you, Angus?” she asked, touching his shoulder gently.

He looked up with a start.

“Flo.”

“It’s my tea break.” She sat opposite him on a wooden stool, smiling bravely. “Are you better?”

“Fine.” But his face was gray, eyes bleary, and he hadn’t shaved.