Page 22 of A Song in the Dark

chapter Seven

Why on earth would the Führer want to applaud that woman? She was blind. Blind !

It had been torture to sit through an entire concert where everyone cheered and clapped. It didn’t matter that she could play the piano. It didn’t matter that she was beautiful. It didn’t even matter that she had German blood in her.

She was imperfect. Flawed.

Crippled.

Just like the paper said.

But when the Führer came back to his seat after speaking to the woman onstage, he’d told him to find a way to bring her to play for his inner circle back in Berlin.

Why?

It made his skin crawl.

It didn’t help that the pianist’s man—whoever he was—kept looking in his direction. And that woman who came out at the end. Who was she? Why did she look familiar?

The whole thing irritated him.

If they were going to purify the world, their focus needed to be sharp and on target.

It was a good thing he’d been promoted.

Hitler needed him.

To stay the course. To weed out the imperfect. To cleanse the scourge from this earth once and for all.

Rick drove away from the concert hall biting his tongue as Melanie and Chaisley spoke in hushed French in the back seat.

It didn’t matter that Chaisley thought pretending to be on Hitler’s good side might give her some kind of advantage along the way.

Yes, she’d left the door open to be invited to play for him again.

Yes, that might give Rick an opportunity to gain valuable intel.

But this was dangerous. Every hair on the back of his neck stood up when the man approached her.

Pure. Evil.

As a spy, he wanted to applaud her and think about all the ways they could gather information. But since he’d gotten to know her a little better, he wanted to protect her. Not spy on her. Not help her play concerts for Hitler.

He wanted to shake some sense into her.

It didn’t sound like Melanie was all that pleased with Chaisley either. Especially since this had apparently been a decision she’d made on her own.

Everything he picked up now from their conversation told him the women had been informed that something much worse was coming. Chaisley was talking of preparing for it.

Her tone changed as she talked about someone named Mary Beth? A child? Wasn’t Melanie’s mother also named Mary Beth? But that couldn’t be her—Melanie’s mother had died. These women were determined to find and help someone else with that name.

It was so frustrating not knowing the whole story. But how could he find out?

Melanie would fight tooth and nail for her friend—that much was all too apparent.

Rick understood it. He felt like a heel for eavesdropping. He needed to earn their complete trust so they would voluntarily share these things with him. But how could he do that?

“Rick, do you think Chaisley has put herself in unnecessary danger?” Melanie’s sharp Dutch echoed from the back seat.

One glance in the mirror showed him that Chaisley wasn’t a bit pleased with Melanie’s question.

He’d better choose his words carefully. “There’s a part of me that cheered her on for standing up to him and doing what she did. Then there’s another part of me that wanted to rush her offstage and away from him because my senses kept screaming, danger, danger, danger!”

“Don’t you think my senses were screaming the same thing?” Chaisley wrapped her arms around her middle. “But staying in Hitler’s good graces right now might help us assist those in danger from him and his Third Reich.”

Her words told him that he had gained Chaisley’s trust—otherwise she wouldn’t be so blunt.

“What has gotten into you?” Melanie shook her head. “I will support you no matter what, but it would have been nice to know ahead of time to what lengths you were willing to go.”

“I wasn’t expecting him to come onstage and speak to me personally about playing for him.”

“But you thought it could happen.”

Chaisley pursed her lips at Melanie’s assertion. “Yes, I did.”

Rick needed to defuse the moment and fast. He pulled over onto the side of the road, placed the car in park, and then turned around in his seat.

“I don’t think the best use of our time is to squabble about how things unfolded.

What we should be talking about is what we do from here.

My job is to drive you and protect you. I can’t do that very well if you don’t tell me everything that is going on. ”

Chaisley chewed on her bottom lip again. “Agreed.”

“Agreed.” Melanie didn’t look too happy about it, but dove into telling him about a letter Chaisley received before they left England.

It was deplorable what had been done to this little girl and her mother.

Rick’s respect for both the women in the back seat surged as he listened to them share their hearts about being challenged to find these two—and possibly others—to help them escape Hitler’s clutches.

So maybe he’d jumped to conclusions about their code and contacts. These women couldn’t be spies.

But then Chaisley mentioned her guardian. A doctor. Someone with contacts across Europe. Both women were vague. The only key factor was that they knew they had people that could help them should they need it.

Who was this doctor? Another agent? Someone Rick might know?

The other possibility was one he hated to consider. What if these two women were being used—by double agents?

Would Rick be able to save them before it was too late?

Two hours later, Rick waited on an informant in an alley that smelled worse than it looked. Which was saying a lot. He’d already spotted a dead rat, two dead birds, and what appeared to be a dead cat.

HQ had put him in touch with their last known informant who was still free, and the choice of meeting spots was looking worse by the second.

Why was the man late?

Rick shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He’d give him five more minutes, but it wouldn’t be safe to hang around much longer. Someone would surely notice him, and whether it was someone from this seedy side of town or the Gestapo, neither one would have pleasant results.

Shuffling from the other end of the alley made him turn around.

Sure enough, a man—way too skinny for his height—headed straight for him.

“G2586.” The man whispered into Rick’s ear.

“Eggs are good with toast.” Rick shoved out a hand.

But as they shook hands, nothing was passed between them.

The informant smiled wide and spoke through clenched teeth. “Nothing written.” He spoke English with an American accent. “Too risky.”

“Okay.” Rick nodded and smiled like they were old friends simply running into each other.

The man stepped closer. “Things are escalating at a rapid pace. They are growing their troops every day. Watching more and more people. Closing in on everyone they suspect. Arrests have grown in number, so I am leaving. Tell your boss or whoever needs to know. I haven’t seen my wife and kids in over a year.

You need to focus on communications. The enemy is confiscating more and more each day and listening in on whatever they can access to try and stop any leaks.

” His words were clipped and fast. “Word is anyone they find colluding with any country against Germany will be executed.”

Amsterdam—Tuesday, April 19, 1938

Celestia was certain that the last letter she’d received from Chaisley had been opened before it was delivered here. The edges had the appearance of being steamed.

Since it came from Austria, and since the Anschluss where Nazi Germany took control of the country, she was convinced they were checking people’s mail. She couldn’t prove it, but what other explanation could there be?

Tensions among the network ran high. Much higher the last week.

The question was, could anyone read the original braille code they were using to communicate?

Was Chaisley able to come up with a new code? Perhaps she’d discovered an even more obscure form of braille they could use. Celestia couldn’t remember how many there were—but hopefully they’d have something soon.

She sat at her desk with her braille slate, ready to compose a letter to her granddaughter, but the words would not come.

How could she let her granddaughter know it was time for a new way to communicate and not arouse suspicion?

Her fingers brushed the slate, the bumps now so familiar to her touch, but her mind would not settle.

If Chaisley had finished whatever she was working on, how could they all learn it if they weren’t together in the same place?

She’d have to send a telegram to Grafton.

Since he was always on the move, he could go to Chaisley and then bring word to her.

As she stared out the window at the beautiful gardens beginning to bloom, a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye.

Chaisley used to love to go into the gardens with her back in England. Back when she could see and her childlike excitement over every color and shape of flower excited her.

Now that same excitement was evident in every note Chaisley composed. Every concert. Grafton had been right, and Celestia was not too proud to admit it.

Her granddaughter had needed the freedom to be a child again. To laugh and play and live her life. What would Chaisley’s life have become had Celestia fully given over to her fear? She shivered. It didn’t bear thinking about.

God carried them all through the tragedy of loss and made it something beautiful. Each of them, not just Chaisley, but Grafton, Melanie... even she had been given fresh purpose.

And now He was doing it again. But this time on a bigger scale.

It seemed every newspaper in the world now wanted to talk about the world’s greatest pianist, who was blind.

Some were probably wanting something positive to talk about rather than the depressing facts of the economy or the slow recovery of the war-torn continent of Europe.

Others, no doubt, wanted to stir up controversy.

One even mentioned that it had been a lie for her to perform all these years and not let her audiences know.

Why would people care? Wouldn’t they be even more mesmerized by her skill and talent now that they knew? Celestia shook her head. What a sad world they lived in.

She glanced back down at the paper, slate, and punch tool.

Writing in braille was tedious. Everything had to be punched precisely and written from right to left so that the raised dots would be in the correct order when the paper was flipped over for the recipient to read it.

Whatever code Chaisley concocted was surely even more intricate.

So the practice was good for her.

Hitler was on the move. Celestia’s gut told her he wouldn’t be satisfied with just Austria. And since so many in Austria had celebrated the annexation, his confidence was probably bolstered even higher.

Thousands of Jewish refugees had made it into Holland and all of the Netherlands since 1933 and Hitler coming to power.

It was no secret he wanted Poland, Czechoslovakia, the Netherlands, and Belgium.

That was just to start. Which meant all the Jews and other refugees who weren’t of the Nazis’ master race and had fled Germany would now also be at risk.

It was already difficult to find countries that could take more refugees. Visas were hard to come by unless you knew someone in the government and it still wasn’t easy. While the Netherlands had allowed many in, they also encouraged the refugees to go to a country much farther away.

People knew. They could feel it. Those against the Jews were spreading hatred and it was growing.

Now that six hidden rooms capable of housing ten people apiece were built in here at the manor, she had been gathering supplies, a little at a time.

It was time to let Chaisley know. Everything.

In case something happened to her, or if the war didn’t come until after she had left this earth for her heavenly home.

Someone would need to be here, someone who knew how to help.

The access to the rooms must be kept secret.

Even her most trusted staff didn’t know how to get into them.

Celestia was the only one who knew how to find and open the hidden doors. That information had to be safeguarded.

Chaisley could handle it. She’d seen the determination in her granddaughter’s features.

Time was short.

Knock! Knock!

The door to her sitting room was locked so Celestia rose from her chair and went to answer it.

The look on her butler’s face was pure agony. “Mrs. Frappier, I’m so sorry to disturb you, but there’s a family from Berlin at the gate requesting assistance. They said Dr. Grafton sent them.”

She exited her room and locked the door. “Take me to them, Bastiaan. Have they told you anything?”

His shoulders were stiff as they walked the long corridor. “I should warn you, the wife is bruised, the children too thin. She said Dr. Grafton told them you could be trusted and offer them safety.”

“And the rest of the story?” she prodded. Her butler was normally composed and seldom revealed much emotion. Today, the tall man was obviously disturbed.

“Her husband was taken away by the Gestapo. She said he was an informant for the British SIS and doesn’t know whether he’s dead or in one of the work camps.”

“Oh my.” She picked up her pace and passed up Bastiaan as they headed for the stairs.

But his hand on her arm halted her. “Ma’am, is this really happening?”

She glanced back and caught the sheen in his eyes before he blinked it away. It shook her to her core to see the man so unsettled. “I’m afraid so.” With a hand to her forehead, she willed herself to stay strong. “And I fear it will get much worse.”