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43

Cadence

1942

I ran down the hill, ready to tell Briar and the others about the letter I’d found in Gil’s office, trying to make sense of it all. Who was Greta? They’d been relaxing in Nazi Germany. I’d definitely been blinded by love. Gram’s whole stupid tea-leaves thing.

I smelled the smoke before I even got to the cottage, and as I came out of the woods, I saw black clouds of it billowing from the rear windows of the house. I ran through the front door and back to the kitchen, where flames licked the curtains and cabinets. Briar and Margaret were trying to smother the fire with a blanket, while Bess struggled to pull the garden hose in through the window.

“It’s Tyson,” Briar yelled when she saw me. “He doused it with gas. Just left to meet the U-boat. Peter, too.”

Tyson and Peter together? Is Gil involved? Thank God Gram isn’t here, I thought, as the flames spread toward her bedroom. “The fire extinguisher is in the cabinet under the sink,” I called out.

“You may notice that’s on fire,” Briar said.

I turned to her. “Salt,” I said.

“ What? ”

“Remember? Jane Eyre. You said, ‘Salt or baking soda would have been a better choice.’ The salt’s outside the door.”

All four of us raced to the front door, lugged in the coal buckets of rock salt, and flung scoopfuls of it onto the flames. When it was safe to open the cupboard under the sink, I rescued the fire extinguisher, took off the safety cap, and aimed the flow of white powder at the flames.

Once the bulk of the fire was out, we stood in the ruins, the kitchen full of smoke and the whole back wall charred. Rain pattered the roof. That might help with any remaining embers outside. I asked Bess and Margaret to stay and extinguish every spark, and Briar and I turned our attention to Tyson and Peter. We raced down the path to the boathouse in near darkness, the arches of trees above shielding us from the rain.

“They have a gun,” Briar said as we ran.

I tried to stay a few mental steps ahead of Tyson. He was obviously the one meeting the U-boat. Peter, too? So much for his pacifist act. Why didn’t I follow my instincts on Peter? We wouldn’t be here, risking our lives, if I’d sent him away from the start.

The wind picked up, and we slowed as we came to the boathouse. They had turned a lamp on, and through the open door I saw Peter holding the gun in one hand and the tugboat model in the other. He stood looking at Tyson, who lay face down, bleeding on the floor. I entered the room and Briar followed, the smell of gunpowder in the air.

Peter turned to us, still holding the Luger. Fear grabbed me, and I pushed Briar behind me. Would he kill us, too?

“Peter, don’t,” I said.

Peter set the gun down and gazed, horrified, at Tyson’s body. “I couldn’t let him leave. He tried to get me to take the boat out, and when I refused to help, he aimed the gun at me, so I rushed him and wrestled it away from him.”

“It must have just gone off,” I said.

Briar took the tugboat from him.

“No,” he said with a sob. “I pulled the trigger. I killed him.”

An eerie quiet surrounded us, as wind and rain battered the sides of the boathouse. Peter knelt and felt the side of Tyson’s neck for a pulse; finding none, he sat back on his heels. “He’s gone.” Peter started to murmur a prayer but then placed his hands over his face and cried.

For a man who’d been raised as a pacifist, it must have been hard to do it.

I rubbed his back. “You saved our lives. He would have shot us once we got here.”

Peter dried his eyes and looked at me. “Did you extinguish the fire?”

“We did. A lot of damage, though.”

Peter stood, his eyes red-rimmed. “I hope you understand—Tyson approached me when I was out in the field this morning, when everyone was at the funeral. He’d been in touch with the U-boat through the shortwave, and they gave him a description of me. He threatened to expose me to the authorities if I didn’t come back to Germany or if I said anything to you all. So I had to pretend to go along. I’m sorry I didn’t stop him from burning the kitchen. But I had to make him think I was on his side.”

“I was hoping you were just playing along,” Briar said.

“I wanted to get him away from the house before he shot you. He was on the verge of it. I had to catch him unawares, use the element of surprise to disarm him.”

I nodded, overcome by the moment. Peter had done us a favor.

I asked Peter, “The U-boat—is it really still out there?”

“Probably, considering photos and information Tyson had for them. On our way down to the boathouse, he told me his father had arranged the collection of intelligence on American sites and Army installations, the whole thing, before he went back to Germany. But chances are the U-boat won’t stick around long.”

“Not with half of the U.S. military about to land up and down the North Shore,” Briar said.

“We must clean up the blood,” Peter said. “And get him buried.” He looked out the window at the storm. “I’m afraid I can’t do it alone.”

I nodded. “I know four women who will help.”