Pegasus: A Novel (30 page)

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Edmund asked with worried eyes, and there were tears in hers
when she looked at him.

“I wish I could tell my father, and that he could be at our wedding.” But neither
of them wanted to wait until the end of the war, which could go on for years. Edmund
took her in his arms, and he held her, and then he went to the pantry, and poured
them each a glass of champagne. She stood admiring her ring while he did, and then
he handed the glass to her.

“To my very, very beautiful bride. To us,” he said, and they each took a sip. They
sat in the library after that, talking about their wedding. Edmund wanted it to be
very small, with just the immediate family, in the chapel on the estate. It was not
very different from the wedding she would have planned at home in Germany, in the
chapel at Schloss Altenberg.

“When do you want to do it?” she asked him.

He looked cautious for a moment, not wanting to rush her if she didn’t feel ready.
It had all happened very quickly. They had only been in love for six months, but everything
seemed to move faster in wartime.

“I have to leave again at the beginning of February. Would that be too soon?” he asked
hesitantly, and she shook her head, smiling at him. It was perfect. She didn’t want
to wait either.

“It sounds wonderful. All I need is a dress anyway.” And then she looked solemn again.
“Would your father give me away?” Edmund was sure he would be honored to stand in
for his old friend.

“Of course. And I’d like Simon to be my best man, if he can get leave then too. Maybe
Mr. Hitler will give us a break for a few days.”

They sat and talked until the fire went out, and then he walked her up to her room.
He stepped inside for a minute, but he didn’t stay long. He didn’t want to get carried
away before the wedding. They were getting married in six weeks. He could hardly wait,
and she was as excited as he was. And she shed more than a few tears when she wrote
to her father about it that night, wishing he could share the moment with her. And
she was even sadder, knowing it would be many weeks before he even got her letter,
via New York.

She thanked her future mother-in-law profusely for the ring the next morning at breakfast,
and showed it off to her. Isabel felt like her own family now.

“It looks very pretty on your hand.” Isabel smiled at her with pleasure. “Best wishes,
my darling girl.” And then she clapped her hands with delight. “I’m finally going
to have a daughter!” And with that, Marianne threw her arms around her and hugged
her. And when Edmund came down to breakfast that morning, he looked even happier than
his bride. It was a perfect Christmas for all of them at Haversham Castle. Edmund
and Marianne were engaged. They had a wonderful Christmas dinner in the dining hall,
talking animatedly about the wedding. And Isabel was going to help her get a dress
made, by her own dressmaker in a nearby village, whom she said did very clever work.
And Simon called them just as they were finishing dinner, congratulated his brother,
and promised to do his best to come to the wedding. And Isabel had never been happier.
Both her sons were alive and well, and Marianne was going to be a perfect addition
to their family. And they all agreed, despite the war and their anxiety about it,
that it was the best Christmas of their lives. But in her quiet private moments, Marianne
thought of her father and the Christmases they’d shared. For her, more than anyone,
it was a bittersweet night, of great joy for the present, and
all she was gaining, and sadness over the past and everything she’d lost.

In Germany, with Marianne gone, Alex didn’t bother to put up a tree that year. He
knew it would only depress him. It had been a hard nine months for him. One of his
horses had died, a big hunter he was extremely fond of. The weather had been terrible,
and his house was freezing all the time, and without Marianne to brighten his days,
his life had never been as bleak. With no von Bingens, and no Marianne, it was the
darkest Christmas of his life, except when he lost her mother. And in some ways, this
was worse. He had no one. When he lost his wife, he still had Marianne to light up
his days.

He didn’t have much in the house to eat for dinner. He hated to eat alone. And he
was boiling some carrots and potatoes from their garden when he heard a knock on the
back door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and when he opened the door, he saw one of
his tenant farmers, supporting a man with an injured leg. For a long moment, neither
man said a word.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” his tenant said in a low voice, and Alex could see
that they were both shaking from the cold.

“Come in,” Alex said, and stood aside, still not sure what they wanted, and he noticed
that the man he didn’t know looked afraid, and kept glancing over his shoulder. “What
can I do for you?” he asked his tenant.

“I need to borrow a horse,” he said simply. “I didn’t want to just take one.”

“Well, that’s a good thing,” Alex said, turning off the stove, where he’d been cooking
his simple dinner. “Besides, you can’t take a horse
anywhere tonight. There’s ice on the ground. You’ll lame him, and he’ll break a leg
in five minutes. Why do you need a horse?” The tenant farmer glanced at his friend
and then back at the landlord he trusted and had known all his life.

“My friend needs to get to the Swiss border.”

“That’s a long way from here. Should I ask why?” The tenant farmer shook his head,
and the injured man lowered himself into a chair with a groan. The leg looked painful.
“I don’t think your friend’s in any condition to travel.” Alex sized up the situation,
and then noticed that there was blood dripping on the floor, and he realized that
more than likely the second man had been shot. “Is anyone going to come looking for
you?” he asked him directly.

“Not now. Maybe tomorrow. I think they may think I’m dead. They won’t check until
morning,” the injured man said honestly.

“That’s reassuring,” Alex said, with a wry look at them both, wondering what he was
getting himself into. And then Alex thought of something. “Are you Jewish?” The man
hesitated, and then nodded. His friend had convinced him that his landlord was a man
you could trust.

“They took my family away two months ago. I was at an auction, in another county,
selling a horse so I could feed them. And when I came back, they were gone. All of
them, my wife, my two children, my mother, and my aunt. All women and children.”

“Do you know where they are?”

“They were sent to a camp. I don’t know where. I’ve been hiding ever since. One of
the patrols saw me two days ago. They don’t know who I am. I was hiding in the woods.
And then they saw me again tonight. I’ve tried to stay away from everyone I know,”
he said, looking at them both. “One of them shot me. I don’t know if they even
care enough to come back. I was going to try and leave tonight, if you gave me a horse.”
He sounded desperate and was obviously in pain.

“Is there a bullet in that wound?” Alex asked cautiously. If so, they would have to
get it out. He’d never done that before.

“He just grazed me,” he said, and Alex nodded, trying to think of what to do with
him. His home had never been searched, but they might change their mind, if there
was a man on the loose nearby, even if they didn’t suspect him, and they had no reason
to. Yet.

“We ought to get some disinfectant on it. Some whiskey will do,” he said, looking
for a bottle in a cupboard, and he took it out when he found it. “You’re better off
hiding somewhere for a few days, and taking off again when you can walk. I have a
wine cellar downstairs. And then we can figure out how to get you to the border, but
not on horseback. I’m not going to kill my horses for you,” he said sternly. He wasn’t
thrilled to be pulled into this project. But now they were here, and it was Christmas.
He had nothing else to do. He had the man lower his trousers and poured the whiskey
on the wound. It looked clean. And then he led the way downstairs. The wine cellar
was dry but it was cold. He went upstairs and got him a blanket, and then he went
back to the kitchen and put a potato and some carrots on a plate, and brought it down
to the cellar, and handed the bottle of whiskey to him along with it. “This might
help.” And then he and his tenant went back upstairs. There was no light in the cellar,
but the man needed to sleep anyway.

“Look for blood in the snow when you leave,” he told his tenant, “and come back in
two days. He should be better by then.”

“I didn’t think you would take him in,” his tenant said apologetically. “I’m sorry,
sir. We just wanted a horse.”

“It’s all right,” Alex said, looking tired. “I’d rather get shot for a
man than for a horse. We’ll figure out what to do. Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“Merry Christmas, sir,” his tenant said, and left an instant later, with a look of
disbelief.

Alex checked on his unexpected guest then. He had eaten the food, he smelled of the
whiskey, and he was already asleep. Alex didn’t even know if he was telling the truth,
but he trusted his tenant, and they had come to him. So he had decided to help. The
story he had told was heart-wrenching. He had lost his entire family in one blow.
And he wasn’t unique. There were too many others like him all over Germany now. People
who weren’t lucky enough to join a circus with eight horses and a boxcar before the
war, and had no way out now. Everything about it seemed wrong to Alex, as he turned
off the lights and went upstairs to bed. He tried not to think about Marianne’s empty
room, which he did every night as he walked by. He lay awake for hours, trying to
figure out what to do for the man in his cellar.

He checked on him again in the morning. The wound was still clean and he felt better,
and no one came to search the house. There were no soldiers anywhere, and his housekeeper
was off for two days. He brought the man food again, and let him come upstairs to
use the bathroom, and then took him back down to the wine cellar. They didn’t speak
to each other except for the man saying thank you in an emotional voice, as Alex locked
the wine cellar again. The house was entirely quiet, and the next afternoon, his tenant
returned.

“How is he?” he asked as Alex let him into the house.

“He seems all right.” And by then, Alex knew what to do. He had filled his tank with
all the gas they had, and calculated how far he could go. Almost to the Swiss border,
but not quite. Close enough—if the man was clever, careful, and could move fast enough.

“I have a friend who can help him,” his tenant said cautiously. “If you get him as
far as the St. Lorenz Basilica in Kempten. He has a house nearby, and he’ll take him
the rest of the way.” And then Alex understood. This was no accident that had just
happened. His tenant was obviously helping Jews escape. He had heard about a few brave
people doing what they could and his tenant was one of them.

“My car is in the garage. He can get from the wine cellar to the garage without anyone
seeing him. I want him in the trunk—in daylight, at least when we start out. It looks
less suspicious than traveling by night. I’ll take him to your friend. And then we
will forget this ever happened.” His tenant looked at him gratefully and nodded. “Get
him in the car now. I’ll be in the garage in ten minutes.” Alex went upstairs to dress
then, in a suit and a hat. He wore a heavy topcoat, and he looked properly dressed
when he left the house, as though he might be visiting friends. His tenant was waiting
for him in the garage. “Is he in?” The tenant nodded, and then without a word, he
handed Alex a pistol.

“You might need it.” Alex hesitated, and then took it and slipped it in his pocket.

“Thank you.” And with that he got in the Hispano-Suiza and turned on the ignition
as his tenant opened the garage door for him, and he drove out, as the man lumbered
off, looking like a farmer on his way home.

Alex took the main road instead of a back one, and drove past the von Bingens’ estate
at a normal speed. A soldier stopped him and recognized him immediately.

“Good afternoon, Count,” he said respectfully. “Everything in order?”

“Fine, thank you. I’m going to visit friends.” The soldier waved him on. He didn’t
check his papers or look in the car. He knew he
didn’t need to, and Alex drove on, until it was dark, and continued on after that.
He passed one checkpoint and stopped, and one soldier asked another if he should check
the trunk and was told no. And Alex drove on with no problem. He remembered the location
where his tenant had told him to go to meet his friend. It wasn’t as close to the
Swiss border as his passenger in the trunk might have hoped, but they would take care
of getting him over the border, and they were undoubtedly better equipped than Alex
to do so, in his coat and hat and city shoes. He didn’t even want to think about what
might have happened if the soldier at the second checkpoint had opened the trunk and
found him. Alex could still feel the weight of the pistol in his pocket, but he didn’t
want to use it.

He went to the address he’d been given, got out of his car, and knocked. The man who
answered the door looked startled to see a Hispano-Suiza outside his door, and someone
who looked like Alex. He nodded, and they exchanged a password his tenant had given
him. They were on a backcountry road with no one around. The man who had answered
the door opened the trunk and helped the injured man, who said a hoarse goodbye and
thank you to Alex. He could hardly walk after the cramped ride, but he disappeared
into the house. The door closed and Alex drove off without further comment or conversation,
making his way back the way he had come. It had been shockingly easy, and he thought
about it as he drove toward home.

He passed the von Bingens’ schloss early that morning, and the colonel was out for
a ride. Favory was prancing, and there was vapor coming from his nostrils as the colonel
saluted the count, and Alex slowed down with a smile.