The Homecoming (7 page)
“There is one more thing you must do, Captain,” Beekman said quietly. “I need you to tie me up in this chair, and I need you to hit me, hard, in the face.”
“What?”
“I must convince the Germans that you forced me to help you, and that you took my son.”
“Will they believe that?”
“I will make them believe. They have threatened us many times that if we ever helped any downed Allied pilots, we would be tortured and killed. I must convince them that I refused to help you, and so did Johan. Then I will say we fought, and you took my food, and then Johan to guide you, promising me that you will let him go once you escape. I will say I don’t know where you went. They will think this is true if I am tied up. It will be dark. They will probably search the village tonight, maybe even the beach. I am hoping they don’t find your plane and this dead man until morning. Please . . . you must tie me up—now. And you must hit me in the face.” With that, Beekman picked up a coil of rope, handed it to Shawn, and sat in the chair.
How could Shawn hit this man? Every impulse inside him was to protect him and help him. He was risking everything to help them, even giving up his only son. Shawn began to tie him.
In a few minutes Manzini returned with the crew.
“A couple of you guys drag this dead German back to the plane, except you, Nick,” said Shawn. “You stay here with me. Then get right back here. Leave him somewhere easy to find but far enough from the water so he doesn’t wash out to sea.”
Johan came out with a sack tied at the ends with rope. He saw his father all tied up. His father quickly explained why. They hugged and kissed, but Johan wouldn’t let go. “Johan, you must go, son. I love you. We will be together again, and between now and then I will have the peace of knowing you are safe. God has made this night possible. He will be faithful to bring us back together again.”
Johan stood up and backed toward the front door. “I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” said Beekman.
Johan turned and hurried out the door.
Shawn’s eyes welled up with tears, but he shook them off. “Okay, guys, you leave now. Follow Johan to the boat. He’s the captain on this trip. He’s going to take us across the North Sea tonight. Nick, you and I will change our clothes and catch up in a few minutes.”
Everyone left, except Shawn and Manzini.
“Now you must hit me, Captain. Please.”
Shawn walked over and stood by him. “You are one of the finest men I have ever met. I can’t hit you.”
“But you must. If the Germans are not convinced, they will do much worse to me.”
“I promise you, I will get your son safely to England.”
“I trust you, Captain, as I trust the Lord.”
Shawn couldn’t believe what he was about to do. “Forgive me, Lord.” He closed his eyes and hit Mr. Beekman hard across the face.
He opened his eyes and saw Beekman grimacing from the blow. “Thank you,” he said. “You must change now and go, quickly.”
“I will never forget your kindness,” Shawn said, and did as he was told.
Shawn looked up, mentally trying to refocus his gaze back to the safety of his living room. As he did, he was looking into the face of his own father. Mrs. Fortini and Miss Townsend were staring at him, their eyes wide open, almost in disbelief. Patrick was sound asleep. Shawn had told them almost everything about this second half of the story. Except the details about killing the German officer. He left the vague impression that
they
had to kill him, hoping no one asked any questions. Thankfully, no one did.
“That must have been horrible,” Katherine said. “Having to hit the father like that.”
“You only did what had to be done, Shawn,” said Mrs. Fortini. “God understands.”
Shawn looked into his father’s eyes and saw tears. “I’m so sorry, Shawn. But I am so glad you had the courage to do what you did. And I think I understand Mr. Beekman. Were you able to help his son get to England?”
“The trip across the North Sea was uneventful. Johan really knew how to run that boat. We got off within the next fifteen minutes, and within an hour we were beyond sight of land. It was a dark and cloudy night, no moon or stars. We didn’t see a single ship until daybreak. By then we were in sight of England. A big fishing trawler came near enough to get their attention. They helped us get into a small port north of London. By the end of that same day, we were all back to our base, except Anderson, who was taken to the hospital.”
“What happened to Johan?” Miss Townsend asked.
“We said our good-byes as we left his boat. He refused to leave it. The English fishermen seemed to understand and promised to take care of him. They said a number of Dutch refugees lived nearby and said they would get him set up with them. I took down a bunch of names, so I could follow up on him later.”
“What an amazing story,” said Mrs. Fortini. “Patrick will be sad he fell asleep . . . at least for most of it anyway.”
“I am exhausted,” said the elder Collins. He got up and began to carry his cup toward the kitchen. “Oh Shawn, I almost forgot. Just before dinner, an Air Force colonel called and asked you to call him back as soon as possible. I wrote the number down by the telephone.”
“Did he say why?”
“He wouldn’t tell me, but he said it was very important, and that it was some kind of good news. I told him the only good news I wanted to hear was them letting you stay home and take care of Patrick.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll call him first thing in the morning.” He walked over to Miss Townsend and gently lifted Patrick into his arms. “I’ll take him up to bed.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever forget this story,” she said.
“I’m sorry if I upset you. I haven’t talked about this with anyone before tonight.”
“No, don’t apologize. You just never imagine what’s really going on over there when you watch the newsreels.”
Shawn told her good night and headed up the stairs, wondering how to get these images out of his mind long enough to keep them from invading his dreams.
It was just after 8:30 in the morning. Shawn was already showered and dressed, wearing his finest uniform. A half hour ago, he’d dialed the phone number his father had written down, the Air Force colonel who’d called yesterday. Colonel Simmons couldn’t have been more pleasant, but Shawn knew it wasn’t a social call. He’d just ordered Shawn to take the 10:00 a.m. train to Union Station in Washington DC, unwilling to give any details, other than to say they would discuss his next assignment, and that Shawn would be glad he made the trip. Colonel Simmons said he’d have a driver there at the station to pick him up.
Well, Shawn thought, guess I can consider my request for a permanent discharge denied.
He took a sip of coffee as Patrick sat down at the table, carrying a hot bowl of oatmeal. “I can’t believe I fell asleep during your story last night,” Patrick said.
“Well, it was way past your bedtime.”
“But I wanted to hear how it ended. What did I miss?”
Shawn wished the coffee wasn’t lukewarm. “I don’t know, what do you remember last?”
Patrick swallowed a big spoonful; a dab of oatmeal rested on his chin. Shawn smiled. “Your plane had just been shot at,” Patrick said, “sounded like it was real bad. You were talking like you knew it wouldn’t be able to make it back to England. Then you started telling the other guys about a plan you had to fix everything.”
Fix everything, Shawn thought. To Patrick he was still Superman. “That the last you remember?”
“I think I fell asleep while you were telling your plan. Why you all dressed up?”
Shawn took a deep breath. What should he say? He heard loud thumps behind him, his father coming up from the basement. Shawn turned as the door opened.
“Just putting some coal in the furnace. Supposed to get colder again today.”
“I could have done that, Dad.”
“I know. But I saw you getting that uniform on, heard you talking to that colonel.”
Shawn looked at Patrick, still happy with his oatmeal. “Still, while I’m here, Dad, I wanna help with things like that.”
“While you’re here?” his dad asked, closing the basement door.
“Where you going, Daddy?”
Shawn sat back. “Well . . . I have to meet this colonel I talked to on the phone a little while ago.”
“Where?”
“To Washington, you know, where the president lives.”
“You gonna see the president?”
“No, silly. I’m just going to the same city.”
“Today?”
Shawn put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “It’s just for today. I’ll be home tonight.”
Patrick dropped his spoon. “But you just came home yesterday, and you’re going away again?”
“I’m sorry, Patrick. I don’t have a choice.”
“I don’t understand,” Patrick said, looking down at his bowl. “I thought you were home from the war.”
Shawn reached over, put his finger under Patrick’s chin, and gently lifted his head. “I am home from the war, son. I’m just not out of the army yet.”
“What does that mean?”
“Maybe today I’ll find out,” said Shawn, trying to sound hopeful. Patrick got up and ran toward the stairs. “Patrick,” he called out to him. But in a moment, he was up the stairs.
Katherine stared at a big fat file on her desk. Familiar office sounds drifted over the walls of her cubicle. Typewriters clicked away. Telephones rang every few moments. She could hear Shirley in the cubicle next door giving out details of last night’s date with another co-worker. Katherine was glad the other noises muffled the details. She rolled a blank sheet of paper into her typewriter then heard an unfamiliar noise over her shoulder. She looked up, startled to see her boss, Bernie Krebb, staring down at her.
“You started those reports yet?” he asked.
She couldn’t see his mouth; he wasn’t tall enough to get his entire face above the cubicle wall. He looked like that army cartoon,
Killjoy
, peeking down at her, complete with the big nose, bald head, and fingers. He looked absolutely ridiculous. She turned away to keep from laughing. “It’s what I’m working on now, Mr. Krebb.”
“That the
first
one?”
“You just gave me the assignment an hour ago.”
He didn’t reply. She looked up at him. His nose was actually resting on the cubicle wall. “I promise, I will get every one of them done before my last day.”
“You better, if you want a good reference from this office.”
His eyebrows moved up and down as he spoke, sending wrinkles up his forehead. She had to look away. She wanted to say,
I couldn’t care less what kind of reference you give
me, little man.
“I will get them all done, even if I have to work overtime.”
“Not paid overtime.”
You are so pathetic, she thought. “No, I wasn’t thinking I’d be paid. If you would leave, I could get right on it.” She started typing quickly, anything that came to mind, pure gibberish. She kept it up until she heard loud footsteps walking away.
Truth was, she had no motivation for any of this. The assignment was to create a detailed background summary for all her client families, starting with her first visit right up to the current status for each one. According to Krebb, this would make things easier for her successor. But Katherine knew it was just busy work. Any woman with half a brain could gain as much by reading the existing reports in each family’s file. This was the little weasel’s way of punishing her. Dig the ditch. Fill up the ditch.
Well, she’d do whatever she had to, if it kept the final two paychecks coming her way.
“How’d it go last night?”
Katherine looked up. Shirley was standing by her desk.
Katherine leaned back. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“Really?” said Shirley. “Tell me about it.”
“Captain Collins is a bona fide hero,” said Katherine. “I couldn’t believe what he went through.”
“A hero and a looker to boot.”
Katherine restrained a smile. “It’s not like that.”
“What’s not like that? You don’t think he’s gorgeous? I saw his picture on your desk back at Christmas.”
“Shirley, the man just lost his wife a few weeks ago.”
“So . . . what . . . that did something to his looks?”
“You’re terrible. I wasn’t even thinking about him that way.”
Shirley walked over and grabbed Katherine’s wrist.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for a pulse.”
Katherine pulled it away. “Oh, stop.”
Shirley headed back toward her cubicle. She turned and said, “I’ll stop, but you really need to lighten up.”
“I’ve got to get back to work.”
“We’re going out after work for drinks,” Shirley yelled over the wall. “Want to join us?”
“I better stay on this. Krebb is breathing down my neck about these reports.”
“Suit yourself.”
Katherine didn’t know what to make of all that. Of course, she found Shawn—Captain Collins—handsome, but it just wasn’t right to think of him that way. Not now, anyway, and not for a long time. What she was far more aware of was the troubling thought that she might never see him or Patrick again. There just wasn’t a legitimate reason to think she would.
The case was closed, and it was not like Patrick could keep finding reasons to get her invited over. She stared at the jumble of nonsense she had typed on the paper, then yanked it out of her typewriter and put a clean one in its place.
Patrick, she thought, you have ruined my life.
The train ride down from Philadelphia to Washington had been uneventful for Shawn. Crowded, noisy, smoky, but uneventful. About every third passenger wore a uniform. The rest were businessmen reading newspapers or moms with small children, trying to keep them from disturbing everyone else. Shawn had tried to read the paper, then a book. His eyes had read the words, line after line, but no thoughts or images would form.
He felt numb.
In the last twenty-four hours a trio of emotions had fused together inside, like a wave rushing over him. First was the ever-present grief for Elizabeth, then last night revisiting all the details of his last battle, and now, this morning, he must add Patrick’s disappointment to the list.