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SEPTEMBER 8
It felt bittersweet, unpacking boxes again less than a year after she promised the children they wouldn’t need to move again for a long time. Martina had hesitated when Avis offered her home to them, but it was closer to the school, and it wouldn’t be for long.
Most importantly, Patrick wouldn’t know where to find them. Even without her foundry paycheck, her savings could have paid the low rent of the trailer camp until well into the winter. But knowing that the children would be someplace safe while she searched for a job ... that was something money could never buy.
There’s a chance he’s in jail already, she reminded herself. Avis promised that Russell had relayed her information to the coast guard, including Patrick’s name. Surely they’d acted on it, the way everyone was so paranoid about espionage and sabotage these days.
Each day since Saturday morning, she’d tuned Gio’s radio to the news, hoping to hear something, but that was foolish. Even the ring of German spies had taken a week to leak to the press. Local black marketeers wouldn’t be announced on a radio program the next morning.
Think of happier things, she scolded. School had begun thatday, but when Avis had told Gio he was released from his part-time job at the library, he had shaken his head with passion. “I haven’t finished finding books for the soldiers.” That was a project he’d latched on to immediately. Likely, he still didn’t fully realize the library was closing as he boxed up the best of its collection. He only knew that men like his father would be reading everything he chose, and that was enough to send him back to the library after school. He was there now, past closing, determined to finish sorting the fiction collection.
Beside her, Rosa took out the dresses Martina had sewn for her doll, each made of an outgrown item of clothing, humming an army marching tune she’d learned from Freddy.
It would be all right. They wouldn’t have much space, with Gio sleeping on the couch in the sitting room, but that was nothing new after living in a trailer for months.
A knock on the door revealed Avis, apron donned to prepare dinner. “Who’s ready to help me crush crackers for meatloaf?”
Rosa shot up from the bed, one of the doll dresses sliding to the floor. “Me!”
Clever, that Avis. She’d make a good mother someday.
“Unpacking going well?” Avis asked once Rosa had charged past.
Martina nodded. “We won’t stay long. I’m sure I’ll find work again soon. Even if it’s not in a factory, I have experience sewing and baking, and—”
Avis shook her head. “None of that, now. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“But your husband...”
“Agreed to this too.”
At first, Martina had thought Avis’s marriage was just like every other part of her life: neat and tidy and perfect. But even in just a day of living in their home, she’d seen moments of tension, the small irritations of daily life, the flashes of longing whenever Avis remembered Russell would be leaving again soon.
They were young, but they were trying. That was more than Patrick had ever done, choosing instead to run away whenever times got hard.
“Speaking of Russell,” Avis added, “he wants to talk to you. Without Rosa.”
Martina dropped the book she’d been placing on the shelf by the window. That could only mean one thing: they’d finally gotten news from the coast guard.
She hurried to the porch, where Russell was leaning against the railing, beaming. “It sounds to me like you’re a certifiable war hero, Mrs. Bianchini.”
Did she dare hope? “What do you mean?”
“The trawler you reported—I rang up my coast guard buddy this morning for news. Turns out, they sounded its fuel tanks and found double the allotted amount of gas one craft is allowed to hold, plus an illegal radio.”
Not knowing her personal connection, he wouldn’t understand the relief she felt, causing her to sag against the side of the house. “Good,” she managed. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“I didn’t know what to think when Avis told me your hunch, but they found a paper with German phrases on board too.” He shook his head in disgust. “They were planning a rendezvous with the very fellows who would shoot down my Hooligan Navy buddies, so I have a personal reason to thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” It was a decision that had cost her, but, thank God, it had paid off. Patrick was locked away. One link in the black market was broken. She might even have saved lives, causing a U-boat to return to Germany to refuel instead of gaining an extra month to prowl the Atlantic Ocean.
“My buddy in the coast guard couldn’t tell me until today because customs agents got involved and detained the crew. The arrests will be in tomorrow’s paper.”
She’d have to tell the children tonight, then. “What will happen to those men?”Please, not the electric chair.
Russell’s shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. “They didn’t catch them in the act, so intent to commit treason is as high as the charge would go. I’m guessing they’ll only be convicted for gas profiteering. That’s a prison term for sure. Maybe ten, fifteen years? Enough to put them out of commission for the rest of the war, though that’s better than they deserve.”
Martina counted the years. After a decade in prison, even if Patrick returned, Gio would be twenty-two, Rosa eighteen. A man and a woman. Still vulnerable, but at least their childhoods would be free from fear.
