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The sound of Rosa laughing in the distance, the swooping seagulls, even the thrum of the waves all faded as Avis stared at the sodden flotation device in her hands.
A Nazi soldier had worn this. Whether it was part of the flotsam of a sunken U-boat or had been torn forcibly awayfrom a corpse, she couldn’t say. But in the corner was a dark reddish stain.
Blood.
Astonishing how quickly a stomach could lurch, not at all like the tides or the Dewey decimal system or any of the other steady, predictable elements of Avis’s life. Clutching her middle, she clenched herself against nausea, still clinging to the life vest like she was the one drowning.
One good toss would send it back into the ocean, like the piece of refuse that it was.
No.Surely someone official would want to know. It was enemy contraband, after all.
She hid the life jacket behind her and hurried back to the wagon. “Gio? Will you and Rosa bring these buckets back to the library? I have ... an errand to run.”
Thank goodness their home was only a few blocks from the library. Avis couldn’t tell the time, but the neighborhood was full of cars parked in driveways, indicating it was nearer the dinner hour than she’d like. It would be better if Russell didn’t learn about her discovery. He’d been doing so much better these past few weeks, anticipating a promotion at work, showing interest in his usual activities. Time, hard work, and a studious avoidance of anything related to the war had worked wonders, just as she’d hoped.
Still, she’d been unable to think of anything else to do with the dreadful thing. If she could just stash it away until she had time to think, to call someone official who would know better, it would be all right. Maybe, if she was lucky, Russell would still be at work or out with Herb again.
But the moment she opened the front door, careful to let the screen door latch soundlessly behind her—there was Russell inthe living room, newspaper in hand, smile on his face. “Now who’s the late one?” he teased.
No sense in trying to hide it. Russell wouldn’t be so easily thrown off as little Rosa, driven away from her sandcastle by a promise of ribbon candy later. “Hello, Russell.”
“What’s that you’ve got...?” His voice trailed off, and the paper dropped to his knees as he saw the strange item in her hand.
“I found it down by the shore. It . . . it’s probably nothing.”
He was at her side in a moment, examining the life vest, holding it up to the light. “I’ve seen pictures of these. U-boat crews use them to get to the surface if they have to bail.”
“Oh,” she said, the word sounding small. She’d guessed that much, but hearing it said out loud, picturing the lurking submarine breaking apart and survivors fleeing ... well, that was another matter. “What is this?” She pointed to the tube and metal insert poking out from the side of the life vest.
“Hose and mouthpiece.” He ran his finger over an empty metal grommet. “Should be connected to an oxygen tank, but this one’s been knocked off. Remember, these fellows start underwater—deep, deep underwater—and have to make it to the surface.”
“Oh my,” she said, feeling the pressure in her own head ... or, more likely, the start of a terrible headache.I shouldn’t have asked. I should never ask.
She gave him the details of exactly where she’d found it.
“We’ll have to call the coast guard and report it.”
How was she supposed to do that? “Operator, please connect me with the coast guard? I’m holding a bloodied Nazi life jacket, so it’s a matter of urgency.”
But Russell had already picked up the handset, spouting off his name and city—did everyone but her know what to do, or was it simply Russell’s preoccupation with the military he was unable to join?
His description of the item and where Avis had found it was detailed but concise, his replies to questions from the other side calm.
She’d always admired that about him. No matter what, Russell was never ruffled, never afraid. Like a rock in a harbor, firm and true, even with winter storms swirling all around.
“They’re sending someone to pick it up tomorrow,” he said, replacing the handset.
“Pick it up?” She’d hoped they’d thank them for the report and tell them to burn it in the backyard. “Do they want to reuse the material?”
“Maybe. I know there’s a division that saves anything Axis-made—wallets, watches, even chewing gum—to give to our spies.” His hands pressed against the liner as if he were a spy himself, feeling for the outline of a concealed message. “Or maybe they want to study it.”
She felt the need to scrub her hands raw, as though the German-made device had passed along some kind of contagion. “You were right. They’re out there, Russ. So close to our shores that I can pick up their debris on the beach.”
Russell didn’t turn to her, just looked toward the ocean, shaking his head in disgust. “They’re out there, and I’m in here.”
At dinner, which consisted of pork chops far too dry because her mind had drifted during the frying, all the conversation came back to the Battle of the Atlantic and Nazi U-boat patterns and minefields in Casco Bay. Even when Avis tried to change the subject to the work promotion, Russell didn’t linger long before steering the conversation back to the battle going on just past their shores.
This was what she’d dreaded. After all her effort to avoid the war, it had come directly into her living room, disturbing their marital peace.
