An Owl's Whisper (11 page)

A Mother

Ten minutes later Eva awoke, and the nuns helped her to a bed in the dormitory sickroom.

When Eva was tucked in and sleeping, Sister Martine said, “Mother, I’m sure you have things to do. This afternoon I must bake bread, but for now I can mind Eva.”

“Oh no, Sister. I’ll sit with our little casualty for a while.” Mother Catherine took Eva’s hand. “I can pray my breviary here. You tend to the staff of life.”

Sister Martine scurried off, and Mother pulled the old cane-back rocking chair next to Eva’s bed. She rocked slowly and rested her hand on Eva’s shoulder. Looking at the girl lying so peacefully, Mother imagined Eva as a child of two or three, cradled in her arms.
There, there, my sweet little one. You’re safe with mother. Nothing can hurt you now. Sleep.
Rocking and stroking Eva’s shoulder, Mother closed her eyes and hummed a lullaby her own mother had sung to her. Afterward, a whispered prayer sprang spontaneously from her joy. “Thank you, Lord, for this moment. This moment, holding my child. Rocking her. Thank you for the gift of this child.”

After allowing herself a quarter hour of bliss, Mother Catherine sighed and opened her breviary. The prayer book was an old friend, familiar to both fingers and eyes—its black leather cover made supple and red ribbon page mark darkened by years of daily use. But for once reading it was effort. A struggle.
Catherine, your attention
—
it wanders today like a bee in red clover.
Her eyes flitted to what was
her
clover. To bandaged Eva sleeping so peacefully and to the notebook on the metal bedside table.

Mother pressed the breviary closed and set it in her lap. She glanced back and forth from Eva to the notebook. She reached out and touched it, then pulled her hand away.
You’ve been calling me, haven’t you? Pestering, distracting, even tempting me.
She gazed at Eva sleeping soundly then snatched the notebook.
And now you’ve won out.

Since Eva arrived at St. Sébastien four years earlier, Mother had wondered about the long walks she regularly took. When she’d brought up the subject, Eva replied they were “just walks, nothing more.” She’d asked others, but the girls only knew that “Eva likes to walk.” Mother’s instinct told her there was more to the story. Now the journal in her hand might settle the matter.

The cover bore the inscription,
St. Sébastien VIII
. Mother opened the book. On the top of each page was a six digit numerical entry like the first, “141141.” Dates, she thought. Eva’s comments were mundane. Like,
Saw spring’s first violets in the meadow today,
and
Cami bobbed Simone’s hair last night.
Mother was surprised only by the large blank spaces between entries. With paper so dear under the occupation, the voids, prominent as powdered sugar on Viennese pastry, struck her as frivolous. So inappropriately frivolous, they troubled her.

Mother felt a chill and that reminded her to change the warming stone at the foot of Eva’s bed. With tongs, she took a hot brick from the stovetop and carried it to Eva’s bed. She set it down on the opened journal while she removed the cooled one from under the duvet. Unwrapping the stone, she placed it on the stove to rewarm. She took the hot stone, wrapped it in the towel, and tucked the warm bundle near to Eva’s feet.

When Mother sat and picked up the journal, she noticed feint gray writing in the formerly blank spaces on the page. The writing had appeared only in the rectangle of space that was covered by the hot stone. It consisted of cryptic ciphers—
ano, ono, b2rp, trg3,
etc. On the next, page more ciphers, even fainter, occupied what had been blank space. On the third page, the ciphers were barely visible. Mother brought her fingertips to her cheek.
Coded messages, written in disappearing ink?
She pulled her shawl tight.

Eva’s lunge and her shriek filled the room. She was wild-eyed. Flailing for the book. Wailing, “My notebook! What are you doing?”

“I—” Mother Catherine fumbled the notebook closed. “I just opened it to see.”

“To see what? It is
my
notebook. You have no right.”

Mother shrank back in her chair. She brought quivering fingers to her lips. “But I do have a right, my child. Parents have the right, the obligation even, to know about their children. I too,
in loco parentis
, have that right—” She suddenly looked strong. “—and that obligation. I have never limited your promenades, which I view as healthy. I said I wouldn’t and I have not. But this morning’s accident, so far off the grounds, could have ended tragically.” Mother thrust her chin out. “I will do what your safety requires.”

Eva glared silently at the nun for a moment. “But you’re not my parent. Not my mother. How could you do this? You’ve disappointed me so.”

Not my mother.
A dream, shattered like dropped crystal.

“I didn’t know what I would find—” Mother’s eyes darted to the notebook. “—there. I must say I
am
surprised, or should I say chagrinned, at what looks like coded messages written in disappearing ink—as if you have something to hide.”

Eva seethed. “Every person has a right to privacy. You chafe at restrictions under the German occupation, even as you tromp on the rights of those under
your
occupation.” Eva paused. Her look became hard as lye. “I shall never forget you did this.” She pointed her finger. “I shall
never
forgive.”

At that, fire swept fear and fluster from Mother’s face. “You point your finger and compare me to the occupiers? I’m nothing better than a Nazi thug, you say?” Mother threw the notebook onto the bed. “Have your secrets.” She stormed from the room, and shortly Sister Martine took her place, silently praying her beads next to Eva’s bed.

Late that night Mother sat alone in the chapel. Prayer didn’t come easily, and she knew why.
You’re not here to ask God’s blessing. Nor to understand His will. You want only the quiet. Quiet to contemplate what you know has begun today. Begun slipping relentlessly, inevitably away. Quiet in which to mourn its passing.

It was early the next morning when Dr. Humbert arrived at the convent door.
Obergrenadier
Krebs was standing to the side and behind him, holding a large cardboard box, when the great door swung open. Sister Arnaude nodded
Good-day
to the physician. There was no such warmth for the German.

“The young man chauffeured me here to check on an injured girl,” Humbert said.

Krebs took a step forward. “
Mademoiselle
Eva,” he said.

The nun scowled at the German. “Please come in, doctor.”

Krebs slipped in behind the physician. Sister Arnaude showed the visitors to the parlor. She took the physician’s hat and coat. “If you will kindly wait here, doctor, I will prepare
Mademoiselle
Messiaen to see you.” She whisked out of the room.

Sister Arnaude was back in a moment. “Doctor, I can take you to see Eva now.” To Krebs, shifting his hat from the left hand to the right, she sniffed, “
You
will wait.”

Dr. Humbert walked into the white dormitory sick room to find Eva in her white nightgown, sitting up in the white-sheeted bed with three plump, white pillows at her back. She was playing cards with another student. Humbert blinked at the incongruity of Eva’s smile and the purplish bruise peeking from under her dressing.

“Françoise, out, out, out.” Sister Arnaude clapped her hands with each
out
. “Dr. Humbert will see
Mademoiselle
Eva now. Take the cards, Françoise.” The nun stepped to the side.

Dr. Humbert sat on the edge of the bed and held Eva’s wrist. “Ah, my dear, what’s this shy little mouse I see trying to hide under your bandages?” He stared at his pocket watch. “A strong pulse. It’s always good. Let me have a look at our little friend.” He moved the bandage to the side. Despite his care, the gauze tugged at the wound. Eva winced and a bead of bright blood formed at the centermost suture. “I am sorry for the discomfort. Ah, the stitches look fine. Couldn’t have done a nicer job myself. You are lucky, young lady; the laceration rides the brow line—any scar should be obscure. When
Monsieur
Mouse goes, you’ll again be beautiful.”

Humbert turned Eva’s head toward the shaded window, and he peered into her eyes. He asked Sister Arnaude to roll up the window shade. The stunning brightness of the day poured in and he saw Eva’s pupils close down quickly and in unison. “Very good,” he said. “Any pain or numbness other than near to our little mouse? Any dizziness?”

“Just soreness at my wrist, Doctor.”

Humbert pushed up the sleeve of Eva’s white nightgown and examined the wrist. He pressed and prodded to prove no bones were broken. Then he pulled the sleeve back down and gave the hand a pat.

“All signs are good. But my dear, you must let Sister know if you have dizziness or new pain. Eh?” The physician turned to the nun. “And Sister, any such problems and you will alert me. Yes?” He got up to leave. As he was drawing the shade he said, “Sister, please tell Mother Catherine I see no indication of serious injury. And you, young lady, I want resting, not card games!” Humbert winked. “At least not until tomorrow.”

Sister Arnaude returned with the physician to the room where Krebs waited. She opened the door and said, “You’ll be leaving now.”

Krebs stepped into the hallway. “I trust the
Mademoiselle
Eva progresses?” Humbert nodded. Krebs turned to Sister Arnaude. “I know times are difficult, Sister, so I leave you a box of tinned foods there in the parlor.” He cleared his throat. “May I ask you to pass my largest regards to
Mademoiselle,
please?”

The nun’s only answer was a scowl.

The moment the men were gone she rushed into the parlor to examine the contents of Krebs’ box, can by can.

Walks, Together

It was the fifth day since Eva’s fall, and she and Mother Catherine hadn’t spoken since the incident over the notebook. Eva was glad.

It was early morning and she slipped out the side door of the dormitory. She went to the barn to get Caspar, and the two of them set off through crisp snow along the drive that led to the gate. Half way there, Caspar started barking and ran ahead. Eva called him, but he ignored her. Rabbit, she thought. The dog darted under the gate and vanished. As she got close, it swung open and Caspar reappeared. A man stepped into the sunlight. Glinting off the snow, the light dazzled so that Eva had to shade her eyes to see him clearly.
A soldier. German.
She considered the figure: Slender. Open, gray greatcoat hanging on him as if on a coat rack. Boyish face under a crumpled garrison cap. Spectacles. And a smile. Eva remembered her uncle’s warning—more of a threat, really—about contact with Germans. She glanced back at
St. Sébastien. You know what to do. Just turn and go. Calmly. No eye contact….But not without Caspar
. She squinted.
That
face? Seems familiar. Safe.
“Come here, Caspie. Here.” She stomped her foot. “Now.”

The soldier raised his arm. “Can you remember me? I’m called Krebs. Johannes Krebs. When you are fallen, I returned you to here. Remember?”

Eva did remember, vaguely. “No, I don’t remember. And I must be going back now. Here, Caspar.”

Krebs stepped ahead. “I wanted to see how you were doing.” His look was earnest.

“Very well, thank you.” Eva paused. She reminded herself,
Just turn and go.
But she couldn’t help asking, “The sutures. That was you?”

Krebs removed his cap. “I’m afraid so. I regret I’m no tailor.”

“Dr. Humbert said they were as fine as he could have done.”

“I
was
careful. Didn’t want to blemish Belgium’s loveliest
objet d’art
.”

Eva blushed. She searched for the right thing to say. Finally she sighed as if settling for something less. “I must be going. Come, Caspie.”

Krebs took a step toward her. “May I wander with you?”

Eva’s eyes opened wide. “I don’t think so.”

“Perhaps tomorrow?”

“I—” Eva bit her lip. “—I may not walk tomorrow.”

“Then the next time I see you out?”

“Probably not.”

“Probably isn’t certainly, so I’ll take it. And I’ll ask again next time I see you.”

As Eva turned to leave, she said over her shoulder, “Far as I know, asking is not yet forbidden under the occupation.” She left with Caspar scampering at her side and didn’t look back, though for a long while she imagined the soldier’s eyes fixed on her.

The following day Eva walked again. And again, Caspar ran ahead, and sure enough, Krebs was there, standing just beyond the gate. He squatted to pet the dog.

When Eva walked up, Krebs said, “So, today may I stroll along with you?”

Her eyes said yes. “Not today. I—” She glanced at the sky. “—I must get back to school.”

Krebs shrugged. “But you just left?” Rather than press, he bowed politely. “As you wish. I’ll try once more.”