Whisper on the Wind (44 page)

Annaliese Düray reveled in the jubilation, in the immediate approval of her call. They outmatched her voice, which was a considerable thing because her voice was bigger than she was—especially on this platform. Hands raised, she lifted her cry even louder, momentarily proud of the timbre she’d inherited from her onetime schoolmarm mother. Not strident like a screeching woman but mid-toned, boisterous, easy on the ear even at this volume. “Peace is ours! And so is the future! If we rally behind Jurgen!”

“Anya . . . Anya, come along now.”

Leo Beckenbauer’s arm went around her waist and he ushered her from the crowd. Two others carved a path between the brick wall of the
Apotheke
behind them and the crowd before them, and off they went, the exuberance still echoing in her ears.

“Did you see them, Leo?” she called, breathless. “And more were coming! We should stay. . . .”

But he pressed forward and there was little she could do except follow, with Leo next to her, Koby and Ivo in front, and Huey behind them. Each one was a brother to her—united not by blood but by something deeper—a passion ardent enough to stir all Germany toward a better future.

And sometimes they were nothing more than bodyguards.

They skirted the few people who followed by turning into a narrow passage between the back of the
Apotheke
and the shop next door. Only four blocks to the back of the butcher shop Leo’s father once ran, their temporary headquarters for those whose ideals about the future matched their own.

Not a block from headquarters, Annaliese heard the echoes and cries of yet another rally—led by a voice she recognized as one of her competitors. In her neighborhood?

She barely had a thought gathered before Koby and Ivo left her in Leo’s care. Koby was an ironworker and Ivo a bricklayer, as tall as they were stalwart. It would take little more than a word from either one of them to disperse a competing crowd in their territory.

“I could have stayed this time, Leo,” Annaliese said once they entered the back of the darkened shop. Though the kitchen hadn’t boasted a single slab of meat or even the stingiest of sausages in well over a year, the slight residue of blood and spices still tickled her nose when Leo closed the door behind them, leaving Huey outside to watch the entrance. The everyday energy in the butcher-shop-turned-party-office superseded any excitement these walls had known before or since it closed as a butcher shop—although it had been quite some time since Leo’s father had died, and along with him his shop.

Leo went to the pump and filled a pitcher, taking a glass and filling it with water for Annaliese. “You know how Jurgen likes it; you keep their thoughts on our message while he’s gone. When he returns, that will be the time we spend more freely with them. Keep them wanting more. Wanting him and his message.”

Annaliese knew the orders; Jurgen would return from Berlin tomorrow to the crowds she kept warm in his absence. Of all the voices struggling to be heard these days, it was Jurgen’s that attracted the biggest response from nearly all corners of their broken society. He liked to tell her she brought the women’s voice to him, but Annaliese knew better. People came because they wanted to see him, to hear his voice, to witness the spark in his eye as he promised them what they wanted most of all. Each came with one need or another, but Jurgen had the answer, no matter the question.

“Oh! It must have been delivered while we were gone.” Annaliese scooped up the package left on the wide butcher’s table. “And just in time for tomorrow’s council meeting.”

Ripping away the string and paper, she held up the jacket for Leo to see. It was exactly as she’d told the tailor to make: broad across the shoulder, with a touch of padding to make those shoulders appear fully capable of holding the world’s woes, just as he needed. And not black, but blue—dark, though, because anything too bright would be out of place in their tattered world. Yet blue would cast his elegant eyes in the best light, and if one looked closely enough reveal the hope that came with such a color.

But Leo was shaking his head. “He’ll look like a capitalist.”

Never mind her own father had worn such a suit once, and he the definition of capitalism. She shook her head. “He will look the way every man wants to look,” she said. “Strong. Fatherly yet handsome; a leader.”

Leo aimed a skeptical brow her way. “Fatherly? I wasn’t aware that’s how you viewed him.”

Jurgen was old enough to be her father—or very nearly so, she guessed. But no, that wasn’t how she or any woman in their movement saw Jurgen; she was fairly certain of that.

Yet she ignored the comment. It wasn’t the first time Leo had tried coaxing free her infatuation with Jurgen. “It’s important that he not look like a military man, even if we do want the military behind us. We’ve seen enough leaders in uniform. And he won’t wear the top hat of a capitalist, either, or the shoes of a monarch. He’ll wear trousers like anyone else, only this jacket will show he has the means to take on another’s burden without needing the excesses of an exploiter.”

“Yes, well, he’s doing that, isn’t he?” Leo fingered the sleeve, then looked at her. “Well chosen, Anya. You’re young but smart; I’ve said so right along.”

Annaliese smiled at the praise, especially coming from Leo. Jurgen might be the one to receive public praise for their campaign—or the blame from those who disagreed—but anyone who worked beside them knew whatever Jurgen believed, Leo believed first.