"It's all right, Love. Just give this thing between you and Jug more thought." Ron squeezed her hand.
"I don't know what's wrong with him." Betty whispered.
"Maybe he is too busy." Ron said as the car drove into the parking lot of CDG, Paris. "You were busy once too, remember ?"
Betty nodded. "So !" Ron said "And how is our freckle faced blonde ?"
"I don't have freckles, Ron !" Betty giggled.
"Not you dummy !" Ron gave her a pat on the head "I am talking about Sabrina, she's somewhere across the Channel right ? We never got in touch !"
[London, 2nd July 1939]
"You are out of your mind, dear fellow ! Go to Germany now ? What in heaven's sweet name for ?"
"You know it very well, Patrick ! I must get them out of there !"
"But you have gone crockers !" Patrick waved his arms "Hitler will never dare turn west, he won't even dream of it !"
"That's what you think, Patrick !" the man glared "That's what you think !"
[Saarbrucken, 2nd July 1939]
The Nazi soldier cheked the papers, the third time, as he eyed the young woman carrying the child in her arms. The woman smiled.
"Stimmt was nicht?" she asked, her voice still brave.
"Warum willst du, Deutschland zu verlassen, gn dige Frau?" the soldier asked, almost demanded.
"Ich habe dir gesagt, bin ich zu Besuch bei Verwandten in Paris" the woman replied, on the edge of desperation. She shifted the child to the other side "Bitte, mein Herr, ist mein Baby satt und es ist eine lange Reise vor".
The soldier glared and matched her details for what must have been the hundredth time. Blue eyes, fair skin, blonde hair. Yes, she was not Juden. Just a good Aryan woman visiting her French relatives.
The soldier nodded and handed her the papers.
"Danke ! Danke !" The woman almost cried.
[Dover, 5th July 1939]
"I am sorry, Sir."
"Sorry what do you mean by that ?" The young man demanded "For Heaven's sake, my papers are in perfect order, Good Sir ! I need a boat to Calais right now !"
"I could help you if I could, Sir." The clerk waved to the roster behind him "Everything's booked till the evening next, you couldn't buy your passage with gold, if you could."
The young man gave him a hard stare as he turned back, muttering under his breath.
"Looking for a boat across ?"
It yanked him right out of his thoughts, a lean, weather beaten man with a scraggly beard smiled at him in what looked like a sneer "Well, do you or don't you ?"
"I...I do, I do." he said "How much ?"
"100 quid."
"What ?" his eyes exploded "100 pounds ! Good Sir, I am not in the mood for a joke, now if you will excuse me !"
"Wait a bit, guvnor !" the lean man held his arm "You need to get across, don't you ?"
The young man knew he had to.
[Outskirts of Metz, 7th July 1939]
"Parlez-vous fran ais?"
She smiled, what else could she do ? She hardly knew the language. She could greet, say thanks, tell the days at most, but little else.
She pointed at the bread in the shop's display case and at the child in her arms. He was hungry but quiet, serene.
"S'il vous pla t!" she pleaded "Ich habe Geld." she didn't know how to say that in French.
The baker was a portly old man, he smiled and nodded his head.
"Merci ! Merci, Monsieur ! Merci !" she said, they would eat finally.
In the shop, the baker's assistant leered at her "Putain nazie" he spat.
Sabrina's head felt like being pounded with a sledgehammer, the details became hazy. Why did she become fixated on this man ? Lawrence Gordon Moore. He was booked on a ship to the US in August of 1939 but couldn't make it. Someone else took his place.
But how did that someone else have a bearing on her search ? That someone was Moore's son. That much she could piece together with her ESP...
But, why did Moore and this woman, why did they look so familiar ?
He had never worked like this since he came to college, but then why did he have to work at all ?
He could get through easily, it suited him, but now he felt as if this was the only thing which justified his existence.
She didn't love him anymore, it was over, even if she didn't say it so, he felt it in his heart.
His dad was fired again, hunting for a job. His Mom had taken up a job at the Best Buy in Riverdale Mall.
Everything was lost, except this.
He could handle this.
Betty was mentally exhausted when she took her seat on the plane. It was a great getaway but Ron, flashy, boorish Ron, had hit the target. She knew things were not going right. She would talk with him.
Sure, one of these days.
[Calais, 29th July 1939]
"Annka !" The young man shouted "We all go together or we don't go ! Ich bin nicht so dass Sie allein!"
"Nein !" The young woman had endured a lot on this journey "You two must go !" she stressed "He is my son ! Our son ! Unser Sohn ! Er muss leben !"
"Er wird leben, verdammt! Wir alle werden." The young man screamed "I love you !" he grabbed her "Ich liebe dich ! I came all this way, you did too. We will get out before it is too late."
"Lawrence !" She wrenched free from his grip "Verstehst du nicht? Verstehst du nicht, was ich f r diesen Jungen geopfert? Es gibt nur zwei Tickets f r Dover und er geht mit Ihnen!"
All the time, the little boy whom they thought was busy playing was silently listening outside the door.
-"I am sure you understand what has to be done." Reggie sipped his wine.
"I do." Paul nodded.
"She was always proud of what a fine writer she was." Reggie mused.
"Still is." Paul said.
"We shall see what she thinks after this." Reggie grinned.
-[Southampton, 9th August 1939]
"You know what to do, Felix ?"
The little boy nodded. He talked rarely, his father feared he may be autistic.
"I must get your mother." He said as he buttoned on the boy's coat "I am sorry to do this, Felix, but please, understand. You must get across." He held onto the boy's shoulders and loked into his eyes. "You are very, very special, Felix. There's going to be a terrible war very soon and it's important that you are safe, Felix."
The little boy kept quiet.
Some hours later, he watched his father slink away from the gangplank. Perhaps I should cry, he thought.
"Promise me you will be good, Felix. Promise me you will work hard." his father would tell him.
"Yes" he said in English.
"Sie sind sehr intelligent, aber man muss hart arbeiten, versprich mir, Felix!" his mother would tell him.
"Ja" he said in German. -
"He is working very hard." Prof. Johnson said "What on Earth did you tell him ?"
"I didn't say anything, my dear friend." The old man wiped his glasses "I don't give advice."
"Strange for an advisor." Prof. Johnson smiled.
"I know." the old man paused "Sometimes, we have to trust in people to do the right thing."
"Nobody gave you advice ?" Prof. Johnson asked.
"They did." the old man said "and I am glad I took them, but...maybe it would have been better otherwise."
[New York, 20th August 1939]
It had been a good journey, at least for him. He seldom complained.
"Where off to now, laddie ?" the bearded old man asked him.
"I don't know." the little boy said.
"Och ! Why don't yae come with me ?" the man asked, a glint in his eye.
The little boy kept quiet, an officer was noting down their names.
"Myself Henry McTavish, Sir ! And this be my little boy !"
"No !" the men jumped, they never heard that voice before. The boy's eyes were shining.
"Oh, and what should we call you, young man ?" the officer asked.
Sabrina slammed the register shut. It can't be, it couldn't be.
Blue eyes, fair skin, blonde hair.
Black eyes and hair, fair skin, long nose.
"Oh my God !" she gasped.
[New York, 20th August 1939]
He never saw them again, neither did they ever see each other.
He was called back to duty before he could leave for France, he died in the Egyptian desert, fighting with Rommel.
When she got no word from him, she returned home. She was killed in the bombing of Dresden.
He never would know their fate, nor they his. He was put in an orphanage by the officer.
"Did you hear me ?" the officer asked sternly "What are you called ?"
He remembered the stories his father told him of his days in the Army, some names would stick more than others.
"My name is Bertrand Kenneth, Sir."
