PETER AND ANJA, CHAPTER 17: BONNIE ANNIE LAURIE
Peter woke to dots of perspiration on his forehead and the vague sense that he'd swallowed a razor blade. The barracks was noisy with life, and the dim light of late afternoon was streaming through a crack in the ceiling. They really needed to patch that before it rained, he thought as he laid still, letting his mind clear.
How long had he been asleep? A quick check of his watch showed it was half past four. Bloody hell, he'd been down for over two hours. He flicked his eyes to the right and saw Olsen and Kinch at the table, looking intently at a chess board, while LeBeau and Garlotti watched. Below him, he could feel vibrations as Carter carved away at one of the blocks of wood he'd acquired from Schultz in exchange for chocolate bars. God only knew what he was making.
He would be "escaping" in three hours, and the truth was, he wasn't feeling well. But he felt sure this was nothing more than a cold, and everyone on the team had worked through colds and worse. He felt a little woozy as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bunk, but steadied himself before jumping down to the floor. He sat beside Carter on the bottom bunk, lit a smoke, and began to cough.
"You've got to ease up on the cigarettes, Pete," Kinch tossed over his shoulder without even looking up from his game. "You sound like an old man when you wake up." Olsen snorted in agreement.
Seeming older than he actually was happened to be an idea that had some appeal to Peter Newkirk. So he was smirking a little as he harrumphed and took a deeper drag on his cigarette—and triggered a coughing spasm. Carter immediately looked alarmed and smacked him on the back a few times, as if there was something stuck in his windpipe, then handed over his canteen of water.
Peter took a slug. The simple act of swallowing hurt, but he caught his breath and got to his feet. "Leave off, Carter," he said with a wheeze that instantly got LeBeau's attention. Peter watched his friend's eyebrows shoot up, and replied by looking away and thrusting his lips out in a pout. LeBeau wouldn't say anything in front of everyone, but Peter knew he was going to get an earful in private.
"Where's the Colonel?" he asked.
"He's out making the rounds of the barracks chiefs right now," Kinch said, still focusing on his chess game. "Making sure everyone knows what's happening tonight."
Good, Peter thought. Then he wouldn't be missed if he made an immediate escape from the wrath of LeBeau. He smoked his cigarette to the butt end, then stubbed it out. With a nod and a thumb advising Carter to cover the door, Peter moved toward the bunkbed that provided a secret entrance into their tunnel.
"I'm going d-d-down below to check on our guests," he announced as he hit the panel that made the bunk rise, and down he went.
XXX
The Witmans couldn't carry much with them—only two small carpet bags for the entire family. Being in possession of anything more than clothes and personal care items for a short trip would have aroused suspicion if they were stopped, so valuables and mementoes had to be left behind. Wedding pictures, baby pictures, jewelry, a family Bible dating to the 17th century—all were stashed in a crate in the tunnel, in hopes that they could be sent along later.
Peter found Hannelore sitting in front of the crate, cradling a doll with blond hair, a straw hat with red ribbons and flowers, and little red shoes. Peter crouched down beside her.
"What's her name?" he asked softly.
"Simone," Hannelore answered, just as quietly. She looked up at Peter. "I don't play with her any more, of course. Because I'm thirteen. I'm practically a lady."
Peter touched the doll's face. "My sister Nora had a doll—and not a baby doll, but a proper girl, like Simone. More like a friend, really. But I don't think she was as nice as Simone. Is she made of bisque?" he asked.
"Yes," Hannelore replied. "She's very delicate. She'd never survive the journey. Is Nora older or younger than you?"
"Two years older," Peter said. "I have seven older sisters," he said with a roll of his eyes. "She comes right before me." He turned back to the doll. "Her eyes move," Peter observed.
"Yes. Lovely brown eyes. She's 30 centimeters tall, and was my grandmother's when she was a little girl. She only had sons, and then grandsons until I came along."
"They're lucky you came along," Peter said. "So Simone would have someone to look after her. And lots of other reasons, of course."
Hannelore smiled and leaned into Peter's shoulder. "Seven sisters?"
"Yes. That's why I know heaps and heaps about girls," he replied.
She swatted him on the shoulder playfully. "You're still a stupid boy."
"I realize that," he said with a chuckle. "Girls are much brighter than us lads. We go from starting fistfights to starting wars." He sobered at the thought; it wasn't wrong. "Listen, we'll wrap her up really well. Carter is really clever with woodwork, and he could make a crate so she doesn't bump around on her journey to England. And we'll mark it 'fragile' so everyone knows not to drop her."
"Scotland. They're sending us to Scotland," Hannelore said distastefully. "Edinburgh."
"Edin-bur-row," Peter said, correcting her Germanic pronunciation. "It's supposed to be a beautiful city."
Hannelore shrugged. "Do you think anyone will really care if the box you send us is marked fragile?"
"No, probably not," Peter said thoughtfully. "So we'll mark it 'explosive.' That way everyone will be very, very ginger with it, alright? And her little travel box will look just like a coffin." He looked at her with very wide eyes.
Hannelore burst into laughter, and Peter joined in. "That's brilliant," Hannelore said. "You're so naughty."
"With grownups, we call that 'sneaky,' actually. And yes, I really am," Peter said with a grin. He got to his feet and brushed off his knees. "Hang about a moment, love. I have something for you."
He disappeared around a corner, and returned a moment later with something behind his back. "Close your eyes," he said.
Hannelore obeyed. "Alright, open 'em," Peter said. He was holding a blue dress with the tiniest gingham print, a white collar and cuffs on short sleeves, and two rows of white buttons down the front.
"The belt is reversible," he said, showing her that it was white on one side and gingham on the other. "You need a summer frock for warm days."
"You made it for me?" Hannelore asked in astonishment.
"Of course. At your service, Mademoiselle," he said with a dramatic bow. "I made a frock for your mum too, but not in gingham. This fabric is suitable for younger ladies."
"But not little girls, right?"
"Little girls can wear gingham, of course, but not this style. The check is very subtle for a mature look. And little girls wouldn't have adjustable darts here or room about the hips, would they? Because they wouldn't need it like a young lady does. And there's room in the hem to let down two inches for when you …"
He didn't get to finish. Hannelore had carefully laid down Simone and thrown herself into his arms. He held her tightly as she sniffled and tried not to cry.
"Don't be afraid. Scotland will be lovely."
Hannelore looked up at him. "Should I become Hannah or Laura? I can't stay Hannelore. It's too German."
He smiled down. "You know, there's a Scottish song about a girl with your name." He was shy about singing, though he had a good voice, so he began to sing it very softly and held her close to dance.
Maxwelton's hills are bonnie,
Where early falls the dew,
'Twas there that Annie Laurie
Gave me her promise true.
Gave me her promise true -
Which ne'er forgot will be,
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me down and dee.
Her brow is like the snow-drift,
Her neck is like the swan,
Her face it is the fairest,
That 'er the sun shone on.
That 'er the sun shone on -
And dark blue is her eye,
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me down and die.
Hannelore was looking at him with the pure admiration of a girl's first crush as he waltzed her around the tunnel.
"Annie Laurie," she said. "I like that."
They hadn't noticed her parents and Colonel Hogan—who had returned from across camp via the tunnel system—watching them with a smile. Hogan pondered that moving two civilian adults to the coast was never an easy undertaking. Transporting a child with them presented special challenges, and having someone leading the way whom the child could trust was critical. Thank goodness Peter and Hannelore had connected so well.
XXX
Colonel Hogan arrived in the bunk a few minutes later, with Peter on his heels. The Frenchman got to his feet, filled the teakettle with water, and set it down to boil. "You want tea," LeBeau announced to Peter, allowing no room for argument. He stood at the stove, arms crossed, facing Peter.
"Ta, mate," Peter replied, leaning lazily into Carter's bunk. There was no point fighting LeBeau on matters of instinct. "B-but I'll take it from here. I want it d-d-done properly," he added in a waspish tone.
LeBeau ignored the implied insult. "J'ai apporté un petit morceau de gâteau au gingembre du déjeuner du Commandant pour toi. Garde tes forces."
Peter's eyebrows rose up, and he could hear Kinch snickering. Peter's spoken French was awful, but he understood it fairly well, though not as well as Kinch. LeBeau had pinched him a slice of the Kommandant's gingerbread cake? Yes, that would keep his strength up! That sounded alright.
As the tea kettle began to whistle, Peter joined in with a merry tune of his own. He poured the boiling water over the tea leaves, then carried the pot and a cracked cup to the table. LeBeau reached around his shoulder, placing a plate carefully covered in a napkin in front of him, and following a moment later to deposit a splash of milk and two sugar cubes in his tea cup.
"Don't drink it yet," LeBeau said as Peter poured out his tea. He laid a hand across his forehead, then scolded him with just a look.
"I'm fffffine," Peter said irritably. After a long silence, he allowed, "It's a very, vvvvery minor cold. It wouldn't k-keep you down, nor Colonel Hogan." He looked over at the Colonel, who now regarded him with concern. "Would it Sir?"
"Not for a short mission near camp, it wouldn't," LeBeau snapped, but he let Peter and Colonel Hogan fill in the blanks for themselves. Peter knew perfectly well that he and Colonel Hogan could be gone twenty-four hours; Kinch had said so.
"I'll b-be alright, Louis," Peter said. He had a patented way of slowing down his speech, modulating his pitch, and widening his eyes to signal sincerity; LeBeau rarely fell for it. Peter took a bite of the cake and tried to suppress a wince as his throat argued the case against swallowing.
LeBeau looked at Peter squarely, debating whether to say what he was thinking. He decided to take the risk. "You're stammering a lot more than you usually do around me," he said. "That always happens when you're getting sick."
"Leave off," Peter said, pushing the plate away. "Th-that's rubbish. I'm ffffine."
It was Colonel Hogan's turn to lean across the table and place a hand on Peter's forehead. "He doesn't feel warm to me, LeBeau. You sure you're up to this, Newkirk?"
"Yes, Sir. I'll be p-perfectly alright. I'll have time to rest in the cooler when we get back." He turned to face LeBeau. "You can play nnnnursemaid then," he snapped.
Hogan nodded. "I think he can handle this, LeBeau. And be nice, Peter." The use of his first name signaled immediately to Peter that he now skating on thin ice with Colonel Hogan.
LeBeau surrendered. "Sorry, mon pote. I'm just worried about you going if you're in ill health. You have to admit, it is not without reason." He paused, thinking of the times he had nursed his Pierre back from the brink. "Take some aspirin before you go, and carry some with you," he said with an air of resignation. "That might help."
"Fffffine," Peter replied. He couldn't stay annoyed with LeBeau for long. "Look, mmmost of the j-j-journey is by motor car, except for two detours through the woods on ffffoot to meet the relay team," Peter said. "I've done it before, and someone has to see that llllittle girl through."
"It's not a perfect situation," Hogan said. "But I need Newkirk for this mission, and if he's feeling well enough to dance around the tunnels with Hannelore, he should be well enough to go to the coast," he added with a grin.
Peter rolled his eyes, but didn't let the embarrassing revelation get him down. "Annie Laurie, Sir. She'll be known in her next life as Annie Laurie."