When Stars Light the Sky (The Women of Midtown #2)

Chapter 38

38

Dawn was still breaking over the tiny Swiss village of Winterthur as their train slowed and pulled into the station. Benedict had been holding Inga in his arms ever since she awoke ten minutes ago, and they would be disembarking soon. Winterthur was only the first of many stops before they reached a port in northern Spain to board a ship home. But this village was the most monumental, for they were free .

“It looks like they’ve sent a welcoming party,” he told Inga with a nod toward the window. A squad of Swiss Army soldiers in their formal blue-and-red dress uniforms stood at attention. They wore ceremonial swords instead of carrying rifles.

As was customary, the Gerards left the train first. As soon as Ambassador Gerard set his foot on Swiss land, the soldiers drew their swords in unison, then raised them in a salute as their commanding colonel handed Mrs. Gerard a bouquet of roses. It was an unexpectedly kind welcome after their harried flight from Berlin.

Benedict guided Inga onto the train station platform. The air was crisp and cold, with snowcapped mountains in the distance. He didn’t care that every muscle ached after eighteen hours cooped up on a hard bench. They had safely made it out of Germany. He reached for Inga’s hand and squeezed it.

Once everyone had disembarked, they assembled on the platform, where the Swiss colonel offered another formal greeting to them all.

“Ambassador and Mrs. Gerard,” he called out, his voice echoing across the platform. “Ladies and gentlemen, it shall be our privilege to escort you to your next train, but first we have prepared a light repast before your departure.”

Thank heavens! There was no dining car on their trip from Berlin, nor had they dared stop along the way. The colonel led them down the platform toward a charming station house with a steeply pitched roof, wooden siding, and a cozy overhang. A hot buffet awaited them inside, where long tables were already set with service for the travelers. The aromas of scrambled eggs, fresh bread, and fried potatoes made him even hungrier. His stomach growled as he and Inga filled their plates, then carried them to the tables.

“Look, chocolate!” Inga said as she settled onto the bench beside him. Bars of Swiss chocolate had been left at each place setting by their host.

Benedict smiled, thankful to have her close by his side. He raised his glass of water as though it were a flute of the finest French champagne. “To freedom,” he said.

Inga clinked her glass to his. “To freedom!” she echoed. They both took a long, healthy swallow.

While they dined, Swiss porters were busy transferring their luggage to a different train that would carry them across Switzerland and into Italy. Their route would then pass through portions of France where the war had yet to reach, wending onward to the neutral country of Spain and finally a port, where the Infanta Isabella would take them to Cuba. It would be too dangerous to sail directly to New York, a route heavily patrolled by German U-boats. Instead, they’d follow the longer but safer route from Spain to Cuba. As soon as the next train was loaded, it would be time to leave.

“Pick a carriage, everyone,” Ambassador Gerard crowed. “There’s plenty of room to spread out and be comfortable.”

Benedict led Inga to the front car. “The view will be better from the front,” he said. “We’ll be moving through the Italian Alps, so the fewer cars ahead, the better.”

They boarded the first car, where he settled his hands on her hips to guide her down the center aisle. God bless the Swiss! This train was much nicer than the one they had just left. Plush, private compartments lined each side of the aisle. Each compartment’s benches were upholstered with royal-blue velvet. A dinette table took up the center. Each one seated four people and had a door for privacy. With luck, he and Inga wouldn’t have to share, and they could spend the next few days of travel flirting and exchanging covert kisses and a caress or two.

“Inga!” Nellie cried from the interior of the compartment they had just passed; the door was still open. Nellie and Mrs. Barnes had already claimed one of the benches. “Inga, come join us! We can play dominoes.”

“Okay,” Inga readily agreed. Benedict’s hands fell to his sides as she slipped away from him, angling to slide onto the bench opposite the women. She fluttered a little goodbye with her fingers as he stood in the aisle.

Benedict sent her a terse nod and continued down to the next empty compartment on the opposite side of the aisle. Maybe she was just being polite. Inga could be like that. Besides, now that they were out of Germany, the train would be making regular stops along the route, where they could stretch their legs and change seating arrangements. Hopefully, he could get her back later in the day.

Larry slipped onto the bench opposite him, looking tired and miserable. “I think there’s something in this upholstery that is triggering my allergies,” he said after a tremendous sneeze.

It was going to be a long ride to Zurich.

Benedict tried to concentrate on the passing countryside as the train chugged its way along mountain passes while moving deeper into Switzerland. They went through Zurich and Interlachen, where additional passenger cars were appended to the train. After each break, Inga steadfastly returned to the game of dominoes, which covered the table in her compartment.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked on the platform outside the Interlachen stop.

How could he object when her smile was so cheerful? He claimed not to mind and returned to the compartment with Larry. It was nightfall by the time they crossed the Italian border and stopped at Turin so that everyone would have time to select sleeping berths. The Gerards had a sleeping car entirely to themselves, while the rest of them would spend the night in either the men’s or the ladies’ sleeper cars. The berths weren’t so bad; soldiers in the trenches had it much worse. They were stacked three high along the sides of the sleepers, with a curtain that could be drawn for privacy.

Benedict climbed the stepladder to an upper berth, which was a little wider and longer than a coffin. It had a narrow mattress and a cubby at the foot of the bed for toiletries. After he pulled the curtain closed, moonlight from a narrow window was the only illumination, leaving him plenty of time to gaze at the night sky and think. The vibration of the train soon lulled him to sleep.

When morning arrived, he hoped to escape Larry, but it was not to be. People naturally returned to the same compartments as the day before, leaving him with a view of Inga, who chatted happily with Nellie and Mrs. Barnes across the aisle. She never once spared him a glance all morning.

They crossed into France by lunchtime, and things got worse. Nellie and Mrs. Barnes went to another carriage, where they’d been invited to join a game of pinochle. Before Benedict could slip inside Inga’s compartment, Lieutenant Carter and two engineers from the corps grabbed all three empty places. They supplied chocolate mints they’d bought in Zurich and a deck of cards, seeking a fourth player for a round of bridge.

All three of those men had wives back home, so Benedict needn’t fear they were moving in on Inga, but the amount of merriment pouring out of their compartment annoyed him. Instead of concentrating on the card game, Lieutenant Carter taught Inga how to balance a mint on her nose and then tip her head to pop it up and into her mouth.

Larry must have noticed his glare. “I think everyone is still feeling the aftereffects of getting safely out of Germany,” he said quietly.

Maybe so. It was embarrassing that Larry could have arrived at such an empathetic conclusion while Benedict simmered in a toxic vat of jealousy.

Outside, the fields of France looked remarkably serene for a nation at war. Their route pushed through the southern part of the country to avoid the battle lines. It would be a few more months before the stubbly land would be plowed and planted with their traditional fields of lavender. Or perhaps the war had taken its toll on luxury crops like lavender, and they’d plant wheat or oats. Ancient stone walls marked out fields, and picturesque churches dotted the countryside. An olive grove, with its silvery bark and twisted limbs, sped past the window. Everything was so different from what they had in America. Was Inga even watching? She would probably never pass this way again, but a glance through her compartment window showed her still working on balancing that mint on her nose.

The medieval city of Avignon was straight ahead, where the old walls and the imposing fortress dominated its skyline. The fortress once housed the popes during the years Rome became too politically dangerous to serve as the capital for the papacy. The medieval ramparts that protected the pope still commanded the skyline, an impressive sight even five hundred years after that turbulent century.

If Inga had been beside him, he would have told her about the Avignon Papacy, one of the countless stories that had captivated him as he plowed through the Encyclopedia Britannica . Inga always liked it when he told her these old stories. Or maybe she just pretended interest to be polite. At the moment she certainly seemed more interested in demonstrating her newfound talent of balancing candy on her nose rather than learning about medieval popes.

They had another night on the train, then by morning they would be in Spain. They would arrive at the northern port of La Coruna to board a ship to take them to Cuba.

Maybe things would be different aboard the ship, where everyone would need to pair up for the five-day Atlantic crossing. Mrs. Barnes and Nellie had become like mother and daughter and would surely want to share a cabin. That would leave Inga looking for a roommate, and they were still married.

Benedict’s time to persuade Inga to remain married was dwindling fast, and sharing a cabin could be the perfect opportunity to solidify their marriage for good.

Benedict managed to snag Inga the next afternoon after arriving in the Spanish port city of La Coruna. Even though it was February, the sun and balmy temperatures made it comfortable to stroll around without a coat. The crowd of Americans waiting to board the steamship mingled on the esplanade, enjoying the sunshine and salty tang in the air. Inga browsed the outdoor market stalls, her arms already filled with packages.

He hurried to her side. “Let me carry those,” he offered, and she turned the bulky packages over without complaint.

“Thank you! I have more shopping to do, and it’s best done with both hands.” The table before her brimmed with scarves, shawls, and colorful Spanish fans. She stated her intention to buy a souvenir for everyone who lived on her floor at the Martha Washington, which meant a little something for fifty women. She’d already bought a dozen Spanish fans and ten hand-painted platters, each carefully wrapped in newspaper.

Inga perused a wire rack covered with castanets, the little wooden disks used by flamenco dancers to tap out rhythmic clicks. The old woman selling them showed Inga how to loop the leather cords around her thumb, then tap her pinky finger to strike the top castanet. The motion was awkward, and Inga giggled as she tried them out. Finally, the vendor slipped a pair of castanets on each of her age-spotted hands and unleashed a spectacular cascade of trills and clacks, drawing a crowd.

“I must have a set,” Inga gushed when the vendor came to the end, and he choked back a laugh. What was she going to do with castanets in the real world? But the other tourists were egging Inga on, and trying to dissuade her would be pointless.

He waited patiently as she sampled several different sets against the size of her hand, finally settling on a pair of glossy black disks made of polished chestnut wood. Then she bought five additional sets because they’d make good gifts for her friends at the Martha Washington.

A tiny barb stung each time she mentioned the Martha Washington. Had she already determined to make her life in Manhattan? Time was growing short for them to decide if they intended to stay married or go their separate ways.

He feared the conversation, but it was overdue. They moved on to a vendor’s stall with more Spanish scarves, and soon they were out of earshot of other shoppers.

“Ambassador Gerard will be distributing cabin keys at four o’clock,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” she replied. “Mrs. Barnes has already said she would pick up the keys for me and Nellie.”

He swiveled to look at her. “But the cabins only have two beds per room.”

“I don’t mind sleeping on the floor,” she said, running her hand along the fringe of a scarf. “It’s not like I haven’t done it before.”

“There’s no need to,” he said. “I’ve already got a cabin for myself, and you’re more than welcome to share it with me.”

She glanced at him in surprise. “But we can’t. If we did, people from Alton House couldn’t testify in an annulment proceeding.”

This was it, the moment he needed to make his intentions clear and risk losing the friendship and the intimacy they’d shared for the past several months. “I’d hoped there wouldn’t be an annulment,” he said, feeling his face begin to heat. “Inga, I want to stay married. It will take five days to get to Cuba. It would be a good opportunity for you and me to have a honeymoon.” He cleared his throat because her eyes widened. It was impossible to tell if she was intrigued or appalled, but he feared it was the latter. “We don’t need to consummate anything if you aren’t ready. It could be like in Rosendorff.”

Inga picked up a fan from the table and snapped it open, waving it briskly before her. “Oh dear,” she said. “Benedict, I know I’ve been avoiding you ever since we left Germany. That was cowardly of me. It’s just that I don’t know what I want.”

That meant a glimmer of hope remained. He’d rather have her indecision than an outright rejection. He cleared his throat and strove to sound calm.

“We’ve been married almost two years,” he said, and she looked up at him curiously.

“Has it been that long?”

“May twenty-fifth, 1915,” he said.

Inga stared into the distance, her expression wistful. “That day seems like another lifetime. So much has happened since then, and yet...” She folded the fan closed and carefully set it back on the vendor’s table. She touched the American flag pinned to his lapel, outlining it with the tip of her finger, but she didn’t meet his eyes. “I will always be grateful for what you did. If we share a cabin, there can’t be an annulment.”

He had to fight for her. If she wouldn’t share a cabin on the ship, he could at least persuade her to remain in Washington, D.C. A gem like Inga needed to be courted and won, and Washington would be a good place to do it.

“Would you be willing to stay in Washington after we get home? I’ll book us into separate rooms in a hotel. It will give you more time to decide about our future, and we could court like a normal couple in a way we never could in Berlin. I’ll take you to the Smithsonian or sailing on the Potomac. I’ll take you to the ballroom at the Willard Hotel, and we can waltz until dawn.”

“We’re so different...”

“We’re different on the outside, but inside we share the same values. The same mission. We’re stronger together than when we’re apart. Inga, we’re walking on the same path in life, and we’ve been good together.”

Her shoulders curled inward. “But my path is in New York, and yours will be all over the world.”

He couldn’t deny it, nor could he dismiss Inga’s longing for her home. In all the time she’d been in Berlin, she never stopped yearning for New York.

He looked away, forcing his expression to remain impassive as the foolish, lost dream of stepping out into the world with Inga as his wife began to fade. They never had a real marriage, but they had something great. An alliance? A partnership? Those were pale, puny words for the joy she had given him over the years.

The mound of Spanish scarves was a convenient excuse to turn his attention from the aching regret on Inga’s face. One of the scarves was the exact shade of Inga’s eyes, a pale blue with flecks of silver. He set her packages down to pick up the scarf, then looped it around the back of her neck and arranged it just so. The colors perfectly highlighted the silvery-blue depth of her gaze.

“Let me buy this for you,” he said, but she pulled it off.

“Please don’t,” she said, looking ill as she returned the scarf atop the stack. She reached for her parcels without meeting his eyes. “I need to go check in at the ship.”

An ache of loneliness grew as he watched her walk away from him and probably out of his life.

He bought the scarf anyway.