Chapter 2 #2
The young man—who can’t be older than 20—pushes on the bridge of his round glasses and very softly introduces himself.
“Oliver Brown, radio and communication specialist.” He simply bobs his head before retreating to his earlier perch.
Diederick clears his throat and very quickly moves to the center of the room to corral us, but I can’t move past Oliver’s youth.
Swallowing back lingering regret, I try to forget how I was that young when I entered a war I had no real understanding of.
Diederick invites everyone to sit at the oak card table in the corner of the parlor, and all but James—who elects to pour another glass from the decanter—take him up on the offer.
Diederick begins by giving us a silly little bow, a perfect accompaniment to his bow tie and tweed suit.
We’ve grown accustomed to his personality throughout the years.
And even though the quirks might paint the man as unserious or even mentally unstable, he has never once wavered on his reasons for wanting to finish what he started during the Great War.
“Lillian, Ben, and I have lived this nightmare over and over,” Diederick begins with a sigh.
“But I promised Mr. Morgan that I would share everything with you so that you might understand what we will be up against.” Koch eyes Margaret before shifting his body toward James, who still stands at the mantle.
“It doesn’t matter how much experience we have or how many times Lillian and I have scoured over every inch of our findings.
Despite knowing where we need to go, there is no reality where we will simply march straight there. ”
When Diederick moves on from his own story and into Lillian’s, that’s when my mind begins to wander.
There is no part of me that wants to relive Lillian’s pain or the fact that I still feel guilty for Isadora’s death.
Looking at Lillian now sends the ever-present nagging of regret.
Speaking of it… It would send me off a cliff.
Lillian is so much better than me in every way. Even as I guiltily take my gaze from her to save myself, her soothing voice takes the reins of the conversation. She answers the newcomers' questions and doesn’t hold back when they ask about the horrors that sent us all fleeing.
Neither she nor Diederick bring up Lillian’s abilities.
Diederick’s discretion is enough to tell me that he is still on our side, no matter what Mr. Morgan forced him to share today.
I know deep in my heart that he will make the decision we agreed upon as a group of three, nearly two years ago when we received a letter from Ademir speaking of his mother’s final visions before her passing.
Adding four new people to the equation will change nothing.
That same promise rattles within me as Diederick pulls a drawing of the Pico da Neblina from a file.
The dagger must be destroyed at all costs.
As the day trudges on, Diederick goes through the plans, divulging as much as he can and as little as he has to.
The fantastical nature of our past experiences is hinted at but never spoken about at length.
Part of me feels as though Mr. James Ward and Ms. Margaret Williams know more than they let on, but still their questions are few and far between as they fight to take in as much information as they can.
The young Oliver remains silent and hardly makes eye contact.
I observe from afar for most of the planning.
It’s strange to have the eyes and ears of three, soon to be four, new people.
Lillian and I have been alone for so long; knowing of Diederick’s support has given us little comfort during our time in his home country that left him to die.
With a team beside us now, there are more chances for betrayal, miscommunication, and missteps.
But whenever I catch a glimpse of Lillian throughout the day when she’s speaking about Brazil or the history of the Lost Colony, there’s a piece of me that just wants to trust everyone in the room.
I need to trust them in order to be successful in ending this once and for all.
When the day finally slips to evening, Oliver, Margaret, and James take their leave together, leaving Lillian, Diederick, Mr. X, and me to a quiet supper.
Our dinners are never silent; the four of us have grown so close over the years that it’s as if we’re a family.
All that’s missing are a few children, and we’d be a full house.
At the thought of childish laughter, I let my eyes slip over to Lillian.
I try not to let sorrow take root as it often does when I think about a future with Lillian.
If all goes to plan, perhaps there would be room for that future someday, but with all that is at stake with a race to the dagger, I can’t bear to think of it. A world where the Nazis beat us to our destination would not be a world for children; it wouldn’t be a world for anyone.
In my concentration, I miss Lillian excusing herself for the evening. When I look up and find her gone from the table, I’m quick to bid my farewells. I find that I don’t care what the other two men at the table think.
Striding confidently into the hallway, I manage to catch up with Lillian before she reaches the stairs. Grabbing her arm, I spin her toward the wall and gently press her up against it. Surprise on her features quickly gives way when I take a small step back.
“What did you think?” I whisper. She takes her wrist from my grasp, tucking both hands behind her back as if removing the temptation of touching me.
“They’ll all do their jobs beautifully, I’m sure of it.” An honest sigh escapes her before one hand traverses to her coily hair. She combs her fingers through the curls as she thinks through the rest of her answer. “It’s just the jobs that they’ve been assigned that I’m worried about.”
Relief that she feels the same similar weariness washes over me. “Do you think Diederick is still with us?”
“I do. I trust him wholeheartedly.” She worries her lower lip as she glances over my shoulder toward the dining room.
Even though the coast is clear, she steps up beside me, and the temptation wins out.
She grabs my hand and grips it hard. “I just don’t understand why we haven’t been assigned a navigator, or why the government is so suddenly–”
Lillian freezes, and I follow her gaze to the doorway where Mr. X has appeared with the head cook of the house.
Lillian separates herself from me and watches them as they disappear into the kitchen.
Clearly, what she wants to say, she only trusts me with.
My heart soars at this knowledge but takes a turn when I notice her chest rising and falling in anxiety.
“Hey,” I coax. Her eyes slowly scan until they find me again.
Her breathing only evens out when I raise a soothing hand to her cheek and she begins to move away from me.
She’s two steps up the staircase when I finally find my words.
“Do you still feel safe? Prepared?” I ask, needing to know where her head is.
My heart races, waiting for her response.
If we are going to get up and do this tomorrow, I need to know either way.
She stops, her hand planted on the banister. “With you, Ben? Always.” She spares me one last glance full of longing before she steals herself up the stairs.