Part 11 (2/2)
”From the book of Amos,” he answered with a shy grin. ”Always liked that Amos. He earned his living from a flock of sheep. He wasn't a man of the court like Isaiah or an educated priest like Jeremiah. Just a simple shepherd. But when G.o.d called him into duty as a prophet, he went. And that man could preach a sermon!”
As he watched the stars appear in the sky, I watched him. Not for the first time that day, I wondered why that awful flight instructor couldn't be more like Robert.
Chapter Eight.
On Sunday afternoon, Robert planned to take William and me hiking at Cochise's Stronghold in the Dragoon Mountains north of Copper Springs. Just as he opened the back door of the Hudson for Dog to jump in, Esmeralda ran up.
”My mother and I want William to come over this afternoon; we're baking cookies and want him to join us. Okay?”
Robert looked at me, uncertainty in his eyes. William had never been invited to play at someone's home before.
”I think it would be good for him,” I answered.
Reluctantly, Robert agreed. Using a combination of words and gestures, he asked William if he wanted to go with Esmeralda. Before he could even finish, William was running behind Esmeralda back to the Gonzalves' house.
”Esmeralda! Miss Gordon is home, if you need help,” I called after her. ”Just keep banging on the door until you wake her up!”
She waved back at us. We watched William follow her down the street at a full gallop. Then, as quickly as William disappeared into the house, an awkward silence covered us like a blanket. I was glad I had brought a book to read, tucked in my handbag. We hadn't really done much alone before; our outings always included William. We got into the car. Dog reached his big head over the top of the seat, tongue dripping s...o...b..r, as if to remind us that he was here, too.
Robert pushed Dog back. ”Well, I guess we should be off, then.” He started the car and backed out of the driveway.
We drove for quite a while before arriving at the Dragoon Mountains, an area of jumbled granite domes and sheer cliffs. We hiked along an ancient Indian trail. Half-way up, we found a shallow cave with petroglyphs. Running my hands along the etchings, I wondered what story the rocks would tell, if only rocks could talk.
Finally, we reached a rocky promontory. I let Dog off his leash and let him explore to his nose's content. We walked around the promontory in silence, looking down at the thick tangle of boulders and superb views of the canyon.
”It's so beautiful,” Robert said, craning his neck to see into the valley below.
”When I first arrived in Arizona, I didn't think the desert was very beautiful,” I confessed.
He straightened up. ”Well, you came from a very different place. I think you almost have to have been born here to appreciate its beauty. It's pretty desolate.”
I gazed out at the sea of boulders. ”Do you think that Moses and the Israelites wandered for forty years in an area like this?”
Robert looked at me, an odd expression on his face. ”Louisa, sometimes your comments come like a bolt out of the blue. What on earth made you think of Moses?”
”This book I've been reading.” I pulled it out of my handbag. ”It's about the Underground Railroad during the American Civil War; the woman who organized it was called Moses.”
”Harriet Tubman?” he asked, taking the book out of my hands.
”Yes! You know of her?”
”Every schoolchild in America does. She's a heroine.”
”When I was making the journey from Germany to Arizona, I felt as if I was being taken care of by this same kind of Underground Railroad.”
He leaned his hip against the rock ledge, arms crossed, facing me with an interested look.
”Getting past the border guards of Germany was a mystery. A miracle, really. Just as a guard was looking at my pa.s.sport, my false pa.s.sport, a whistle blew and guards ran toward a frightened looking man and woman. The guard was distracted by the commotion. He stamped my pa.s.sport and motioned to go ahead. I walked through the gates and was accepted through Swiss customs without any question.”
Dog tore past us, chasing a jackrabbit into the scrub brush.
”What happened next?” Robert asked, watching Dog disappear into the thicket.
”A contact met me on the other side of the border, and from there, I was in the hands of kind strangers. Angels of mercy. There was someone to meet me at every juncture: bus station, train station, ferry. I was given rest, food, and shelter. Then and only then was I given instructions about the next leg of my journey. I was even handed the proper currency I would need. I was never told anyone's last name. It had all been organized by the Resistance Workers. I felt like a piece of fragile luggage, being carefully delivered from place to place.”
”Weren't you ever afraid?”
”Oh, yes! Many times. Especially through occupied France. Well, you remember the story about the hay wagon.”
Robert glanced at my arm.
I covered the scars. ”In England, I felt rather protected. But from there, I took pa.s.sage on a big merchant boat across the Atlantic Ocean. German U-boats had been spotted nearby, and the s.h.i.+p felt like a giant...” I c.o.c.ked my head at him in a question. ”What does your aunt call it-a sitting chicken?”
”Duck. A sitting duck.” He tried to stifle a grin but didn't make it.
I raised an eyebrow at him. ”Anyway, finally, we reached America. As soon as I was admitted through Ellis Island, I felt like...I finally felt out of harm's way. I wasn't really anxious again until...”
I caught myself and stopped.
”Until when?”
I looked down at the ground. ”Until the train pulled into Tucson and I knew you would be waiting for me. Then I felt a little nervous.”
Robert had been gazing beyond me at the horizon. He turned his head and gave me one of his straight-in-the-eyes look. ”And now, Louisa?”
Something in the way he looked at me made my heart skip a beat.
Just then, Dog came barreling straight at us with the biggest stick he could carry in his mouth, wild-eyed, looking utterly ridiculous and extremely proud of himself. Grateful for the diversion, I grabbed Dog, put on his leash, and we made a dash back down the hillside.
Our enjoyable afternoon came to an abrupt end as we pulled into the driveway. A smoldering Miss Gordon marched out of the house, dragging a contrite looking William behind her.
”Oh no, what has he done now?” Robert asked under his breath.
”You won't believe it! Robert, you just won't believe what kind of trouble your son has gotten into this afternoon!”
Robert said, ”Calm down, Aunt Martha. Just tell me what happened.”
”I woke up from my nap and went to start dinner. I took eggs out from the ice box and cracked one. The eggs were bad, so I put them on the back porch to take back to Mr. Ibsen. I forgot all about those eggs until Mr. Mueller came banging on the front door. He was covered with those rotten eggs! William and Esmeralda stole those very eggs and ran to where Mr. Mueller was out pruning back his prize peonies. They hid in the bushes and threw rotten eggs at him! I declare, Robert, I don't know what gets into that boy.”
Just as she finished, Herr Mueller came storming up the driveway. He must have seen Robert's car drive past his house a few minutes earlier. Miss Gordon quickly took William back inside. I tried to get inside, too, and away from the approaching Herr Mueller, but he blocked the path.
Robert and I were cornered against the car. ”Gordon!” he bellowed. ”It's time you do something with that boy. He needs to be inst.i.tutionalized before he becomes known as the Village Idiot. He's already a menace to that church of yours. He's an embarra.s.sment to this entire town.”
Indignation surging, I stepped forward and prepared to give Herr Mueller a piece of my mind, in German, so Robert wouldn't know to interrupt me, but Robert grabbed my arm and held it tightly in warning.
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