The Last Green Valley - Mark Sullivan (black female authors .txt) 📗

said. “The Almighty One, God, the Divine, the Universal Intelligence, whatever you call it, is all the same thing. The One hears us and helps us, moves the moon and stars for us if we ask in the right way. And dreams come true.”

Emil felt leaden inside as he shook his head and snapped, “There is no God, no Almighty One, no Divine, no Universal Intelligence, no moon and stars moving because of dreams. Just your own hard work and what you build for yourself and what you can hide from. That’s it!”

The Romanian touched his head scar. “I walked through war at its worst and wasn’t touched after the mortar bomb. I saw thousands die, Martel. But not me. I am here, by your fire.”

“If what you said is true, you are a lucky man,” Emil said. “I’ll give you that. Good night, Corporal Gheorghe. Have a good life.”

Gheorghe put his hand over his heart and then rocked back his head for a moment, eyes closed, before opening them and staring at Emil with his hand extended. “I have the feeling I will see you again, Martel. In fact, I am sure of it. It will happen when the moon and stars move.”

Emil reluctantly shook the madman’s hand. “Sure, okay, and good luck with the honey.”

“Not luck,” he said as he picked up his rifle and empty bottle. “In my heart, I am already a beekeeper.”

He chuckled and walked away, down into the dark creek bottom. As Emil went to check on the horses, he could hear the Romanian corporal talking to no one and crashing through the brush. The night had fallen silent when he crawled beneath the blankets under the wagon.

“Was he crazy, Emil?” Adeline whispered.

“Hit in the head and completely cracked,” he whispered back. “Worse than Malia.”

He thought she might be angry at that, but instead, Adeline said, “I didn’t understand half of what that man said, but my sister seemed to understand all of it. They do see the world differently, don’t they?”

“Like I said, hit in the head. Now, go to sleep.”

Chapter Eleven

In the chill deep darkness of night, Adeline awoke to a shrill whistle followed by an explosion, fifteen hundred meters away, no more. It tremored the ground beneath them. There was another whistle and another, more violent explosion even closer.

The Soviet Fourth Ukrainian Front was attacking from the east.

“The culvert!” Emil shouted. “Get Will! I’ll bring Walt!”

Adeline grabbed her shoes, pulled them on, grabbed Will, and together they scrambled from beneath the wagon, hearing her mother and sister screaming for her.

“Which way?” Malia cried as another artillery round hit.

“Toward me!” Adeline screamed back. “Toward me!”

“Keep yelling!”

There was a tremendous flash as a bomb hit the Wehrmacht encampment close to them. The blast threw Adeline off balance, and she stumbled even as she saw Emil and Walt in front of her and Will, going for the creek and the culvert.

She felt blinded when the blasts stopped but kept going in the direction she’d last seen Emil. Then another bomb went off, and he was right there, holding out his powerful arms to grab Will and then her, and guide them into the cold water and where to duck into the culvert.

Adeline’s shoes and feet were soaked and cold in two steps. But when the next bomb went off, she didn’t care. The explosion sounded muffled, almost distant.

“I can’t see, Mama,” Walt said, deeper into the culvert.

“I’m cold,” Will said. “Where do I stop?”

“Get to Walt,” Adeline said. “And we’re all cold, but we’re safe for now.”

When Will reached Walt, Adeline got beside him and told her sons to turn their backs to the culvert wall and to get their feet up out of the water and braced against the opposite wall. There was a splash.

“Mama!” Will cried. “I fell in!”

“Get up,” Emil yelled from close to the entrance to the culvert.

“Yes, get up,” she said, her stomach knotting because she knew he was in trouble now, cold and wet. “Come to me.”

Adeline felt Will’s frigid little hands against her thighs, reached out in the darkness and lifted him up onto her. Her legs and back strained against the pressure, but she hugged her already-shivering son to her chest.

“It’s okay,” she murmured in his ear. “Mama’s got you.”

“I’m so cold.”

“It’s just until Papa says it’s okay to go out.”

Ice-cold and wet, his fingers sought her cheeks in the darkness. She kissed them, grabbed them in her own dry hand.

“Why do we have to do this?” Walt asked in the darkness. “I don’t like being in here.”

“Sometimes you have to do things that you don’t want to in order to stay alive,” Emil said. “As bad as it is, it’s better than being with the wagon.”

“What if the wagon is gone?” Walt asked. “What if Thor and Oden are dead?”

“I’m cold, Mama,” Will said, squirming in her arms.

“Think of somewhere you were very hot,” she said. “The hottest place you’ve ever been. So hot you just want to get into the shade and sweat.”

Then they all fell quiet, each of them finding a hot day in their minds. For reasons she did not quite understand, Adeline’s thoughts went to August 9, 1941, in the city of Pervomaisk during a heat wave.

It was sweltering hot. Adeline carried Will, almost two, in her arms, with almost-four-year-old Walt beside her. She was returning to their apartment from a shopping foray with little to show for the effort. As she walked, her attention roamed everywhere, still trying to learn the world order anew. A week before, the Germans had invaded and now occupied the city, and she’d only just learned that her younger brother, Wilhelm, had been conscripted by the Wehrmacht to fight the retreating Red Army. He was already gone.

There were rumors of other bad changes coming. Every night, out their open windows, they had heard shooting inside the city. But Emil said that life could be better for them