The Sky Beneath Her(74)

Bob studied the screen. “Very logical. But whatever it was, it was gone when I rounded the bow.”

“Nineteen people died suddenly when the Oceanus sank, and then Mom vanished,” I said. “These are troubled waters filled with spirits.”

“Did anyone else see it today?” Nathan looked at the divers.

They all shook their heads no.

Tony shrugged. “I saw it last week, but not today.”

“Why the random appearances?” A chill slid over me. “Is it trying to tell us something?”

“When did you become so superstitious?” Nathan countered.

I shrugged. “Anyone who makes their living on the water is.”

Nathan fixed his gaze on my necklace. “That coin you’re wearing brought your mother good luck.”

My brow knotted. “When did she tell you that?”

“Seven years ago. I teased her about it being lucky, but she was insistent.”

“And she left the coin for me before the last dive.”

“And now you wear it with the sea glass,” Nathan said.

Seven years ago, when Nathan had noticed my new “fancy” sea-glass necklace, I thought I’d finally broken through his reserve. I thought he was flirting. But beyond the quip, he’d said nothing else, and never made a move on me. I was counting the days to my eighteenth birthday, hoping that’s what he was waiting for.

The boat rocked from side to side as I moved to the edge and looked over the side. The wreck was too deep to see, but I still combed the waters, hoping for something more.

The other divers chatted about the wreck as Nathan’s engines fired, and soon the boat was moving south toward the harbor. Water splashed up the sides. Several fistfuls of water hit me, cooling off my skin, now overheated by hours in the morning sun.

I didn’t move away from the edge. I watched the bow cut through the water as the waves playfully splashed. I dropped my hand over the side so my fingers felt the cool wetness spattering up. Energy pulsed against my skin.

I’d accomplished more in the last week than I had in seven years of therapy. I was beginning to glimpse the girl who had lived in and loved the water.

The idea of diving in these waters terrified me. But I knew now I had to dive. I had to see the Oceanus one last time.





Chapter Twenty-Eight


Gertrude





Thursday, April 23, 1942, 9:30 p.m.


Less than twenty-four hours until the Oceanus is torpedoed


I strolled the quiet deck, unmindful of the chilling winds. Tightening my shawl, I gazed up at the clear night sky. The cool air felt good, a welcome break from the heat in Port of Spain. Sleep was becoming impossible.

The baby kicked and moved often, and each time, I remembered Alfred and our last, furious night together. It was after the party I’d worked so hard to host and the one Sigrid had wanted an invitation to. When I spotted Sigrid at the party, dressed in blue silk and flirting with a German colonel, I’d thought the plan might work. I quietly slipped away to my room and was on the verge of unpacking the maid’s uniform I’d wear once I slipped out of the house with the extra crews.

I’d thought about the river and the boat Sigrid had said would be waiting for me. I prayed I could sail out of Vienna and disappear. But Alfred had come into my room. He was agitated, wine on his breath, his gaze dark and dangerous. I’d seen this look before and knew what would follow.

What happened next was a blur of violence and pain. I lost consciousness, and when I finally woke, the room was shrouded in shadows. I was alone, and when I stood, I was unsteady on my feet. But I dressed in the dark maid’s uniform, my hands trembling as I fastened the white buttons. I grabbed a knife I’d stolen from the kitchen days ago and wedged open my door lock. He’d kill me if I left. Or he’d eventually murder me if I stayed.

Footsteps jolted me back to the present. I tensed, drawing in on myself. A lighter flicked, and then the acrid smell of smoke drifted toward me on the breeze. I turned away from the shadowed person. I resented having to leave the fresh air, but until I reached New York City, I needed to be cautious.

“Frau Gruber, does my smoking bother you?”

The sound of my name was jarring. I looked toward the glow of the cigarette tip and searched the shadows. I recognized the man. Sigrid’s lover. William.

“My name is Werner.” I deliberately softened my accent, molding the vowels so they weren’t so sharp. “It is late.”

“A woman in your condition must be careful,” he said, facing me. “Children are so precious.”

I didn’t speak.

He stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette. “How far along are you, Frau Gruber, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His question felt oddly invasive. And again, I couldn’t speak.

His gaze roamed over my rounded belly. “I would say sooner rather than later.”

Smoke swirled around his head. “We haven’t been formally introduced, but I remember you from the September party you and your husband hosted. Thank you again for the invitation.”

My heart skipped for a second as I mustered a lie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sigrid knows you very well. She has connections all over the city. Which enabled her to sell her books to your great-uncle.”