“You’d better not go alone,” Delphine said. She had a brief conversation in French with the driver. “He’s going to take the truck as close to the house as he can. I’ll stay with him, to make sure he doesn’t disappear, like the last one.”
The house was set back from the road. Kitty said she’d only spotted it because of the wisps of smoke coming from the chimney. It was a stone cottage with a thick layer of moss on the roof. Walking through the twilight over a carpet of pine needles to reach it, Martha felt a creeping sense of unease. It was so quiet. Too quiet. Not even birdsong in the canopy overhead.
“What’s that?” Kitty hissed. She was looking at a dark shape beyond the path, to their left.
Martha’s brain took a few seconds to process what she was looking at. “My God,” she whispered. “It’s a tank.”
Branches festooned the roof of the vehicle, as if an attempt had been made to conceal it. A black cross, outlined in white, was just visible on the side facing them. The tank had the look of a crouching beast waiting to pounce.
“What’s it doing there?” There was a hint of fear in Kitty’s voice.
“It’s abandoned, I guess,” Martha replied.
“What if there’s someone inside?”
The gun turret was pointing straight at them.
“I don’t think it’s been driven in a while.” Martha pointed to the ground. A fallen tree lay in front of the caterpillar tires.
Kitty nodded. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just . . .”
“It’s okay.” Martha put her hand on Kitty’s arm. “It’s scary as hell—even empty.”
They walked on toward the house. The silence was suddenly broken by the crowing of a rooster. They both jumped.
“Stupid bird—it’s getting dark!” Martha felt oddly reassured by the sound. Making their way around the corner of the house, they saw a man, bent with age, tossing scraps to a flock of chickens.
“Guten Abend!”
At the sound of Kitty’s voice, the old man froze.
Martha was mortified. “Tell him it’s okay, we’re just lost.”
Kitty came out with a string of words. The man turned, lifting a hand to his heart. With his other hand he beckoned Kitty over.
“He wants to know if we’re hungry,” she called over her shoulder.
“Please tell him no,” Martha called back. They’d scared him half to death and now he thought they’d come to raid his larder.
Kitty spoke in a low, soothing voice, and the old man seemed to relax a little. He went inside the house and returned with a paraffin lamp. Kitty unfolded the map and gave Martha one corner so they could hold it up to the light. The man’s finger shook as he indicated where they were. He repeated the word “Seidenmühle,” glancing up at Kitty. Then he traced a line across the map, talking to her as he did so.
“Looks like we’re quite close,” Kitty said to Martha. “We’ve overshot the place. We need to turn back, then take a left, which should lead us to this fork in the river.” She pointed to where two blue lines met. “He says the camp’s half a mile downstream.”
“Danke sch?n.” It was the only German phrase Martha knew. She hadn’t realized how useless she would feel, how difficult it would be to communicate with people. Thank goodness Kitty knew the language. Never make assumptions. Martha heard her grandmother’s voice as they made their way back along the forest path. She’d had Kitty pegged as an overgrown child in lipstick: someone too young and inexperienced for the kind of work she’d been recruited for. That’ll teach you, Grandma Cecile whispered.
Less than half an hour later, the truck’s headlamps picked out an enormous mill wheel. The water tumbling underneath reflected the light, like streams of molten silver in the dark river. A little way farther on, they crossed a wooden bridge and saw the gates of the camp. A brightly lit stone guardhouse stood just beyond them. A young soldier in the familiar uniform of the US Army emerged from the building and waved the truck to a standstill.
Shining a flashlight at a clipboard, he checked the women’s names before ushering them into the guardhouse.
“Where are you from?” Martha asked. She thought how young he looked.
“Salem, Oregon, ma’am,” the guard replied.
“Long way from home, huh?”
“Sure is.” He returned her wry smile.
There was a crunch of tires outside. Through the open door they saw their driver executing a swift three-point turn.