“She—” he started, practicing the words in his mind before he spoke. “No talk.”
The constable’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and Dietmar feared he would find out about the boat. That the man would send them back to Germany.
“We need aunt,” Dietmar said, trying to be clear.
“What’s your name, son?”
Dietmar understood the question, but he couldn’t tell the man his real name. His mind raced until he remembered the name of his uncle in London.
“Daniel,” he said, hoping it was a good English name.
“Daniel—”
“Knight,” he replied.
The man jotted a note into a book.
“Come along, Daniel Knight,” the constable said when he looked back up. “And bring your sister. I’ll drive you up to Tonbridge.”
Dietmar shook his head. “London.”
“No children are going to London until the Huns stop dropping bombs, but plenty of boys and girls are being billeted near here. The people in Tonbridge will find you a home until it’s safe to return.”
Dietmar didn’t remember his mother saying the word billeted—or Huns—but he knew the word home well. That was what Brigitte needed most of all.
The man fed them sausage and chips and somehow found them each a used pair of shoes that fit well enough. Then he drove them to the public hall in Tonbridge. Brigitte clung to Dietmar’s hand, her fingers trembling as they waited with the other children for a home. Men and women circled the vast room, examining the girls and boys as if they were livestock.
The younger children were led away first from the room, and then the girls. One couple stopped before Dietmar and Brigitte, but Brigitte recoiled from them, burying her head in Dietmar’s shoulder when they tried to speak to her. They appraised Dietmar for the briefest of moments before the woman turned up her nose and backed away.
No one else attempted to talk with him or Brigitte. Perhaps it was because he stank of vomit. Or because he was an unruly-looking boy. Besides Brigitte, only older boys remained in the room.
He reached into his pocket and clutched the knight hidden beside Brigitte’s princess. He might have helped Brigitte find safety across the channel, but now he was an anchor that prevented her from sailing any farther. A crutch splintered into a hundred lousy pieces. In order to rescue Brigitte now, he must walk away. Because if he stayed here, standing beside her, no one would ever take her home.
He leaned toward her. “I need to speak with the Chef.”
“Please don’t leave me.” Her whisper trembled like her hand, but the return of her speech emboldened him.
Brigitte didn’t need him anymore. She needed a warm bed for the winter and good food. She needed a doctor and medicine to make her well again. Here in England, she would recover her strength and her laughter. Her love of princess stories and fairy tales.
Removing the knight, he placed it in her palm, gently folding her fingers over it.
“I’ll only be a moment,” he lied. “The knight will protect you until I return.”
Her gaze rested on the wooden toy as he kissed her cheek, his heart aching. “I will find you.”
Her blue eyes were wide when she looked back up at him. “You promise?”
He nodded. “A thousand times, Brigitte.”
Her smile shook, but it pleased him to see a glimpse of her joy. “Princess Adler.”
“Princess Adler,” he concurred. Then he turned rapidly away before he changed his mind.
There was a door beside the stage—a closet—and he slipped inside. In the shadows, he watched the crowd of adults dwindle in the hall. Only four children remained—Brigitte and three boys.
What would they do with the children who didn’t have a family to care for them? Brigitte would never survive in some sort of work camp or institution. She needed someone to care for her until she was strong again.
Across the room, the door opened again, and a thin woman entered the hall. The tiny brown-and-cream checks on her coat reminded Dietmar of teeth, a hundred of them snarling at him.
The woman scanned the remaining children and crossed the polished floor toward Brigitte. As she studied Brigitte’s hair and eyes, he leaned forward, straining to hear her words.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked.
Brigitte didn’t answer.
“Are your parents in London?”
Dietmar wanted to rush out and say that she was indeed from London, but if Brigitte refused to speak, perhaps the woman wouldn’t suspect she was German. Perhaps she’d think Brigitte deaf as well when she didn’t understand her words.
The woman surveyed the hall as if she were considering the options. Her gaze breezed past the remaining boys before resting back on Brigitte. “You need a bath, but I suppose you’ll do.”
The woman reached for her arm, but Brigitte didn’t move.
“Come along,” the woman prodded.