Page 216 of Valor

CHAPTERTWENTY

Northern Moravia, 1942

When Mark whisperedfor him to stop, Fred’s heart jumped into his throat. He pressed himself against the cold rock and slowed his breath. Were the Germans waiting for them, just as his cousin feared?

“What is it?” Fred could no longer stand the suspense of the moment.

“Shh. Just listen.”

“I can’t hear anything,” Fred whispered.

“We need to be sure.”

The men inched forward in the darkness.

“Wait.” Mark took a few careful steps forward, then halted again. No sound broke the oppressive silence. “Hurry,” Mark whispered, disappearing through the narrow opening.

Fred followed and stepped out from the darkness into the pale moonlight. He took a deep breath. Despite the fear that clamped around his heart like a rusty bear trap, he felt a glimmer of hope. He was out of the granite tomb. Alive. He would find her. The silent promise he made to himself filled him with a sense of purpose. God spared his life for a reason, and at that moment, he was convinced that Hedvika was just that—his reason to live.

“Let’s go,” Mark ordered. “We need to put some distance between us and this place before the sun is up. They will come back. They always do until they find who they are after or confirm that they are dead.”

Fred gritted his teeth. He would not be afraid. He would live, and he would pay them back for what they had done.

The leaves crunched under their feet as the first birds woke up with their morning song. Fred’s stomach growled, but he had no food. Perhaps his cousin kept a chunk of that bread, but Fred wouldn’t ask. He had a purpose, and that propelled him forward. The men kept a fast pace. Later, the trees got shorter. The wind picked up. A red sliver of sunrise cut through the dark sky on the eastern horizon.

“That’s where we are going,” Mark said when they paused to see the miracle of dawn. A new day was born. Cold gusts whipped around them. The few trees that still grew this high on the mountain only reached to their knees, permanently bent by the wind.

God, hold back the rain, please.Fred prayed as the horizon lightened. The path took them over bare rock. I’m so grateful that we are not crossing during the winter. Please keep her safe.

The first rays of the rising sun outlined a structure in the distance. This was the shepherd’s hut Fred hoped to bring Hedvika to. The sharp winds whistled in the low shrubs as Mark picked up his pace.

A mouse scurried across the path, startling Fred.

“We will pick up our supplies in the hut,” Mark said into the wind.

Fred nodded and pressed on.

When his cousin signaled to take cover in the low shrubs, his heart thudded in his ears. Was someone there? The Germans? Hedvika?

Mark imitated a bird call. When a reply reached their ears, he waved him to follow. They cautiously entered the hut, and when Fred’s eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior of the simple shelter, he recognized the man waiting for them.

“Honza,” he breathed out in unbelief, then fell into the open arms of his brother. The sense of relief was overwhelming. Fred could no longer hold back the grief that threatened to choke the very life out of him. He sobbed into his brother’s shoulder, hoping that Honza had the power to end this nightmare and set things right.

“Good to see you, little brother.” When the two strong arms released him from the tight embrace, Fred wiped his tears and stood tall. He would face his brother like a man.

“Thank you.” Honza glanced at their cousin. “I owe you, Mark.”

“You owe me nothing.” He waved him away, “Just take this crybaby off my hands. Please.” He chuckled and slapped Fred across his back. “Got anything to eat,” he asked. “We are starving.”

“Sit,” Honza motioned to the sheep skin coats splayed on the dirt floor of the hut. Then he reached into the rucksack by his feet and pulled out a whole loaf of bread. He tossed it to Fred, then rummaged in the bag some more and took out a hunk of cheese. “Don’t eat it all at once.” He held Fred’s gaze. “You’ll have to ration your food.”

Fred held the loaf in both hands and smelled the crust. His mind instantly conjured up the worried face of his mother. Would he ever see her again? He broke off the end and passed the loaf to Mark. As soon as Fred bit into the chunk, he knew without a doubt that his mother had baked this loaf. He locked his gaze with Honza, lifted the piece of bread, and waited for his brother’s confirmation.

“How is she?” Honza asked.

So, he was right. Mother must have been leaving food in the forest for the resistance all along. That explained Father’s rampage when he realized they were short of eggs or cheese.

“He will work her to death,” Fred said in a somber voice.

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