PALATINATE RANGE, GERMANY
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1938
Evelyn looped her rucksack straps over her shoulders and joined Peter behind his car among the beeches and pines. They’d driven as close to the border as they dared, then as deep into the woods as the forest permitted.
Peter stood with gloved palms flat on the trunk of his black Opel Admiral convertible, head bowed as if before a coffin at a funeral. “I hate to do this.”
Evelyn tucked in her lips, longing to rub his slumped shoulders. “I know. It’s a beautiful car.” The next in a long line of sacrifices he’d made—and an expensive one.
Peter leaned over and braced his hands. “Push.”
Together, they shoved the car over the edge of a shallow ravine. The Opel rolled down, snapping vegetation as it went.
Peter uprooted a fern. “Let’s cover it with branches, buy us some more time.”
“All right.” She gathered leafy branches and handed them to him.
It was almost five thirty, and Klaus Metzger would be in Munich by now. Peter said Otto and his friends met at the Hofbräuhaus every Friday at seven. How long until Klaus mentioned seeing Peter? Otto would immediately call the police. How long would it take the police to track Peter and Evelyn’s route? To discover the car that pointed the way?
The farther they could get before the Opel was discovered, the better.
After the car was somewhat concealed, Peter pulled the map and compass from his rucksack. “The sun will set by six, and the moon won’t rise until nine. Let’s go as far as we can in the twilight.”
“After dark, we can take turns napping until the moon rises. Otherwise, we might not wake until morning.”
“Good idea. Then we’ll hike until sunrise.” He folded the map into a square showing their area of the world. “We’re about fifteen miles from the border, about twenty from the nearest French town. Of course, that’s as the crow flies. We have rugged terrain ahead. We’ll just head south and pray.”
Evelyn buttoned her overcoat up to her neck. “I’ve been praying a lot lately.”
“Let’s do some more.” Peter removed his hat and bowed his head. “Almighty Father, please lead us. We don’t know what lies ahead, and we don’t know what’s coming behind us, but you do. Please keep us safe, conceal us from the enemy, and lead us into freedom. Amen.”
“Amen.”
Peter put on his rucksack and draped a rolled-up blanket around his neck, the blanket that had kept Evelyn toasty the night they’d slept in the car.
He handed Evelyn the compass. “You’re the eyes of this unit. Lead on. Pick a landmark on the route and head toward that and nothing else.”
Evelyn cradled the compass in her palm, found south, and forged into the woods toward a gnarled tree. She’d been hiking countless times, but always on trails and always by daylight. This would be different and far more dangerous.
She set as fast a pace as possible. Every rustle of leaves sounded like approaching footsteps. Every icy breeze felt like the breath of the Gestapo. Every snap of a twig sounded like a gunshot.
When she reached the gnarled tree, Evelyn checked the compass in the dimming light. For her next landmark, she chose an unusual rock formation shaped like a fat letter T. She slipped the compass in her pocket in case she fell.
“In the past few days, I’ve broken more laws and rules than I ever imagined,” Peter said.
Evelyn glanced over her shoulder to see his satisfied smile. “You’re only doing it to help others. No danger of you becoming a true rogue.”
His smile grew. “I’ll have to work on that.”
After she pressed through a stand of trees, she located the rock again. “Please don’t. The world needs men like you—men of order and justice, who follow the rules and stand up for what’s right.”
Peter didn’t reply. It was probably best to keep quiet anyway.
She headed down a slope, scanning the trees and hillsides for sentries or buildings or fortifications. At the bottom ran a little stream, and Evelyn looked for a good place to hop across. She could make it, but it would be close.
“I’ll go first.” Peter leaped over, then stretched his hand to her.
She took his hand and jumped, landing squarely where she’d planned. Although she hadn’t needed his help, he’d been there in case she’d slipped. She met his gaze. “Thank you.”
Peter tipped his black fedora, his manners out of place in the wilderness. “Onward.”
Evelyn picked her way up the slope, bracing herself on trees as she climbed. The world did need more men like Peter Lang.
Maybe she needed him too.
Mother had always said Evelyn was too independent for a man, too hard to handle. Evelyn’s previous boyfriends had proven Mother’s point.
Loose leaves gave way beneath her shoe, and she grabbed a tree trunk to catch herself.
“Careful,” Peter said. “I didn’t pack crutches in my rucksack.”
She forced a light laugh but didn’t turn to him. The last thing she wanted was for him to see the turmoil on her face.
Peter wasn’t like those men. He treated her with kindness. He asked her opinion and listened to her suggestions, unfazed by her intelligence or her strong views.
In a thinning, Evelyn paused and plotted the best route to the rock.
For so long she’d resisted depending on Peter, thinking it would make her weak.
But Peter depended on her—and he was far from weak. He leaned on her because he respected her and trusted her.
She respected and trusted him too. He’d earned it through his actions and character.
When Evelyn reached the rock, she rested her hand on the cool sandstone as she rounded its mass.
She could depend on the Lord for the same reasons and to a far greater extent. The Lord deserved her trust because of who he was and what he’d done.
Leaning didn’t make her weaker. It made her stronger.