COLUMBIA PRESBYTERIAN HOSPITAL
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1938
With each sit-up, Peter eyed the closed door to his room at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. The doctors urged him not to do calisthenics and said he’d never have full use of his right arm again. But he was determined to regain as much strength as possible.
The private room helped conceal his activity.
The first few days, police had guarded his hospital room. But the FBI was convinced Norwood had acted alone, since none of the French fascists on his list were on board.
As for the German agents on Peter’s list, one had already fled the US during a recent FBI investigation and the other was now under arrest because of Peter. The American Nazi sympathizers had broken no laws, but the FBI would keep an eye on them.
After he finished his sit-ups, Peter slipped his pajama top over his left arm and draped it over his right arm in its sling. Visiting hours started soon, and Evelyn never missed, despite the busy week she’d had.
At the sink, Peter dipped his toothbrush in tooth powder and scrubbed oatmeal and orange juice from his breath.
In the past week, Peter and Evelyn had testified to the FBI and the police and had given interviews to newspapers and the ANS. Evelyn had called Peter’s mother to tell her Peter was all right—and to introduce herself. She’d called her parents in Chicago to send her birth certificate, which they’d brought in person. She’d visited the passport office and the ANS bureau, and she’d ordered new eyeglasses for Peter from his optometrist back home.
In addition, she’d signed with an agent and had met with magazine and book editors eager for her story.
A knock on the door. “It’s me.”
“Come in.” Peter took a quick rinse of water.
Evelyn tossed her coat and purse on the bed and met him halfway across the room. He gathered her in a one-armed embrace and kissed her long and well.
She slipped her arms around his waist—under his pajama top. “I missed you, darling.”
How could he speak while she was caressing his back? He cleared his throat. “Missed you too. I can’t wait until they discharge me.”
“Me too.” Her coffee eyes darkened with longing, not a hint of milk at all.
He drew her close for another kiss. Three weeks they’d been married. Ten days they’d known they loved each other. But he couldn’t take her to bed until they released him from this prison of a hospital, so he cut the kiss short.
Besides, the door was open.
He leaned back to look her in the face. “How was your morning?”
“Wonderful. Libby and I went shopping.” She pulled out of his arms and twirled, displaying a gray suit with red trim and a matching hat. “Still replacing my wardrobe.”
“I like it.” He beckoned with one finger. “But I like it better up close.”
“Not now. Libby wants to say hello. She’s waiting in the hallway for us to finish.”
Peter leaned close. “I’ll never finish.” But then he raised his voice. “Come in, Libby. It’s safe.”
Libby White entered the room wearing a dark green suit and a pretty smile. “Hi, Peter. It’s good to see you on your feet again.”
He pressed one finger to his lips. “Don’t tell my doctor.”
“What have you done to him, Evelyn?” Libby heaved a sigh, then shook her head at Peter. “I was counting on you to keep her in line.”
“Are you kidding? Now she has to keep me in line.”
“Hopeless.” But Libby smiled. “Well, I can’t stay. I have to get ready for tonight’s concert, and Evelyn has a full schedule for you today. I’ll see you later.”
Peter shook her hand, said good-bye, and turned to his wife. “Schedule?”
She glanced at her watch. “We have one minute. Let’s make you presentable, although it’s a shame to cover you up.” She closed his pajama top and did up a few buttons.
“Promise to unbutton me later?” he murmured.
“No.” She laughed and guided him to a chair by the window. “You’ll sit here and our guests here.”
Peter smiled as she scooted chairs around, caring for him, busy and purposeful, her shapely legs flashing beneath the hem of her skirt.
She stepped into the hallway and waved. “Guten Tag!”
German? Peter raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t heard the language since they’d entered France, and for the first time in his life he hadn’t wanted to.
A young man in a snappy gray suit entered—Hans-Jürgen Schreiber!
“Hans-Jürgen!” Peter sprang from his chair and pumped the boy’s hand—the man’s hand. “It’s so good to see you.”
“It is good to see you too, Herr Lang.”
Another man stood behind Hans-Jürgen—Professor Kurt Wagner, Peter’s faculty advisor at Harvard. Peter’s heart sank low again. “Guten Tag, Herr Professor.”
“Guten Tag, Herr Lang.” Wagner smiled as if he hadn’t come to close the coffin on Peter’s career. “Frau Lang told me about your ordeal.”
Peter gave her a sad smile. She’d done so to gain sympathy, but sympathy couldn’t replace research.
“Please come in, gentlemen.” Evelyn showed everyone to their seats. “Thank you for coming out from Cambridge. We’re honored by your visit.”
Professor Wagner set a suitcase beside his chair—he must not have had time to stop at his hotel.
Etiquette demanded Peter address the older man first, but burning curiosity turned his attention to the younger. “Any word from your parents? Are they all right?”
“Yes.” Hans-Jürgen settled his fedora in his lap, revealing a shorter haircut in the American style. “They send letters. We have a code.”
Professor Wagner smoothed what remained of his graying blond hair. “After Kristallnacht, Jim Purcell’s parents convinced him to cut his junior year in Munich short and return to Harvard. He brought messages from Professor Schreiber.”
Peter’s chest muscles tensed more than when doing one-armed push-ups. “Hans-Jürgen—any word about the couple I brought to your parents’ house? Did the Gestapo visit?”
A smile spread on the young man’s face. “My father escorted the Golds safely over the French border. They have tickets to Lisbon. My father gave them my address, and they promised to write me when they reach Bolivia.”
“What good news.” Evelyn clutched Peter’s hand. “Please thank your father for us.”
“Yes, please do.” A month-old sigh leached out. “I’m so thankful. Please let me know when they write.”
“I am glad you helped them, Herr Lang. I am ashamed of what my country is doing.” Hans-Jürgen’s mouth thinned. “After Kristallnacht, students at Harvard and Radcliffe started a committee to aid student refugees. But I can only help quietly. Most of the German exchange students are ardent Nazis. If I speak out, my parents will be in danger.”
Professor Wagner nodded. “Or the German government could recall you and make you return.”
“That is the last thing your parents want,” Peter said.
“I know. But I do tell my American friends about life in Germany. They need to know.”
Peter exchanged a look with Evelyn. They were both determined to declare that truth as well.
“You asked about the Gestapo,” Hans-Jürgen said. “They did not visit my parents, but they did raid your office.”
“I knew they would.” No grief accompanied those words. He’d accepted the loss.
“But not before my father did.” A grin burst onto Hans-Jürgen’s face.
“Pardon?”
“Jim Purcell told us what happened, straight from Professor Schreiber.” Professor Wagner stood, set the suitcase on the bed, and opened it. “After you brought the Golds to his house, the good professor went to your office and filled this suitcase. When Mr. Purcell sailed from Hamburg, he told the Gestapo the papers were his own.”
“My . . . papers?” Peter gripped his jaw with his good hand, his fingers splayed over his mouth.
Wagner riffled through the contents. “The logbook for your recordings, what looks like a rough draft of your dissertation, notebooks and folders—all neatly labeled. Your organization made it easy for Professor Schreiber to know what to pack. He did leave some papers—mostly lesson plans and tests. He wanted the Gestapo to feel successful.”
Peter pushed himself to standing, numb inside. “My research?” he murmured between his fingers, staring down at what he’d thought forever lost.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Evelyn’s eyes glistened.
“You knew?” His voice came out throaty.
She clutched her hands before her chest. “I called the professor on Tuesday. It’s been so difficult to keep secret.”
He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, then stroked the leather of his logbook. “I can’t believe it. I can’t—but I still—I’m still missing the last set of data. I won’t be able to complete my research.”
“My father is your research assistant.”
Peter whipped his gaze to Hans-Jürgen. “Pardon?”
“He took over teaching your classes, of course,” Hans-Jürgen said. “Jim said he promised to use your methods as best he could. He will record the students at the end of the semester and send the data. That night when he rescued your papers, he moved the Dictaphone into his own office.”
Peter’s throat felt swollen, and he forced a cough to clear his airway. “He’d do that for me?”
Hans-Jürgen’s expression turned solemn. “After what you did that night, he feels it’s the least he can do.”
Evelyn stood and hugged his arm. “It’s an appropriate reward for your courage and compassion.”
Wagner pulled a slip of paper from his jacket pocket. “Mr. Purcell said the professor was adamant that you hear this precisely, so I wrote it down. He said, ‘Sometimes a reed must choose to become a rod and risk the breaking in the storm.’”
Peter closed his eyes and prayed hard for the professor, his friend, because the storm would only build in intensity.
“Of course, we’ll accept Professor Schreiber’s data on your behalf,” Wagner said. “Mrs. Lang seemed concerned that you’d lose your position at Harvard, but your worries are groundless. We’re glad you’re back. Professor Kramer is in poor health, and if you’re willing to take over his classes next semester, we would be most grateful.”
Peter lowered himself into his chair, but he didn’t trust his voice. His research, his life’s work, his hoped-for career—all restored. He squeezed his eyes shut and thanked the Lord.
“What my husband means to say is, ‘Yes, thank you. I’d be delighted, and I’ll be ready first thing in January.’”
Peter nodded and smiled, closed lipped, thanking his wife with his eyes that she’d spoken when he couldn’t, thanking Professor Wagner for the gift and the opportunity.
“Well.” The professor slapped his hands to his thighs and got to his feet. “I promised your wife we wouldn’t take much of your time. We need you healed so you can teach.”
Peter stood and shook both men’s hands. “Hans-Jürgen, please tell your parents—in code—that my wife and I are safe and that we’re most grateful.”
“I will, sir.” He and the professor departed.
Peter drew Evelyn to his side. “I can’t believe it. I can’t.”
She squeezed his waist. “Now I can tell you my other news. I start at the Boston bureau of the ANS in January. I’ll also work on my book while we’re in Cambridge. And then—” She spun away and looked at the clock on the wall.
“Then what?”
She raised an enigmatic smile, straightened his pajama top, and stepped out of the room again—and waved again.
“How many appointments do I have?” Peter asked.
“This is the last one.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Good news was strangely depleting.
His oldest brother, Richard, strode into the room in a pinstriped navy suit.
Peter laughed and crushed him in a hug. “What brings you up from Capitol Hill?”
Rich gripped Peter’s good shoulder. In his mid-thirties, Rich looked so much like their father, Peter’s chest ached. “It isn’t every day your little brother makes the papers as a big hero.”
Peter rolled his eyes, feeling about ten years old.
“Mutti said your wife called—that was a surprise. Then lo and behold, the newest Mrs. Lang called my office the very next day.”
“You did?” Peter asked her. Then he noticed an Army officer in the doorway, and he stood a bit taller. “Good day, sir.”
Rich beckoned the man inside. “Colonel Collins, this is my brother, Peter, and his wife, Evelyn. Peter, this is Colonel Bill Collins.”
Evelyn ushered the men to their seats. “I told Representative Lang about the interest the German army and the Abwehr had shown in your language instruction skills. I assumed our own military would be just as interested.”
Rich removed his homburg and took his seat. “I knew just the man to call.”
“I had a long discussion with the faculty in the German department at Harvard.” The colonel spoke with a gravelly voice that matched his chiseled face. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Peter didn’t hesitate.
“Good. We’ll let you finish your PhD first, of course, but I’m glad you’re interested. I’m sure you can see how useful your skills could be.”
Somehow those words didn’t sound sinister this time. “Yes, sir. War is coming.”
Rich dipped his head as if his little brother had embarrassed him on the playground.
“It is, Rich,” Peter said. “Hitler keeps snatching, and he keeps getting away with it. Each time he gets bolder. Someday he’ll cross a line and there will be war. We might fool ourselves into thinking it’s only Europe’s concern, but it isn’t. The way the Nazis treat people is a concern to all humanity, and therefore, to us.”
The colonel blew out a sigh. “I hope you’re wrong, but I fear you’re right.”
Peter laid a hand on his bandaged shoulder. “With this arm and my bad eyesight, I’ll be no good with a gun. But the skills I have—if they can help in any way—I gladly offer them.”
Colonel Collins chuckled. “Ah, Mr. Lang, don’t you know pacifism is in vogue this season? You’re behind the times.”
Peter lifted a sad smile. “Or ahead of them.”
“Either way, we’re glad you’re on our side.” The colonel rose and shook Peter’s hand.
Rich did likewise. “You’ll have to come to DC for a visit. My wife and kids want to meet the newest family member.”
“Thank you.” Evelyn looped her arm around Peter’s waist. “I can’t wait to meet them.”
“And . . .” Rich’s expression sobered. “My friends on the Hill need to hear about your experiences in Germany. Whether or not war is coming, we have to be aware of what’s happening.”
“I’d be glad to.”
“I can’t believe the Norwoods . . .” Rich shuddered. “Representative Norwood is under pressure to resign. He doesn’t stand a chance in the next election.”
“Not surprising.” Scandal had hit the Norwoods hard, with an FBI investigation, one son under arrest on multiple counts, and the other son summoned home to face charges.
Peter frowned. “I wonder what Father would say to all this.”
Rich clamped his hand on Peter’s shoulder, and his eyes misted over. “Father would say he’s very proud of his third son.”
Peter’s throat swelled shut again. He just nodded and let Evelyn say the appropriate good-byes and thank-yous and see-you-soons.
After Rich and the colonel left, Evelyn hugged Peter and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you too and so very happy for you.”
All his life, he’d longed to have an influence in the world. Now he’d have a true influence for good, deep and broad, aided by the Lord and by the incredible woman in his arms.
He placed a kiss on her temple. “Ready, Mrs. Lang? Let’s shake up this world.”