José led Ramona inside a windowless room—a small cave apartment—and spread his arms, as if it were the bridal suite at a fine hotel. There was only one piece of furniture—a large iron bed smothered with goatskins. She smiled, thinking it was the most beautiful bed she'd ever seen.
The next day they were met by a young boy who wore a poncho of rabbit skins. He gingerly led them toward a creek were a small band of men waited. As the minutes ticked by, another man joined, then another. Then three men were followed by five more, coming out of the hills. Ramona couldn't believe the sight. Just days ago, when they'd walked through the forests, she'd felt so alone. Now, she wondered how many eyes had watched their trek.
On either side of the group men perched on their legs, with straight backs and guns ready like sentries. Ramona drew up her knees to her chest and blew into her cupped hands, hoping to warm them.
"Señora," a man said, and offered her a chunk of dark bread.
Though she knew it was provided for the man by a wife or a sister back in the valley, or perhaps in one of the mining camps, she could not resist. She liked to think she was protecting his pride, but it was truly her hunger that forced her to accept the gift.
"Thank you."
She took a bite and then broke off a chunk for José. She offered it to him, but he shook his head. She knew he was hungry; she could see the familiar look in his eyes. But he cared more for her than his own stomach.
"God has sent us a gift." One man's voice rose among the rest. "For so long we have fought, and we've seen many die. But today we have an angel of mercy who will heal our wounds." He pointed to Ramona. "So fight hard, men, fight brave. For we now have hope on our side!"
"Don't you think I should actually offer some help before they call me an 'angel of mercy'?" Ramona murmured to José.
He took her hand and squeezed; then he lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them. "They know. To meet you is to know. . . ."
Ramona felt joy settle over her. One that surpassed any since this war had begun. They were together . . . not just the two of them, but many. This was their fight. And she knew this was exactly where God wanted her, trusting in Him no matter the forces that waged around her.
Deion met a new group of Spanish men the first night he returned to the trenches. The battalion returned to the front lines in the middle of August, taking positions outside Azaila. They planned to begin a new offensive in Aragon, which would take pressure off the Euzkadi and Asturian fronts—two areas under siege by Franco's legions.
But before the first shot was fired, Deion was called back to the command center.
His commander approached him with quickened steps. "We need you to drive a doctor and a nurse to Barcelona. They seek medical supplies for the hospital."
Deion heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Gwen smiling at him. He almost thought he was dreaming.
"And after you drive them there," the commander continued, "you will return home."
"Home?" Deion scratched his forehead—the word seemed unfamiliar.
Gwen touched his arms, and he could read an apology in her gaze. "They've asked me to go back—after I find supplies. They're looking for someone to go back and tell the news of Spain. Someone who has been here, to share what they've seen. I told them I'd go if I found you. And you could go with me. We can travel together—raise money and help the cause."
Deion straightened his shoulders. "But what if I told 'em the war isn't over yet—and I want to stay?"
Her smile fell.
"The truth is, we could you use more at home," Steve Nelson interrupted. "To tell others of your fight. To get them to send more help to Spain. Few have witnessed as many battles as you and made it through. You will be leaving tonight for Barcelona, and taking a ship from there."
Deion nodded his answer, and Gwen took his hand. He was going home. Going to urge others to help their fight. Somehow it seemed good. It seemed right. He squeezed Gwen's hand.
Sophie chatted with Maria as they walked. They laughed as baby Carlito clapped his hands at the sight of the water.
"I think he wants to jump in," Maria commented, offering her son a kiss on his cheek. He had curly black hair and large, dark eyes. Sophie thought he was the sweetest baby she'd ever seen.
Sophie had sent word to Walt that there would be two more passengers when they left. Walt had sent a message back for her to meet him in the tunnel this evening. Sophie only hoped he didn't argue. She couldn't bear the thought of telling Maria they couldn't help her.
They strolled in front of the Hall of the Ambassadors. A long pool of water stretched half the length of a football field. On either side of the pool, myrtle trees stood. And at the end of the Hall of Ambassadors a statue sat cross-legged. It was said he could dispense favors or dispense death to those who asked it of him. Sophie knew no idol held such power, but she whispered a prayer that God would hear her plea for this mother and child.
In the distance, a man entered the courtyard. He was too far away for her to recognize his face—but his walk, his body structure, even his slight limp caused Sophie to pause in her tracks. "Ritter," she whispered.
"I'm sorry; what did you say?" Maria asked.
"That man." Sophie turned her back to him before he could see her. "I know him."
"The German? That's Hermann von Bachman—he's a German advisor. I heard some friends talking last night, and it seems he's here for a short stay before heading to South America. When did you meet him?"
"South America? Hermann? No, never mind. I'm mistaken. I thought he was someone else."
Sophie turned and noticed Ritter approaching. She knew better than to run, for others mingled in the garden. Instead she placed a hand on her stomach and took a deep breath. Don't panic, she told herself. Apparently Ritter was in hiding once again. He had as much to fear from her as she did from him.
Maria reached out her hand. In her arms Carlito cooed. "Hermann, I'd like you to meet Eleanor."
Ritter stretched out his hand. "Eleanor?"
She took his hand and bobbed a curtsey. "Hermann . . . so nice to meet you."
Sophie's heartbeat quickened. Perhaps their way of escape was going to come from a very unlikely source.
"Hermann, would you like to walk with us?"
"Thank you for the offer, but I won't be here long. Perhaps we can talk another time? To share how we both ended up here. Talk about what we seek in Spain?" His gaze fixed on Sophie.
"Yes, I would like that very much." She touched his arm with her hand. "Let's make sure that happens, shall we?"
* * *
Sophie waited impatiently at the opening of the tunnel. She paced back and forth, eager to tell Walt her news. Finally she heard footsteps, and she nearly threw herself into Walt's arms. "I've found it! I know how we can get out."
She spent the next ten minutes explaining how she knew Ritter, and her plan for their escape.
"Are you telling me I should approach a German pilot, who once deceived you, and ask him to help ferry priceless gold out of the country?"
"Anyone can be bought," Sophie insisted. "And he's hiding too. He used a different name, Hermann von Bachman. . . . I think he might be searching for the gold, too. I heard he plans to travel to South America. And while I don't completely trust him, I know there is a softer side to Ritter. I saw in his eyes he still considers me a friend."
"Hmm." Walt scratched his head.
"Of course, if you have a better idea, let me know," she added. "For now it's something to consider."
Walt sighed. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt. I have no other answer." He placed a hand on her arm. "I'll be in touch. You better hurry back now."
"Thank you, Walt." She reached to give him a hug, nearly knocking off his hat. "I'll meet you here tomorrow. Maybe we'll know something then."
"Let 's hope so. It seems the stakes are rising with each day that passes." He sighed. "And just think—for so long I was only concerned about a few coins."