Seventeen

Ava

Every day James met Ava downstairs to walk to the kiosk with her, and every day he had the same answer about the possibility of a rescue plan for the Jewish mother and child in Lyon: no news yet. Though Ava had been reluctant to accept his offer to join her in the mornings, she had to admit that she'd not seen the German since James began accompanying her.

Additionally, Alfonso nodded at their morning arrival in silent confirmation that everything appeared to be clear. So it was that time went by without incident and Thanksgiving came and went. The occasion was marked with a quiet affair at the embassy with far more roasted fowl, heavy gravies, potatoes, and candied yams than any of them could possibly eat. Ava had jokingly invited James, who respectfully declined.

The following week, the next issue of Combat fell into Ava's hands with a similar message slipped into yet another article. Which meant the plea for help still had not been answered. Its recurrence dug at her thoughts often enough that she tried finding her own avenue.

However, any attempts to acquire US assistance were met with a stern rejection from Sims and anyone else she managed to snag on the phone in DC.

November shifted into December with Christmas bringing a sad little tree in the corner of Ava's apartment, drenched in tinsel the way her mother had always done in their childhood. Beneath it lay a V Mail envelope with a letter from Daniel she saved to make the day more special. Only it brought scarce comfort as she read it, unable to stop the image of him jumping out of a plane into the unknown and sheltering in an icy trench somewhere. Such thoughts left her with tears in her eyes and a hollow ache in her chest.

James had shown up then with a roasted turkey far too large for the two of them as well as every pastry he could find, all sparkling with sugar crusts and some with brightly colored jams leaking from their flaky centers. He also brought a gift for her, a new messenger bag wide enough to hold the newspapers on her daily collection. It was fortunate she had purchased him a present as well: a copy of A Study in Scarlet, the first of the Sherlock Holmes books, which he received with a broad grin.

By the time New Year's arrived, there hadn't even been a discussion if they would spend it together. They simply went to the Palacio in Estoril where they sipped champagne and nibbled canapés in their finest clothes. What hadn't been expected was the kiss they shared at midnight and how James hadn't needed a single line of recited verse to coax it from her.

That kiss was never brought up again, but as Ava looked back on it, a fog of champagne and gaiety kept her from recalling exactly if he had leaned toward her...or she toward him. Regardless, neither of them mentioned it and the first week of January rolled by unceremoniously.

Ava received yet another copy of Combat from Otto, and this time there was no longer a coded message. The realization was met with a flutter of uncertainty. Had they given up or were they already rescued?

The two options were still puzzling her when she joined James the following morning to assume their usual rounds through Lisbon's kiosks and bookstores.

The collar of his dark wool coat was flipped up to ward off the cool January morning, which was by no means comparable to the bone-deep chill of DC. Still, the cold air at her legs under her navy skirt made her miss the availability of stockings. She also was glad she had not gone with a refugiado hairstyle when the weather was hot, named after the short cropped hair en vogue in Europe when refugees fled their homes. Her long hair kept her neck warm, swept back from her face in an understated victory roll by her right part.

"What if I told you I come bearing good news?" He glanced about as they walked, his gaze forever sweeping the streets, vigilant even as she relaxed in her complacency.

Ava stopped walking, her heart daring to beat a little faster in anticipation of what he might say. "I wouldn't believe you."

"Wouldn't you?" He slid a charming grin her way that made her wonder again if it really was her who had kissed him at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve.

"I suppose it depends on what it is," she answered cautiously, afraid to hope. Not when such a fragile thing was so easily crushed, especially when the stakes were so high.

He turned to her. "Britain is helping."

"How?" she demanded. "When?"

"They made the decision a while ago and have plans underway. I haven't been able to share the news until now." He grimaced. "My apologies."

She gasped a laughing cry of disbelief. "No apology at all necessary. This is incredible! How did you finally get an answer?"

He put his hands in his pockets. "I had to call in a few favors. Now I'm the one in debt, but the cost is worth it. I would do it again in a minute to see them safe."

That was one of the many things she'd learned about James in all their time together. He genuinely did care about those trapped in Europe as they scrambled for safety. He never referred to them as refugees, but called them by their names, asking after their families and discussing details of their former jobs with them. In a world where they felt as though they'd shed the skins of their personality, he reminded them who they still were, that they mattered.

And while those interactions made the rounds of collecting newspapers that much longer for each table he stopped and chatted with, she didn't mind a bit. In fact, she joined him, bringing her usual assortment of books and treats for the children.

"It is I who owes you," Ava said. "I could never have done this without your help. Not only acquiring aid in transporting the mother and child here, but in figuring out the code."

"You don't owe me a thing," James protested. "I'm grateful for the outcome. However, once they arrive here in Lisbon, you'll have your own obstacle to scale in getting them to America."

She swallowed her trepidation and gave a firm nod. "I can do that."

And she would.

Somehow.

The warm, velvety aroma of coffee drifted on a chilled breeze, reminding her that their beverages were probably waiting for them at the small café on the corner of Rossio Square. They visited so often at the same time every day that the owner had taken to setting the drinks for them at their usual table.

James must have had a similar thought and indicated she lead the way.

"Have you been to Sintra yet?" he asked abruptly.

She frowned and shook her head. "I confess, I haven't even read much about it, aside from the palace being located there."

"You cannot come to Portugal and never experience Sintra." He paused by Alfonso's kiosk and exchanged a greeting with the owner.

Once Ava had the stack of newsprint tucked in her messenger bag, all of which now fit neatly with a flap that closed without issue, thanks to James, they resumed their walk toward Rossio Square.

A car approached, and they both waited for it to pass before crossing the street. "I'm attending a dinner party at Monserrate Palace in two days and would be honored if you'd consider accompanying me," James said.

The car zoomed past, the wind in its wake tugging at Ava's skirt and ruffling her hair. She swept her hand self-consciously over her victory roll. "A palace? How could I possibly say no?"

"I rather hoped that might be your answer."

They turned onto Rossio Square, and James was immediately pulled away by a nearby table of Frenchmen who greeted him with a wave.

James was correct in predicting her difficulty in securing passage for the mother and child. She knew that. But while the idea of helping Lamant all those months ago had shown her everything she'd done wrong, she had even less of a shot now.

"What do you mean you don't know their names?" Peggy inquired with a frown.

"It was from the article I mentioned before, the one in Combat," Ava explained.

"I wasn't aware you didn't even know their names." Peggy's right leg was crossed over her left, and now it swung back and forth as she pursed her lips in thought. "I have no idea how you can even begin the process without that information. You have to swear to their character in a moral affidavit to assure on your honor they are good people. How can you do that when you don't even know what their names are?"

While it was a good point, it didn't ease Ava's rising frustration. "Is there any way I can begin this process before their arrival?"

Peggy's leg stopped swinging, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "No."

"They at least need transit visas."

"To who would they be assigned?" Peggy queried.

Really, she should have said "to whom," but Ava refrained from pointing that out in the interest of her precarious situation.

"We work for the American Embassy," Ava protested. "Surely we have some clout."

Peggy shook her head, sending her sandy curls swinging around her face. "It's going to take a while, even if you are here pulling for them. You'll need a support affidavit to show they can afford to live without financial aid once in America plus the moral affidavits I mentioned as well as six copies of Form B of your request."

"Six?"

"It's a few pages, front and back." Peggy's red lips stretched in a line of sympathy as she nodded. "I can help you fill them out when it's time."

Ava gave her a sad, but grateful nod.

"You also may want to try to make friends with the clerks and officers downstairs in legation." Peggy shrugged. "They're overworked and on edge. I'm sure a little appreciation will go a long way."

Though they were all in the same building, Ava scarcely ever saw the other embassy employees. When she did, the men and women were rushing by with clipped steps somewhere between a walk and a run, coated in a sheen of sweat and with a furrowed brow.

"And you can ask the PVDE what you can do to prepare for their arrival." Peggy got to her feet and put a hand on Ava's shoulder. "They may be able to at least let you know what to make ready. All refugees have to go through them to remain in Portugal. You're going to have to go to them regardless. Might as well get some info now."

It was another good suggestion, and as soon as Ava finished photographing the books and periodicals she and Mike had accumulated the last several days, she made her way to Chiado where the PVDE headquarters were located on Rua António Maria Cardoso.

Ava strode up the incline of the street and entered the large building, feeling as though she were walking into the belly of the beast.

We have not to fear anything, except fear itself.Julius Caesar's quote resounded in her thoughts, pushing her onward.

Her heels clicked over the polished floor and echoed off the cold walls. A man sitting at the desk in a black business suit looked up, his face blank with disinterest.

He was middle-aged and slightly out of shape, with a glint of silver in his dark hair. Despite the benign appearance, Ava knew better.

Anyone who had spent more than a month in Portugal knew of the secret police and their brutality. It was rumored they had been trained by the Gestapo in their torture techniques. As kind as the Portuguese people were to the refugees, the PVDE could be just as cruel. Merciless with their rules, pedantic with the details, and swift with the execution of punishment. When people entered prison, they did not always come out, and even the ones who did had terrifying tales to tell.

She suppressed a shiver and addressed the officer in Portuguese, asking if there was a way to register the mother and child now and provide their names later or if there was anything she might do to prepare for their arrival. She intentionally omitted the details of how they were coming and how she knew of them. The PVDE was supposed to remain impartial to either side in the war, maintaining Portugal's claim of neutrality. Not everyone followed rules, however, and it was not uncommon to find some siding with the Allies and still others with the Axis.

The man sighed in irritation at a question he apparently considered idiotic.

"When they come, you make sure they register here." His expression was stern. "They come every month, or we will go to them."

Ava smiled sweetly in the face of his bald threat. "I wouldn't dream of doing otherwise."

The only other place she could think to probe about for ideas or information she had somehow overlooked was the JDC. As she hopped on the tram, her mind worked through everyone she had ever met in DC and how they might offer some aid. She hadn't been one for making scores of close friends. She didn't have many acquaintances as it was. And certainly, none that were in positions to provide backing in a situation like this.

She'd learned that early on when trying to find a way for Lamant to get his transit visa to America.

The tram deposited her at her stop, and she walked the rest of the way toward the familiar white building, enjoying the heat of the sun on that crisp January day. Children chased one another about in a game of tag while their parents held cups of coffee and tea, engaged in their dismal low-toned conversations. The faces changed from time to time, but the situations were always the same. Adults waiting for the little ones to be distracted before whispering their fears to one another.

What if a visa didn't arrive in time and the PVDE came for them? What if a boat ticket couldn't be obtained and they had to start the process over again? What if the money ran out? What if Germany attacked Portugal and they had nowhere to go?

The worst of it was that there were no answers for any of those questions. There doubtless wasn't an answer for Ava either, but she wouldn't give up without getting advice from the person most likely to know all the loopholes in the crazy, shifting visa system in Portugal.

Ethan tossed the towel he'd been wiping a table with over his shoulder. "Ava, how did you know to come?"

She chuckled, good-naturedly. "Because you always need extra hands."

He shook his head without humor, and that was when she noticed his eyes were red rimmed.

"Ava..." Her name tore from him in a ragged, wounded way that sent a warning charging through her.

"What is it?"

He blinked and a tear dropped to his cheek. He swiped it away. "It's Otto."

"Otto?" Her blood went cold. "What's happened?"

"Ava...he..."

She stared at Ethan, her heart gripped with fear. "He what?"

"He took his own life."

Everything around her froze in that moment. She remained still, stunned, her mind grappling with the enormity of such news.

"Why?" she whispered as the questions rushed forward. "When? How?"

Ethan pinched his forefinger and thumb over his eyes and sniffed. "He was found this morning, an empty bottle of morphine tablets by his bed with a note."

Morphine tablets. Sadly, it had become a common way for a life to be ended, a bitter swallow followed by a blanket of dreamless sleep from which one never woke.

Otto was a man who fought for his success, for a chance at life. What could possibly make a man so determined give up after all this time?

"Why?" she asked. "Did the note say why?"

"He was denied an American visa again," Ethan said slowly. "He'd already tried twice before, waiting out the six months in between rejections to attempt it again. I think after the third time..."

"If he had told me, perhaps I could have—"

Ethan shook his head. "His parents were German. There was nothing you could have done."

Pain crumpled in Ava's chest with the truth of Ethan's words. There was truly nothing she—or anyone else—could have done for him. He had been failed by a system that was inherently broken.

"He left something for you," Ethan said gently. "A moment, please." He disappeared into his office, leaving Ava standing where she stood, her body numb.

She gazed across the room, seeing nothing. How could she when her thoughts were overflowing? She had intended to see Otto once she'd spoken with Ethan, to bask in the familiar sweet scent of his pipe and tell him about the mother and child who would soon be arriving in Lisbon. To seek his counsel.

How had she not seen the depth of his misery? How had he hidden such desperation from her?

The room blurred.

"Ava." Ethan put his warm hand on her shoulder.

She looked at him, her throat aching with an emotion that wouldn't let her speak.

He extended a packet of papers toward her. Combat showed at the top. She shook her head vehemently. She would not have his last act be retrieving newspapers for her. He was so much greater than that.

"It is not only these." Ethan sifted through the stack, finding first the well-worn letter from Petra, then a second envelope with Ava's name written in short, neat print across the front.

"What is that?"

Ethan handed her the small pile, the envelope thick with what felt like several sheets of paper. "I believe..." He cleared his throat. "I believe it's Otto's story and he wanted you to have it."