Twenty-Three

Ava

At exactly noon every day, Mr. Smith—one of the vice-consuls from the legation office on the first floor of the embassy—came upstairs for a cup of coffee. And at exactly noon every day, Ava met him there.

First, she brought some pastéis de nata from the best bakery in the Belém district. Next, she offered him a few sausages and a tin of quality sardines as a quick lunch when she knew the staff downstairs seldom had time to eat. The day after, she presented him with a bottle of green wine.

He knew she was building up toward something with her sweet smiles and interest in his day-to-day life. Yet when she asked the first time if he'd received the meticulously written and rewritten six copies of Form B, he had the audacity to tell her she was a copy short.

It was now 11:58 a.m., and she was done being nice.

She stood up from her desk, slipped into her heels, and straightened her skirt. Peggy met her gaze from across the office and offered a nod of encouragement, her eyes narrowed with assertiveness.

At 11:59, Ava left her desk and slowly made her way to the break room. Sure enough, Mr. Smith was standing there in his ill-fitting gray suit with a skin tone to match. His dark mustache reminded Ava of the long brooms used by the cleaning crew, and his brow remained in a perpetually glossy state. He wore the same exhausted, defeated expression as his fellow vice-consuls, all of them worked to the point they were bereft of patience and on the teetering edge of losing their humanity.

He eyed her warily.

She gave him her most charming smile, exactly as Peggy had directed. "Did you receive my updated copies of Form B?"

"Miss Harper." He gave an exaggerated shift from one foot to the other, as if the weight of the world rested between his shoulders. "Was it entirely necessary to send over eight copies of the application for a visa?"

"Absolutely." Ava crossed her arms over her chest. "Considering I left you ten."

That had been Peggy's idea too. Their hands were cramping by the tenth form, but the flattening of Mr. Smith's lips beneath his mustache made it all worthwhile. The system was complicated and layered in bureaucratic tape, but she was learning to balance the twisted ropes, one grueling slip at a time.

And she would win.

The applications for the two US visas were exceptionally long and required exactly six copies for each person that she had painstakingly filled out. They had been completed in March when Sarah and Noah arrived in Lisbon. Though she had walked them downstairs herself, they refused to look at them and insisted the forms be set aside. In that time, they managed to lose a copy and took a month and a half to inform her one page was missing. She'd been waiting another month already on the second set of papers and refused to wait a single day more.

"They have been received," Mr. Smith replied tightly.

"I'll accompany you downstairs today while you approve them," Ava said.

"That isn't how it's done, Miss Harper." The condescension in his tone made what she had to do next all the easier.

"I'm well aware of how it's done." She unfolded her arms and straightened, fully prepared for this battle. "You delay visas so you don't have to issue them. I have seen it time and again. All the necessary paperwork has been submitted, not once, but twice—"

"Your paperwork was incomplete last time."

"It was not when I submitted it," she corrected him. "I still fail to understand how it even got lost when they were all bound in an envelope."

Mr. Smith narrowed his eyes. "Do I need to remind you of the fifth columnist?"

He did not. She was quite familiar with the phrase that referenced a Nazi sympathizer who might slip into the States as a refugee. The word was whispered in America with fear, and the newspapers mentioned it often enough that it practically became quotidian.

"This is a mother and child," Ava said with exasperation. "One whose husband is already in New Jersey now working as a doctor. Their support affidavits and moral affidavits were received and accepted well over a month ago. They should be free from this scrutiny and this prejudice."

Mike strode into the small room and stopped to listen, leaning against the door frame with his arms casually folded over his chest and a smirk on his lips.

Mr. Smith tossed him an irritable glare.

"I will stop by every hour on the hour if you do not do this now," Ava threatened. "Day after day after day." She added some extra sugar into her already saccharine smile.

"She's nothing if not persistent." Mike bit into an apple and chewed noisily as he watched Mr. Smith with a bemused grin.

Mr. Smith sighed, a heavy, defeated exhale that informed Ava she had won.

"They're approved," he ground out. "You'll receive them in a month's—"

"Today," she interrupted. "I expect to receive the visas today or we will be speaking regularly."

"Very well." Mr. Smith spoke through his teeth. "But the visas will only be good for two weeks."

That would allow for plenty of time to secure a boat to New York. "That's perfect."

"Is that all, Miss Harper?" The question was one of sarcasm rather than genuine helpfulness.

"Why, yes," she replied brightly. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Smith."

She hadn't even finished speaking when he stormed out of the room, muttering something about his sympathies for her future husband.

Mike grinned at her. "Well done."

Ava nodded, more pleased with herself than she cared to admit. When she walked out of the break room, Peggy was only a few steps from the doorway and gave her two thumbs-up.

"You did it," she squealed.

Yes, Ava had done it. Finally.

But what about all the other stranded refugees who did not have an American to fight the battle for them? It was no wonder their visas took months to be approved while most were forced to wait. Despite Ava's victory, it was impossible in that moment not to think of Otto. Of how desolate his future must have been with each rejection for a chance at freedom.

No matter what she managed to achieve, she would always be haunted by what she could not do for Otto.

As promised, the American visas for Sarah and Noah were sent upstairs by the afternoon along with the day's mail. Much to Ava's disappointment, there was nothing from Daniel. It had been almost a month since his last letter and though she tried to brush the worry from her mind, it niggled at her thoughts with each passing day.

At least she had the visas.

A week later, on a particularly sunny day, those visas were safely tucked in the purse squeezed beneath Sarah's arm. Ava led her and Noah into the Cais Do Sodré district of Lisbon where throngs of people stood in a chaotic squeeze that scarcely resembled lines.

It was Sarah's third attempt to obtain tickets on one of the ships and time was running out. They approached the American Export Lines office and joined the pressing crowd. Without shade, the June sun swiftly became merciless. It would be especially so to those in line in their winter coats, loathe to leave any of their belongings behind when they had so few.

The first time Sarah had been turned away from the booking office, the employees claimed they did not speak French and stated others whose visas were expiring before her own took precedence. The second time, Sarah said a man with blond hair had interrupted them, whispering something to the clerk. The woman's demeanor changed afterward and they were denied tickets. When Sarah described the man as handsome and tall with a dimple in one cheek, Ava understood with a sinking realization exactly who had interfered.

Lukas.

He was her bad penny, showing up randomly and leaving her wary of where and when he might be next.

It didn't matter if he appeared now or not. This third attempt would be the final one, and Ava would not leave without success.

Worry etched Sarah's features while Noah played distractedly with a small boat Ava had given him in an effort to quell his anxieties on being out on the open water. Only last month, the Serpa Pinto full of refugees from Lisbon had been taken by a U-boat, the crew and passengers all held captive. If rumors were to be believed—and many in this war were proving to be true—a baby had drowned amid the chaos.

"Everything will work out," Ava assured Sarah.

They had become close in those last months, and it had been difficult for Ava to witness the gradual transition as Sarah moved through the phases all refugees in Lisbon seemed to traverse. The wide-eyed awe of so much food, of ready, hot showers and clothes and the freedom to walk about.

But soon that awe gave way to anxiety when visas were not promptly approved. The perpetual state of fraying nerves. If freedom could not be had in that drawn-out stage, it was then replaced with despondency and hopelessness.

Like Otto.

Ava's heart flinched.

She waited in the line with Sarah and Noah long enough that their stomachs began to growl. It was around then that children strolled the length of the line, small sacks at their side, selling something called bolas. The Hungarian treats were sugar-crusted pastries with dough that was pillowy and sweet and had a creamy custard center. They were immediately popular once the refugees started selling them upon their arrival in Portugal and soon found their way into local cafés.

With strict rules in place to keep refugees from working in Portugal, there were few ways to bring in money. Suddenly the men who once supported their families had to sit back and allow the women to earn a living through tasks like cooking, laundry, and sewing.

Ava purchased four of the pastries. One for herself and Sarah, and two for Noah, whose stomach proved bottomless. In just the two months they had been in Lisbon, his cheeks had filled out with a healthy glow, and he'd shot up at least an inch.

The line condensed into a squeeze of people as they neared the entrance to the building, as if the sense of urgency for those few select tickets increased. For every person who emerged from the ticket office with a look of relief relaxing their features, it was one less spot open to another refugee who waited.

Sarah pulled her purse in front of her and secured it to her chest with the clamp of her arm. "What if they turn us away?"

"They will not," Ava said with conviction.

Truly, there was no reason they should. Ava could translate from French for them, Sarah and Noah were dressed in their cleanest, newest clothes that Ava had procured for them. And their visas would expire soon.

The latter point of fact ground away at Ava every day. The ship's passage should have been easier to obtain. After all, the JDC had provided the $375 needed for both Sarah and Noah, an exorbitant cost, generously offered by the JDC through Ethan for all the times Ava continued to assist on her days off. Not that she volunteered to curry favors, which Ethan knew, and she could not decline his offer to help Sarah and Noah. Certainly, the steep fares for passage on those ships was far more than Ava could afford to pay on her own.

That small fortune was in Sarah's guarded purse with those precious visas.

At last, they entered the building, and the heat of the sun overhead was replaced by the shade of a ceiling. While stuffy inside, at least they were freed of the merciless glare that left the tops of their heads burning like fire.

A large American flag hung on the wall inside, the small space crowded with people though only six reception areas were available for applicants to fill out yet another lengthy form. Sarah gave Ava the wallet containing the visas and bundle of American dollars for the passage, then pulled Noah into her arms.

He squirmed. "I want to play, Maman."

"You stay close," she cautioned as she set him down by her side. "And do not make any trouble."

Ava understood her concern. Clerks could deny passage for any reason, whether legitimate or personal. All applicants were at their mercy. A wandering child could spell disaster for Sarah and Noah, even with Ava there to help.

When the next reception area was vacated, Ava approached the desk where a woman with wiry gray hair stared tiredly at her. Damp perspiration rings darkened the armpits of her red shirt.

"I'd like two tickets to New York, departing within the next week to ensure their visas don't expire." Ava laid out the visas for the woman to inspect.

"You'll need to fill out the application." The woman shoved two forms toward Ava, who had learned to develop an unnatural patience with such things in the last few months. One would never suspect paper was on ration with how many applications, affidavits, and forms one was required to submit.

Were the process for herself, Ava suspected her tolerance would be short-lived. However, in light of what Sarah and Noah had gone through, a cramped hand was scarcely nothing of note by which to complain.

As she carefully filled out the details, she glanced about, half expecting Lukas to show once more.

Sarah remained still as a soldier beside her with Noah's back obediently locked against his mother's leg. The little toy boat was held aloft in his hand, rolling through an invisible sea, his lips pursed as he mimicked the splash of waves in a barely audible whisper.

The clerk accepted the form and skimmed over Ava's careful print. The woman's mouth thinned. Seconds ticked by, scraping over Ava's nerves.

The clerk slid her gaze to Sarah with little Noah standing at her side, still holding his toy ship. He paused in waving it through the air and smiled at her in the sweet, pure way only a child can.

She huffed out a sigh. "I have exactly two spots available for this Wednesday on the USS Siboney."

That was in two days.

"We'll take them," Ava said, placing the money on the counter.

Minutes later, they left the travel office, precious tickets in place of the money secured in a pocket in Sarah's purse. After a celebratory treat of ice cream at one of the cafés near their apartment, Ava walked them to their door.

"Will you come up?" Sarah asked as she often did when they enjoyed lunch together.

"I'd love to." Ava followed her up a flight of stairs to the apartment that had become as familiar to Ava as her own.

"Let me settle this little one down for his nap," Sarah said. "Make yourself comfortable."

"But I'm not tired," Noah whined even as he rubbed an eye with a tight fist.

Though Ava had never been around children, Noah's habits were frequent enough that it was easy to discern what he needed despite his protests. Two months had been enough to know that Noah did indeed require a nap, or his sunny disposition would sour with shrieks of displeasure.

"No need to rush on my account." Ava waved Sarah off and went to the kitchen to prepare a cup of coffee for each of them.

Sarah emerged several minutes later with a smile still touching her lips. "He was asleep before I could even sing ‘Fais Dodo.'"

Ava, who was aware just how much he loved the go-to-sleep song, chuckled and poured fresh coffee into two cups. In the time Sarah had gotten to know Ava, she had shared what Paris was like during the Nazi occupation. There had been days so cold that one would wake to frost on their blankets and food was so scarce that signs were posted to remind people not to eat rats. Then there were the times of hiding in crawl spaces meant for storage, not humans, and the joint-locking stillness required to remain unheard during the day. Not to mention the agony of keeping a small child quiet...

The stories were heartbreaking and gave Ava an appreciation for the comforts afforded to them in Lisbon. Sarah also spoke often of Elaine, the woman who created the coded message in Combat.

Sarah always smiled when she spoke of Elaine, who had put her role with the Resistance at risk to create the clever message and who sacrificed her own bed for Noah and Sarah. This was eventually followed by details of their escape and tears at the certainty that the shots fired had found their target in Manon, the woman who had opened her home and heart to them.

It was through these stories and ones Ava learned from Otto that she truly began to understand the haunted expressions on the refugees' faces, the brutal existence of being under Nazi occupation. Though she worried after her brother constantly, she was grateful for his role in this war, to save the innocent from being so viciously oppressed and murdered.

While Ava was relieved to finally secure Sarah and Noah passage on a boat to New York, they would be sorely missed. The lunches together and trips to the beach at Estoril and even to the old medieval castle hidden behind Sintra's misty veil wouldn't be the same without them. The adventures started as a way to distract Noah, but had made them all fast friends.

"I'm anxious, Ava." Sarah wrapped her hands around her mug despite the warm day.

"You needn't worry about the U-boats," Ava said, offering her the same reassurance she had repeated since they heard of the Serpa Pinto.

"It isn't that." Sarah's lips pursed in thought. "I have not seen Lewis in three years. He has been in America this entire time while we have been in France." She ran a hand through her dark hair. "I do not look the same as the woman who kissed him farewell. I am not the same woman inside that he fell in love with either. It is possible that after three years of being separated...we do not know each other anymore."

"Then it gives you both a chance to fall in love all over again." Ava reached across the small round table and took her friend's hand. "You have been so brave and have sacrificed so much for Noah, and yet, you have still retained your kindness. How could he not love you?"

Sarah's concern relaxed into a smile. She nodded. "All will be well." Her gaze found the stack of letters from her husband, tied with a precious crimson velvet ribbon that had been her mother's. "Now we only need the ship to arrive on time."

As of Tuesday afternoon, the USS Siboney had still not pulled into port. James insisted on accompanying Ava to the Cais Do Sodré district that evening to check on the ship's arrival.

He had lost his limp for the most part. The bullet wound healed completely, leaving only the slightest catch in his step.

"You're quiet," he noted gently.

"I'm worried," Ava admitted.

The sun was sliding low into the horizon amid streaks of vivid purples and golds and pinks that set the clouds on fire with the dying light. A cool breeze swept off the Tagus and fanned over their warm skin, bringing with it a briny, familiar scent.

"If they cannot board the vessel, their visas will expire," Ava said. "It took a miracle to get them visas in the first place. I will have to start the process over again."

The very idea put a knot of angry frustration at the back of her throat. Even with her connections and position at the embassy, she was still at the mercy of dilatory ships.

Tolstoy once said the two most powerful warriors were patience and time.

Earlier in Ava's life, she strove to hold such words of wisdom in her heart, to learn from them and grow. Now they battered around inside her head in mockery of her situation.

She would rather she was the one facing the delayed passenger ship than Sarah and Noah, whose hopes were hinged on their escape from Lisbon.

A warm hand slid around Ava's. Startled, she glanced down to find James's fingers enfolding hers.

"All will be well," he said confidently.

"I just keep thinking they might already be on their way to America if I'd gone with them the other two times." Ava quickened her step as the docked ships came into view. The crowd swelled with travelers, their few trunks stuffed to bulging with their belongings as arrivals and departures congealed into a writhing mass.

"If I'd been there to translate," she lamented. "If Lukas hadn't somehow interfered."

James stiffened. "He was there?"

Ava's stomach slid a little lower.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you. Apparently one day he came in and spoke with one of the clerks before Sarah and Noah were turned away." She shook her head. "I wasn't there."

James took a breath as if intending to say more, but Sarah and Noah emerged from the crowd of travelers. Noah beamed at them and triumphantly lifted the ice cream in hand, but Sarah's face was stricken.

Ava did not need to ask why.

"The USS Siboney..." Sarah's eyes filled with tears. "It has still not arrived."

Which meant there would be no way for it to sail out by Friday now. Ava would have to begin the process over again. She forced down the bitterness of her own disappointment. Instead, she focused on reassuring her friend she would find a way to get her and Noah to America.

And Ava would. With patience and time—both of which were now in short supply.