In the Shadow of Your Wings Page 5

  There was no time to take anything but her child. Quickly, Eleanor covered Abby’s head with a woolen cap and leaped for the door. She cracked it open and saw a stream of terrified Londoners scrambling to get out of the path of the oncoming storm of fire.

  Eleanor glanced up and gawked as the sinuous body of a massive airship, faintly illuminated by searchlights, glided into view. A falling package, briefly exposed up by the crisscrossing beams of light, made her breath hang in her chest. Bombs!

  The shrapnel burst over the Thames, lighting up the night and jarring her into action. She slipped into the human river, jogging quickly down the muddy street. The whine of British Royal Air Force airplanes filled her ears as they scrambled to meet this latest threat, but she lowered her head and wrapped her arms around her child. “God, please, watch over us now!”

  “Look out!” A hoarse male voice screamed to her right. Eleanor skidded to a halt. Her stomach rose to her throat and she froze, unable to make her legs obey her silent command.

  Move!

  She couldn’t. What was the point? There was nowhere to run.

  She watched, transfixed with horror, as the bomb hit the ground, splitting the air with a thunderous wave of dust, fire and shrapnel.

  The concussion tossed her into the air like a clump of straw, ripping her wailing child from her grasping fingers. Searing heat from a wall of fire blasted her on all sides, threatening to turn her into a human puddle.

  She landed hard on her back and felt her skull slam against the edge of the concrete sidewalk. Spots of light danced before her eyes and she lay twitching helplessly, her chest heaving as she tried to focus. Abby!

  She struggled to push herself upright. Her ears rang with a high-pitched whine and every other sound seemed to come from a distance. Another explosion, this one a little further away, ripped through the night sending shards of metal spinning past her face. “Abby!”

  The world turned in a dizzying circle around her eyes. Her numbed mind suddenly registered a burning pain at the base of her neck and she clapped her hand to her skull. Sticky blood oozed over her fingers.

  Orange firelight blazed on all sides and she shielded her eyes with her forearm. She tried again to get up, but her muscles refused to move.

  Abby. Her mind roiled in anguish. Where is my daughter? She slumped back against the rough stone below. Then the darkness claimed her.

  SHE CAME TO WITH A start, aware of a strong hand on her shoulder.

  “This one’s still alive!” A woman’s voice broke through the fog that surrounded her mind.

  She groaned, struggling to come to her feet.

  “Easy now.” The voice came over the raw noise of crackling flames. “Take her other arm.”

  Eleanor looked up as a young man pulled her to her feet.

  “My baby.” She coughed and pushed him away. “Abby?” She staggered forward through the burning rubble, heedless of the voices that called her back. Some of the dazed survivors around her also called out the names of missing loved ones while others just sat and stared at the wreckage that was all that remained of their world.

  Eleanor had not gone ten feet before the mud-stained edge of a blue blanket caught her eye. It peeked out from beneath a pile of shattered wood and stone.

  “Abby!” She shrieked, dropping to her knees and tearing at the rubble, heedless of the splinters that tore into her hands. She was dimly conscious of the stranger’s presence as he pulled away the remaining stones.

  Then she saw it—the mangled remains of her bundle of joy.

  Eleanor’s wail ripped into the night sky. “Oh, my child! My sweet, sweet child!”

  She lifted the bloody bundle from the wreckage and pressed it to her chest. Her tears spattered the little girl’s sightless eyes as she kissed the battered face and crushed skull. Chills ran up and down her spine as her mind struggled to absorb what her eyes declared to be true. Her daughter... Abby... was dead.

  After a few moments, her screams melted into muted whimpers. How could this have happened? Her husband gone to war and her baby dead in the space of a few hours?

  Tell Abby every day that her da loves her.

  A crushing wave of pain welled up within her. Will. What would he say when he learned that his darling girl was gone?

  “Abby.” Her voice broke as her grip tightened on the bloody blanket. “Your da loves you. No doubt he’s thinkin’ of you this very minute.”

  Rocking back on her heels, she repeated the words like a chant. “Your da loves you. He loves you Abby. Your da loves you.”

  “I’m sorry.” The stranger rose as he spoke, but she was deaf to everything but the thunder of her own sorrow. Bitterness hammered at her heart, waiting for her to voice the anger that simmered in her soul.

  What is faith worth? I prayed for protection. Will promised we’d be alright. Now, our daughter is dead.

  Through her veil of agony, Eleanor rebelled against the dark voice in her mind. In that moment, she became the patriarch Job who had been bereaved of all he held dear. Now, like him, she was forced to choose her response to this tragic loss.

  Whatever words slipped through her lips now would determine the path her soul would follow. “God gives.” She clenched her teeth as she stared at the still form that lay unmoving in her bleeding hands. “God takes away.”

  “B-blessed... blessed be—”.

  She slumped forward and her voice melted into a stream of ragged cries.

  Malcolm backed away, eyes locked on this mother who, despite the loss of her child, clung stubbornly to her faith.

  “Let’s go Malcolm.” Leila tugged on his arm. “There’s nothing more we can do for her.”

  Malcolm nodded but did not move. He remained transfixed by the sight of the keening woman. The drone of planes overhead, the screams of the wounded, the blazing unconquered flames made the scene around him seem almost surreal. But the pain in that woman’s voice was real. The war was real. And for the first time, he had witnessed the effects of its brutality.

  Chapter 5

  Berlin, Germany. February 1915

  “Mother, are you sure this is wise?”

  Clara Haber’s brow puckered as she glanced at her frail son who crouched in the corner of the shadowed room, the backstage auditorium of Kaiser Wilhelm’s Institute.

  Hermann had always been a sickly child who had the singular misfortune of being born into a home of scientists. His father, Fritz, neglected the boy in favor of his true love: chemistry. As a child, Hermann had not noticed his father’s obsession with the molecular world but, at twelve years old, the boy was almost a man. She could no longer pretend that they were a normal family.

  Clara sighed inwardly but kept her eyes level with his own. Hermann noticed too much. Neither she nor Haber could hide the marital frustration that continued to explode like vials of nitroglycerin in every corner of their home.

  Clara set her lips in a firm line. At this moment, she stood backstage, in the university where her husband’s intellectual prowess made him the envy of the world’s scientists. She was about to sabotage his latest publicity stunt. “Is it wise? No, Hermann, it’s probably not. But it’s what I must do.”

  Her husband’s voice boomed out to an enthusiastic audience on the other side of the curtain. Fritz. Always a winner. Judging by the resounding applause, she was the only one present who refused to celebrate his victory.

  “You know father doesn’t like it when you attend his events.” Hermann wiped his runny nose with a pale hand. “And now you plan to ruin it?”

  His brow crinkled. “I’m sorry Mamele but I don’t think you should do this. You and Father... you’re are always arguing.” He covered his ears with his hands. “I just want the shouting to stop!”

  Clara pulled him to her and felt his thin frame shake with silent sobs. His use of Mamele—the Yiddish term for mother—tugged at her soul. Both she and Fritz had been raised in Jewish homes, but Germany offered more opportunities for Protestant Christians than for
Jews. They had both converted prior to their marriage but their conversion was superficial at best. As she held her weeping son, Clara wondered once again if she had made the right choice. In matters of the heart, it seemed she was prone to err.

  “Hermann, meyn zun, listen to me.” She placed a hand on both his shoulders. “Sometimes the only way to get what we want is to fight. It wasn’t easy for me to be the first woman in Germany to win a doctorate in chemistry.” She lifted her chin. “I had to fight. Hard. Remember, it doesn’t matter what price you pay as long as you win.”

  “You won’t win if you’re fighting against Father.” He backed away, sniffling. “Neither of you will.”

  Clara’s lips thinned. “I’ll win or die. Your father is the kind of man that destroys everyone weaker than himself. I have to prove that I am his equal.”

  Her face hardened as she looked at the long red curtain which shielded her from the public eye. “I have hidden in your father’s shadow for too long, Hermann. It is time that the world knows that my accomplishments are as good as his.”

  “But Mother—”

  “If your father sees the price of working against me,” she turned and marched toward the drape, “then perhaps he’ll realize that it’s time he work with me.”

  Clara straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath to calm the furious gallop of her heart. No more hiding at home Fritz, while you get all the glory. She shoved the curtain aside and stepped out onto center stage.

  Showtime.

  “THAT IS WHY I CALL upon you, loyal citizens of our great Fatherland to—”

  Fritz Haber’s flow of words screeched to a halt as the scarlet curtain behind him parted and Clara waltzed onto the stage, an innocent smile plastered on her thin lips. For a moment he just stared at her, hoping against hope that his eyes lied to him. The front of his bald head crinkled, and his eyes narrowed behind the twin rims of his pince-nez.

  Taking in his wife’s sallow face and stiff, shapeless figure, Fritz wondered what sort of chemistry had brought them together in the first place. Had they mistaken their mutual love of molecular bonding for a deeper pull of the heart? As far as he was concerned, their relationship was as unstable as the connections created by London dispersion forces. In breaking in on his speech, Clara showed that she wanted to test the strength of their union. Judging by the stubborn tilt of her head and the malicious glint in her beady eyes, she was not here to support him which could only mean...

  Fritz’s eyes widened behind his glasses. She wouldn’t dare. But this was Clara. The woman who had never learned the meaning of the word “no.” The woman who, against all odds, had achieved a doctoral degree in the field of chemistry. In his field. What they had once considered a shared interest had degenerated into a dangerous rivalry. And he would not tolerate any competition.

  Fritz realized that an expectant hush had claimed the audience of three hundred supporters. The chemist closed his mouth with an audible click and looked back at the crowd, while wiping his damp hands on the pants of the military uniform he had chosen to wear.

  His lips twisted in a slight grin. “Erm, I-I call upon you, loyal citizens of our great Fatherland, to... welcome my wife.” He stepped back and motioned for Clara to come forward. The audience stared at him for a few moments and he flushed again, realizing that his words were completely incongruous with his previous line of thought. Then, from the back of the room, a smattering of awkward applause slowly rolled toward the front.

  Fritz mopped his brow with the back of his sleeve. “Frau Haber has been gracious enough to lend her support for this worthy cause.” He turned to his wife. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”

  He stepped back then, aware that the audience’s eyes had shifted back to her. Any further attempts on his part to control this unexpected intrusion would only do further damage. The reptile!

  Clara stepped forward, smoothing the folds of her ankle-length dress. “Unfortunately, husband, I won’t be party to your deceitful lies.”

  A collective gasp rippled from those nearest the podium to those in the back of the hall.

  “And that is what Dr. Haber feeds the masses.” Clara lifted her chin. “His words are nothing more than a rabid collection of lies disguised as scientific truth!”

  There was no microphone in the hall but there was no need for one. The deathlike silence that grasped the crowd allowed her very breathing to be heard.

  “This man manipulates human beings to his own end, exactly as he manipulates the laws of science.”

  She stepped forward, eyes blazing with passion. “Think! Only a few years ago, humanity stood on the brink of starvation. The earth was not able to produce enough grain to feed its burgeoning population.”

  She jabbed an accusing finger in her husband’s face. “Fritz Haber developed synthesized nitrogen. He became known as the scientist who fed the world. But is he satisfied? No! He must now become the man who brings the world to its knees.”

  For the second time in only a few moments, Fritz had to forcibly close his mouth. What is she doing?

  Clara rounded on him. “You call a gas bomb, science?” She spoke through clenched teeth. “Well, I call it murder!”

  Haber followed her irate gaze as it swung back to the stunned crowd. It was obvious that doubt was spawning in their minds. A few heads began to nod, while others began to file out of the room.

  “Friends.” Clara pressed her hands together as though pleading for her life. “We have no proof that Haber’s plan will work. Do you want to support a scheme that could fail?”

  Fritz stormed forward. “The preliminary tests have been favorable!” Sweat ran beneath the right lens of his pince-nez and dripped like a tear off his cheek. But he was nowhere near crying. Only the hundred pairs of eyes that swiveled back and forth between husband and wife kept him from bringing color to those wan cheeks with a blow from his palm.

  His wife folded her arms across her chest. “Favorable but inconclusive.” To the crowd, “The moral responsibility to use science for good instead of evil lies with us. If Haber’s diabolical plan succeeds, the world will never know peace again.” She stretched out her hands in a pleading gesture. “Denounce him or you will be guilty of unleashing a new evil from which the world will never recover!”

  “How dare you?” Fritz was unable to restrain his anger any longer. He stomped forward and grabbed her wrist, jerking her behind him. “Citizens of the Fatherland! Ignore this woman’s treasonous words. Support a cause which will bring glory to our nation such as we have never known.”

  But it was too late. While his reputation for brilliance was undeniable, Clara’s words had won them over. Within moments, the hall was empty, and it was then, numbed by a cold fury, that Fritz turned on his wife.

  HERMANN EDGED CLOSER to the scarlet theatrical curtain and peered between the long slit that ran down its middle.

  “Explain yourself.” Fritz breathed hard as he spoke. “You tell me, right now, exactly what you are doing.”

  “Can’t you tell, Fritz?” Clara stepped back, a mocking smile on her lips. “I would’ve thought a brilliant man like you would have no trouble seeing what’s really at stake here.”

  His father’s normally egg-like face was almost purple. Hermann shivered. Papa would hit her. He just knew it.

  “I know you Clara.” Fritz thrust a thick finger under his wife’s nose. “I know that you’re too much a patriot to care what happens to Germany’s enemies. Something else is brewing in that scheming brain of yours.”

  “You know me?” The smile faded from Clara’s face. “You don’t know me at all. You’re never home. You never help me care for Hermann. And worst of all,” she jabbed her finger against his chest, “you exclude me from your work!”

  Her voice sliced through the narrow space between them like the edge of a jagged knife. “Chemistry drew us together but ever since you’ve become the hero of the scientific age, you don’t even let me partner with you. And on a project as important as a chem
ical weapon?”

  Fritz stalked closer. “Why should I let you near my work when you won’t be a wife to me?” His voice was the rumble of a prowling bear. “We have not been together in years.”

  Clara jerked her head back and snorted. “Let a man touch me who’s afraid of me?”

  “Afraid?” Her husband’s voice grew still. Hermann flinched. He knew then that his father was at the breaking point.

  Her chin jutted forward. “You fear that one day my name will be greater than yours. You fear that the great Fritz Haber will be forced to share his newfound glory with his wife!”

  Crack! Fritz’s palm shot out before she could blink, connecting with the side of her face and sending her sprawling to the wooden stage. Her hair spilled out of the prison of her prim bun. Hermann felt his own face burn as his mother gingerly touched her cheek.

  Fritz towered over her like a dark giant who refused to be placated. “I’ve made every effort to please you, woman.” He bunched his hands into fists. “But you’re too lost in petty jealousy to see what I’ve done.”

  She spoke slowly, as though opening her mouth caused her pain. “What have you done, Fritz? What have you ever done that wasn’t for yourself?”

  “All of this.” He yelled, gesturing with wide arms at the empty hall. “Everything I do is for us all!”

  Clara looked away. Herman’s eyes widened as he glimpsed the angry imprint of his father’s hand on her skin.

  “Maybe that’s what you tell your conscience when you’re lying alone in your bed,” Clara said. “But nothing you are doing here is for us.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then turned away, leaving her on the ground. “I swear to you, woman, that I will not stop until I have won this war.”

  She pushed herself upward slowly, tripping on her long black dress. “Then be prepared to fight on two fronts, Fritz. I swear that if I cannot work with you, then I will continue to work against you.”