Whisper on the Wind by Maureen Lang Page A

led her to the table, directing her to sit as if she would need a steady chair beneath her. “They took him that day when they burned the hotel and the church and the university. Mother doesn’t like me to talk about it—she said we should forget because God gave Edward back.”
    “But where did they take him? What happened?”
    “We were hiding in the church and Edward went outside. He never returned. We didn’t know what happened until the Germans brought all of us to the Rue de la Station . . . not so far from where our hotel used to be. We were made to stand, all huddled, and they added to our numbers all day long. They gathered people they found outside and made others leave their homes. We were tied with a rope all around us and couldn’t sit—not for the whole day. I was too afraid even to be hungry. Do you know, sometimes the soldiers shot people just because they wanted to? And then they took men Edward’s age and put them in a cart and sent them off. Mother kept telling me Edward hadn’t been killed, that he’d only been taken. But we didn’t know for sure—not until he came back, nearly dead, after working in Germany.”
    Isa’s heart twisted at the horrors even little Jonah must have seen. Horrors Edward had lived. “But why didn’t he stay with you after that?”
    “Because Mother let the Germans think he died, just like the others who were sent home on that cart. Mr. Gourard brought Mother a death certificate and told us to say Edward was buried in a fresh grave by the church. It wasn’t long after that Mr. Gourard went away. He was helping people like that. Against the Germans.”
    So Edward had more reasons than just smuggling people in and out of Belgium to flee German punishment.
    “That’s why Edward is someone else now,” Jonah continued, “until the Germans leave. A man my father’s age, so the Germans won’t make him report every day like the others who are younger.”
    “Where does Edward live?”
    “Here and there,” Jonah said, without looking at her.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Only things we’re not supposed to know.”
    “But things you know anyway?”
    He fidgeted, standing near the table and twirling a fingertip on the smooth wood surface.
    “Tell me, Jonah. You know I won’t do anything to get Edward into trouble.”
    “I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about the trouble I’ll be in if I tell you.”
    She laughed. “I won’t say a word; I promise.”
    “Mother always says promise is a special word and I shouldn’t go about using it—”
    “Unless you really mean it,” she finished. “I know. She told me the same thing. Covenants and promises. Like God made with us when He said He’d be with us always.”
    Without a word Jonah left the room, going up the stairs and returning moments later. In his hand was a folded piece of paper. “You won’t forget your promise?”
    “I won’t forget.”
    Silently, he handed her the paper. Newsprint, lightweight but durable, plain black and white but clear, good-quality print, just a single page. At the top, in tall, bold letters she read, La Libre Belgique.
    This was no normal newssheet despite its bold headline. The words stole her breath.
    “Allies Attack from Sea to Verdun, Smash German Forces”
    Surely this was no German newspaper. The price listed at the top was Elastic—from zero to infinity . It called itself a “bulletin of patriot propaganda to be distributed with regular irregularity and submitting to no censorship.” At the bottom, advertisers were told to hold their money for better times.
    “Where did you get this?”
    “From Edward.”
    “He gave it to you?”
    Jonah shook his head. “No, he doesn’t know I have it. I swiped it out of his pocket once when he had a pile of them.”
    The issue was dated nearly a year ago, the office listed simply as an “automobile cellar” with the unlikely contact address of none other than the German Kommandantur right here in Brussels. “This