Simple Faith Read Online Free PDF Page B

hay.
    The woman from the house was now standing in the doorway of the shed with a lantern, and the last thing Peter saw before he passed out was the face of the girl as she knelt next to him and gently unwrapped him. She was quite beautiful, and when the boy bent to help her, calling her
Mama
, Peter realized that this was not his sister—this was the boy’s mother.

    The man was heavy, but Anja was more concerned about his height. She was already thinking ahead, making a mental checklist of what they would need to do to move him along to the next stop on the escape line. His height meant that he would stand out even in disguise. Americans tended to be taller than most Europeans with a lanky build that was in direct contrast to the bulkier physique of even the most athletic males in Europe. But she was getting ahead of herself. Before they could get him moving on the escape route, he would have to be able to walk—to hike long distances over rough terrain. She stood over him, hands on her hips, as she reasoned out what they needed to do over the next few hours.
    He had finally lost consciousness—whether from loss of blood, sheer exhaustion, or a combination was hard to say. His dog tags identified him as
Trent
,
Peter S
. Numbers were stamped under his name and what she assumed was his blood type—O+. In the lower right corner was the letter
P
to indicate that he was Protestant. She wondered if he was a religious man or had simply indicated the faith he’d been raised in as a boy.
    Did it matter? In her experience it did. If the man died, she hoped he would do so having felt himself held in the Light—or whatever version of God’s Spirit that would bring him peace in his final hours.
    But he wasn’t dead—at least not yet. So in spite of her own weariness, she pushed herself into action. Her grandfather had tied up the horse that usually occupied this stall outside. Daniel had brought extra blankets from the house. And Ailsa had brought some broth and a bottle of iodine. Anja suspected the man was seriously dehydrated. Hours had passed since Daniel first found him, and who knew how long before that it had been since he’d taken in any liquids or nourishment. She worried that he might also be suffering from hypothermia, but her first concern had to be that leg.
    With the experience of having hidden dozens of Allied airmen trapped behind enemy lines, she cut away the leg of his uniform and held up the lantern to examine the wound. The bullet had done more than graze him; it was embedded. The area was also covered with dried blood as well as dirt and debris. She cleaned it as best she could then doused the whole area with the iodine and bandaged it. For now she had done all she could, so she covered him and arranged the hay so that he was invisible in the corner of the stall. Extinguishing the lantern and working without light, she settled herself next to him and cradled his head in her arm. She wondered if he was married—if he had a wife and children back in America who were unknowingly depending on her and the others to bring him back to them. Surely, even if he were single, he had parents and siblings, not to mention friends.
    Using an eyedropper that her grandmother had brought rather than a spoon, she placed a tiny amount of the broth between his lips. Instantly his tongue came out to capture the liquid, but he did not wake. She repeated the process a half dozen times, thinking as she did so that this was so very like the way her late husband had fed a sparrow they had found in the park when Daniel was just a baby. The little bird’s wing had been broken. Her husband—her Benjamin—had nursed that little bird back to health and set it free. She wondered if Peter Trent would be so blessed—if he would ever fly again.
    As she waited for him to wake and take more of the liquid, she stroked his dark sandy hair. It was thick and at the moment matted with sweat from his ordeal, and he was definitely running a