“Wait a moment.” He released Marie’s arm then shoved the carpetbag of clothes through a glassless window.
This was her chance. She could run, she could scream. But her legs shook, and her raw throat ached.
Momma’s stories, of what the Germans did to her village during the Great War, flooded over her. When she was a child, they had seemed like strange once-upon-a-time fairy tales from a far-away time and a far-away place, with her parents cast in the romantic roles of pauper princess and knight-in-shining-armor soldier. There was no mistaking who played the part of the evil witch, the cruel ogre. Germans killed Momma’s parents and burned their small homestead. They were never to be forgiven.
But this German, if she could believe him, wanted to save her. He knew Twist and he knew about the top secret Twenty Committee. How could he know about them unless he was an agent, too?
Until she had more information, all she could do was play her part. Let him think she was cooperating and perhaps she could trick him into some kind of admission.
“Once we . . .” Marie cleared her throat and started again, this time speaking with a British accent. “Once we get to the station, what then?”
“Your accent is good,” Frost said, mimicking the voice of a popular BBC announcer. “What do you think of mine?”
“Good enough to fool me. But not good enough to claim full British citizenship.”
“It doesn’t have to be. My mother is Danish. To those who ask, I have an answer. An honest one.”
“But your father is German.”
“Yes.” A faint hint of resignation sounded in his voice.
“You were raised there? In Germany?”
“Yes.” Frost stopped and faced Marie. “But we are not all the same.”
The softness of his voice magnified the passion behind his words. “There are many of us . . .” His eyes flickered across the street and in both directions before he faced Marie again. “We are not all goose-stepping robots afraid to take a breath before asking the mighty Führer’s permission. We breathe.” He sucked in air to punctuate his point. “We sing. We dance.”
He slid his arm around her waist, held her hand in his, and led her in a brief and silent waltz. As she followed his lead, unable to take her eyes from his, they inexplicably joined into a mysterious perfection. He stopped, lifted her hand, and she twirled beneath his arm before he drew her close again.
Christian Fiction Friday is a weekly blog hop where authors post snippets from their current works in progress. It is hosted by Alana Terry and Hallee Bridgeman. Click here for a full list of rules and suggestions.