The Claws of the Eagle

story.

1

Ellen awoke with a start, sure for one dreadful moment that she was still in the hospital. Then as the cool sea breeze stroked her cheeks and she felt the gentle throb of the ocean liner beneath her, she relaxed and focused on the scene from her deck chair. The polished deck, the ship’s rail and, beyond that, whitecaps curling lazily atop dark blue-gray swells, were all reassuring. She ran her fingers over the soft woolen lap robe and lifted her face to the glorious end-of-October sun that softened the chill of the North Atlantic air.

Ellen’s feelings were less clear. At least she’d be starting over. Reminders of the accident would be fewer in Paris. It had been five months. She had done her best not to think about it. Better just to keep busy. At first she had concentrated on the healing of bones, cuts, and bruises; later she had thrown herself into travel preparations—shopping for clothes and studying French. She had avoided being alone and had been demanding of her family and friends.

Laying the robe … and reflections … aside, she got out of the chair and walked to the ship’s rail. She stared down at the frothy wake churned by the huge ship as it plowed steadily eastward. A rainbow danced in the mist, and she studied its pastel hues, gradually absorbing its peace. Looking back toward home, to the America that had long since disappeared over the horizon, Ellen imagined the ocean as a huge bridge she was crossing.

She gave a deep sigh. Everything seemed different at sea. She was beginning to feel released from the past, even feeling an urge to move on. There was a sort of healing in the communion between herself and the deep, gray water. Now she didn’t mind being alone. In fact, that was what she wanted.

All’s right with the world, a male voice said, shattering her private moment.

What? she asked, somewhat annoyed.

That’s in a poem. ‘All’s right with the world.’ That looked like what you were thinking.

Ellen swung around. Whoever he was, he had a lot of nerve assuming what she was thinking. Irritably she faced a young man with wavy auburn hair and gold-flecked brown eyes. She had seen him once the day before, but they had not met.

I’m afraid you’re not much of a mind reader, she said, not even trying to be civil.

He looked startled. Ellen was startled, too. She wasn’t used to snapping at people—at least, not until the last few months.

Sorry if I disturbed you, he said. I guess that’s not what you were thinking.

No, she said. It wasn’t. If he was interested in a shipboard romance, he had chosen the wrong girl. The glare of the sun was behind him, and she was squinting. He moved to the other side of her. She sighed, suddenly sorry for her rudeness. After all, the poor guy hadn’t meant to intrude.

Sorry if the quote didn’t fit, he said, obviously trying to work his way out of a bad beginning.

That’s okay, said Ellen with a casual shrug.

I’m starting my trip in France, he continued, as if they were in the middle of discussing their travel plans. Then he paused, perhaps to invite questions.

Ellen decided she had made enough of a polite gesture. She started to turn away.

He grinned at her.

But since you’re obviously so interested …

She stopped. His teasing was more effective than if he’d taken hold of her arm.

I’m going to Paris first. After that, I’ll see.

What do you mean, you’ll see? she asked, curious in spite of herself.

I don’t have any plans, except to go wherever the spirit moves me. I’ve taken a year off from school.

School?

University of Texas, my senior year. What about you? Will you be touring the continent?

Ellen tried not to grimace. There it was, the inevitable personal question, the hazard of conversation with a stranger. She answered briefly. No. My father’s been assigned as News Bureau Chief in Paris. My brother’s going to college in Switzerland. There. She’d been polite. She clamped her lips shut, determined to say no more.

Yeah? That sounds swell. What about you? he repeated.

I … I don’t know. Finding answers was the hard part of being questioned. I’ve got to go now, she said, quickly moving away.

My name’s Russell Blake. Rusty, the young man called after her. I guess I’ll see you around.

Apparently he wasn’t offended, she thought as she entered the passageway leading to the cabin she shared with her sister.

She peered at the body in the lower bunk. Ordinarily her sister would have claimed the top bunk, but a straight shot to the bathroom had been her main concern last night. Hey, Janet. How’s my favorite victim of the queasies? Ellen asked.

Janet groaned, but answered weakly, Better. I haven’t thrown up all morning.

Good. What you need is fresh air and exercise. I told that girl we met last night, Pat Lester, I’d play shuffleboard with her this morning. From the moment they met, Ellen had felt comfortable with Pat, who was breezy and funny and hadn’t asked any personal questions. They looked forward to continuing their friendship in Paris.

Come with me, Ellen urged Janet. Pat likes you—even if you are a twerp.

I am not a twerp! Being older doesn’t give you the right to pick on me when I’m dying.

Okay, today you’re not a twerp. Ellen was laughing as she beat a hasty retreat to Pat’s cabin.

Pat opened the door, waved Ellen in, then turned to the mirror, critically examining her face. She moaned and said, I’m not wearing green-tinted makeup. It only looks like it.

Actually, said Ellen, you look much better than you did last night. How do you feel?

I’m pretending I feel great, said Pat, pursing her lips to stroke on lipstick. If I’m to have a shipboard romance, I’ve got to get out and mingle.

You’re in luck. I’ve found the perfect man for you.

Swell! That’s an important ingredient for romance. She turned and pointed her lipstick tube at Ellen. Wait. Why are you giving him to me? What’s wrong with him?

Nothing. Or maybe there is. I don’t really know. Anyway, he’s yours.

Oh, child, you’re ill. Some people don’t get seasick on a boat, they just get funny in the head.

Ellen chuckled. His name’s Russell—Rusty—Blake. If you go up on deck, I’m sure he’ll find you.

Not if I can find him first, said Pat. She scooped her makeup into a pile on the shelf and headed for the door. Come on, Ellen. We’re going hunting.

Ellen followed, shaking her head. You’re nuts, she said.

As a matter of fact, said Pat as they started toward the upper deck, there’s nothing wrong with your tall, well-built brother.

Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Ellen said, laughing. Then she added, Actually, he’s smart. He’ll be a wonderful diplomat someday.

Great. Maybe I can work for him if I stay in the Foreign Service that long. I’m looking forward to being a secretary in the American Embassy, but I’m more excited about the chance to travel.

They climbed the steps to the top deck, pausing to get their bearings. On only their second day out, the S. S. America still seemed vast and confusing.

"Now there are two charmers," Pat said, her words spiced with sarcasm.

Ellen frowned as she recognized the twomen whose table was next to hers in the dining salon. According to Frau Burmeister, a German woman seated at Ellen’s table, the big beefy one with the crew cut was Herr Otto. The other one, the slender one, was Herr Richter. Frau Burmeister had called Herr Otto a bully and a show-off, but Ellen didn’t need to be told that. She had already formed her own opinion of the Germanmen.

But it was Herr Richter who made her uneasy. His face was long with high, sharp cheekbones that sloped into deep hollows. His complexion was sallow, like old candle wax. A tight, grim mouth and steel gray eyes did nothing to improve his appearance nor make him more approachable. He spoke with a slight hiss. Ellen nicknamed him The Rattlesnake.

Pat started to move on. Ellen stopped to watch a small, dark-haired woman who was waving to someone as she shuffled backward. The woman was brought up short when she bumped into Herr Otto. She turned, smiling, apparently with a ready apology. When she saw who it was, her eyes widened, her hands flew to her cheeks. She took two steps back. Herr Otto lurched toward her, lashing her with angry words. She edged toward the steps, holding out her hand beseechingly to Herr Richter. His response was an icy stare.

As Otto grew louder and more menacing, he glanced around, apparently pleased that he was attracting an audience. When his glance fell on Ellen, he switched from German to English. You are a stupid, clumsy, worthless Jewish cow! he shouted at the woman.

The woman cowered, throwing up her hands to ward off the verbal attack. In a few short steps, Ellen put herself between the woman and Herr Otto. How dare you! she cried, looking him straight in the eye. Why are you being so cruel? She didn’t hurt you.

She, too, turned to Herr Richter for support. He lifted his chin and tilted his head back, his eyes becoming mere slits. Perhaps, Fräulein, you should not try to interpret the customs of the Third Reich. His manner, unlike his companion’s, was cold and maddeningly condescending.

Herr Otto swung on Ellen. The German people are true Aryans, he shouted. The Jews and the Slavs, they are scum. They are fit only to be slaves to the super race—the Germans.

Ellen didn’t understand. What does that have to do with anything? All she did was …

Uh, Ellen?

At the sound of her brother’s voice, she looked around. Turning back, she saw the woman who had initiated the commotion dart up the steps while Herr Richter took Herr Otto’s arm and led him away. Ellen looked at her brother.

Bryan! What …?

Ellen, are you nuts, getting into a pitched battle with a couple of Nazis?

What does that have to do with anything? she said again. You should have seen how they were treating that poor woman.

El, said Bryan, using his patient voice, I’ve had a conversation with Herr Richter. I know his views, and you aren’t going to get anywhere trying to lecture him. Or Otto either.

Ellen opened her mouth to direct a stern lecture to her brother. She stopped when a small man wearing a gray fedora presented himself. He saluted her with a quick lift of the brim.

Pardon me, Miss, the man said, speaking softly and with a thick accent. I am Herr Weisbaum. I have the misfortune to share a dining table with those two, and I watched what you did just now. You have my sincere admiration.

Ellen was nonplussed, spared a reply by Herr Weisbaum’s departure, as swift and unexpected as his arrival.

Pat moved closer, resting her arm on Ellen’s shoulder. My goodness! I thought an embassy job sounded exciting, but it won’t compare to an hour with you. Who are those apes anyway?

Ellen shrugged. Germans. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Frau Burmeister’s German, and she’s much nicer than Herr Otto or Herr … Herr Richter Rattlesnake! she added, her temper rising again.

Pat’s eyebrows arched. Rattlesnake?

Don’t you think it suits him?

Pat and Bryan laughed, and Ellen allowed herself a little smile.

Well, guys, said Pat, we can fritter away the afternoon discussing nasty Nazis or we can play shuffleboard.

Shuffleboard, said Ellen and Bryan in unison. Ellen gave herself a shake to clear away the ugly scene. As they searched for a free game, she saw Rusty Blake and waved for him to join them. When he moved in their direction, she guessed that he’d forgiven her.

2

At dinnertime, Ellen and Bryan made their way to the large round table they shared with Frau Burmeister and André and Jeannine Flaubert, a young French doctor and his Canadian bride. Behind the Flauberts, at the next table, were the two Nazis and Herr Weisbaum, as well as a middle-aged American couple and the Dutch boy named Daan who was Bryan’s cabin mate.

As Bryan settled his napkin in his lap, he sent a sharp glance at his sister. Stay out of trouble, he murmured, and got a glare in return. What I can’t understand, he continued, is why a nice Jewish banker like Herr Weisbaum hasn’t asked to be moved. He must be uncomfortable. Why would the purser seat those three together?

On the ship’s registry is just nationality given, said Frau Burmeister. German, ja? But so different!

Jeannine put her hand on her husband’s arm. When will you take me to Germany, André? she asked him in English, the language common to everyone at the table.

Ma chérie, someday I’ll take you everywhere, he replied, but as soon as we reach St.-Denis I must attend to the business of medicine. Even so, we shall go into Paris often.

Ellen was listening to the conversation between the Flauberts, and only gradually became aware of a heated exchange developing at the next table.

As we choose Germany’s economic priorities for 1939, the banker was saying to the Americans, such heavy spending on armaments is foolish.

Ach, it is that the Jews have been bleeding Germany dry, Herr Otto bellowed. His face was flushed. They cheat honest people and …

Herr Otto, Herr Weisbaum retorted, my family have been loyal German citizens for eight generations. My brother died as a German soldier in 1916.

The Jews are … Otto began. His sudden gesture sent his wine glass flying.

Ellen stared in horror as a dark red splotch spread over Herr Weisbaum’s white shirt. The two men jumped to their feet. So did André. Bryan tensed and shoved his chair back. At the same time, Herr Richter rose and spoke to the head steward who was approaching.

Ellen shook Bryan’s sleeve. What did he say? Oh, I wish I could understand German.

He asked that he and Otto be seated at another table immediately. The steward said he’d take care of it.

He’ll find another place if he has to throw two other passengers overboard, Jeannine muttered.

After a moment, Herr Weisbaum excused himself and left the dining salon. As André sat down again, Frau Burmeister begged, Please, the talk we could now make happy?

Happy sounds good to me, Ellen agreed.

After dinner, she and Bryan joined their parents and Janet in their parents’ stateroom. What was the argument about at dinner? Ed Marshall asked.

Ellen grinned. Ah, the veteran newsman wants to know who, what, where, and when.

And how, said Bryan. Don’t forget how.

How is easy, Ellen answered. With a dagger.

In the garden?

Yes, under a full moon.

I’m surprised they weren’t seen, Bryan said in an ominous tone.

Ellen peered at him, squinty-eyed. Who? she asked.

Bryan squinted back. I don’t know. Who, Dad?

Ed’s laugh became a groan. "The real question is why. Why didn’t we leave you two behind?"

Maggie was laughing, too, but loyally joined her husband’s cause. "And what in the world are we going to do with you? She shook her finger at Bryan. Will you kindly tell us what happened at dinner?"

Bryan got in one last lick. In the dining room?

His mother shot him a warning look as Ellen and Janet doubled over laughing.

Okay, I’ll start, said Ellen. She had sworn Bryan to secrecy about her earlier run-in with the Germans, but now she told that story before she told the more recent one. When she finished, she said, Dad, you remember that conference in Munich a few weeks ago—when Hitler wanted a part of Germany back, and he got it? Well, now he’s satisfied, isn’t he?

Ed’s reply was a contemptuous snort.

Your father was furious about the conference, Ellen, said Maggie, and he gets furious about Adolf Hitler, too.

What if there’s a war? said Janet. Or what if you write something bad about Hitler? Is your new job dangerous?

Of course not, Ed said casually, dismissing the possibility. Only interesting. Maybe I’ll interview a king or two.

Oh, boy! cried Janet. Can I go with you?

The very next time I bump into a king, I’ll call you.

And you wonder where Bryan and I learned to tease, Ellen scolded. She picked up her coat and gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek. Now if this interview is over, I’m going to meet Pat.

Pat was standing at the rail, rubbing her arms briskly. You’re smart to bring your coat. It’s lovely out here, but chilly. Come with me while I get mine. We’ll gossip on the way.

Gossip about what? Ellen asked, opening the door to the passageway. What have you been doing since dinner?

Dancing with Russell Blake.

Ah ha! So you’ve found your big romance.

I wouldn’t say that. Pat rummaged through her evening bag for her key. Rusty’s a free spirit and dedicated to staying that way. He’s nice, but I don’t expect I’ll be able to put the whammy on him.

Whammy? said Ellen. I haven’t heard that one.

Pat’s cabin was tiny and without portholes. Her clothes were strewn about, which didn’t add to a spacious feeling. She moved a dress from the end of the bunk so Ellen could sit down.

Guess what you missed because you’re at the first seating, Ellen said. She described the excitement at dinner.

As Pat made room at the other end of the bunk for herself, she said, I thought an ocean voyage would be restful. She twisted a blond curl around her finger thoughtfully. You know, most of the people on this ship are just traveling—taking trips, like Rusty, or going back home like Daan and your Frau Burmeister. But you and I are between lives.

Ellen gnawed on her thumbnail as she thought about what Pat had said. Yeah, she agreed. It’s like we’re turning the pages in a book.

Exactly. Right now I’m between chapters like … like a bookmark. Pat jumped up and took a coat from her narrow closet. Well, enough heavy philosophy. Let’s prowl.

Ellen smiled as she followed Pat into the corridor. I’ll prowl with you, she said, but I think I’ll pass on the whammies.

The next four days went by quickly. The sea bridge had been crossed. Early the next morning the America would reach Le Havre. The gangway would be readied for the transfer to shore of several hundred eager travelers and probably of some who were not eager at all.

Ellen and Bryan began their last evening at sea at the horse race game in the main salon. When they left, Bryan was counting his winnings while Ellen was glad to have broken even. They found Pat and Rusty coming from the picture show, and the four of them joined a group in the smaller lounge. Jeannine came in and dropped into the chair across from Ellen’s.

André’s a fuss-budget, she grumbled. He’s still fiddling with his tie. But I suppose being meticulous is why he will become a world-famous surgeon.

You’ll just have to be patient with him, counseled Bryan.

Pat giggled. Will that make Jeannine André’s first patient?

Amid a chorus of groans, Rusty clamped his hand on Pat’s shoulder. The punishment for bad puns is to walk the plank, he declared.

Wait! she shrieked. I have too much to live for. Think of all the men who haven’t yet known and loved me! Not to mention Thanksgiving and … and St. Swithin’s Day … and … oh! She paused, then exclaimed, Do you realize we won’t be together for Christmas?

Well, then, said Daan, why wait? He surprised them all by singing Jingle Bells. Several people joined in lustily. Jeannine had a lovely voice, they discovered, and Pat asked her if she knew O Holy Night.

"Cantique de Noël?" She nodded, and all eyes were on her as she sang.

The familiar song brought hot tears to Ellen’s eyes. With everyone’s attention on Jeannine, she picked up her coat and quietly left the lounge.

3

Ellen strode along the starboard side of the deck, impatiently brushing away a tear. Why had she run away? She had been having a good time until … She turned at the sound of a voice.

I’m taking a chance you won’t bite my head off, said Rusty, coming up behind her.

How did you know I was out here?

From the look on your face when Jeannine was singing, I thought you might need a shoulder.

She stiffened. What look?

Listen, Rusty said, "this isn’t something I’m used to doing, prying into the personal business of a girl I