Beneath the Dover Sky by Murray Pura Read Free Book Online Page A

Catherine,
    My sincere apologies. The baron and I had every intention of attending services with you and your family until the telegram arrived early Sunday morning. It was rude of me not to leave you with some sort of message, but it was all I could do to get packed, grab a bite to eat from the kitchen, and jump into my car. Will you forgive me? I very much wanted to speak with you further.
    There is something about you. I must say it—I think of you constantly. Here I am at this fancy hotel in Munich, and the baron is snoring like a trumpet in the other room. At any rate, I can’t sleep. On the one hand there is the mystery of Lady Catherine to ponder. Why am I caught up with you? On the other hand there is Adolph Hitler to ponder. Why is Germany caught up with him?
    I have been asked to write a book to counter Hitler’s book that is due out next year. His will be a memoir, and a political rant against the Treaty of Versailles that ended the war, and an attack on the Jews, the communists, and the socialists. Mine will be a volume of theology—but what I call “embodied theology”—a true orthodoxy that is a “lived out” orthodoxy. And it must be alive. The last thing I need to produce right now is a dry, academic treatise on the existence of God.
    I’ve read some of Hitler’s book. The Brotherhood I’m involved with has obtained some early drafts. Hitler writes with passionabout something he believes in. People will pick up on this. I must write with equal passion about what I believe in. Good must have as much fire and heat as hate because it’s to a better end.
    I share this in strictest confidence. I wish I could share it with you in person. I fear it will be a long time before we see each other. Am I content with the time I’ve had with you? No. But I thank God for it just the same.
    The blessings of Christ on your lovely head.
    Your servant,
    Albrecht
    Catherine read it through twice. The color returned to her face—more color than had been in it all day. She gazed at the swans as they floated slowly back and forth on the green and silver water. “What is going on, God?” she whispered. “What are You doing in my life now? I have no idea how I feel about Albrecht Hartmann or what he’s involved in. How am I supposed to respond to this?”

3
    July, 1924
    Dover Sky
    “You needn’t be so ceremonial, William. This isn’t the Magna Carta. Open the letter. It’s already sat for a week after Skitt put it in your hand and you misplaced it.”
    “I merely set it aside, Elizabeth. I was quite conscious of its whereabouts the entire time.”
    “Yes, yes, dear. Save your speeches for Parliament, please. Just read me Robbie and Shannon’s letter.”
    “Will do.” Lord Preston carefully slit the thin envelope with a letter opener that bore the Danforth coat of arms. Setting the opener down, he brought out a sheet of paper thinner than the envelope. “There are no photographs, Elizabeth.”
    “Well, I didn’t think there would be. Oh, read it to me! Is Shannon with child?”
    He unfolded the letter and cleared his throat as if he were about to say, “Mr. Speaker…”
    Dear Mum & Dad,
    Cheers! I’m sending this as quickly as I can. Shannon and I were planning to surprise the two of you by showing up for Dad’s sixtieth birthday celebration. We were promised a month’s leave from my post here so we were busy packing. Onthe last day of June I was waiting to speak with an important member of the Jewish community. My adjutant burst into my office with the news the man had just been assassinated. I went to the scene immediately. It was a grim sight. At first we thought Arabs were the assassins, but further investigation made it clear it was one of the Jewish militant groups—the Haganah. Why did they kill one of their own? Simply put, Jacob Israel de Haan wanted a state that included secular and religious Jews in the government, as well as Arab Muslims and Arab Christians, but the Haganah want a Jewish