That was the destructive power of sin and lies—they harmed the innocent along with the guilty. Hitler’s lies had dragged the entire world into six long years of hell. Eve would face humiliation and shame when her sins were exposed, and rightly so. She hadn’t been able to get away from God after all. He’d known the truth about her all along.
“I’m so sorry, God!” she sobbed. “So very, very sorry!”
Eve didn’t deserve His forgiveness. She didn’t deserve anyone’s forgiveness. She deserved anger and condemnation and shame. The life she’d built had collapsed, burying her, leaving no way out, no one to dig her free from the rubble. She sobbed with hopelessness. Granny Maud would be so disappointed in her. If only her stories about the Good Shepherd could be true, the Shepherd who would take her punishment for the mess she’d made so she could be forgiven. If only He would find her, His lost sheep, and forgive her. Eve covered her face and wept and wept.
After a very long time, a strange sound caught Eve’s attention. She lifted her head and listened. The wind sighed through the tree branches. Birds called to each other. The creek rushed and gurgled. She heard it again—the sound of a baby crying. No, not a baby. The plaintive cry of a lamb.
A lamb? It couldn’t be.
The underbrush rustled as an animal moved among the trees. She heard a pitiful bleat. Eve stood. She saw it then—a small woolly lamb surrounded by forest. Dwarfed by it. She limped toward the animal on bruised feet, then sank to the ground again as she gathered the lost lamb in her arms. It licked her hand, her face with its warm, rough tongue. Eve closed her eyes, sobbing against the lamb’s nubby fur. Could it really be true? Would God really search for her and forgive her for everything she’d done?
She waited, barely breathing.
Footsteps rustled through the woods. She heard Tom’s voice, calling to his lamb.
Joy overwhelmed her, flooding through her. Everything Granny said was true. “Over here!” Eve called out. “We’re over here!”
The Good Shepherd had come to fetch His lost sheep and bring her home.
“When’s my mommy coming home?” Robbie asked.
“Soon, I think.” Audrey hoped he wouldn’t start crying. Eve had been gone all morning, and the truth was, Audrey didn’t know when she would be back. “Do you have any more books? I’ll read you and Bobby another story while we wait.”
Robbie slid off the sofa and started toward his bedroom, then halted at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. “Mommy!” He rushed to the front door and ran outside. Audrey stood and peered out the window, hoping Eve had returned with a solution to their dilemma. But the car was a sleek black one with whitewall tires and what looked like shark fins in the rear. Two women stepped out, a blonde driver and her raven-haired passenger. They were Audrey’s age, dressed as if posing for photos for a fashion magazine. Audrey drew away from the window, hoping they hadn’t spotted her. Eve had said not to talk to anyone. But Robbie stood on the front steps, waiting for them.
“Hi, Robbie. Is your mommy home?” the blonde asked.
“No, but her friend’s here.” He led them through the front door. Audrey had no choice but to greet them.
“Hello, you must be Audrey’s guest from England,” the blonde said, extending her gloved hand. “I’m Phyllis West.”
“Doris Anderson,” the other one said, offering her hand as well.
“Yes. Hello.” Audrey didn’t give her name, unwilling to lie. “She isn’t here, I’m afraid. She’s off on an errand.” The women made their way past her into the living room, their eyes roving as if cataloging the contents. Audrey remembered doing the same thing whenever she and Mother called on someone in London, as if an individual’s worth could be appraised by her possessions.
“Audrey’s mother-in-law told us she had a visitor from England,” Phyllis said. “And that your son is sick?”
“He had roseola. He’s nearly recovered.” Audrey cleared a nervous lump from her throat. “I’m not sure when E—” She’d nearly said Eve. “Um . . . when she will be back. I’m sorry.”
“We don’t mind waiting.” They sat down in the living room and pulled off their white gloves. Their visit didn’t seem to have a purpose. Audrey had the unsettling feeling that they were simply nosy and had come to snoop.
“Would . . . would you care for a cup of tea?”
“A cup of tea?” Phyllis asked. The women laughed, a brittle, tinkling sound like breaking glass. The girls in boarding school had giggled that way, especially when planning something mean.
“No thank you!” Doris said dramatically. “But I’ll take some coffee if you have it.”
“Sorry, but I don’t really know where things are yet. I’ve only been here a short time, you see. But I believe there’s some iced tea.” She hurried into the kitchen to escape their scrutiny, with Bobby clinging to her skirt. Now they reminded Audrey of her classmates at finishing school—barging in with their air of entitlement, sitting down with feline languidness, as sleek as pedigreed cats. Audrey heard them whispering while she poured iced tea into two glasses. She couldn’t get the ice cubes out of the metal tray and had to serve it without ice.
“Do you play tennis?” Phyllis asked when Audrey returned with the tea.
“I . . . I once did. I haven’t since before the war.” She sat down and pulled Bobby onto her lap.
“That’s Audrey’s excuse, too,” Phyllis said. “She keeps turning us down.”
Audrey had never known Eve to play tennis and couldn’t imagine that she could. She’d been a scullery maid, a typist, an ambulance driver. Where and when would she have learned to play tennis?
“We came to convince her to join our league at the club. We’re not leaving until she agrees. We play every Tuesday and Thursday and we desperately need a reserve player.”
Doris pulled out a packet of cigarettes and fitted one into an ivory holder.
Like Mother’s. The sight of it shook Audrey. She wanted these women to leave.
“We told her she could take a few lessons from the club’s pro if she needs to brush up,” Doris said after lighting the cigarette with a silver lighter.
“Maybe you could play with us while you’re here,” Phyllis said.
“You’re an aristocrat, too, aren’t you?” Doris asked, exhaling a puff of smoke.
“She must be. Listen to how she talks! So refined, my dear!”
A trickle of sweat ran down Audrey’s back. These women intimidated her. Worse, they infuriated her, presuming things about her that they didn’t know. She decided to take control and change the subject. “What else do you do for fun here in America besides play tennis?”
“Go shopping, of course,” Phyllis said.
“In New York City, not here in town,” Doris added. She was looking around for an ashtray. Audrey stood and fetched a saucer from the kitchen. Nearly five years in the Army, yet neither she nor Eve had ever smoked. “Thanks, dear,” Doris said. “All the good stores are there—Lord & Taylor, Saks, Bergdorf Goodman. You and Audrey should join us for lunch next week and we’ll shop together.”