Take Me Home (9781455552078) by Dorothy Garlock Page A

now showing the first buds of spring. Ahead, he could look down at a meandering stream of water winding its way toward the town he’d seen from the cabin. It was like most of the others he’d seen from the prison train; a clump of buildings with a church steeple towering highest of all. Homes spread out in every direction, many following the flow of the creek, eventually dwindling as they met the countryside. While it was certainly different from German towns, Peter was struck by its beauty, as well as the feelings of community it raised in him. He thought of his mother, as he often did. He doubted that Rothesburg, the town in which she lived, looked this lovely; it had probably been bombed into rubble by now. Worse yet, he had no idea if she was alive or dead.
    Walking along, lost in thought, Peter was startled when a man suddenly stepped out into the road from behind a hedge. He was older, wearing a worn tweed coat and carrying a bundle of sticks, which he dropped into a larger pile. Noticing Peter, the man cheerfully said, “Good morning.”
    Momentarily stunned, fearful that he would do or say something to betray that he was German, it took Peter a second to recover. Somehow, he managed to find a friendly smile. “Morning,” he replied.
    â€œOut for a walk?” the man asked.
    Peter noticed the man give him a subtle look-over. His eyes lingered for a moment on Peter’s wrist; he’d tried to clean where the handcuff had dug into his flesh, wiping away all of the blood, but he knew that the cut looked red and angry.
    â€œActually, I was in a bit of an accident,” Peter replied, the English coming to him surprisingly easily. Pointing back up the road behind him, he added, “Something darted out in front of my car a couple of miles back. I had to swerve to keep from hitting it and ran right into a tree. I’ve been walking ever since.”
    â€œProbably a deer,” the man said with a compassionate nod. “This time a year they start to get a little frisky, if you know what I mean.”
    â€œCould’ve been,” Peter replied with a chuckle. “There wasn’t much light and it all happened so fast I’m afraid I didn’t get too good of a look.”
    â€œYou all right?” he asked, nodding at Peter’s hand.
    â€œI’m fine. Nothing broken, at least. It looks a lot worse than it feels.”
    â€œYou should still head into town and get it looked at.”
    Running a hand through his hair, Peter said, “The truth is, I’m not exactly sure where I’m at.”
    â€œThis here’s Miller’s Creek,” the man explained. “It ain’t much more than a spot on most folks’ maps, but it’s a fine place all the same.”
    Peter wasn’t sure, but he thought he must be in Wisconsin. Still, he didn’t ask; it would be far too suspicious. “Do you know where I might find a lawman?” he asked instead.
    â€œYou mean the sheriff?” the man asked, his eyes narrowing a bit.
    â€œI thought I should let him know about my accident,” Peter answered quickly. “The wreck is off the road, but come dark, someone driving along might not see it. There’s already been one crash. I’d hate to be the cause of another.”
    The man nodded, accepting Peter’s explanation as the truth. “The sheriff in these parts is a good man. Name’s John Marsten. The police station’s across from the bank on Main Street. You get yourself turned around, I expect anyone you ask could point you in the right direction.”
    â€œMuch obliged,” Peter answered. The two men shook hands and he was again on his way.
    Walking along, Peter smiled to himself. He’d learned where he was, as well as where he might find someone who could put an end to all of the madness he’d gotten into with Otto. But in talking with the older man, he was relieved that his English had betrayed no