Whisper on the Wind (21 page)

“I suppose we should have warned her instead of waiting until the last moment. Besides, she was bound to wonder about all of this. Perhaps it’s best she isn’t here at all. The less she knows, the better. I will sit alone with the Major. He’ll stay for a piano performance without the flute. It’s still music, isn’t it?”

Isa took a deep breath. “All right.” Then she caught Henri’s concerned look.

He neared them, gesturing toward Isa to pray. Suddenly he seemed more concerned over her behavior than Clara’s absence.

“He’s absolutely right,” Genny said. “It’s a good reminder for both of us. We’ll pray our way through this day, Isa.”

Isa nodded and another quiver shot through her, this time of gratitude that God cared enough to have surrounded her with people to help her stay close to His side. Surely what they were about to do
was
the right decision. She needed to remind herself of that and tell Genny, too.

“Genny, just one thing eased my mind last night. If Edward really thinks God has abandoned Belgium, then when everything goes well, might he realize how wrong he’s been? that he can trust God to protect us instead of trying to do it all himself?”

Nearly an hour later, Isa stood at the kitchen window alone, waiting for a delivery. Any delivery, German or otherwise. So far not even the goods for the dinner had arrived.

Clara had not returned, though she’d sent her nephew with a message that she would be home in plenty of time to prepare the meal for that evening. From her vantage point, Isa couldn’t see far past the garden or down the alleyway. She saw trees, low bushes, the stone fence. The tops of other homes nearby.

And then, through the gently swaying, colorful branches of the beech tree, she saw the top of a wagon. It rambled down the narrow artery at a slow pace, far slower than the rate of Isa’s heart. Not surprisingly these days, an ox pulled the wagon rather than a horse. Just as well; he made the load look light.

Getting the press this far had succeeded. That counted the mission nearly half-complete.

Isa saw the driver as he pulled the rig up to the gate. His face was darkened by a bushy beard streaked with gray, thick matching brows. But Isa would know Edward anywhere, from the curve of his shoulders to the length of his arms. Rosalie had outdone herself this time. No one would recognize this wizened old man as the young man Isa loved.

Edward coughed and spit on the pavement, then stepped down with all the care of an older man. Isa could no longer see him then, but she did see Henri emerge from his room above the carriage house. She folded her arms in front of her, itching to go outside.

Oh, Lord, watch over us now!

* * *

Genny played the piano as she’d never played before. The act was as much a prayer as it was a production. Only by keeping her mind on the Lord could she banish the tremor making her nearly fumble every chord. Only by prayer could she remember the notes—notes she hadn’t played in over two years.

She was grateful she hadn’t needed to knock on the Major’s door with an invitation. Genny hadn’t liked that idea from its inception, less so when knowing she must occupy him on her own. He’d joined her not long after she’d begun, as if it had been his own idea to leave his room and find her just down the hall.

The hymn ended and she began another. Delivery of the press must be under way by now. Years without playing soon evaporated as her fingers found their way across the keys to the tune of “Nearer My God to Thee.”

* * *

Isa stepped aside to allow Edward and Henri access to the pantry, each carrying a box. “Henri will take these down to the room,” Edward said. “Then he’ll help me bring the casting in if there’s no one around. It’s too heavy for either of us alone. You’ll have to stand watch outside, Isa.”

Isa made her way to the wagon. She looked both ways, seeing no one near. But when Edward turned quickly on his heel and motioned her to silence, she looked frantically around.

And then she saw him. A German sentry coming round from the back of the wagon.

“Where did all this food come from?” he inquired, first in German and then in broken French.

“Kommandantur.” Edward’s voice was raspy as he turned his back on the sentry and started lifting another box. “Just this one,” he said to Isa. “The rest go to the courthouse.”

“We are hosting Herr Lutz from the Kommandantur tonight.” Isa, proud of imitating confidence she didn’t feel, hoped the name would mean something. “We’re expecting a second delivery any moment. Wine, you know.”

The soldier lifted a brow, duly impressed. He raised a hand to lift the top of the box in Edward’s arms, but Edward turned just in time to avoid the contact, as if he hadn’t noticed the soldier’s intentions.

“Just a moment.” He came to stand in front of Edward and opened the box. Isa peered around him to see what he would find.

Potatoes.

He chose one and Isa held her breath, hoping they’d put more than one layer over the parts below.

The soldier tossed the potato in the air, catching it and taking a bite. Then he saluted with it and went on his way.

Edward took the box inside but Isa stayed, watching until the man turned the corner and was out of view.

* * *

Genny’s fingers and arms tired, unused to the service she demanded. But she played another anyway, and by the end she knew she would have to rest or the Major would wonder what drove her to perform even when stiff fingers would not obey.

The last note stumbled from her fingertips, and then she glanced the Major’s way, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve played.”

“No apology necessary,” he said. “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it.”

“Thank you, but it must be for lack of hearing anyone truly talented lately that you could have enjoyed my attempt.”

“Nonsense,” he insisted. “You play very well.”

She shifted her position and stretched her arms and fingers, sending the tingles away.

“You’re tired.” He motioned to the chair beside him. “Please, come and sit. May I fetch Clara for some tea?”

“No—I don’t believe Clara is at home. She’s visiting her sister, who is ill.”

“Oh?” He appeared mildly interested, then concerned. “I wonder if tonight’s dinner might be better postponed, then?”

“I’m sure we’ll manage, even if Isa and I do the cooking.”

“I would be flattered, except my guess is you’d rather have the evening over than prolong the inevitable. Is that it?”

She hoped honesty was worth the risk of offending him and nodded. “I cannot help but admire your French, Major. You speak very well.”

He bowed his head briefly. “My grandmother was French and taught me when I was a child. Then, when I was a university student, I spoke nothing but French.”

“In which language are you most comfortable?”

“German, I suppose. Yet in many ways I like French better. Its cadence, its rhythm. I count in French. I think in German.” He shifted his whole body to face her, rather than just turning his head her way. “What about you,
madame
? What languages do you speak?”

“I was reared to speak English, of course, but my father was a great lover of language. He insisted we speak French and Flemish as well. My grandmother was Belgian.”

“And which language do you prefer?” His voice was soft, almost intimate, as if they were discussing something far more personal than languages.

“Most of my life I’ve spoken English, until coming here more than ten years ago. I raised my children on English, and . . . well, it simply has more words with which to express myself more precisely. So, English, I suppose.”

“Ah. A good reason to learn the language, then.” He smiled. “And when you’ve cut your finger or stubbed your toe, in which language do you curse?”

The topic suddenly seemed to match that intimate tone and yet she found herself answering lightly. “I may struggle with other sins, Major, but cursing is not one of them. Not part of my language education, I suppose.”

“Do you struggle with sin, Frau Kirkland? You appear a model of virtue.”

“Of course I struggle like everyone else.”

“But what are your struggles?”

She looked at him, amazed she wasn’t walking from the room at such a bold question. Amazed she didn’t want to. “May I speak freely?”

“Please.”

“I struggle with self-pity because my husband, whom I loved, was taken from me too soon and unjustly. And I struggle with resentment because every day I must see German soldiers. I know that any one of them might have been the one who shot him.”

The Major sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Yes,” he said at last, “yes, I can see that would be difficult.”

The topic had grown too somber, and Genny wished nothing more than to depart but knew she couldn’t, not until Isa joined them.

She shouldn’t have allowed their discussion to grow so sour.

“Would you like me to play again?”

“No.” He smiled at her again as he finished the word. “I would like to hear you play more, and I hope that I might soon, but I’m enjoying our conversation. It’s been a lonely recuperation, you know, with only a nurse visiting now and then to see that I’m still alive. Do you mind?”

She shook her head, confused because she meant it.

“You said you raised
children
, Frau Kirkland. More than Jonah?”

“Yes, well, I meant Isa as well, although she isn’t my daughter.” And then, because she was afraid he might somehow already know or could easily find out from Kommandantur records, she added, “And I had two sons.”

“Where is the other?”

“He—he’s no longer with me.”

Glad he didn’t press the issue, she searched for another topic, but when she looked up, he seemed to be thinking of something else, staring straight ahead as if his thoughts replaced the conversation he’d claimed he wanted to extend.

“I had two sons as well. Only two years apart, and so alike many thought them twins. Strong, tall boys. Handsome.” Then he grinned. “Fair appearances skip—every other generation, I used to say.”

“What happened?” But she already knew.

“It’s what’s happened to every family, on both sides, since the beginning of this war. All our boys will be gone if it doesn’t soon end.”

“Were . . . both . . . ?”

He nodded and she very nearly reached out to touch him but held back.

Suddenly he struggled to his feet, his back to her. He didn’t move nearly as smoothly as he had lately. “Yes, well, this war is what it is. None are pleasant, so I’ve been told.”

She stood as well, afraid he was ready to leave. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Leaning forward on his cane, he faced her again. He seemed to want to smile, but the effort in the small twitch to one side of his mouth seemed greater than the result. “It appears all we have to talk about is sadness. I’m sorry for that. I would have liked to know you apart from this war.”

Her own smile felt odd on her face, awkward, almost shy. Things she hadn’t felt in years. “I don’t suppose we would have had much opportunity for that, would we?” She might have mentioned he could have been a guest at her hotel, but it only reminded her of what his army had cost her, so she said nothing.

“No, I’m sure you’re right.”

Just then Genny saw Isa at the door and wondered how long she’d been standing there. Her cheeks grew warm and she looked away, ashamed she’d been caught enjoying this man’s company.

“Has Clara returned?” Genny asked.

“Yes, actually, she’s just come home.”

“Ah, so the evening is saved,” the Major said.

Genny started to move toward Isa, intending to go downstairs, where she was expected to help in the kitchen. But the Major briefly touched her arm.

“Frau Kirkland.” His voice was so quiet she leaned forward to hear better. “I wish to say one more thing, if I may?”

Genny looked at Isa, who waited. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

Obvious confusion ruffled Isa’s brow. “Yes, well, Clara will probably need both of us. The Kommandantur delivered more than she expected.”

Genny nodded but did not move, only watched as Isa turned and left.

“I don’t mean to keep you,” the Major said. “Just long enough to tell you . . .” He hesitated as if carefully choosing his words. “To tell you that when the war broke out, I was not with those who marched through Belgium. I was in Germany training new recruits. It wasn’t until late ’15 that I was reassigned to the front, near Ypres, where I was wounded. I came to Brussels only months ago.”

She said nothing, just took a small step away, toward the door.

“I don’t want you to wonder,
madame
,” he said gently after her, “if I was that soldier, the one who killed your husband. It was not I.”

20

It is said the German spirit admires bravery of the small against the great, that they hold in esteem the Spartans against the Persians, David against Goliath. Yet in Belgium, Germany has become the very thing she previously abhorred.

La Libre Belgique

Isa sat on her favorite chair in the parlor. Yet neither the plush cushion nor the fine Belgian fabric offered comfort tonight because she sat so stiffly she barely felt the padded flowery upholstery beneath her.

Sitting above an illegal press, even one not yet assembled, would have been bad enough. But the Major sat in another Queen Anne not far off, and Genny nearby. Edward as Father Antoine had not yet arrived, but he, along with the rest of their “guests,” was expected at any moment. Fatigue from a day fraught with tension left Isa raw, as if the slightest jab to her senses would be too much to bear.

She nearly jumped from her seat when the ringer sounded. She’d instructed Clara not to leave the kitchen and so, praying Edward would arrive first, Isa hurried to answer the call.

Hauptmann von Eckhart stood tall and handsome, with a smile so easy on his face Isa could barely look at him. She had little choice but to step aside and let him in, along with another, older man at his side.

“Mademoiselle Isa Lassone, may I present to you Herr Stephan Lutz.”

Isa received their stiff bows in greeting. Only the Hauptmann was bold enough to kiss her hand, but she’d prepared herself for that and did not pull away.