by Maureen Lang
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 Ma
jor 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.
“I shall take your coats,” Isa said, following the Hauptmann’s lead with her usage of the French language.
“Is there no one serving this house?” Herr Lutz asked, also in French, as he unbuttoned his coat.
“Yes, but our housemaid is in the kitchen finishing preparations for our meal.” Need she explain that no one had money to keep servants these days? That it was only Clara’s loyalty—and whatever money she still had left from Isa’s father—that kept her here?
Isa received their coats and went to the closet on the other side of the staircase, where she took her time putting things away. There was no hurry to join the others, at least until Edward arrived.
Genny and Major von Bürkel stood with the visitors when Isa returned to the parlor. The Major spoke in heavy, ugly German, obviously pleased to be reunited with his older friend.
Herr Lutz had a pedantic look about him, like a science professor who could name every law of physics but would be hard-pressed to remember a single student’s name. He was of medium height, with gray hair too long at the back and a beard that needed a trim. Obviously too busy with other matters to tend to something as trivial as his own appearance.
In a bizarre imitation of prewar days, Isa watched the exchange of pleasantries as if this were another dinner party her parents hosted in this very parlor. Isa should be friendly and talkative if she was to play the role her mother had modeled all too often, but how could she? Her mother may have entertained people she secretly disliked, but surely she’d never hosted marauders under this roof.
It was near time to serve and Edward had not yet arrived.
“Have you enjoyed Max’s company since you resumed living here?” the Hauptmann asked, now speaking in French.
Company! Isa stole a glance at the Major. Max. Such a different sound from Major von Bürkel.
“He’s been very kind,” Genny said.
Isa was glad Genny had answered for her. Her gaze went once again toward the door. Where was Edward?
Clara came to Isa’s side to remind her the meal was ready to be served, and Isa knew she couldn’t stall and in fact didn’t want to. The sooner this was over, the better. Edward would have to join them in the dining room, whenever he arrived.
Among the goods delivered earlier that day had been several bottles of wine, one for each course of the meal and one for an apéritif. All, so Clara claimed, from Isa’s own wine cellar. Clara had huffed and puffed all afternoon, in between oohing and aahing about all of the food, especially the fresh dairy.
She and Genny had planned a meal no one had dared dream of for the past two years. Isa had done what she could—which was little, having had no training—but had enjoyed tasting sauces, stealing crisp vegetables, breathing in the scent of fresh dinner rolls all afternoon. It had taken her mind, for a little while, away from fretting over what they’d hidden in the cellar.
Place settings beckoned on each side of the narrow table in the long, dimly lit room. The electricity had flickered all afternoon and so Genny suggested candlelight. Under its gentle glow glimmered china and plain flatware—the silver having disappeared long ago—upon an embroidered cloth, with hothouse flowers set in a small bowl in the center. Candle sconces on the walls made shadows dance behind each place setting. Only one seat, next to Isa’s, was vacant.
Herr Lutz stared at the open spot. “We have set a place for those we remember at war?”
“A nice sentiment,” Isa said, “but we are expecting one more guest. Madame Kirkland’s nephew, Father Antoine.”
“Father Antoine? A man of the cloth?”
Isa nodded. The German’s face revealed little; she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or disappointed to share the table with a priest.
“Yes, quite a young priest, this Father Antoine. I spoke to him the other night.” The Hauptmann laughed. “He said God doesn’t care who wins the war.”
That statement raised Herr Lutz’s bushy brows and Isa’s too. She wished she could have heard Edward speak of God.
“He is a Walloon priest, this Father Antoine?” Herr Lutz asked.
Genny nodded. The false name Edward had chosen left little choice.
“Then he is loyal to the French. When Germany wins the war, the only way to hold on to his faith will be to say God doesn’t care.”
Prickles stiffened Isa’s back.
“Since he is not here to explain the point,” the Major said, “I suppose none of us can ultimately agree or disagree.”
The ringer echoed again. No one had taken their seats, and so Isa excused herself and went to the door. She liked having a duty, especially one taking her from their guests, if only for a moment.
“Oh, you’re here at last! We were starting to worry.”
Edward took off his biretta. “I’m sorry. I was stopped yet again for a search.”
“We’ve just gone into the dining room. I’ll put your hat away.”
They entered the dining room together. The others still stood near their seats and Isa made introductions as she showed Edward to his chair.
“I see I’ve arrived just in time to invite the blessing of the Lord,” Edward said, and Isa couldn’t resist exchanging a pleased glance with Genny.
Edward prayed a brief blessing, a prayer wisely free of reference to the war.
“Before you arrived, we were just discussing you, Father,” the Hauptmann said as Clara served the meal. “And your opinion that God is n
either Allied nor Central in sympathy.”
“Quite the contrary, Hauptmann,” Edward said. “I believe we all have a great deal of God’s sympathy. We are, after all, quite pathetic these days.”
There was the barest moment of awkward silence, followed by a laugh from the Major that others soon joined.
“With all respect, Father Antoine,” the Hauptmann said, “why would God have sympathy? for that matter, even give us a thought?”
“The answer is simple.” Edward turned to Clara and took a small portion of the first course of creamed scallops to his plate. “Love.”
That seemed to catch Herr Lutz’s attention. “That’s a rather sentimental answer, even for a man of the cloth.”
“Perhaps,” Edward said, “but it’s also scriptural, so I shall stand by my answer.”
With Edward at her side, Isa found it easier playing hostess. “Tell me, Herr Lutz, how is it that a civilian like you finds himself working at the Kommandantur?”
“My capacity is as adviser between the military and civilian personnel.”
“We were grateful for your help in having my son returned, Herr Lutz,” Genny said.
“I was pleased to be of service.”
There. As far as Isa was concerned, the meal could end immediately, purpose served.
“Where is Jonah?” the Major asked, as if he’d just realized the boy was not in attendance.
“Jonah has gone to live with a close friend of the family,” Genny said. “He misses his friends and asked if he could return to his old neighborhood for a while.”
“So you will be apart from your son after all,” the Hauptmann said.
“He is only minutes away.”
Edward raised his glass of wine. “A bit more accessible than St. Gilles, wouldn’t you agree?”
The Hauptmann did not reply.
“And you, Hauptmann?” Genny inquired. “Are you in Brussels on leave from the front?”
He shook his head. “No, this is now my permanent station. I am needed here. My civilian background is in law, and I work at the Palais de Justice.”
Herr Lutz patted his napkin to his moustache. “It is good of you to invite us here this evening. General Freiherr von Bissing is most eager to improve Brussels society, and it must start with those like you, models of the community.”
