by Maureen Lang
Thoughts of his destination inevitably led to thoughts of his wife, which by contrast led to thoughts of Genny. If Max had learned anything by now, it was an ability to denounce personal desires for a greater goal. By sheer discipline of mind he concentrated on his duty, and that, coupled with prayer, brought him some measure of peace. Certainly he’d had none of that while spending so many waking hours wishing he were free to devote himself to Genny.
He sat next to his things. Silence again, something he’d forgotten during the days he’d spent with her. He would have to say good-bye to her soon, not at all certain his discipline of mind would be enough to get him through.
* * *
Genny read the first line of her book three times before absorbing its meaning. She should be grateful that Isa’s home offered so many books from which to choose; reading had always been a favorite way to pass the time.
She’d been reading in the parlor because she could still perform the job Edward and Isa needed her to do: make sure the Major was well away from the kitchen or pantry. But Genny couldn’t deny, if she was to be honest with herself, that she’d far preferred talking, playing games, sharing music, and generally being with Max to pass those hours.
Just then she heard noise at the front door, followed quickly by the ringer. This time Genny went to see who it was before Clara even made it out of the kitchen.
She opened the door to a stocky sentry. “I am here to collect Major von Bürkel.”
“Collect?” She noticed the folded field gray duffel bag beneath his arm.
“Collect.”
From behind her, Genny heard Clara’s approach. “Will you tell the Major there is someone here for him?”
The sentry moved inside, sidestepping Genny. “I will follow.”
Genny watched the two go up the stairs, wishing she had the right to go too.
She didn’t bother returning to her book, knowing any attempt at reading was futile, at least until she knew the details of why Max was being “collected.” She’d thought—hoped—the German army had refused his request to return home, since he spent so many of his days at the Kommandantur or sanitariums with recuperating patients.
Barely five minutes later she heard movement from the top of the stairs. Hurriedly she took her seat, picking up the book but not seeing a word.
She saw Max first. He looked toward the butler’s hall, then toward the parlor, where his eyes rested on hers. He was dressed in a dark greatcoat, gloved, holding his shiny steel helmet under his arm. She stood and he approached after giving orders to the sentry to take his bag and wait outside. Clara closed the door behind the sentry, then looked at the Major as if ready to open it again for him. But when she looked in the direction Max stared, she left altogether.
Genny met Max in the center of the parlor. The lamp she’d used to read by only dimly lit a corner of the room. The shuttered windows of the parlor let in no light at all.
“I’m taking your advice and returning home at last.” He offered a half smile.
She nodded, unable to speak. Unable, too, to stop looking at him, though she wished she could turn away in case he saw her wildly erratic breathing.
“I would have told you my travel was approved,” he went on, “but word came to me only this morning. I hope . . .”
She waited for him to finish.
He started again. “Perhaps this seems abrupt since we’ve barely spoken these last days. I don’t mean it to be.”
She nodded again, silently calling herself a fool for being so speechless.
At last he took a step closer and with his free hand reached for one of hers. “Will you let me stand here blathering like a fool, Genny? Won’t you even say good-bye?”
She tore her gaze from his to look at his hand, so strong, so much larger than hers as it tenderly held her own. “Good-bye,” she whispered, so quietly she could barely hear her own voice. She dared not speak any louder and give away the tremble she knew he would detect.
She felt him take a breath as if to speak again, but no words came. He let go of her hand and turned to walk toward the hall.
“Max,” she said, unsure she should say anything but unable to hold back.
He stopped immediately, facing her again. But he didn’t step any closer.
She bit back the words she wanted to say—how she would miss him and wished he weren’t going, how she would think of him while wishing he were still here. But she refused to feed this monster between them. Instead, she offered a quick prayer even as words began leaving her mouth.
“Love her, Max. Your Käethe. I’ve heard it said that sometimes the feeling follows the action. You have the discipline for the action; I know that.”
He smiled, but she thought it was a rather sad smile. “Yes, discipline I have. That’s true.” He paused, started to turn away again, then looked at her with a larger smile, one that held the admiration she’d seen on his face so many times before. “Good-bye then, Genny.”
“Good-bye, Max.”
And then she watched him leave.
30
Once again the Germans have proven how shallow, how utterly worthless, their promises are. More men are being seized and sent to Germany—in cattle cars of all things. Even men holding cards allotted them by the CRB are being deported, and such men were once “promised” to be exempt from the seizures.
La Libre Belgique
* * *
Edward worked on the latest issue of La Libre Belgique, waiting for Isa to return to the room and finish typesetting the final page. They’d barely spoken since that day at the flat; he could tell she was waiting for him to say something. How was it that he felt so much yet could express so little? Could he admit his dreams of a future with her turned to nightmares under the sure knowledge that he didn’t deserve any of this—her, happiness, life?
And so he kept silent because he couldn’t understand what he felt and even less how to share it all with her.
Upon learning the Major had returned to Germany, Edward had expected his mother to be relieved, with one less enemy, especially one lurking in the house. Except she hardly looked happy at all.
And in the last few days a new nuisance had arisen.
“Is she still up there?” Edward asked Isa when she pushed open the door.
“I went out the front door on my ‘errand’ while Genny sat with her in the parlor so I could reenter the kitchen and come back down here.”
“You shouldn’t have taken the risk while she’s still here.”
“I don’t know when she’s leaving. It’s getting late and we still have so much to do.”
“I’m working on it,” Edward said.
“And it’ll take twice as long for you alone,” she said. “All the depots are set up for noon tomorrow for this next issue. It must be done.”
She didn’t need to tell him that. She was every bit as conscientious about work as Edward himself. But he didn’t like anyone taking risks—most especially Isa. Having Pierrette Guillamay around made everything a risk.
“I know you don’t like her, Edward, but—”
“I never said I didn’t like her.”
“You don’t trust her.”
Edward glanced at Isa. “I trust few people these days.”
“That’s because you don’t know her. She’s a friend.”
He shrugged. That didn’t make any difference.
“I wish you would give her a chance. I think she might be of some help.”
“Recruiting her for La Libre Belgique?”
“No. It’s just that she’s so bored since her shop closed. And she seems patriotic.”
“That may be true. But more than a few people have been arrested for trusting the wrong person.”
If she’d argued, he might have argued back, but she tended to her work again instead. A benefit of his confession of love? They hadn’t argued since that day.
He left the press and stood before her. “I admire your capacity to believe the best in people.
And I trust your judgment. Perhaps, if there is a way to check into Pierrette’s past, we can do as you say. Invite her help.”
She gave him one of those smiles he dreamed of, the one that said she admired him, his decisions, and everything he did to protect her.
It was all he could do not to take her into his arms.
* * *
Isa flipped her braid out of her way. Typesetting was laborious work, calling for patience and concentration, but she’d finished some time ago and Edward had the press running full steam.
Sometimes she believed she’d dreamed what happened in the flat. But he’d told her he loved her. She’d kissed him, and he’d kissed her back. All regular components in the long-held romance of her imagination.
And yet the results had been far from a dream come true. Since then they’d only worked harder, with an increased determination to make sure the paper was distributed. Safely, securely. And as regularly as possible.
One thing was certain: doing that demanded all the energy she had to give. And lately, that was considerable.
The press quieted and both of them set about bundling.
“Now whose stomach is growling?” Isa asked. He used to tease her about the protests her empty stomach made, but she’d distinctly heard his just now.
He didn’t look up, just kept working. “Amazing how you can do that.”
“Do what?”
He glanced at her with the first grin in two weeks. “Make your stomach noises sound like they’re coming from me. What form of ventriloquism is that, exactly?”
She took a step away from the table that was strewn with paper and stretched to relieve a stitch in her back. “Let’s go upstairs for something to eat.”
“Better check the all-clear light first.”
“Oh, I’m sure Pierrette is gone by now. She’s never stayed this long.”
“Isa—”
“You’re so cautious! All right, all right.”
They turned off the light just long enough to see that the all-clear light was not ignited.
Isa frowned, pressing the button to light the overhead again. “Maybe your mother forgot. Pierrette cannot still be here.”
Edward shook his head. “She wouldn’t forget.”
“Maybe she fell asleep.”
Edward lifted a brow. She could see he thought that a possibility. Sleep was all Genny seemed to do lately.
“I’ll be quiet,” Isa said. “If I hear anything from the kitchen, I’ll come back out without being seen.”
“I’ll go.”
“No. I know the kitchen better than you do and where to find what we’ll need.”
“All right.” But he closed the two steps between them and put his hand gently around her wrist. “Be careful.”
She nodded and let herself out.
Isa crept up the stairs silently, slowly pushing the door at the top. It creaked. She stopped. The sound had been slight, barely a scrape of metal on the hinge. The door opposite, to the kitchen, was still closed. She walked to it and put her ear to it, hearing nothing.
Turning around, she saw the bread wrapped in a cloth on the counter. Carefully opening a drawer, she withdrew a knife. She would take it down with her. The cheese was wrapped as well, near the bread. All she needed now was water, but to get that she must venture to the kitchen.
Placing both hands on the door, she listened again. How foolish she must appear, waiting for sounds that obviously weren’t there. But Edward’s constant caution had left an impression. She peeked carefully around the edge of the door.
Isa pitched herself back as if the door were on fire. Pierrette stood not four steps away. The other woman leaned against the sink facing the window, though it was dark and she couldn’t possibly see out. What was she doing here all this time?
Isa tiptoed back down the stairs without taking the bread, careful to skip the squeaky stair. She let herself into the secret room, and Edward had only to take one quick look to guess something was wrong.
“What happened?”
“Pierrette is still here.”
“Did she see you?”
Isa shook her head.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. She wasn’t even looking my way.”
Edward frowned. “I wonder why she is here so late.”
“I wonder the same.”
“Still think you want to trust her?”
Isa took a deep, calming breath. “Oh, Edward, I’m sure we’re both overreacting. I agree I’m not ready to trust her, but there was no harm done. I really do take your cautions to heart.”
“That’s good news. Surprising,” he added, “but good.”
Grateful for his attempt to lighten the moment, she nodded. “Let’s finish up.”
And so they did. An hour later they were tying the last of the bundles to be dispatched tomorrow.
“Why don’t you try the light again?” Edward said after Isa’s stomach growled louder than his once again.
“I think we should keep some food down here from now on.” She turned off the overhead light and finally saw the smaller light next to it.
“Let’s go,” Edward said.
With the room securely shut off behind them, they were upstairs in moments.
Genny sat at the kitchen table alone.
“When did Pierrette finally leave?” Isa asked, taking a seat next to Genny.
“Fifteen or twenty minutes ago. She waited so long for you tonight, Isa, I didn’t know what to tell her.”
“What did you say?”
“That you were with a close friend and might spend the night. When I reminded Pierrette about sentries, she just shrugged and said she didn’t mind taking risks because she has nothing to hide. I suppose that’s how she ended up in that jail cell where you met her.” Genny rubbed the back of her neck. “Isa, we should either tell her what you’re really doing or end this friendship. It’s nerve-racking.”
“For me, too!” Then she told Genny how she’d seen Pierrette in the kitchen, apparently alone.
“That must have been when I was upstairs in the convenience,” Genny said, looking a little embarrassed. “When I came back, she was still in the parlor.”
“She was standing by the sink. But why come in here at all if you were visiting in the parlor?” Isa shook her head. “I don’t like it, but I don’t see how I can end the friendship, either. Wouldn’t that be odd, for no reason?”
“You’re a Lassone, Isa,” Edward told her. “Snubbing people from Pierrette’s class should come naturally.”
She wanted to think he was making light of the topic, and maybe there was a hint of a smile in his eye, but Isa wasn’t sure, so she looked away, uncertain. “In any case, the excitement is over for now, and the latest issue is complete.” She looked at Edward again. “When will we have copy for the next issue?”
“Father Clemenceau said not to expect anything new until the end of the week.”
“Well, at least I’ll be available if she comes back tomorrow.”
Genny laughed. “Oh, I think you can depend on that.”
Edward was still frowning. “It’ll probably take both of you to distract her so I can get those bundles out.”
“Maybe she won’t come,” Isa said. “Since she stayed so late today, she may want to spend some time at home with Jean-Luc. He must be as bored as she.”
But Isa could see neither Edward nor Genny appeared convinced that might be a possibility.
31
We Belgians have always valued our freedom, and yet what freedom do we have, living under martial law? Why must martial law be imposed when the armies are no longer at our doors and we have proven ourselves peaceable? Injustice—that is what we live under.
La Libre Belgique
* * *
Much to Edward’s surprise, Pierrette Guillamay did not return the next morning. He wanted to think Isa was right, that the woman would spend more time at home with the husband she loved so much. But he couldn’t convince him
self not to worry.
It occurred to Edward as he finished packing bundles destined for different depots that he was fortunate. Despite being caught in the center of a military occupation, there were still things to be thankful for. The theme of the latest issue of La Libre Belgique was to resist working for the Germans because every job a Belgian filled left a German free to fight. Poverty wasn’t so tragic as betraying one’s fellow Belgian, it said, and far less a price than those who forfeited their lives.
Yet he and Isa were spared the boredom. They had work. The blessing of work, his father had called it. Without it, Edward would surely go mad.
Edward harnessed copies of La Libre Belgique beneath his clothing while Jan took the greatest amount all at once in a box of books labeled for donation to the hospital. This particular box had a false bottom in which were stowed nearly a thousand copies to be delivered to the provinces, northward to Antwerp and eastward to Liège.
Edward left the house with Jan and walked toward the ring road, where Jan would go south and Edward north. Eventually Jan would end up at Midi Station and Edward at various shops along the way, familiar distributors all. Isa was to follow in another hour so they wouldn’t attract too much attention with so much activity from her home. She would make two runs to the flat, where Rosalie and others would pick up their copies.
Near the end of Avenue Louise, Edward saw Jan shift the bulk of the weight from one forearm to the other. “Getting heavy?” At his friend’s nod, Edward added, “You carried heavier books than those between buildings at the university.”
“We’re getting old before our time.”
“It’s the food—or want of it, I should say.”
They would soon reach the point where they would split. More people were on the street today, mainly soldiers enjoying a rare day of sun despite the continued chilly January temperatures. “There are too many sentries out today. I’ll cross here. It’s safer alone than together, considering what we’re carrying.”
