under similar circumstances. And he’d come to comfort her.
He started to turn away, but she moved forward ever so slightly.
“Do you have scissors or a knife?”
Every soldier had an army-issue knife. His own was in his pocket. “What would you do with such a thing?”
She moved a hand to one of the dangling strands of her hair in the first self-conscious move he’d seen from her. “Cut the rest of my hair.”
Max pulled out the knife.
The guard behind him moved closer, keys at the ready as Max handed her the tool. What did he think she would do? Attack him? Take her own life? Max swallowed an unexpected lump, hoping he’d read the situation correctly.
Slowly she raised the sharp edge toward her head, but it never came close to her throat. She sliced away the odd lengths that stuck out between shorter cuts like some kind of foolscap. When she cut away the last strand she could reach, he couldn’t say she looked very much better with the hair so closely shorn, but at least she no longer looked like the jester of old.
“Did I miss any?” she asked.
Max took the knife, motioning her to come closer, for indeed she had missed some in the back. He did what he could, straightening the ends until—from behind at least—she looked like a boy. But it would grow back. . . .
He caught those words meant to comfort before saying them aloud. It wouldn’t grow much before the twenty-seventh.
For the first time he saw sadness in her eyes, perhaps a reflection of the despair he suddenly felt for her. He wanted to leave, to hide from the injustice about which he could do nothing. But instead he stayed put.
“May I tell you of an observation I’ve made, Fräulein?”
She nodded.
“When I was recuperating, before you and the others came to live at your house, I spent much of my time at the window, watching the birds that live in the trees nearby. I watched them hunt food, build nests, squabble. But sometimes they simply fly, as if that’s the thing they most enjoy. It’s as if each little bird found the gift God bestowed upon him and flies just to thank the Creator that he can. But—” he lowered his voice—“if he senses danger, he no longer floats along with the wind; he turns abruptly and flies into it. It gives him height, sends him higher, faster, to do what he must. He flies into the wind.
“Do you know what I learned from that? I learned when we’re in trouble, we should let those troubles carry us higher—closer to God Himself, who is never unaware of what we face. The wind—or our trouble—isn’t necessarily our foe if we let it take us closer to God. Somehow, like that little bird whose flight itself brings Him glory, He’ll let us bring Him glory, too.”
Her gaze had not left his face, and he knew he had her attention. When he finished, she started to bite her lip, then winced from a forgotten bruise and tried to smile.
“Thank you, Major.”
Max turned to leave but remembered something else. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” He withdrew the pieces of her flute from his inner pockets. “I found this in your home.” He didn’t tell her about the looters, that the flute was nearly the only thing they’d missed. “I thought you might like to have it.”
“Yes!” She reached for it eagerly. He was glad he’d brought it since it returned the smile to her face. “Thank you.”
And then he left. He had much to do before he let Edward come.
40
London Estimates German Casualties in the Millions
. . . La Libre Belgique acknowledges the upcoming birthday of the German Kaiser. Certainly the Kaiser has impacted the world, and an acknowledgment of the date of his birth is only fitting. But what can be said of the man who erected an altar of blood and iron upon which were sacrificed those millions of soldiers?
May this birthday be his last.
La Libre Belgique
* * *
Edward kept his eyes on the Major, praying he didn’t do anything to give himself away. That he spoke German was perhaps as vital to his disguise as the cassock he wore. Condemned prisoners were allowed to see priests or chaplains, but only German ones.
He wasn’t sure how the Major knew his way so easily. The prison was huge and cavernous and the way was dimly lit by covered torches placed here and there, sending shadows along the low,