born to Charles and Julitte, gurgled and giggled on a blanket in the center of the room.
Isa could barely tear her eyes from the child, knowing in a few months’ time his cousin would be born. Even animated talk about the armistice couldn’t command her attention.
“You look like you have a secret,” Genny whispered, next to her on the plush brocade sofa.
Isa felt the warmth of a blush. “Maybe I do.”
“You’ve never been a tease, so you must want to tell me.”
“I do. I will—we will. I was just waiting for a lull in the noise.”
Isa’s gaze landed on her husband, whom she’d loved nearly all her life. He laughed over something Charles said but caught Isa’s eye and sent her a wink. Edward and her brother had become as close as brothers themselves, much to Edward’s surprise—and to Isa’s glee. In the year and a half since they’d joined forces to create one of the most popular newspapers on the East Coast, the two had spent nearly as much time with each other as they had with their wives.
Isa glanced at her friend, her mentor, her mother-in-law, all in one. “Genny, I know it hasn’t been easy for you these months since we’ve moved here. But I’m hoping if we surround you with enough family, you’ll think of this as home.”
Genny brushed Isa’s cheek. “I once told you that where you are—and Edward and Jonah—that’s where I’ll call home. I haven’t been unhappy here.”
“But not really happy, either. So far from your memories with Edward’s father . . . and Max.”
Genny looked away as she always did when Isa whispered his name. How long would Genny wait for him? It had been nearly two years without a word.
“I’m happy, Isa.” But the sparkle of a tear in the corner of one eye belied Genny’s words. “The war is over; Jonah will not be called to service. The world is safer than it was just yesterday. And you, I suspect, are about to give me another reason to be thankful. What more could I ask for?”
Isa wanted to say Max’s name but feared the single tear in Genny’s eye might be joined by others if she did.
“Come now,” Genny whispered. “Catch the eye of that husband of yours again and have out with this announcement. I have a hug just waiting to be shared.”
* * *
“Are you sure this is it?”
Max von Bürkel did not move from the motorcar, one he’d hired with its driver at the Baltimore dock. The importance of the question made him forget, for the moment, to be proud of having learned the English language, though he imagined his accent must be heavy.
“Yes, sir. That’s the address you gave me. The gate is open. Do you want me to drive you up to the door? I can make it past all of these other motorcars.”
An open gate and countless other vehicles should not be an impediment to one more visitor, yet it was to this one. Those vehicles no doubt belonged to invited guests, unlike Max. Perhaps they celebrated the end of the war, a war in which he’d been their enemy. The lane curved to accommodate several tall trees, but even so he could see the size of the mansion befitting such grounds. Brick, three stories, tall windows. As spacious as only America could offer.
Was she in there, his Genny? If not, anyone who lived in this Lassone estate could surely tell him where to find her.
He cautioned himself again about calling her “his Genny,” but no matter how many times he told himself otherwise, he’d never listened to his own best advice. It had been nearly two years. Two years since he’d left her, sneaked back into Germany and to his wife’s side.
The first had been a year of visits, a year in which Käethe had gradually come to know him again, in which they had become friends again. A joy he never would have known had he not done what he knew he must and honored the promise he’d once made to his wife. A promise Genny herself had reminded him to fulfill. So he’d returned to her, loved her.
But Käethe had never come home with him. Had she sensed the truth, even though he’d never admitted that his heart resided elsewhere? Perhaps, if they’d been given enough time, he might have convinced her to come home with him. They might have lived contentedly at least, as friends.