“You must tell me what has gone on here since they came. And if there is anything I need to tell Isa.”
“The silver is gone. An officer boxed it and sent it to Germany.” Clara sighed. “And do you remember the vase madame had in the foyer? Monsieur Lassone always told us to be mindful of it because it cost a fortune. Well, I no longer have any such worry because a clumsy German broke it to a thousand pieces. With his bayonet!” She tried covering her laugh with one of her hands. “I later heard the soldier who broke it was sent to the front. Imagine that! All but a death sentence over a silly vase.”
Clara had brought the clothing belonging to Isa’s mother, boxes and cases and piles simply wrapped in linens as protection from dust. There were more dresses than Genny had seen in one room since she was a child at her grandmother’s elegant London home. Many were evening dresses with lace or a multitude of decorative buttons, close fitting and with the V-neck that had been denounced in the pulpit and by doctors as unhealthy. Well before the war, when they spoke of such mundane things as fashion.
Genny chose a modest dress of dark blue damask with a tapered skirt and a loose tunic worn atop it. The high collar and simple cut made it the most sedate item she could find.
Clara brushed Genny’s hair into a loose knot at the back of her head. It had been such a long time since anyone had helped her dress that she’d forgotten how nice it was to have someone fuss over her.
“There doesn’t seem to be much missing from the bedrooms. Perfumes perhaps, a few paintings.”
“The Major told the other officers to treat it well. Truthfully, having the silver sent to Germany seemed to surprise him. He accused the other officer of theft. Yet the other one insisted he sent it to the army headquarters, to be used ‘for da goot off de Vaterland!’” She laughed at her own impersonation.
Genny didn’t laugh. Finished dressing, she eyed herself in the mirror. The dark gown fit surprisingly well, flowing in softly shimmering folds to the tips of her shoes—shoes that were just a trifle large but soft as slippers.
“Tell me about this Major, Clara,” Genny said. “How will it be for Isa, having to share her home with a German?”
“I would spit upon the floor if I didn’t have to wash it.”
“He’s bad, then?”
“He is German, is he not?”
Just then they heard a commotion—a crash and a male voice raised in anger. Genny flew to the hallway, waiting for another sound to direct her to its source.
“It is the Major,” Clara said, but she appeared to be in no hurry.
Then Genny heard a boy’s voice and she sprinted so quickly she ran out of one of her shoes, not bothering to retrieve it.
“Du Esel! You are like the baby just learning to walk. Balance! Nein, nein.”
“Jonah!”
Genny stood in the doorway, shocked to see her youngest son with a knapsack draped on his back, full to the brim with weighty books. He appeared to be trying to walk along the footboard of the bed, a narrow walkway at best, all the while balancing yet another book on his head.
When Jonah turned to his mother, the book tumbled to the floor, joining another that must have already fallen. Yet her son had an unmistakable smile on his face.
“Oh, hello, Mother.” He jumped to the floor and picked up the books, turning to the man who stood on crutches on the far side of the room. “Don’t think for a moment I don’t know what du Esel means. I’m no dunce, and I’ll prove it to you.”
He attempted his balancing act once again, with one book on his head, one on each open palm, and the knapsack still in place. It would take more strength than Genny imagined he possessed to keep everything in place and balance on such a precarious path. But he did the deed, then took the books in one hand and purposefully tipped the other from his head to land in one palm.
He hopped back to the floor. “I told you I could do it.” Then he slipped the burden from his back.
The Major looked mildly pleased. “Try that on the planks of a muddy wooden trench and see how long you can keep your footing.”