to himself, keeping his gaze straight ahead. It was three o’clock and even during peacetimes the streets would have been quiet, but now they were near desolate apart from soldiers.
He would have liked to take the tram to shorten the distance to the printer’s but decided that would bring him too close to Germans. So he kept walking, using the enameled stick as though he’d done so a great many years, not because he needed help but because it was an appendage that showed the style of a successful businessman of the age Edward meant to portray.
* * *
Max von Bürkel sat, eyes closed, as strains of “O Day of Rest and Gladness” drifted from the hall, filling the room with melancholy. Somewhere close by, someone played the flute. He knew the words that accompanied the melody weren’t meant to bring sadness but rather comfort. Yet they brought him only pain. Both his sons were buried somewhere south of here, in France. The music, so long absent from Max’s life, brought them to mind with stinging clarity.
He retrieved his crutch with some difficulty and hobbled to the door, opening it and letting the last notes strike him like invisible bullets.
Just as he thought he might walk toward the sound, the melody ended and new music floated in.
Another hymn. He could not hear “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” without thinking of his mother—“Ein’ Feste Burg,” as she knew this hymn. For a moment the pain eased as he remembered his mother. He’d lost her, too, but she had gone to a peaceful rest, eager to meet the God who created her.
The memory of his mother faded, replaced again by his boys, and pain shot through him anew. He suddenly wished to join his wife, a thought that hadn’t crossed his mind since she’d left him upon word that their second son had been killed. He thought of her now, not because she would welcome his company or even wish to grieve with him. No, he wished he could be enveloped by the church as she’d been. At the very least, there were no decisions to be made where his wife now resided, no news with which to deal. One didn’t even have to talk, except perhaps to God. And everywhere she turned, she must be reminded that this was not all there was to life, that something else lay ahead. A place with God where, despite an egregious lack of training from their father, perhaps his boys had found a way after all. Certainly there was hope for that; a battlefield was just the place to find God.
Max had found Him there.
He’d been groomed to have allegiance first to God and then to family and country, but somehow it had gotten twisted through the years, with allegiance to the fatherland demanding the most, the best, the deepest in him. But now . . . his gaze fell upon the Bible that had come with this room.
It was his only comfort these days.
Max returned to his chair, leaving the door open, letting the music water his dehydrated spirit.
* * *
Genny rounded the upstairs hallway and headed toward Isa’s room. So, she had not imagined it. The music came not from the music room but from Isa’s own bedroom.
Genny stopped, savoring the sound filling the air. How sweet it was after so long a silence without any music to remind her of her soul. She knew the piano was available to her in the Lassone music room just down the hall but hadn’t the heart to play. Now she stood quietly, letting the fruit of the instrument refresh her. How long it had been since she’d heard any loveliness.
Part of her wanted to go inside Isa’s room, but she didn’t want to interrupt. If music was a salve to Isa’s recent sadness, it was a balm to Genny’s weary spirit. She let herself bask in it awhile, leaning against the hallway wall, eyes closed, as inevitably the music erased her worries in prayer.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, but at last she opened her eyes. Perhaps she could sit at the top of the stairs and listen to the rest—and find Clara, who would probably enjoy the music as well. Genny quietly made her way toward the stairs.
As she passed the Major’s room, she couldn’t help but notice his open door. She found her noiseless footsteps slowing and her gaze traveled within. There he sat, in his large chair in