the middle of the room, one crutch held in his lap as if he might use it at any moment. She would have hurried past when she noticed his eyes were closed, but something caught her attention. He sat directly in the light from the open curtains. Perhaps that was what gave it away, the sunlight revealing an odd darkness to his lashes, which otherwise matched the fairness of his hair. And a tiny sparkle glistening just below one eye. A tear?
Was he in pain? Perhaps he’d tried getting to a standing position because he needed something.
Everything inside of her wanted to ignore what she saw. Perhaps she could send Clara to him, just to make sure his needs were met. But Genny’s feet wouldn’t carry her away. Clara had made her feelings about the Major clear; whatever pain he felt would certainly not be alleviated by her—at least not quickly. And so, swallowing something between repulsion and caution, she stepped into the doorway of the Major’s commandeered room.
“Did . . . you need something?”
He didn’t seem to hear her at first, and to her mortification she thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep. What was she doing, looking in on him in his private quarters?
Then his eyes opened and he stared at her. Not in pain, at least not that she could tell. Rather he looked at her with something else, an intensity of the sort one found only when lost to the world around and present somewhere else, immersed in thoughts that lifted body, soul, and spirit away. But it was soon replaced by something like confusion when his gaze stayed on hers, almost as if he’d forgotten who she was.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly aware she’d interrupted his own enjoyment of the music. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I saw your door was open and thought perhaps you needed something.”
He was still staring at her, rather regardfully, as if observing her closely. A tingle of discomfort wound its way up her spine.
“No,” he said at last. “I was simply listening. Tell me, who is playing?”
“Isabelle Lassone.”
“Ah, the owner of this villa. I have yet to meet her, if I am to meet her at all. She plays well. Do you know if she plays Mozart?”
“Isa is very accomplished. I’m sure she can play a great many pieces.”
“I should like to meet her, I think. And you as well, Fräulein . . . ?”
“Frau,” she corrected automatically. “Mrs. Genevieve Kirkland.”
“Ah, yes, young Jonah’s mother. You have a healthy son, Frau Kirkland.”
She looked at him, finding his observation odd.
He must have guessed what she was thinking. “I mean only that you should be proud of him. He is young yet, but he will have a good future ahead of him. He’s strong and smart and quick-witted. The future will be run by such as him.”
“Yes, I am proud of him, and I look forward to his future in a free Belgium.”
For a moment she wished she’d choked back her words, and just as instantly she prayed a prayer of forgiveness. How true that the tongue was untamable! Insulting a German soldier—let alone an officer—was punishable by fine or imprisonment. How many placards had been posted around the city to remind her of that?
Suddenly the Major laughed. He possessed straight, even, white teeth and he looked far younger with a broad smile on his handsome Aryan face. If no offense was taken, perhaps she could remove herself from his sight and he’d forget she existed. Forget that they shared a roof. Forget that he was the conquering Major and she but a minor flea in the way of a German-run future.
“Ja,” he said after his laughter dwindled away, “there will be plenty of room for all talent, too. We Germans welcome such. You will see.”
“Then if you don’t need anything . . .” She let her words fade as she took a little step backward. Much to her embarrassment, his gaze left her face to take in the rest of her, stopping at her feet and perhaps, she thought, seeing if she had on both shoes this time.
“Thank you.”
The two quiet words made her pause. “But I’ve done nothing.”
“You offered to see to my needs. Clara is obviously reluctant, and the nurse who comes now and then . . . she is well-trained but has enough to do without one more patient on her roster.”
Every sensible part of Genny’s brain cried a protest to this man’s gratitude, to his presence here