a haircut, but she found she liked the way he looked too much to think of changing anything, even the length of his hair.
“Isa, Isa,” he said, shaking his head all the while. “I should make you take out every scrap and burn it right here and now. Do you know what could have happened if you’d been searched on that tram?”
“Which is why we’re no longer on it.”
“You might have warned me!”
“I tried!”
He paced away, then turned to stand nearly nose-to-nose with her again. Not exactly the stance she’d dreamed of when she’d imagined him at such close proximity, but it sent her pulse racing anyway.
“You could have been shot. Do you know that? Shot.”
She nodded. “They warned me.”
His brows rose and his mouth dropped open. “Then why did you agree to the risk?”
“Gourard told me there are no newspapers, no information at all about what the rest of the world is doing to try to save Belgium and end this war. How have you lived so long without knowing what’s going on? I have the best portions of a couple of recent newspapers. And I have letters, too. Letters from soldiers. Don’t their families deserve to know they’re all right?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. Gourard shouldn’t have taken your life so lightly or trusted such things to a young, naive child.”
“Child! I’m perfectly capable of deciding what risks I will or won’t take. I’m the one to decide what I will or won’t do for Belgium.”
“It was bad enough for you to come back, but to bring contraband—it’s beyond foolish.”
“Edward, don’t be angry with me. I’ll deliver the letters and then be done with it if you like, if it’s too dangerous for us. But I won’t abandon what I brought with me.”
“I don’t care about the risk for me. I’ve done so many things the Germans could shoot me for that one more thing doesn’t matter. It’s you. Maybe the Germans wouldn’t shoot you—being just a girl—but who knows?”
“I’m not—” . . . just a girl. But she didn’t bother with the words. She doubted they’d convince him.
She looked away, embarrassed. All she could think of when she agreed to smuggle the letters was how desperately she had wanted news of him and how other families cut off from their loved ones must be desperate too. She couldn’t have refused to take a chance with the letters and lived with herself. “I agreed to take the risk for the same reasons you’ve taken so many. Your mother and father didn’t teach values only to you and Jonah, you know.”
He emitted something between a moan and a laugh, then took her arm. “We’re going somewhere for you to take out the letters. And the newspaper clips.”
“But, Edward—”
He looked at her then, and she could see he was not to be argued with. “I’ll carry them in my cloak. It won’t be the first time.”
2
Monster Armored Cars Used by British in Charge on the Somme
Called “tanks” by those who’ve seen them, Allied soldiers themselves refer to these huge traveling fort machines as “Willies.” Driven like motorcars but able to scale barbed wire, leap trenches, knock down houses, and snap off tree limbs, they are a formidable weapon indeed and will no doubt play an important role in the defeat of the Germans.
La Libre Belgique
* * *
They walked the rest of the afternoon, which to Isa was far preferable to sitting within searching distance of any German soldier. Until they came to a checkpoint they could not skirt.
“Put it together,” the soldier said. “Play.”
Sweat moistened Isa’s palms as she looked at the pieces of her flute. Should she run? Not without the flute. And from a soldier with a gun?
She looked from the disassembled instrument to the German, feigning ignorance of his language.
“You . . . you play?” His attempt at French was barely decipherable.
She shook her head even while he shoved the pieces at her as if to convince her with his insistence. This soldier was as stubborn as a caricature in the American newspapers she’d left so far behind.
“You play the music,” he demanded once more, in German again instead of his poor attempt at French.
She leaned away from him, taking a small step back, still shaking her head.
“Ach . . . Dummkopf . . .”
Better a free Dummkopf than an imprisoned flutist.
The soldier waved them away. Isa dared a peek at Edward, whose face was as emotionless as, she hoped, her own. If only he knew!