“I’m sure the Hauptmann will understand our reluctance to sit at the table with officers of the occupying army?” Genny asked. “After all that has taken place?”
The Major rose with what appeared to be relative ease, as if he’d been practicing the use of his cane. “Perhaps, for the evening at least, we might put aside current events and share a meal as those who have the unfortunate role of living through such difficult times. Merely as individuals.”
“Individuals, Major?” Genny said. “You mean, as people without loyalties to our own countries? In all honesty, I’m not at all certain either party could do such a thing, even for one evening.”
“Yes, I suppose you are right about that.” He looked down at the floor. “I was rather looking forward to forgetting quite a bit for one evening. The war, the shortages, the heartaches. The guns in the distance. I wanted to forget. That’s all.” He looked at Genny again. “That’s all it would have been.”
“Of course,” Genny said slowly, “I would like to thank Herr Lutz.”
Isa started to voice the obvious, that no thanks were necessary because a boy should not have had to endure a trip to St. Gilles over such a frivolous offense, but Genny still held her hand. Isa squeezed it.
“Perhaps it might be easier,” the Major said, his voice growing confident, friendlier, “if you knew Herr Lutz isn’t a soldier but an adviser, and so doesn’t wear a uniform. He was something of a mentor to me in my younger days. Sharing dinner with him would not be unpleasant.”
Genny ignored yet another squeeze to her hand, so Isa stared hard at her, willing their gazes to meet. But it was as if Isa weren’t there.
“I think we might be able to share dinner. Let us know which evening it will be, Major.”
Genny let go of Isa’s hand and walked from the room. Isa hurried after her, and once they closed the kitchen door behind them, she stepped in front of Genny with folded arms. “You agreed to dine with them!”
Genny went around Isa to the stove. “I’m heating water. Would you like some? It’s chilly today, isn’t it? Some hot water will help. We’re out of tea again.”
“How could you, Genny? How could you share a meal with them, as if they’re some kind of . . . of guests?”
Genny went to the sink beneath the window but didn’t look out. Isa watched as the older woman closed her eyes and, after a moment, turned. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t reflect a bit of Isa’s outrage.
“It’s the right thing to do.”
“Treating those who overran Belgium like we want them here? How is that right? Besides, I don’t want a bunch of soldiers coming around here now that I’m going to be—” she lowered her voice—“you know, involved.”
“Better they come around now than in a week, or the week after that, when you are, as you say, involved.”
Isa had to admit that Genny’s point was a good one. Better to get this meal over with sooner than later. “You may be right. If a meal is expected, then a meal they’ll get—but that’s all. This once.”
* * *
A fair evening sunset ended the crisp autumn day as Edward made his way to Isa’s front door. From habit, he’d almost gone around to the back, but his new disguise afforded him the luxury due any guest, at least for the duration of his mother’s stay.
Clara showed him in and directed him not to the parlor but to the kitchen.
“You know,” he greeted Isa, who was seated at the table with his mother, “you could sit in the parlor as if you owned the place.”
They laughed and Isa offered the chair closest to her. “The Major has never found his way back here. I imagine he’s a snob, thinking he’s too good to grace any kitchen.”
Edward sat, ignoring the urge to admit he’d once thought the very same thing of her. He looked at his mother. “Has Isa talked to you about the . . . about things?”
Clara hadn’t followed him, but his mother glanced toward the door nonetheless. “I know you are against this, Edward, and I agree with you. But Isa’s determined.”
“How soon will you be returning to Viole’s?”
She didn’t speak for a moment. “We talked about that. I’ve already spoken to Jonah, and he seems pleased. Some of the boys in this neighborhood still blame him for the trouble they were in