He chose one and Isa held her breath, hoping they’d put more than one layer over the parts below.
The soldier tossed the potato in the air, catching it and taking a bite. Then he saluted with it and went on his way.
Edward took the box inside but Isa stayed, watching until the man turned the corner and was out of view.
* * *
Genny’s fingers and arms tired, unused to the service she demanded. But she played another anyway, and by the end she knew she would have to rest or the Major would wonder what drove her to perform even when stiff fingers would not obey.
The last note stumbled from her fingertips, and then she glanced the Major’s way, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve played.”
“No apology necessary,” he said. “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it.”
“Thank you, but it must be for lack of hearing anyone truly talented lately that you could have enjoyed my attempt.”
“Nonsense,” he insisted. “You play very well.”
She shifted her position and stretched her arms and fingers, sending the tingles away.
“You’re tired.” He motioned to the chair beside him. “Please, come and sit. May I fetch Clara for some tea?”
“No—I don’t believe Clara is at home. She’s visiting her sister, who is ill.”
“Oh?” He appeared mildly interested, then concerned. “I wonder if tonight’s dinner might be better postponed, then?”
“I’m sure we’ll manage, even if Isa and I do the cooking.”
“I would be flattered, except my guess is you’d rather have the evening over than prolong the inevitable. Is that it?”
She hoped honesty was worth the risk of offending him and nodded. “I cannot help but admire your French, Major. You speak very well.”
He bowed his head briefly. “My grandmother was French and taught me when I was a child. Then, when I was a university student, I spoke nothing but French.”
“In which language are you most comfortable?”
“German, I suppose. Yet in many ways I like French better. Its cadence, its rhythm. I count in French. I think in German.” He shifted his whole body to face her, rather than just turning his head her way. “What about you, madame? What languages do you speak?”
“I was reared to speak English, of course, but my father was a great lover of language. He insisted we speak French and Flemish as well. My grandmother was Belgian.”
“And which language do you prefer?” His voice was soft, almost intimate, as if they were discussing something far more personal than languages.
“Most of my life I’ve spoken English, until coming here more than ten years ago. I raised my children on English, and . . . well, it simply has more words with which to express myself more precisely. So, English, I suppose.”
“Ah. A good reason to learn the language, then.” He smiled. “And when you’ve cut your finger or stubbed your toe, in which language do you curse?”
The topic suddenly seemed to match that intimate tone and yet she found herself answering lightly. “I may struggle with other sins, Major, but cursing is not one of them. Not part of my language education, I suppose.”
“Do you struggle with sin, Frau Kirkland? You appear a model of virtue.”
“Of course I struggle like everyone else.”
“But what are your struggles?”
She looked at him, amazed she wasn’t walking from the room at such a bold question. Amazed she didn’t want to. “May I speak freely?”
“Please.”
“I struggle with self-pity because my husband, whom I loved, was taken from me too soon and unjustly. And I struggle with resentment because every day I must see German soldiers. I know that any one of them might have been the one who shot him.”
The Major sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Yes,” he said at last, “yes, I can see that would be difficult.”
The topic had grown too somber, and Genny wished nothing more than to depart but knew she couldn’t, not until Isa joined them.
She shouldn’t have allowed their discussion to grow so sour.
“Would you like me to play again?”
“No.” He smiled at her again as he finished the word. “I would like to hear you play more, and I hope that I might soon, but I’m enjoying our conversation. It’s been a lonely recuperation, you know, with only a nurse visiting now and then to see that I’m still alive. Do you mind?”
She shook her head, confused because she meant it.
“You said you raised children, Frau Kirkland. More than Jonah?”
“Yes, well, I meant Isa as well, although she isn’t my daughter.” And