children but no longer one another. It’s what comes of marrying too quickly, I suppose, and for the wrong reason.”
He paused again, looking at her briefly, then away. “I’ve envied the memories you have of your husband. I know you loved him, and your love never dwindled.”
“All marriages have an ebb and flow,” she whispered. “Perhaps that’s what happened in your marriage, and that original love can be recaptured.”
“Käethe lived for her boys. Her boys alone. When they died, she found she had nothing to live for anymore.” He leaned forward again, pushing away his plate, folding his hands where it had been. “Thomas was killed only days after Christmas in ’14. Karl died two months later, and I went home to grieve, to be with her. But she was gone. Not physically, but inside. She didn’t even know my name. The grief had taken her away.” He paused again, breathing once deeply. “She lives in a convent now, where the sisters take care of her. I get a letter now and then from one of the nuns, after I’ve sent money, keeping me informed of her general health. She eats; she sleeps. That’s all. She doesn’t speak; has never asked for me; has never, on the occasions I’ve visited her, even recognized me.”
Genny placed her hands in her lap, her heart aching for a woman she didn’t even know, a woman whose life was so shattered and empty. “With the sisters, you say?” she asked quietly. “Surely they’ve tried to speak to her, tell her that even in the midst of her pain, God is there, grieving with her? Has she no hope at all of feeling God’s love?”
“I don’t know.”
Genny leaned forward, never more sure of anything than what she was prepared to say. “You must go to her, Max, now that you’ve come to better understand God’s love yourself. She needs to hear it, and maybe from you, she’ll be able to listen.”
“Ever compassionate, Genny.” He frowned and looked away. “More so than me, I’m afraid. You’re right, of course. I should go to her, especially now that I’ve discovered a faith that’s helped me in so many ways. I should have thought of it myself. Perhaps I did, but . . .”
“But?”
He looked back at her. “But I haven’t wanted to go. I haven’t wanted to leave here. You.”
They were words she wanted to hear, but she squashed the attempt her heart made to fly. “Then that is all the more reason for you to go.”
She stood, leaving the breakfast uneaten. He stood as well, and at first she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“I think it wise that we don’t allow ourselves to be alone anymore, Max. I know that we’re only friends, but there’s been a sort of intimacy about our friendship that no longer seems appropriate.” She looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize. It was all my own foolishness. I thought—I thought that I could be your friend and nothing more. But I was wrong. It’s I who’s sorry, Genny. And I am. Profoundly so.”
She could think of nothing else to say, and so she backed away from the table, feeling the chair behind her. Awkwardly she stepped around it, each movement so tense she thought her bones might crack from being put to use in such a state. Somehow she made it to the door.
“Will you go out today, Max? Please? Away from here, away from this room? To the hospital, perhaps? Or . . . elsewhere?”
“Yes, Genny, I’ll go.”
29
The slave gangs will arrive here in Brussels, have no doubt. And to think the world once thought all of Europe so civilized.
La Libre Belgique
* * *
“Have you tried using the rice flour they’re making these days? It’s closer to white, at least.”
“Ah, but the taste! We are known for excellence, for the lightness of our pastry, the flakiness of each layer.” Pierrette shook her head in disgust. “We must not form our precious little tarts into tasteless lumps.”
Isa laughed, enjoying the exchange between Clara and Pierrette. It was the first time in two weeks that she’d felt herself again, having been muddled by a haze of confusion. Edward loved her, but couldn’t. He loved her. But didn’t. He loved her and perhaps loved Rosalie, too, but not either one enough to conquer whatever ghosts he carried with him from the camp. Isa hadn’t even told Genny because Genny seemed in a world of her own lately too.