Echoes Page 0,148
school, they went on a family excursion to Brighton. He pushed Amadea along the boardwalk in her wheelchair, while the children went wild, playing games, and going on the rides. She looked longingly at the beach. He couldn't push her on the sand.
“I wish I could walk sometimes,” she said wistfully, although she managed very well in the wheelchair, could get around at full speed, and had no trouble keeping up with the children. It tugged at his heart the way she said it.
“Maybe we should go back and see the doctor one of these days.” She hadn't seen him in three months. When she left the hospital, he had said there was nothing more he could do. The feeling would return in her legs, or not. And so far it hadn't. There had been no change or improvement, although she rarely if ever talked about it. And this was the first time he had heard her complain.
“I don't think there's anything he can do. I don't think about it most of the time. The children don't give me time to.” She turned to look at him then with a tender look in her eyes that always made him wish things were different when he saw it. “Thank you for bringing me here, Rupert, to take care of your kinders.” She had never been as happy in her life, except in her early years in the convent. There was an irrepressible joy to every day. She loved being Mamadea, almost as much as she had loved being Sister Teresa. But she knew this would come to an end too. Many of them would go home, which was better for them in the end. They needed their parents. She and Rupert were only surrogates, although good ones. She thought Rupert was wonderful with them, and it always reminded her of how much he must miss his sons. There were photographs of them all over the house. Ian and James. And his wife Gwyneth. She had been Scottish.
“I don't know what we'd do without you,” Rupert said honestly as he sat down on a bench on the boardwalk, where they could see the children, and she rolled the wheelchair close to him. She looked relaxed and happy as her long blond hair flew in the breeze. She often wore it down like one of the children, and loved brushing the girls' hair, the way her mother had done for her and Daphne when they were little. It was odd how history repeated itself constantly, generation after generation. “I can't even remember what it was like before you came,” Rupert said, and looked distracted. And then he took the wind out of her with what he said next. “I'm leaving on a mission next Thursday.” He wasn't supposed to tell her, but he trusted her completely.
“You're not,” she said, as though denying it could make it not happen. But she knew from the look in his eyes that it would anyway.
“I am.” He didn't look enthused about it either. He loved being at home with her and the children on the weekends. But there was still a war to win.
“To Germany?” she asked in a whisper, as terror struck her heart. They both knew all too well how dangerous that was. And she couldn't imagine life without him now either.
“Something like that,” he said in answer to her question. She knew he couldn't tell her where he was going. It was top secret, and classified information. He had the highest security clearance. She wondered if he was going to Germany, or back into France, or somewhere worse, like farther east. She realized now that during her time in France, she had led a charmed life. So many had been killed and she hadn't, although she had come close several times.
“I wish I could go with you,” she said, forgetting the wheelchair. But there was no question of that now. She could no longer do missions. She would be a handicap and not an asset.
“I don't wish that,” Rupert said bluntly. He no longer wanted her risking her life. She had done enough. And been lucky. Even if she was in a wheelchair, she was lucky to be alive.
“I'm going to worry about you,” Amadea said, looking deeply concerned. “How long will you be gone?”
“Awhile” was all he said. He couldn't tell her that either, but she got the feeling he would be gone a long time, and she couldn't ask. She fell silent