from my family. I—I love them.”
“I beg you. If you do love them, let them be. Please let them be.”
“But—”
“Please, Mrs.—Mrs.—Please don’t contact me again. Good day.” She hung up.
Leah gaped at the dead phone.
Mama Paxton laid a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, mija. I’m so sorry.”
“But they’re my sisters. My family. My family.” Something burned in her belly, and she thumped the phone into the receiver.
She usually took hold of anger and molded it into the safe shape of sadness, but now she let it pulse hot in her veins.
Mrs. Scholz had no right. Callie and Polly were Leah’s family by birth, by blood.
How dare this woman tell Leah she didn’t belong with her own family?
Leah couldn’t accept that. She wouldn’t.
If she wanted to belong, she had to join.
40
POINTE DU HOC
For the second time that night, the gunfire stopped as abruptly as it had started.
Straining to see in the dark, Clay pointed his rifle through the top of the hedgerow. He hadn’t seen a single enemy soldier or fired a shot since sunset. Both night counterattacks had come far to Clay’s right in the orchard, rather than in the wheat field he faced.
He sank lower in the foxhole he shared with Ruby. How many more times would the Germans attack? How much longer could the Rangers hold out?
Close to midnight, Colonel Rudder had ordered the detachment to hold the position by the highway while the main force held the point by Rudder’s headquarters. A lot of distance and a whole lot of Germans separated them.
South of the highway, eighty-five Rangers formed an L-shaped defensive line, with the angle of the L pointing southwest. Clay guarded the middle of the lower leg near the command post.
What a ragtag group—members of the three companies that had climbed the cliffs, plus twenty-three men from the 5th Ranger Battalion, the lone contingent to arrive from Omaha Beach. Boy, were they welcome.
“Lieutenant!” Footsteps thumped up the dirt lane, and a man jumped into the command post foxhole. “The Krauts took the angle, then retreated. No word from D Company. I think they’re wiped out.”
Clay puffed out a breath, and Ruby shook his head. Things weren’t going well.
The commanders talked in voices low enough to conceal their words, but not their anxiety.
Everything about the night felt sideways. Clay wasn’t supposed to be here. Since he hadn’t died on D-day, when would he? The war in Europe could last weeks, months, even years. When would he see that pillbox from his dreams? Would he ever?
What if he . . . survived? What then? He hadn’t even considered having a future since the recurring dream had begun.
Something strange and energizing filled his chest. Hope. It was hope. Hope of reconciliation and love and family.
For the past few months, he’d occasionally desired a future. Now, on the far side of D-day, that longing had grown into hope. And hope was even more dangerous than desire.
Clay groaned and checked his rifle ammo. BAR ammunition was scarce, and few grenades remained. Some of the men were using German guns and grenades.
Thanks to Frank Lyons, Clay still had two American grenades. He’d given Lyons’s BAR and ammo to a Ranger who’d lost his rifle.
Clay rested against the cold dirt wall of his foxhole and peeked through the hedgerow. Peeking back at him from behind thin clouds, an almost-full moon cast silvery light on the long narrow wheat field, bound by hedgerows.
His eyelids dragged low, and he shook himself. He’d been awake for almost twenty-four hours, and in that time he’d eaten two pancakes aboard the Ben-my-Chree and part of a chocolate D ration bar.
Clay pulled out the D ration and gnawed off a bite. Bitterness warped his mouth, but it’d keep him awake. The Army had designed the bars to taste bad so soldiers would save them for emergencies. It certainly worked.
Ruby’s head slumped forward. Clay extended his elbow to nudge him, then retracted it. Let the man sleep while he could.
Shuffling in the dirt behind him. Sergeant Markowitz from another section squatted by Clay’s foxhole. “Lieutenant Taylor says if the Krauts attack again, retreat to the point. And no wild firing. Save your ammo.”
Clay sighed. “Yes, Sarge.” He didn’t want to retreat, but if they’d lost D Company, they’d lost their right flank. The Germans could infiltrate behind them and cut them off.
Markowitz proceeded down the lane to Brady and Holman’s foxhole.
“All I know is I’m not surrendering,” Ruby muttered. “They’re not taking me alive.”
“Yeah. I understand.” If the Germans