A shell exploded near the cemetery. Using his sleeve, he wiped a cold sweat from his brow.
Bruno squeezed his pencil, hoping that he would somehow make it back to Lille before Celeste delivered their baby. He buried his thought and continued writing.
Images of Anna and Max flashed in his head. His hands trembled, and he struggled to steady his pencil.
Bruno folded his letter and placed it, along with the Frenchman’s identification, inside the envelope and sealed it. He stepped down from the altar and listened to the pace of the explosions.The shellfire might be letting up.A choice burned in his gut: mail the letter when he returned to headquarters, or send a runner. Before he changed his mind, he approached the soldiers sitting by the fire.
“Jäger,” Bruno called.
A thin but muscular young man stood and approached him. “Ja, sir.”
“I want you to run to headquarters,” Bruno said, giving the soldier the envelope. “Place the letter in the post back to Germany.”
“Ja, sir.” The solder stuffed the envelope inside his jacket, saluted, and then dashed from the church carrying his rifle.
Bruno watched the soldier disappear through a field, and then sat in a pew and lowered his head. Minutes passed, and as the bombardment stopped, he regretted having sent a runner.I overreacted, he thought. However, an hour later, when he and his men were about to embark on rounding up the pack mules that they’d abandoned, the Allied infantry unleashed the full fury of their shellfire.
Large-caliber projectiles exploded in close proximity to the church. Some of the soldiers scrambled to the rear of the building, while others crawled under pews. The ground rumbled. Explosions reverberated through Bruno’s blood and bone. With no place to hide, he crouched near the base of a stone wall as the explosions grew closer and closer, as if the angle of the Allied cannons were being incrementally adjusted to narrow in on their location.
A concussive blast knocked him to the ground. He raised his head, his ears ringing from the detonation, and saw that the roof was partially collapsed. A soldier screamed as he struggled to free his crushed legs from under a fallen timber beam.Nein!Bruno, determined to aid the soldier, crawled forward over a mass of debris. Wood splinters and nails puncturing his hands and knees. Reaching his comrade, Bruno strained—his muscles flaring with pain—to lift the beam. The soldier yowled. And as Bruno gave a final heave, an incoming artillery shell shattered the church’s steeple, and tons of stone came crashing down upon them.
CHAPTER39
LEIPZIG, GERMANY—SEPTEMBER27, 1917
Anna sat on the edge of Max’s bed. She dipped a washcloth into a ceramic basin of lukewarm water, squeezed out the excess liquid, and gently wiped his forehead. With each of Max’s shallow respirations, a rattling sounded inside his chest.He’s worse today,she thought, her heart aching.
“Danke,” Max said, his voice hoarse.
“You’re welcome,” Anna said. She sank the washcloth into the water, and then washed his body, his muscles atrophied from being confined to bed for the past two weeks.
Anna had not gone back to work. After her two-week leave of absence, she’d returned to Oldenburg merely to inform Fleck and Dr. Stalling that she was leaving her position at the guide dog school to care for Max. She’d wanted to resign via telegram, or by having Norbie meet with them to explain her decision. However, Max had insisted that he and Nia would be fine while she was gone, and that he could contact a woman named Magdalena, who’d once been friends with hismutter, to help him if he needed anything. She’d only been gone a few of days, but when she’d returned to Leipzig, she discovered that Max’s respiration had deteriorated, and she regretted having left him.
Despite Max’s fatigue, their initial days of being reunited were blissful. They’d prepared meals together, walked short routes with Nia, and talked endlessly about everything but the war. She’d read books to him while he cuddled with his dog, and he’d played the piano for her. And in the evenings, they’d retired early to bed, where they lay wrapped in each other’s arms. But as each day passed, his breathing grew more labored, and a bluish tint began to appear on his lips and fingernails. Soon, he became too weak to climb the stairs. Confined to the apartment, he played the piano when he wasn’t resting. However, a few weeks ago, Max became too frail to leave his bed, and the music ended.
Anna dried Max with a towel and dressed him in clean sleepwear. She picked up the washbasin and carried it to the kitchen. As she disposed of the water in the sink, the front door to Max’s apartment opened, and Norbie and Nia entered.
Nia scampered to Anna, where she received a pat on the head, and then ran into Max’s room.
“How is he?” Norbie asked, hanging up his jacket.
She approached him. “Not so good.”
He hugged her.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said.
“Me too,” he said, releasing her.
Norbie had made three trips to Leipzig over the past two months, and when he’d arrived a few days ago and saw that Max was confined to his bed, he’d told Anna that he would remain with her to help. They couldn’t afford for her to be out of work and for him to close his clockmaker shop, but Norbie didn’t care, nor did she. All that mattered to them was that Max would receive personal care, rather than being placed in a government hospital that would undoubtedly be short-staffed.
“Do you think Max would mind if I check in on him?” Norbie asked.
“I think he’d enjoy your company,” she said.
Norbie entered Max’s room, followed by Anna.
“Hallo, Max,” Norbie said.
