Celeste smiled.
“Do you have someone waiting for you in Paris?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Only mymaman, papa, and sisters. I miss them terribly.”
“You’ll see them after the war.”
She ran her finger over the table. “But I’m afraid that they’ll think different of me.”
“Why?”
“I’m a collaborator,” she said. “In Lille, I’m the former mistress to a fallen enemy officer. I’m viewed no differently than the French prostitutes who work in the German brothels. Regardless of which side wins the war, my family will eventually learn of what I’ve done, and they’ll disown me.”
“They’ll understand.”You collaborated to survive.He appreciated Celeste’s trust in him, and her courage to speak candidly. But most of all, her fear of being rejected by her family resonated with him. As if by reflex, he said, “I worry that Anna will spurn me, too.”
Her eyebrows raised. “May I ask why?”
He swirled his wine, pondering if he should continue. Fueled by alcohol and Celeste’s display of vulnerability, he looked at her and said, “Because of the horrible things I’ve done.”
“It’s war,” she said. “She’ll forgive you for what you did.”
A flash of gassed corpses, their faces blue and bellies bloated.Death is death, regardless of how it is inflicted, Haber’s mantra replayed in his head. “I do not believe that will be possible.”
She smoothed her skirt and placed a hand on Bruno’s fingers.
His skin tingled.
“Perhaps after the war,” she said, “we’ll find absolution for our sins.”
Bruno nodded.
“Good night, Herr Wahler.Mercifor inviting me to join you.” Celeste stood and carried the plates to the kitchen.
Bruno finished the last of the wine, and then went to his room. Shaken from his conversation with Celeste, he was unable to sleep. He retrieved a pencil and paper from his case to write a letter to Anna, but the words never came.
PART3
INTERMEZZOTHETURNIPWINTER
CHAPTER13
OLDENBURG, GERMANY—DECEMBER2, 1916
Anna, bundled in a knee-length wool coat with Nia at her side, waited in anticipation for a battle-blinded veteran named Maximilian Benesch to arrive at the Oldenburg train station. She knew little about him, except that he was a Jewish soldier from Leipzig who was blinded while fighting at the front. She’d spent the past few days organizing the kitchen and spare bedroom, as well as rearranging living room furniture, to create a conducive environment for the visually impaired. Even Norbie, who was fond of the clutter in his workshop, had pushed away workbenches and display cases to create a straight path between the storefront door and the stairs to their upper-floor home.
The evening train was running late. To occupy her time, she retrieved an envelope from her purse. She unfolded Bruno’s letter, his first correspondence in over two weeks, and read it for the second time.
Anna patted Nia.I miss receiving his letters, and the poems he wrote for me when we first met.Guilt swelled up in her heart.It’s selfish of me to crave attention when he’s fighting for sur vival.She shook away her thoughts and continued reading.
Anna took a deep breath and exhaled. She assumed that she would move to Frankfurt after the war. But they hadn’t discussed her work at the guide dog school.How can I leave Oldenburg when so many dogs will be needed to for battle-blinded soldiers?She stroked Nia’s ears and decided to worry about it later.
A train whistle blew. Anna folded the letter and placed it inside her purse. Wheels screeched over steel rails. Thick puffs of steam and smoke, like miniature storm clouds, spewed from the locomotive. The train slowed to a stop and the vapor dispersed. Carriage doors opened and passengers exited, one by one, onto the landing.
Tired and hungry from her day working at the guide dog school, she stood on her toes and scanned the crowd. An acrid scent of burnt coal filled her nostrils. “Do you see him?” she asked, glancing at Nia.
Nia perked her ears.
The throng of people, a mixture of civilians and military personnel, scattered through the station. After most of the passengers had disembarked the train, a soldier emerged from a carriage. Walking backward down the steps, he helped a man—holding a walking stick and wearing a charcoal-colored military trench coat—from the carriage.
