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“The Purple Heart,” he stated, his tone solemn. “Awarded to men wounded in combat. That’s George Washington on the front.”
“Yes…”
“Oldest medal in American history,” Simon continued. “Awarded to members of the military who were wounded or killed in combat, and nowadays also anyone wounded or killed in a terrorist attack.”
Abby turned the battered little heart over, to read the inscription on the other side. For Military Merit Thomas Reese. The heart felt strangely heavy resting in the palm of her hand, laden with significance. “It couldn’t… it couldn’t be some other Tom Reese, could it?” she asked suddenly. “I know my dad said my grandfather was wounded, but maybe he still has his medal somewhere, and this is a different one. It’s a common name.”
“And yet my grandmother had this address? There’s a photo of your grandparents on the website. She sounded very certain, when I spoke to her.”
“Do you think she really saw our website?”
“I’m sure of it. Granny was quite internet-savvy, right up until the end. Wouldn’t go anywhere without her iPad. I used to play Candy Crush with her.”
Abby smiled faintly. “She sounds like a character.”
“She was. I wish I knew her better. My mother had a… tumultuous… relationship with her. They were both emotional people.” He grimaced slightly. “So we didn’t see her—or that side of the family—very often. And my mother died before my grandmother, about ten years ago.” He stopped suddenly, as if he’d said enough. Too much, maybe.
Abby searched his face and saw a certain blankness come into his eyes before he looked away.
“Families can be tricky,” she said, which was a gross understatement, really.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The words could have been rote, but Abby meant them genuinely. Losing family was hard, a grief that went on and on, without end. She knew that all too well.
“Thank you.” Simon nodded his acknowledgment before leaning forward to peer at the medal still resting in the palm of her hand. “Aren’t you at least a little intrigued?” he asked, lowering his voice conspiratorially, although her father was far away, back in the barn. “About what mi
ght have happened between your grandfather and my grandmother, during the war? Some tragic romance? Or maybe something completely different and surprising? Wouldn’t it be… fun… to find out?”
She looked up, meeting his friendly, open gaze, the blankness gone, replaced by a glint of interest that made some sort of strange feeling shoot through her, a little bolt of electricity that felt entirely unexpected. Unfamiliar, even—or at least forgotten. It flashed through her, jolting her awake, and she had the urge to shake her head, as if to clear it.
“What do you think happened?” she asked. “You said you spoke to your grandmother about it?”
“Yes, before she died a few months ago.” He sighed as he relaxed back into his chair and Abby did the same, the medal still in her hand. “She didn’t say much more than I’ve already told you, but there was a certain tone to her voice… I could tell she’d held him in affection, that she felt some sort of regret about what had—or hadn’t—happened between them. She said she hoped he could forgive her, after all. So they must have had some sort of relationship, and she must have felt she’d done something wrong.”
“It sounds as if she didn’t know he had died.”
“I don’t know whether she did or not. I would have assumed so, considering how long ago it happened, but who can say? Maybe she felt returning the medal to his family would atone for something.”
“Maybe.” Abby’s fingers closed around the medal, the small ridges digging into her fingers. “It’s all very strange, isn’t it? I’m sorry we can’t give you more information.”
“That’s all right.” Simon smiled wryly. “Perhaps something will come to mind? I’m staying in the area for a few weeks, if you think of anything.”
“You are?” Abby looked at him in surprise. Although he’d said he was staying in America for a few weeks, she hadn’t thought the whole time would be in Wisconsin.
“Yes, I’ve rented a little cabin on Lake Geneva, about twenty minutes from here. I’m a history teacher, and I’ve got six weeks of summer break.” His smile was wide and easy as he scanned her face, trying to gage her reaction. “I couldn’t think of a better place to spend it while I work on my book.”
“Your book?”
“I’m hoping to write a book about wartime romances between British women and American GIs. There’s another couple nearby, in Genoa City, who said they would be happy for me to interview—”
“They’re alive?”
“No, but their children are. So if you do remember any more details…” Simon trailed off with seemingly deliberate casualness, his eyebrows raised.
Abby looked down at the medal and swallowed. For some reason, it felt different, knowing Simon would be nearby, that he was writing a book. She suspected her father wouldn’t be happy with either. “Of course, but I’m afraid I don’t think I will.”
“You have my email address anyway. Would you mind if I gave you my mobile number? Or cell, as you Yanks call it?” He smiled teasingly and she forced herself not to look away. He wasn’t flirting. He was just being friendly. But it still felt strange. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had flirted with her, at least anyone she’d consider attractive. And she did, Abby realized, consider Simon, with his floppy hair and kind eyes, attractive.
