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I wake the next morning to Johann stirring next to me in the bed we shared last night.
A coughing fit from downstairs sees me fully awake. I promised Johann I would rest today, but I need to cycle into the village and talk to Dr. Deschamps about Jacques’s cough. I also need to leave the message in the drop box for Allaire, informing him of my impending motherhood.
God, what will his reaction be to the untimely news? I wince just thinking about it.
Johann climbs out of bed, and my body instantly misses his heat. He removes his uniform from the wardrobe, and I glare at it, silently cursing what the uniform stands for.
He lays it at the end of the bed, and I’m tempted to kick the bloody awful uniform onto the floor.
Johann leans over me, caging me with his hands on either side of my head, and he kisses me long and hard.
The heat of the kisses cools, and they become sweet and tender.
“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips. He shifts down my body and kisses my stomach. “I love you too.”
An image of this being a different time and place slips into my thoughts. Of me kissing my husband goodbye before he leaves for his job to make the world a better place.
It’s a beautiful picture. One I wish were true.
He pulls on his detested khaki trousers, and I climb out of bed. The chilly October-morning air strokes my bare flesh, turning my skin prickly with goosebumps. I wrap the blanket around my shoulders, limp to my room, and quickly change into a different dress than the one I was wearing for the past few days.
I make my way downstairs and enter the kitchen.
“Please tell me you’re not going anywhere today,” Jacques says, looking out of the kitchen window, his shoulders curved in on themselves as if to protect his heart from more pain. He learned last night about my injury, but he doesn’t know it was the result of a German bullet.
“I have some things I need to do in the village, and then I’ll be back to help you here.”
“You need to rest that leg of yours.”
The stairs creak with Johann’s descent.
“I’ll rest it tonight, Papa. I promise.” I start preparing breakfast for the two men.
Johann enters the kitchen. He spots me at the sink and sadness flickers on his face. A sadness that could mean anything and everything. He could be thinking about his mother and sister. About where they are. About what they would think of his news that he’s going to be a father—assuming they’re still alive.
Or he could be thinking about how his regiment will be going to the Eastern Front soon.
The sadness on his face quickly fades, replaced by a smile that seems uncertain. The tilt of his lips is barely there, the sparkle in his eyes dimmer than usual.
He sits at the table, and I hand him the plate with his breakfast on it.
Johann is finishing his food when the recognizable sound of tyres on gravel approaches the house. My body tenses as it always does at that sound. Jacques wears his usual disquieted expression at the noise. We know it’s Johann’s driver. It’s not the Gestapo or SS. But even after all these months, our reactions haven’t changed.
I walk him to the door. Johann pulls me out of view of the kitchen and presses me against the door. My arms wind around his neck; his go around my waist. And his mouth finds mine in a knee-quivering kiss.
Our lips part after several rapid heartbeats, my breath ragged. We don’t immediately release each other. We just stare into the other one’s eyes for a moment. The words we can’t say out loud with Jacques in the kitchen are clear in our gazes.
Johann’s arms drop away from my waist. Without a word, he opens the door and walks out of the house. And already I miss him.
The front door shuts behind me as I return to the kitchen. I pick up his empty plate.
I look up and my eyes catch on the disapproving glare of the man who is like a father to me.
“Do you really believe it’s wise for this thing between you two to continue?” Jacques asks. The rough purr of the military engine recedes into the distance.
I walk to the sink and place the plate next to it. Outside the kitchen window, the autumn colours glow softly in the light of the rising sun. Their vibrant colours are a contrast to the mood that has settled over France.
