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“Anja used to believe mythological creatures caused the sunsets,” he says after a few minutes, a gentle, brotherly smile on his face. “It was their campfires, she claimed, that created the colours. And when the colours went away, it was because the fires had been extinguished, and the creatures would then dance for hours in the moonlight. The brighter the moon, the longer the dancing lasted. They would sleep during the new moon because there was not enough light to dance.”
“I guess she never had a chance to dance herself?”
“No, she danced. She danced all the time. She couldn’t hear music, but she could feel it. When she was little, she would go out in the garden and twirl and spin. She pretended she could hear the music the mythological creatures created. Special music only the deaf could hear.”
I grin at the joy in his voice. “My sister would have loved her, and she would have loved that story.” And my real sister will still love the story if I live long enough to tell her it. Or she would if the Official Secrets Act I signed didn’t prohibit me from talking about my time here in France.
Talking about Hazel with Johann makes me feel closer to her. Closer than I have felt since discovering the truth about her and Charles. But I can’t tell Johann that. I can’t tell him about how I turned my back on my sister and never once gave her a chance to explain. My engagement to Charles had been a mistake, but I was too blind to see that. I didn’t love him as much as my sister does.
I didn’t love him the way I love Johann.
But the reality is, other than these stolen moments, there is no future for us together. Once I return to England, things will end between us. Of that I am certain.
My heart aches thinking about it, so I don’t.
“If you could live anywhere in the world,” Johann says as the bottom of the sun dips below the horizon, “where would it be?”
“Anywhere?”
“Yes, anywhere, but not France. You already live here. You cannot pick the country you grew up in.”
I release a soft laugh because while I might have lived in France and Austria for several years, England is the country where I spent much of my youth. But his comment confirms I didn’t speak English last night. I had called out in French. Jacques hadn’t been certain about that when I asked him earlier.
“Canada. Perhaps Quebec since they speak French there. What about you?”
“Oregon. That’s in America.” Johann’s thumb caresses the back of my hand, and a tingly warmth spreads through my limbs from his touch.
“Why America?”
“While I was in university, I made friends with an American who was from Oregon. He told me about the mountains that were so close, they were practically on his doorstep. And there was a lake near his home in the small town he lived in. Maple Ridge.”
“You’ve just described Austria.” Humor paints my tone in various shades.
He grins at me. “I know. I also said you cannot pick a country you grew up in. I know most of America does not look like that, but there are some places that are as beautiful as my home country.” There’s a wistfulness in his voice that often sneaks in when he talks about Austria. I don’t blame him. I loved living there too.
“I also believe America would be safe from having a leader like Hitler. My friend said they have checks and balances to keep a president from becoming a dictator. Even back then, my friend warned me Hitler was dangerous. He was quite vocal about it at the university before returning to America.”
“What did the other students think about that?”
“We had a number of political student groups. Some went underground when they realised their views were not appreciated by the majority. These were the communist and social democratic groups. They felt the same way as my friend did about Hitler. When Austria became part of Germany, many of their members vanished or were rounded up and sent to prison camps.”
“Were any of them friends of yours?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t align with either of those groups. I wasn’t all that interested in politics. Not in the way my friend was. I just wanted to build things. I left politics to those who cared about it. I know now that was naïve thinking.”
I return my gaze to the sunset. The sun sinks farther on the horizon, the sky so vibrant, so alive. A contrast to the France we are living in. It’s as if the war is slowly bleaching the colour from every living thing around us, leaving a faded shadow in its wake.
The sun eventually disappears, the last of its rays staining the sky with a smear of deep red. I shift my head to look at Johann. He’s watching me, and even in the dim light I can see the longing in his eyes.
He strokes his thumb along my cheekbone. He doesn’t have to say what he is thinking, I can tell from his touch. I lean into him, wishing to be free of the war. Wishing we were just two people who have feelings for each other. Two people unafraid of what tomorrow might bring, of the decisions we’ll have to make.
His lips brush mine in a sweet kiss, and our bodies shift towards each other.
I part my lips and let him in. His tongue glides against mine. And like the sun a few minutes ago as it sank below the horizon, our bodies sink onto the grass, our mouths joined.
32
Jessica
