“Tell us,” Sue said as Tom straightened up. “Where is home?”
“England,” Lars said, leaned back in the chair, eyes closed.
“Why can’t you get home?”
Silence.
“Were you held in this location?” Sue asked. “You and many other men, all waiting to go home?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Internment.”
“Can you tell me what calendar year that was?”
Silence.
“Do you understand what has happened to you?” Sue waited for longer this time, just about to speak again when Lars answered.
“The year is 1918. I understand. We died.”
“That’s right. But you remained trapped here all the same. How many died here? Of the men trapped with you?”
“All.”
Behind him, Tom heard a gentle stirring and suspected Sanders was picking up the tablet or notepad from the desk.
“Were you prisoners of war?” Sue asked.
“Yes.”
“But you all died here? Everyone? After you reached Switzerland? You didn’t die in Germany or the trenches?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you all die in Switzerland?”
Silence.
In a moment, Sue tried, “After you died, why couldn’t you and the other men go home?”
“Left behind.”
“You were?”
Silence.
“I don’t understand. Can you tell me what was left behind?”
Silence.
Sue did not seem surprised by this apparent language barrier. She simply tried another angle. “When you died, did you leave something behind?”
“Yes.”
“In this house?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s in this room, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You laid the trail of tea. This was your room in the inn?”
“Yes.”
“What did you leave?”
“Us.”
“You mean the bodies of the men who died?”
“No.”
For the first time, Sue appeared stymied, obviously thinking fast to try to come up with the next logical step of a question in this limited guessing game. It seemed she had to stick to yes or no questions to get easy answers. But one had to know the right questions to make much of that approach.
“You mean, you left objects that you owned?” Sue tried. “And you need to find them now?”
Silence.
Sue glanced at Amanda, but Amanda shook her head. Tom also could think of nothing to ask, even had he been invited. They left themselves, but it wasn’t something they owned and it wasn’t their bodies? They weren’t trying to find their souls. That was the one thing they did still have, but their souls were trapped here because ... what?
Interred in Switzerland in 1918. The end of World War One, not Two. A neutral country taking them in. Tom knew nothing about it. He knew even less about the First than the Second. It seemed that was the missing piece. They needed to know something about the events themselves to understand. Aside from his father, Tom only knew one person who had a vast knowledge of military history. And he was standing right behind Tom.
Tom turned around. Sanders was looking at him, pen and paper in hand.
“Come here,” Tom whispered and held out his own hand.
Sanders joined him as Amanda also looked around. Sue kept her gaze on Lars, as if to hold the connection.
“What are the right questions?” Tom asked just as softly, almost speaking into his ear.
Sanders stood stiffly, his face bloodless as he watched Lars. “Is it okay?”
“I think so,” Sue said, still not looking around. Then, in a stronger voice. “Someone else is going to talk to you. Do you understand? We’re all here to help you.”
A pause, then, “Yes.”
Sanders glanced from Sue to Lars. He swallowed. “You were prisoners of war in Germany in the Great War?”
“Yes.”
“You were invalided out of the camps with other officers in 1918 and sent to Switzerland?”
“Yes.”
“This was an inn converted into housing Allied officers for the remainder of the war?”
“Yes.”
“And you would be sent home once the war ended?”
“Yes.”
“It was almost over, you thought you were going home soon—with the Americans in France and the Germans retreating that summer?”
“Yes.”
“Then you died? All of you?”
“Yes.”
“But you knew you were going to die, didn’t you? Because it was a sickness?”
“Yes.”
“The great influenza?”
“Yes.”
“So you wrote letters home and put pieces of yourselves away to be shipped home to your people, in case some of you didn’t make it?”
“Yes.”
“And none of you made it? Your things never went home?”
“Yes.”
“So you never had your last words, or walked away from this prison. And your last efforts to reach your families failed. Your personal stories were lost.”
“Yes.”
“But they’re in this house now? The record you left of your lives?”
“Yes.”
“In this room?”
“Yes.”
“Then the inn was remodeled. Only a few years after you all died, the whole thing was turned upside down.”
“Yes.”
“And they never found your things?”
“Yes.”
“Because they’re...” Sanders looked at the wall of shelves, at the tea bag on the floor, and again at Lars. “They’re in the wall, aren’t they? No one even knew they were boarding up your parcels for home behind the shelves?”
“Take them home.” Then, as unexpectedly as if a beam of sunlight had flooded the room through the dark windows, Lars smiled, said, “Thank you.” and relaxed in his chair.
The room fell silent, all of them watching Lars as if at a sickbed. He stirred, eyelids flickering, seeming to start up from a deep sleep.
Sue looked around at Sanders, tears in her eyes. “How in all the phases of the moon did you know what to ask?”
Sanders shook his head. “History books?”
Sue stood up to hug him. “Thank you. I knew they knew what they were doing when they came to you two.”
Tom let out a held breath while Sanders patted her back. “Now all we need to do is ... take the wall apart.”
“Someone here can help with that.”
Tom turned, surprised that it was Rhys who had spoken.
Rhys nodded toward Lars. Everyone looked at him once more as he rubbed his eyes.