Miriam fled the fellowship hall, half in pursuit of Paul, half in flight from her father and Arthur. By the time she struggled through the crowd gathered around the entrance to watch the prisoners leave, he was gone. The prisoners were on their way down the small town’s brick-building lined street.
The crisp fall breeze cooled her heated cheeks. She breathed in and released the air little by little. But her hands shook like poplar leaves.
He was here.
“What on earth is going on?”
At Florence’s question, Miriam spun around. “I saw him.”
“Him? The him?”
“Yes.”
“The man who stole your heart? I can see why.” Florence batted her pale lashes. “He is handsome.”
“I can’t believe he’s here. What are the chances?”
“Very slim. But not unheard of. Remember, I told you about my uncle Karl who showed up on my mother’s cousin’s farm a couple of months back.”
Miriam turned to catch another glimpse of Paul. The line of men snaked around the corner and out of sight. She sighed. “I’m in shock. I don’t know what to do or say.”
“Are you going to go see him?” Florence almost squealed.
“At the Schwartz ballroom?”
“My father told me they have visiting hours every Sunday. You could spend some time with him.”
“There’s another complication.” She gestured in Arthur’s direction. He stood in the church’s doorway, a scowl marring his ruddy, boylike features. “To my father, he might as well be my fiancé.”
Arthur Powell joined them, doffed his black hat, and nodded at Florence. “Good day. Always nice to see you.” He redirected his attention to Miriam. “Isn’t it time to go? The show is over.”
“Miriam knows Paul from her time in Germany.”
She held herself back from elbowing Florence in the ribs.
“Just remember, he’s the enemy now.” Arthur finger-combed his greased-back red hair. “You’d do well to steer clear of them. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Come on, Miriam. I’m hungry for dinner. Good day, Florence.” He placed his cap back on his head.
“Go ahead, Arthur. I’ll catch up to you at home.”
“I can wait.”
“No, it’ll be awhile. Florence and I have some things to discuss.”
“If you insist.” With a huff, Arthur sauntered away.
“I wish Daddy would stop inviting him over.”
“Just tell him.”
“Tell me what?”
Miriam jumped and clutched her chest. This time, her father stood behind her.
“Didn’t you hear me earlier, Miriam? You raced out of church like a dog after a truck.”
“That was Paul Albrecht. The man I met in Germany. You know about him.”
“Your mother should never have encouraged such a relationship. She should never have gone to that God-forsaken country in the first place. The trip took her life.”
The back of Miriam’s throat burned.
“Let’s get going home. We don’t want to keep Arthur waiting. There’s a fine young man.”
A fine young man, indeed. Solid. Dependable. Boring. He could see no farther than the farm that enabled him to stay out of the military. She had bigger plans. But Daddy liked him. And encouraged him too much. She couldn’t conjure up any excitement for him.
“Have a nice afternoon.” Florence flashed Miriam a crooked grin and waved.
Miriam shot her a narrow-gaze look then climbed aboard the old farm wagon with Daddy. He clucked to the horses, and they plodded toward their own farm a couple of miles outside town. Several times throughout the trip, she opened her mouth to tell him to stop inviting Arthur to the house. But she couldn’t form the words. He would be angry, and probably very disappointed. Like he was when he’d forbidden her from joining the WACs.
She had only relented because of his heart palpitations. The doctor said any upset might bring on a heart attack.
Situated among dried cornstalks, their white farmhouse appeared in the distance, a big red barn behind it. Quintessential Wisconsin. Nothing compared to the rows upon rows of ornamented stone buildings that crowded Germany’s cities, or the quaint beam-and-plaster Alpine chalets.
Different. Unique. Exotic.
She inhaled and forced herself to speak. “Daddy—”
“I don’t want to hear one word about that Nazi you spoke to this morning. Your mother may have been soft with you, but she’s not here now. And I will not have my daughter involved with the likes of him.”
Not wanting to cause Daddy any heart trouble, she shut her mouth. But she couldn’t shut her heart.
The hum of voices swirled around Paul, and the aromatic sting of tanning chemicals tickled his nose as he wiped the sweat from his brow. While the work at W. B. Place Tannery wasn’t as grand or adventurous as flying a plane as he had in the Luftwaffe, it kept him and his fellow prisoners occupied. And the American government put most of the money he earned into a savings account. That would go toward getting his own plane after the war.
Before the war. After the war. The entire world defined time that way. But not him. Well, maybe he did, but he distinguished time as before Miriam and after Miriam. Before her, he’d been—how did the Americans say it—a lone ranger. On his motorcycle, on his own. After her, he dreamed of nothing more than having her ride behind him, gripping him around the middle. Or flying beside him.
He forced his attention to the job in front of him. His distant dream faded even more after Sunday. How could he have expected her to wait for him? Ever believed that her feelings for him wouldn’t change, despite being on opposite sides of a worldwide conflict?
The whistle blew, indicating the end of their shift. In a short amount of time, their guards had them piled into the back of an old truck and drove them through the center of town on their way to the round ballroom containing their barracks. Paul pulled his coat tighter. Even early in the season, a cold wind blew. He studied the shiny storefront windows as they puttered along.
Werner Frank sat beside him. “You’ve been somber these past few days.”
“Ja, I suppose I have been.”
“Does it have anything to do with that beautiful redhead you chatted with after church on Sunday?”
“It might. Do we have to talk about it?”
“We do, when she has you so down.”
Paul shrugged. “There’s not much to say. I met her back home in ‘39. It was nothing more than a youthful crush.”
“An infatuation wouldn’t make you this glum.”
“She has a new beau. That’s the way it should be. Expecting her to wait until the war ends and all is forgiven between our countries would be foolish.”
“But you did.”
“What can I say? I’m foolish.”
“Nein, you aren’t. But in love, that you are.”
“She has a new man in her life. And that’s the end of that.”
“Do you want it to be?”
As the truck’s gears ground, Paul broke his gaze from the bungalow-style houses and turned to the dark-haired man beside him. “I’m surprised they didn’t tap you for the SS. You would make an excellent interrogator. You’re persistent enough.” The truck halted for a mother and her large, unruly brood of little ones to cross the street.
“Paul.”
That voice again. The one he couldn’t forget, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. He peered over his shoulder. Miriam hustled in their direction, her book bag bouncing on her hip, her unbuttoned green coat flapping in the wind. She had this half-restrained, half-exuberant way of moving. And speaking. And doing anything she did.
That’s why he loved her.
He groaned and turned back.
“Paul.” Within a second, she caught up with them, breathless.
His heart lurched. “Miriam, please, don’t make this harder on either of us than it has to be.”
She touched his arm. Even through his coat, her touch was soft and gentle. “It’s not like that.”
Soon enough, the truck would roll along. “When we met, we were young and naive. We never dreamed the world would become engulfed in war. But it did, and that’s the way it is. Nothing will ever be the same.”
“Maybe not.”
He gave her a small smile. “You have your new boyfriend.”
The young mother still occupied the middle of the street as one straggler bent to pick up something. “Come on, Willy. We have to hurry.”
“My father wants me to marry the neighboring farmer so our property will stay in the family, but he’s stuffy and boring.”
“Isn’t that as it should be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Besides, your father doesn’t approve of me.” His stomach dropped like a broken lift.
“He doesn’t understand.”
The woman and her children stepped up the curb, and the truck lurched forward. After a block or so, Paul turned around. Miriam stood in the same spot, her shoulders drooped.