Miriam loaded the large coffeepot into her childhood little red wagon. All morning, she’d been searching for an excuse to see Paul, to speak to him even a little. And a coffee break was the perfect solution. She grabbed the still-warm cinnamon coffee cake from the counter. She’d used a month’s worth of sugar coupons to make it, but the splurge was worth getting to spend time with him.
Once she had everything in the wagon, she set off for the near field where the men labored to till the soil. “Kaffee.”
They stopped their work and stared at her. The half-dozen or so men ranged in size from big to small and in age from young to much older. She continued to use her somewhat limited German. “And I have coffee cake. Come and eat while it is warm.”
They dropped what they were doing and rushed to her side. She poured the coffee into Mama’s everyday cups and sliced the cake.
Paul waited until the others sat in the soft dirt and consumed their snack. “Thank you for doing this.” He gestured wide, including the fields and the other men. As he took the plate from her, their fingers touched.
She tingled from head to toe and commanded her knees to hold her upright. “It took some doing. Daddy wasn’t keen on the idea, but Arthur is the one who talked him into it.”
“That’s the one who wants to marry you.”
“Oh, so much has happened since we last spoke. I went to Arthur and told him I could never be his wife. He was hurt, of course, but he understands.”
“Does your father?” He gazed at her with such an intensity she quivered.
She set the coffee in the wagon and then peered over the fields, just greening with the first warm days of the year. “I’ve tried everything I can to make him see reason. To show him not all Germans are bad.” She turned to him. “Especially you.”
He stroked her cheek, and she almost melted. “Do you know how I’ve missed you? I would have sent you letters, but the captain took away the privilege as part of my punishment.”
“Daddy would have torn them up anyway.” Her throat constricted. No, she couldn’t cry.
Paul rubbed her upper arms. “Don’t be upset, liebchen. We will find a way to be together.”
“I can’t leave my father. Not without his blessing.” She stepped out of his reach. “He lost my mother. He can’t lose me. And his health isn’t the best.”
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? He can’t let go of you. Arthur was safe, because he was your neighbor. You weren’t going anywhere. In fact, your father would probably continue to take meals with you. Maybe even live with you.”
“Yes, but I told you that I broke things off with Arthur.”
“But has your father?”
Miriam gave a slow shake of her head. “Are you saying he needs to break up with Arthur?”
“In a way, maybe. Let go of the notion of you marrying and living on the next farm. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want to marry Arthur. That much I know.”
He held her by the hand and stroked her thumb. Little shivers ran up and down her spine. She couldn’t think with a clear head when he did such things.
“You got me through some very tough times during the war.”
“Like what?”
“Like the days I spent flying over the desert in Africa, the Allies shooting at us. Bullets pierced the fuselage. One of them, I felt the wind of it slice the air beside my cheek. Or the day after the Allied invasion of France.”
“We call that D-day. I listened to the radio all that day, thinking of you. Of what might be happening to you.”
He closed his eyes, and his grip on her hand tightened. “Such carnage, you will never know. I hope you never experience anything like that. I flew support. I still see the bodies.”
She touched the top of his hand. “That’s all over now.”
“Shot down, waiting for the Allies to determine my fate, if I would live or die, all I could think about was you. You and the Lord. If I would ever see you again, so I could tell you how much I love you.”
“Paul, I—”
“Miriam, what on earth are you doing?” Daddy’s voice in her left ear sent her shooting into the air.
“Daddy, I can explain.” Miriam’s voice shook.
“No.” A fire burned in Paul’s chest. “I will. She did nothing wrong, sir. She brought the men a snack and a drink.”
The older man narrowed his eyes, crinkles fanning from the corners of them. “Get back to the house, Miriam.”
“Sir, she—”
“I said, get back to the house.” Mr. Bradford’s voice was as icy as the Alpine peaks in January.
Miriam grabbed the wagon’s handle and bumped away so fast, the coffee urn threatened to overturn.
Her father turned to Paul. “I would thank you to stay away from my daughter. I already regret hiring you. I don’t have to keep you.”
Paul wiped his sweaty brow. “I’ve been working harder than any of the men. You’ve seen me. You know it. What is it you have against me? What don’t you like about me?”
“Your ideology. And your desire to steal my daughter from me.”
If Mr. Bradford hadn’t been wearing that frown as proudly as any dandy wore his zoot suit, Paul might have laughed. “I’m no Nazi.”
“Miriam told me you belonged to the Hitler-Jugend.”
“The government required every boy my age to join. I had no choice. But my parents never bought into Hitler or his fanatic ideals. And neither have I.”
“You fought for him.”
“Again, not by my own choice.”
Mr. Bradford harrumphed.
“And I don’t have plans to steal your daughter. I love her. What I want is to have her by my side every day for the rest of our lives. We’ve lost so much time already. This war stole years from us that we could have had.”
“And where would you take her?”
“Wherever she wanted to go.”
“Back to Germany, no doubt.”
“We haven’t discussed that. But Germany will be a desolate land for many years.”
“That country ripped my wife from me. She was sick when she came back and died soon afterward. I refuse to let it claim another loved one.” Mr. Bradford spun on his heel and marched away.
Paul worked hard the rest of the morning. Once the bell rang for lunch and he washed up, only one seat remained at the large farm table. Next to Mr. Bradford. Two spots down from Miriam. If only he’d been faster. He sat, and Miriam’s father said grace.
His fellow prisoners chattered, but he couldn’t concentrate on their conversations. Miriam sent him sideways glances every minute or so.
“What do you plan to do when the Allies claim victory?”
Paul worked to swallow the bite of pot roast in his mouth so he could answer Mr. Bradford’s unexpected question. “I’d like to become a pilot for a commercial carrier.”
“So, you’ll be all over the place. You won’t even have a home.”
“No, sir, every pilot is based somewhere.”
“Just think of it, Daddy.” Miriam spoke to her father but stared at Paul, little lights in her eyes. “Getting to travel all over the world, seeing new places, meeting new people.”
“Getting diseases and dying.”
Miriam’s voice softened. “Mama didn’t die because she went to Germany.”
“The war broke her heart.” A tear shimmered in the corner of Mr. Bradford’s pale blue eyes. “I will not allow you to steal her from me.”
What would it take to convince him Paul would do right by her?