Friday, May 11
Peter had a rough night. The pain in his side interrupted his sleep whenever he dozed off, and it grew worse as the hours passed. Genevieve slept in a chair next to his hospital bed, and he didn’t think it was the first night she’d slept there, but it was the first night he was conscious to notice.
“The pain’s worse this morning, isn’t it?” she asked when she woke up.
“Yeah.” Bolliger had changed the bandages on Peter’s side about an hour before, and he’d been a little rough. Peter suspected Bolliger had seen part of Genevieve’s kiss the night before.
“Did you sleep all right?” She fingered some of his hair, putting it back into place.
“Like a baby.” He closed his eyes and focused on Genevieve’s fingers as the pain in his side flared again. “A colicky baby.”
Genevieve kissed his forehead, then checked his chart. “No morphine, no codeine. Did Nathan give you something and forget to write it down? You’re past due.”
“Not that I remember.”
She kissed him again, on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Peter heard part of the tongue lashing she gave Dr. Bolliger when she found him. Whether it was an honest mistake or an act of revenge, Peter wasn’t sure, but he was grateful when Vittoria brought him some painkillers.
He slept for a few hours. When he woke, he let Genevieve assist him to a sitting position and managed to eat most of his soup. Then Genevieve brought him a toothbrush, a washcloth, and a clean shirt.
“Better?” Genevieve asked when he was finished.
“Yeah, better.”
“I’m glad.”
A knock on the doorframe pulled Peter’s attention from his fiancée to Rick and Marija standing in the doorway. “Can we come in?” Rick asked.
Peter nodded.
“I’m sailing home tomorrow,” Rick said. “Dr. Bolliger is headed back with some wounded men, and I thought I’d go with him. Anyway, I just wanted to say good-bye. And tell Genevieve thanks for all her help with this.” Rick held up the stub at the end of his left arm.
“Are you ready to go home, Rick?” Genevieve asked.
“Yeah, I think I am. And it turns out Marija’s uncle doesn’t live too far from my parents’ house. Small world, huh?”
Marija smiled. It was good to see her smile. “I bought a ticket, Peter. I leave tonight.” She walked forward and sat in the chair next to Peter’s bed. Genevieve and Rick walked into the hallway to give them a moment alone. “I don’t think Yugoslavia will be safe for me.”
Peter shook his head. “No, probably not.”
“Do you remember the officer who questioned us when we arrived?”
Peter did. He’d been British, and they’d convinced him to investigate Kimby.
“He interviewed all the SOE officers Kimby debriefed and compared their reports. Kimby had skewed them and given credit to the Partisans for Chetnik sabotage. When field agents reported collaboration between the Partisans and Ustaše, he omitted it. When they reported collaboration between the Chetniks and the Serbian puppet government, he exaggerated it. The people making decisions about supplies read Kimby’s summaries,” Marija said. “It’s hard to know how much damage he caused. I suppose it’s sorted out now, but the man investigating wasn’t sure they’d make it public. No one wants a scandal, and Tito’s in power now. They have to work with him if they want to avoid war over Trieste.”
Peter had heard bits about Trieste. The Partisans had arrived first, barely, but the German forces had held out so they could surrender to the New Zealand Army that arrived the next day. The Germans were gone now, but Partisan and New Zealand troops were still there in an uneasy truce.
“Of course, Tito might have won anyway, even without Kimby.”
“I’m sorry, Marija.”
She stared past him. “At least we know why everything happened the way it did.” She was quiet, then her hands moved to her abdomen. “I went to visit the new doctor. My baby seems healthy. He even let me listen to the heartbeat. If it’s a boy, I’m going to name him Miloš Peter.”
Peter smiled. “After his father and his king. It’s a good name.”
Marija shook her head. “No, thanks to you, my child will be born in freedom. He’ll have no dictator and no king.”
“After the Apostle, then?”
“No. After you, Peter.”
Peter was flattered but also surprised.
“You were a good friend to Miloš. You tried to save his life, and you managed to save mine. Thank you.” She held up the passport. “And thank you for this.”
“Will you be all right? Your uncle’s in Pittsburgh?”
Marija nodded. “An uncle, an aunt, and five cousins. Rick’s parents are only a half hour away, and he said he’d come visit.”
“Rick seems like a good guy. An optimist, kind of like Miloš. You know, you’ve both come out of this war a little scarred, but I saw you playing the piano with him. You were smiling, Marija. And laughing.”
Marija blushed. “It’s too soon to draw any conclusions. But he’s nice. And he helps me look on the bright side.”
“If things do work out, maybe you should cut him some slack. Don’t make him propose to you every day for a year before you agree to marry him.”
Marija’s blush deepened. “No, I won’t do that again. If things work out.” She was quiet, then said, “Do you think Miloš would mind . . . if I did get married again?”
Peter considered her question, thinking about Miloš. “Your husband loved you more than anything. He would want you to be happy. So if the opportunity for a good marriage presents itself, I think he’d want you to take it.”
Marija’s eyes teared up. “I miss him. But I promised him I’d be happy. Some days I have to remind myself of that promise every five minutes.” She ran her fingers along the edge of the passport. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come in and cry. I need to get to the ship, but I wanted to say thank you. And tell you good-bye.”
“You’ll write to me? Let me know how everything goes with the move and the baby?”
“I will.” She stood to leave. “Good-bye, Peter. Thank you. For everything.”
* * *
Peter slept most of the afternoon. When he woke again, Genevieve was gone, but someone else was sitting in her place, someone Peter had mentioned in his prayers every day for the past eight weeks.
“How ya feeling, sir?” The deep voice was more familiar than the face, which was thinned and haggard.
“Moretti? What are you doing here?”
Moretti smiled his easy smile. “Bari seemed like a good place to start searching for answers. Thought I’d see if Krzysztof and Marija made it out, see if Iuliana was still around, find your girl and give her this.” Moretti pulled Peter’s Book of Mormon from his pocket and handed it to him. The letters were still inside. “I didn’t expect to find you and Jamie here.”
“Did Jamie explain what happened?” Peter asked.
“Yeah.”
“What about you? The POW camp?”
Moretti stared at the floor. “They sent me to Stalag VII-A near Moosburg, in Bavaria. They stopped separating airmen from the other prisoners awhile ago, so I was with a hundred thousand other POWs. All in there together, behind double fences, getting a little skinnier each day. The guards were starving too, but I guess I never gave ’em much sympathy.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Ah, you don’t have to apologize, sir. I know you were trying to save my life.” Moretti took a cigarette out and played with it but didn’t light it. “There was a bet going around camp, everyone guessing who’d come first—the Americans, the Red Army, or the vultures. I bet on the vultures, but it ended up being our army. April 29, while you and Jamie and Krzysztof were floating in a yacht. I didn’t believe it was really happening at first. The SS put a panzerfaust through the guards’ barracks ’cause they weren’t gonna fight, and the camp went crazy with rumors. I didn’t wanna get my hopes up, ya know? But when they ran the flag up the flagpole, I knew it was true.” Moretti glanced at his hands. “And I’ll confess to you, sir. When I saw the flag, I cried—for the first time in twenty years.” Moretti sounded like he might cry again.
“I’m glad you made it. I was afraid I’d blown your chance when I attacked Raditch.”
“Some army officer asked me about him. Hegel too. Wrote up a report about it, but I don’t suppose the Partisans left ’em alive to face trial?”
Peter shook his head. “No, they were killed.”
“I saw Marija when I arrived, just before she left. She looked good.”
“Yeah, she’s going to Pittsburgh. And you? Are you headed home?”
Moretti nodded. “I’ve got extended leave, then I’m gonna train paratroopers at Ft. Benning so they can drop into Tokyo, I guess. Better them than me. I wanna be done.”
“Yeah.” Peter knew exactly how Moretti felt. The United States was still at war, but he never wanted to fire another weapon as long as he lived.
“I didn’t read your letters. But I read a bit of your book. There wasn’t much else to do in Moosburg.”
Peter glanced at his Book of Mormon, then pulled out the letters he’d written to Genevieve. “Do you want to finish it?”
Moretti shrugged.
“Genevieve has a copy, so I can borrow hers.” Peter held the book out, and Moretti stuck it back in his pocket.
“Well, it was good seeing ya again, sir, but I better get going. I ran into an old acquaintance and talked him into flying me home instead of shipping me home. Don’t wanna miss my flight. And a couple Mother’s Days ago I wrote my mom and told her I’d take her to Yellowstone when I got back. She’s always wanted to see the geysers. The thing is, when I wrote it, I didn’t think I’d live that long. But I’m still here, so I’ll let ya know when we head out west.”
Genevieve peeked around the doorframe and smiled when she met Peter’s eyes.
Moretti stood and reached into another pocket. “This is for you, sir.” He placed a nearly empty package of cigarettes and the unlit one from his hand on the table next to Peter’s bed. “I know you don’t smoke, but back in camp, we used those things like currency, so I ain’t willing to throw ’em away. But I don’t really wanna smoke ’em either. It was kind of a joke up in Moosburg: my lieutenant who didn’t smoke ’cause it ain’t healthy. I figure smoking’s the safest thing I’ve done since enlisting, but I’m gonna give it up.”
“You are?”
“Yeah, but I still ain’t sure why.” Moretti turned to Genevieve. “Pleasure to meet you, miss. Take good care of him, huh?”
Moretti saluted, and then, with half a smile, he turned to leave.
“Wait, Moretti,” Peter said. He wanted to apologize again for sending him to a hellish POW camp, wanted to express gratitude for Moretti’s loyalty and strength and friendship, but he couldn’t find the right words. “Thanks.”
Moretti ran a quick hand across his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was raspy. “Don’t make me cry, sir. I’ll see ya at Old Faithful.” Then Moretti was gone.
Peter had to blink a few times to prevent tears from forming. Genevieve put her hand on his. “I gave him your parents’ address while you were sleeping. He said he’d write.”
Peter nodded. “Thanks.” Peter’s eyes fell to the papers lying on his blanket. “These are for you.”
He watched Genevieve read her letters. She smiled, then she cried, and then she reached for his hand. “It looks like you came back to me after all.”
She kissed him, and he kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her and gently holding her next to the uninjured side of his body, savoring each second.
“I missed you,” he mumbled between kisses.
“Not as much as I missed you,” she said, her hands in his hair. He kissed her again, not as gently as before.
A few minutes later, Peter heard someone clearing his throat. “And I thought you disapproved of patients kissing their nurses.”
“Go away, Jamie,” Peter said without bothering to look at the doorway. “Come back in five to ten minutes.”
“Eww.” Peter recognized Anatolie’s voice.
Peter relaxed his hold on Genevieve and turned to the doorway. Jamie, Anatolie, Iuliana, and Krzysztof were all there.
“Someday you will understand, Anatolie,” Jamie said. “But until then, you had best get used to it. I am sure you will catch your mother and soon-to-be stepfather doing the same thing.”
Krzysztof glanced at Iuliana and smiled, then turned to Peter. “We’re sorry to intrude, Peter. It’s just that we’re leaving first thing tomorrow, and we wanted to say good-bye.”
“We came to see you yesterday and the day before, but you weren’t conscious,” Iuliana said.
Peter met Jamie’s eyes. “You as well?”
Jamie nodded. “I have interviewed the new doctor. He is a good chap, and he will make sure you recover.”
“Interviewed, or interrogated?” Peter asked.
Jamie shrugged.
“And Vittoria?”
“I scared her away when I threatened Dr. Bolliger. But don’t worry, she thinks too highly of Genevieve to let it affect your care.” Jamie grinned. “No huge loss. I still have phone numbers for a few dozen women in England. Some of them will no doubt find it possible to overlook my cane if I am taking them to the fanciest clubs in London.”
Peter laughed.
Iuliana stepped forward and kissed Peter on the forehead. “Good-bye, Peter. Thank you for rescuing me, even if it was an accident. And thank you for keeping Krzysztof alive.” She was crying. Peter knew Iuliana cried easily, but that knowledge didn’t make it any easier for him to keep his own tears from forming. Iuliana gave Genevieve a hug next. “Cherish him. He’s a good man, and he loves you.”
Anatolie stepped forward and gave Peter a parade-ground-perfect salute.
Peter returned the gesture. “Good-bye, Anatolie. And good-bye, Iuliana. Good luck in England.”
Iuliana smiled, then took Anatolie’s hand and led him into the hall, leaving Jamie and Krzysztof.
Peter stared at the faces he’d come to know so well. What do you say to someone when you’ve saved their life and they’ve saved yours and you’ve been through the worst life has to offer together? What do you say to the men you’ve starved with, to the man you’ve faced the firing squad with? How do you say good-bye, knowing it might be for the rest of your life?
“The British postal system is both efficient and reliable,” Jamie began. “And you Yanks have managed to corrupt most of the things you inherited from us, chiefly the language, but I hear good things about the US postal service.”
Peter nodded dumbly.
Krzysztof seemed equally tongue-tied.
Jamie lifted one eyebrow. “‘From this day to the ending of the world but we in it shall be rememberèd, we few, we happy few, we band of brothers.’ I don’t have a brother, Peter. But even if I did, I am sure fraternal bonds would seem weak in comparison to how highly I esteem you. Take good care of him, Genevieve.” Jamie gave her a hug and slapped Peter on the shoulder.
“Thank you for the blow to the back of the head back in that unpronounceable Serb village.” Krzysztof rubbed his neck as he spoke. “And for the other times you saved my life.”
“Thanks for rescuing me from the firing squad. And for everything else.” Peter hesitated, then repeated what he’d said the last time he thought he was saying a permanent farewell. “Have a good life, Krzysztof.”
“The same to you, Peter. The same to you.”
And then Jamie and Krzysztof were gone. Genevieve stood next to Peter’s bed and slipped her hand into his. Peter looked up at her and was grateful when she understood what he needed and wrapped her arms around him so he could hold her. He was letting go of everyone else, it seemed, but not Genevieve. He could hold on to her for eternity.