Good afternoon,” Trudy called into the Sunday house where Bradley sat at the table, pen in hand. She shifted the folder under one arm and tried not to drop the basket she carried in the other hand.
He looked up and a smile spread across his face. “Good afternoon.”
“Here’s some chicken potpie my mother made.” Trudy set the basket on the table.
“A wonderful smell”—Bradley leaned toward the basket, where the pie lay inside, wrapped in a cloth napkin. “I haven’t had homemade potpie in … a very long time. I miss my mother’s cooking.”
“Did your mother cook a lot?”
“She did. She was the best. Even though it was just her and I for a long time.” Bradley corked the inkwell and set down his pen. “My father left when I was nine. He still came around, though.”
“I–I’m sorry.” The conversation had taken a more personal turn, but this was what she’d hoped for. Something about him made her want to learn more.
The shadow passed from his face when he looked up at her again. “Enough about that. Did you bring more pictures?”
“That I did. They’re the last roll I shot, including the parade and war bond show.” She pulled the photographs from an old school binder. “Here …”
Bradley thumbed through the set, nodding as he did so. “Good shots. You might want to up the exposure on the one with the midget submarine. A few of the details are lost.”
“Okay.” She knew she had much more to learn about photography.
“Do you have plans today?”
“I always have something to do, especially with Father gone. We manage as best we can.”
“Will you take me around town and introduce me to people? I want to get a good picture of life here during World War II.” The intensity of his tone compelled her to look him straight in the eye.
“I can, today.” Spending the afternoon with Bradley? Her heart raced.
“Do you have your camera? Maybe I can see if my editor could use some of your images.”
“I always have my camera with me.” She was on her last roll of film and didn’t know where she’d find some cash for more. Unless that editor of Bradley’s would pay for photos.
“Perfect.” He stood, picking up a slim notepad. “Where shall we go first?”
“You said that people look differently at us because we’re German. We have nothing to do with the actions of that insane man and the people who blindly follow him. People need to see what we’ve given.” Her throat caught. “You need to meet the Wagners. They had twin sons, both killed in the service and both buried in a Fredericksburg cemetery. Mr. Wagner runs the soda shop in town, and Mrs. Wagner is a seamstress.”
“We’ll go there, then.” He followed her out into the sunlight.
As they left the Wagners’ home, Bradley fought the emotions rising inside. Trudy dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief that she slipped into her pocket. “I don’t know what to say,” was all he could manage.
“I know.” Trudy nodded. She gripped her camera strap, her fingers trembling. “I take my brother to get a soda, and it’s hard to watch Mr. Wagner. I can see the memories in his eyes, remembering how his own boys were the same age as Eric once.”
He touched her elbow, and she released her hand’s grip on the strap and allowed him to take her hand. “May I?”
She studied their hands, fingers interlocked, and nodded. “Can I take you somewhere?”
“All right. Lead the way.”
“I want to show you a place of beauty here. It’s where I shot some of the pictures you’ve already seen.” Her hands were soft, her fingertips having the tiniest bit of callus from working with chemicals.
He needed to tell her about his ties to the town, that one day he’d be back. Instead, he let her talk, pointing out the landmarks from the creek, to where she completed high school, to the historic school building where her mother and grandmother went to school.
“Here we are,” she said, leading him under the shade of a trio of oak trees. “These are live oaks, probably at least one hundred years old.”
The trees had massive trunks, so thick that Bradley could wrap his arms around only half of a trunk. Their thick, gnarled branches spread wide before reaching up to the sky. “These are something else. They’re not as tall as the redwoods in California, but just as majestic in their own way.”
“I’m glad you understand, not being from around here and all.”
“Actually, I’ve been wanting to tell you something.” He took her hand again. “It turns out, I do have ties to Fredericksburg. My father, Micah Delaney, is related to your friends, the Zimmermanns.”
“Really? You’re part of their family then?”
He loved watching a smile bloom on her face. “Yes. He was Tante Elsie’s younger brother.” Bradley explained about his father leaving Fredericksburg and never returning, then about his parents’ untimely deaths.
“I’m so sorry, Bradley.” She covered his hand with her other hand. “Your father was so alone, and he had people here who loved him all along.”
“His loss, and I wish he’d realized that before it was too late.” Bradley shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what the Zimmermanns would think, but they’ve been very accepting. Aunt Elsie recognized me right away, it turns out.”
Trudy had a musical laugh. “I’m certain she did.” Her eyes held a curious light, with the breeze catching the ends of her hair.
“I haven’t felt so at home since … ever.” His throat tightened and he pulled Trudy close, and kissed her. The rosewater scent she wore surrounded him, and the remainders of the soda they’d drunk at the Wagners’ shop were sweet on her lips. She molded perfectly against him. It was as if they’d known each other far longer than two days.
Then she pulled back, giving a little gasp. “Bradley, we hardly know each other.”
“Maybe we know each other better than you want to admit. As far as the day-to-day things go, those are things we can easily learn about each other.”
“But—”
“Is it Kurt? Well, I’m not Kurt. I’m sorry about what happened to him, and I hope they find him.” He allowed himself to touch her chin and raise her gaze to meet his. “You can’t let yourself be in limbo. The war will end, we’ll start moving on with our lives, and where will you be? I’m thankful and blessed to have a job that somehow makes a difference in people’s lives. You have a wonderful talent as well. Are you going to let yourself stay here?”
“Who told you about Kurt?” Trudy stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I should have been the one to tell you. Not someone else.”
“So you do have feelings for me.”
“Of course I do. I’ve felt it from the moment we met, and it frightened me. There’s so much uncertainty in life right now, I don’t see adding to it.” Her brow furrowed, and she lowered her arms to fiddle with her camera strap.
“Even without war, life is still uncertain. That’s where trusting God comes in.” Unspeakable relief washed over him. She cared for him. She’d felt it, too, that instant connection that neither of them were expecting or looking for.
Trudy nodded. “Of course it does. Without my faith in God, I wouldn’t have hope.”
“Well, then. Have faith that whatever’s happening between us will have a happy ending.”
One corner of her mouth twitched. “I’ll try.” But her eyes held an uncertain expression.