Seventeen

Jimmy looked out his office window. From where he stood, he could see the entrance to the music building. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes to four. Imogene should be arriving any minute.

He dreaded this meeting almost as much as he had their first. In fact, it had taken him several days to work up the courage to give her the bad news.

He thought back on the day the commandant had, in his own inimitable way, denied the request. Jimmy still smarted from the confrontation.

❧

“What is this?” the commandant had roared, throwing the sheet of paper down on his desk.

Jimmy picked it up. “It looks like a request from one of the internees, Sir.”

“I suspect you, Lieutenant—”

Jimmy froze.

“I suspect you of being too easy on these people.” He squinted up at Jimmy. “You college boys are all alike. Soft.” His tone was surly and belittling. He snatched the paper from Jimmy’s hand, tore it into quarters, and dropped the pieces into the wastebasket beside his desk. “No more, or I will be forced to discipline you.” He picked up his pen. “Dismissed.”

“Very good, Sir.”

❧

Jimmy looked nervously at his watch again. Only two minutes had passed. He wanted to be sure she was there before he went in. He dared take no chances of raising suspicion. There had been too many small acts that had caught the commandant’s attention. He didn’t want the man to add them up and see a pattern.

Ah, there she was.

Who was that with her? It was hard to tell, squinting into the sun. Wait—it was Angier Duke.

He watched as the two crossed the quad. Angier was animated and kept touching her arm. At the foot of the steps to the music building, he grabbed her hand.

At least she didn’t allow him to hold it for long.

Jimmy felt an uncomfortable surge of jealousy. Surely Imogene wasn’t interested in Angier Duke?

Now the fellow was following her up the steps.

Well, finally. After a brief conversation, Imogene disappeared through the double doors alone.

For several minutes Angier hung around, looking nervously up at the entrance as if he were about to go after her.

Impatiently, Jimmy crossed his arms. He dared not make his move until he was sure nobody would interrupt them.

At last, with a dispirited shrug, Angier hunched his narrow shoulders and walked back across the quad in the direction from which he’d come.

Jimmy raced out of his office and down the hall. As he reached the front entrance, he saw the commandant hurrying down the steps ahead of him. Jimmy hesitated and moved back into the shadows. To his dismay, the man crossed the lawn and headed, of all places, toward the music building. He strode up the steps two at a time and pushed open the door.

The commandant’s office, adjacent to Jimmy’s, had a window that offered the same view of the quad. Obviously he, too, had seen Imogene enter the music building.

Jimmy was frantic. There was no doubt about the man’s intentions. More than once he had been outraged at hearing tales from other soldiers who had witnessed behavior that bore out their commandant’s reputation with women.

The thought of his precious Imogene being subjected to the savage attention of this monster horrified him. Throwing caution aside, he strode out of his office. Then stopped. Too much was at stake.

❧

Imogene searched the little theater and, seeing that Jimmy had not yet arrived, moved down the aisle and ascended the four steps to the stage. The piano drew her like a magnet.

It had been so long since she’d played.

She adjusted the stool, sat down, and pushed back the fall board. Then, lifting her hands, she ran her fingers lightly over the keys, at first in random chords and then in melody. Without intention, she was playing the Brahms folk song she’d played the night she and Jimmy had met.

She heard the auditorium door open and stopped. “Do you remember when—”

Only it wasn’t Jimmy. Too late, she realized.

The commandant stood at the back of the auditorium, the solid bulk of his silhouette unmistakable.

What had she just said? Had she given anything away?

Her throat constricted.

She couldn’t remember.

By this time the commandant was marching down the aisle toward her.

What had happened to Jimmy?

She stood and bowed, not daring to meet the man’s eyes.

“Pray,” the commandant commanded, striding up the steps.

“Pray?”

He nodded.

Did he plan to kill her?

Imogene’s blood turned to ice. Jimmy had said the man was crazy.

She saw the holstered gun in his belt. Was he going to shoot her in the head just because she’d requested a release for her pregnant sister? Could he be that crazy? And where was Jimmy? Had he meted out the same punishment to the messenger as he was about to mete out to her?

She dared not disobey his orders. If he said pray, that’s what she’d do. And mean every word.

Oh, dear God, help me.

She lifted her clasped hands and bent her head. In a wavery voice, she began to repeat the Lord’s Prayer. “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy—”

“No, no!” the commandant shouted impatiently. “I say pray.” He pointed at the piano. “Pray more.”

Imogene almost fainted. He meant play. “You want me to play the piano.” She pointed to the instrument. “Right?”

“Light!” He nodded vigorously.

This might not turn out to be her best performance, but she would always remember it as the performance of her life.

Relief barely conveyed what she felt. She dropped back onto the stool and lifted her hands—

The commandant walked to the side of the piano where he could look down at her while she played. “My brother pray horn in Yokohama Symphony,” he said.

“Chopin,” she said. “Nocturne in C sharp minor.”

As she played, he nodded his head in time with the music. “Beautifah,” he murmured and moved to stand behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Beautifah music. Beautifah rady.”

He moved his hand down her arm.