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The Tuesday morning dawned bright and chilly. Cream-puff clouds played hide and seek with the Untersberg. I awoke at sunrise. Remorse over neglecting Solomon for the art find of the century plagued me. I donned a pair of slacks and a jacket to ward off the dewy cold and hiked the mile to the barn where he was stabled. We could not have asked for a better morning to ride.
Charlie had taken to breakfasting with me at Gasthof Neuhaus, and it was with surprise and a little discontent that I found Jake alone at our regular table following my ride.
His face broke into a welcoming smile as I approached.
I masked my disappointment. “All alone today?”
“Not anymore. Have a seat.”
He began to rise, but I waved him down.
“Did you go for a ride? How was it?”
“Couldn’t have been better.” I pulled off my leather gloves, tossed them on the table, and folded into the chair across from him. “Solomon is a darling. Do you ride? You should try him out.”
“Perhaps I’ll give him a run this afternoon. I never did hear how you got ahold of such a magnificent animal.”
“I suppose you could say I liberated him,” I said with a wink and grin. “I found him in a stable about a hundred meters from a house that had been decimated by bombs. The stable was in top-notch condition, like something from a well-to-do Nazi family.”
Jake’s brow rose.
“I only mention it because of the red swastika painted on the barn door. I heard the poor thing whinnying and went to investigate.” I nipped a piece of toast off Jake’s plate and took a bite. “Don’t know how long he’d been there, but his water bucket was empty and he drank the entire thing once I refilled it. The saddle and reins hung on the wall.”
“Why Solomon?”
“There was a plaque above his stall. Three other stalls were empty. Only Solomon remained. Have I ever told you about Franziska?”
He shook his head and so I gave him the highlights of my trek through the Black Forest on Franziska’s back, making the harrowing ride and escape far more humorous than it was. Jake laughed over my makeshift reins when Charlie arrived at my elbow.
“Something funny?” He took the chair on my left.
“Your beloved,” Jake said.
I flinched at his reference and glanced at the nearby tables to see if anyone had overheard. Charlie and I hadn’t advertised our relationship, although many of the men knew we were sweet on each other. My first night in Berchtesgaden, Charlie and I had come to an agreement. Unlike our time in Paris, there would be no public displays of affection in front of the men, and we both agreed it would be in poor taste to broadcast our relationship. We slept in different buildings—stolen kisses happened rarely and always in secret.
Jake continued, oblivious of my reaction, “She has a way with the horses.”
“I have news,” Charlie said, his face serious, his voice low.
Our smiles disappeared and I stiffened, bracing for bad news.
“Germany surrendered.”
Nobody moved.
“Are you pulling my leg?” Jake asked.
Charlie’s lips curled and his face lit up. He held two fingers in a V. “Victory in Europe. Hitler’s dead. The war is over.”
“Hallelujah.” Jake whooped and jumped out of his chair, knocking it to the ground. The dozen or so men in the dining room turned to stare. “Germany surrendered, boys!” He pulled me up and danced us around the room in a wild polka. “Victory is ours.”
I laughingly twirled with him only to be passed into the joyful arms of one soldier after another until I finally found myself in the arms of the one man who mattered most.
“Major, can we spread the news?” someone asked.
“Shout it from the rooftops.” Charlie swooped me into a waltz, propelling me around tables and chairs. The room emptied as the men scattered to spread the word. Our dance slowed, Charlie’s face split in a smile so wide his eyes crinkled at the corners, and his face shone with delight. He’d never looked as blindingly handsome to me as he did at that moment.
“Is it really over?”
“Yes, my love, it’s finally over.” His face softened. “Lillian—”
Hearing the words “finally over” produced an explosion of emotions. Relief, joy, sorrow, and guilt flooded my body at once, and to my dismay, they boiled over in the form of tears that soon turned into racking sobs. Poor Charlie. His consternation mirrored my own, but he pulled me close while I babbled incoherently into his shoulder about Magda, Friederich, Feinberg, Lars, and I even threw in Masselin’s grandmother, finally culminating with the atrocities I’d witnessed at Buchenwald. All the pain I’d buried deep and ignored, or held inside, seemed to burst forth like a broken dam. Charlie, bless him, simply stroked my back as the cries shook my frame. Finally, the river came to an end and I dried off with Charlie’s handkerchief. My mind and soul, purged of their surplus of baggage, were left behind with a feeling of wrung-out serenity, a catharsis of sorts.
I wiped away the final remnants of the tears and cleared my throat. “I apologize. I am not usually a watering pot. Honestly, I don’t know where that came from. Perhaps I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
He stared at me, his blue gaze solemn. “You’ve witnessed a lot during this war.”
I glanced away in embarrassment. “Haven’t we all?”
He tilted my chin with his finger, and I searched his face for disgust. “Some of us have seen more than others. Perhaps you more than most.” His jaw flexed and he drew in a breath. “Lillian Saint James, will you marry me?”
My heart fluttered and I produced a watery smile. “You mean that pitiful display hasn’t frightened you off?”
“Oh, my darling, one word that could never describe you is pitiful. You carry a strength so deep it constantly amazes me.” He kissed the back of my hand. “So, what do you say? Are you willing to hitch your wagon to this broken-down soldier?”
“A broken-down soldier and an emotionally impulsive spy? Sounds to me like a match made in heaven. Where do I sign up?”
He lowered his head and his lips descended into a kiss that made me ache for more.
“I love you,” I whispered when we came up for air.
He tilted his forehead against mine, “You’ll be Lillian McNair.”
I couldn’t help the bright smile that spread across my face. Just one more moniker to add to the list. Only, this one would be of my own choosing.
