Werner sat at the table, allowing Alina to feed him dinner as if he were a child. He held the revolver in his lap and watched them suspiciously. Before the war, Gretchen would have taunted him for being paranoid. Before the war, Werner would not have pointed a weapon at her. Before the war, he had both of his hands. Before the war, they had a father.
Werner wore a uniform given by one of the families in town who had lost their son. Gretchen saw dark circles under Alina and Adelaide’s eyes. They must have spent the night polishing the brass buttons and brushing the navy wool.
Gretchen stared at her cousin. She saw the cocky boy who had left and the disfigured man who had returned without a kind word for anyone.
Tante Klegg lifted the still steaming coffee pot from the table. She handed it to Gretchen, who poured three deep saucers for herself, Tante Klegg, and Karl. It was a family tradition to pour their coffee into saucers so the liquid cooled by the time they brought it to their lips. Gretchen wondered if this would be her last time enjoying coffee with her family.
“Why, Gretchen,” Alina exclaimed. She dropped her fork. “You look so…adult!”
“Well, I guess I should, since I am one,” Gretchen said. She lifted her saucer and blew across it.
Karl followed her lead before gulping the coffee down. They had not eaten since morning, and it was past sunset. He eyed the loaf of bread at the table, but did not move when Werner shifted the aim of the revolver in his direction.
“That is an odd thing to say,” Alina said, looking around the room. “What does she mean?”
“Not only am I not Werner’s sister,” Gretchen said. She crossed her arms over her stomach. “I’m older than him, and Tante—er, Mama Klegg—decided I should dress my true age.”
Alina stared at Gretchen, dumbstruck.
“Are you planning on using that?” Gretchen said, gesturing at the revolver in Werner’s hand.
“Maybe,” Werner said, not taking his eyes from Karl. “I don’t like the look of this one.”
Gretchen held her saucer with both hands and sipped. “Has anyone told you what a terrible host you are?”
Tante Klegg glared at Gretchen. “How was your portrait session? Did you have time to see the president?” she asked Alina.
Alina clapped her hands together. “It was magical! We put it on our mantle. Does it look nice?” She gestured at the fireplace opposite the stove.
“Your mantle?” Gretchen said. “How dare you—”
“How do you mean, magical?” Tante Klegg said, interrupting Gretchen. “I have never been. I would like to know everything.” She walked over to the mantle and studied the photo.
Karl followed. They had taken one photo and framed it in gold gilt. They had not paid for any sort of coloring. It was a tintype on reflective metal, the cheapest option. Werner sat on a plush, high-backed chair. Alina stood beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder and hiding his missing arm behind her skirts. He looked stern, she looked shy. It was a perfect composition.
“This is fine work,” Karl said.
“No one asked you,” Werner said.
Gretchen plopped into the remaining open chair at the table. Adelaide glowered at her.
Alina described how the photographer put Werner in the chair out of respect for a war veteran. How she stood beside him, in such a way so her skirts would mask his…delicacy.
“Don’t be stupid,” Werner said. “No amount of skirts is going to hide my lost arm.”
“Werner, my child, your wife says these things to be kind to you,” Adelaide said.
“Who asked her to be kind to me?” Werner said. “I don’t need kindness, I need my arm.”
“I’m your wife,” Alina whispered. She stared into her lap. “Are you not happy that we married?”
Werner closed his eyes. “Of course I—look, I wrote that when I was a child, before all this happened. It’s not that I don’t want to be your husband, but I never thought it would be like this.”
Gretchen frowned. “How old was that letter, Alina?”
Alina blanched.
Gretchen stood and placed her palms on the table as she leaned closer. “How old was that letter?”
Alina cleared her throat. “Three years?”
Tante Klegg choked on her coffee. Adelaide’s saucer crashed to the floor. It took every ounce of willpower for Gretchen to resist throwing herself across the table at Alina’s jaw. Karl grabbed her elbow, dragging her from the table.
“And how much of that letter was real?” Gretchen demanded. “Did Werner write that he wanted a double wedding or not?”
Werner glared at Alina, but she would not look up from her lap. “Linnie,” he said, his tone patronizing. “Did you falsify my letter?”
Alina shook her head. “I added to it.”
Werner’s mouth gaped open.
“My cousin’s wife is a gifted artist, isn’t she, Tante Miller?” Gretchen cast a sarcastic look at Adelaide. “She can mimic handwriting, it seems, so no one can tell the difference. Such a trustworthy girl to bring into this saint-like family of ours.” Gretchen laughed. “Never fear, Alina. You belong.”
“You’re one to talk,” Alina said. “Hiding a Confederate in this house! Letting me think you were going to marry him!”
“Who said anything about him being a Confederate?” Gretchen said.
“I am not the fool you take me for,” Alina screamed. “Do you think I cannot hear his accent?”
“Who said anything about Gretchen marrying anyone?” Werner said.
“You did, in your stupid letter,” Gretchen breathed. Her corset was fighting her again. “You wanted to have a silly double wedding.”
“I wrote no such thing,” Werner said.