Delia grabbed her robe, shoved her feet into a pair of boots, and rushed down the stairs and out the door. The frigid November air hit her, but she ignored it as she ran toward the bell tower.
Inside, the nuns still wore their nightgowns, pulling on the bells’ ropes with all their might. Some were laughing, others crying.
Gita noticed her first. “Delia! The war is over!”
Delia clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and unable to believe her ears. Gita had to shout to be heard over the clanging of the bells, explaining that Joseph had just received a telegram from Paris, announcing that Germany had signed an agreement an hour ago. The armistice would go into effect at eleven o’clock this morning.
Delia fell into Gita’s arms and wept. Tears flooded her eyes as she bawled like a baby. Finn was going to get out! He was going to live. He had made it to the end of the war, and God had been merciful to them.
Joseph had gone to spread the news to the other churches, and soon bells were ringing throughout the city. People began pouring into the streets as the news spread like wildfire, and then the cheering began.
Delia wasn’t the only person still in her nightclothes, but she was freezing and so ran back to her hotel to pull on warmer clothes. By the time she returned to the street, the celebration had expanded as more people filled the narrow alleys. Strangers hugged and kissed one another. Bottles of wine were uncorked despite the early hour. A trumpeter played the Belgian national anthem, its triumphant melody reverberating through the streets of Brussels for the first time in four years.
Delia and Gita strolled arm and arm down the street, waving at people and exchanging blessings.
“Look!” Delia said, pointing to a window on the third floor of a rooming house, where a man unfurled the flag of Belgium. The crowd below roared as the tricolor flag caught the breeze.
Amid the crowd, Delia spotted Joseph’s distinctive limp as he headed back toward the post office. She grinned and waved, hoping to catch his attention.
Instead, he was focused on Gita. A glint of determination brightened his face as he descended on Gita, grinning and wrapping her in his arms and laying a deep kiss on her mouth. Delia’s eyes nearly popped from her head as Gita returned the kiss inearnest. Perhaps it was a good thing that Gita hadn’t yet taken her vows, for it appeared she was about to embark on a different path in life. She and Joseph babbled to each other in joyous French, talking over one another with laughter.
Then Joseph sobered, spoke a few words, and turned to limp away. Gita still beamed at him as she raised her hand in farewell.
“He’s going to the prison,” she said. “The men will still need breakfast.”
Delia sucked in a quick breath. “Does he know when the prisoners will be released?”
“No,” Gita replied. “My guess is that the Germans will still insist on their fussy rules and red tape. It could be days or even longer before they get out.”
Delia hardened her resolve. “No, it willnot,” she said. They were in uncharted territory, and chaos was likely to reign for a while, but she was going to get Finn out of that prison. Maybe even today!
A quiet joy lit Gita’s face as she gazed at Joseph making his way down the street.
“So,” Delia said in a teasing voice. “Joseph?”
A blush colored Gita’s cheeks. “I didn’t realize he felt the same. I had hoped, but you know how terribly serious he always is.”
Delia gave her a friendly nudge. “Just think, you won’t have to become a telegrapher after all.”
Gita beamed. “A telegrapher’swifewill be just fine for me.”
The euphoria on the streets of Brussels lingered, but after a few hours, reality began to sink in. Churches held prayer gatherings, and many people took flowers to the cemetery to mourn for those who hadn’t survived to see this day.
Lines began forming outside the office of the Belgian Red Cross as women demanded the return of their sons and husbands who’d been conscripted by the Germans. A frazzled Red Cross clerk stoodon the stoop of the building, squinting to read aloud from a telegram.
Gita provided the translation. “They don’t know when the men will be repatriated. The Swiss are offering to help with negotiations.”
A woman started screaming, tears flowing down her cheeks as she shook her fists. Gita’s eyes filled with compassion as she listened.
“That woman has three sons and a husband who were taken by conscription. She thinks they were sent to the Eastern Front but isn’t sure. She demands their return immediately.”
Europe would soon be flooded with refugees, returning soldiers, and people like this woman’s three sons who’d been conscripted by the Germans. Were they still alive? Who was going to help all these people? Who was going to negotiate the release of the prisoners at Saint-Gilles? Were they supposed to patiently wait for the Red Cross?
Delia grabbed Gita’s arm. “I’m going to the prison. Will you come with me? I don’t know what we’ll find when we get there, but I need you to translate for me.”
“I don’t speak German, but I’ll help however I can.”
The half-mile walk took longer than usual. Throngs of people crowded the streets, and automobiles honked their horns, both in celebration and out of frustration with the congestion. A hasty edition of the newspaper had been printed, and people clustered around the newsboy to buy an issue. Children waved Belgian flags and sang patriotic songs. Here and there, German soldiers watched the ongoing celebration with baffled expressions.
