She stopped too. Her blue eyes stared back at him, the pure colour of the summer coastline of his childhood. ‘There is only one way to find out. We have to try. I don’t want to fall out with you, Sam. You are the only person I know around here. You are like a friend.’
At what point, he mused as he studied her, had her voice softened? ‘Is that what we are? Friends?’
‘Yes. No. I used the wrong word. Compans.’
‘Companions?’
‘Yes, that is what I meant.’
He nodded stiffly. ‘Then we will not talk of sides. Let’s shake on it.’
She reached out her hand. He awkwardly took it in his, shaking the cold, soft, dainty hand a little too briskly to seal their pact. No more talk of sides or loyalties. They were just three people travelling together. What had kept them on opposite sides would now be ignored, boxed away, forgotten with theunspoken knowledge that at some point it was bound to rear its ugly head again.
‘Friends.’
‘Friends.’
‘Friends,’ copied Klara as they sealed their pact.
* * *
Reaching the Elbe River was a major landmark for the both of them. Its calm, northwest route began in the Giant Mountains not far from what had once been the Czechoslovakian–Polish border, and sliced Germany in two until it spilled out into the North Sea. Sam knew how important the crossing was for Elsa. The large river would offer some protection between her and the advancing Russians. For him, reaching the river meant he would be closer to the approaching British forces. When he’d last had news of them, they had advanced through Belgium and were grouping on the western border of Germany. It was a milestone that was met with silent exhaustion and an ember of hope.
They approached the river on the south side of Wittenburg, at first unsure how they would cross it. Thankfully the old bridge, constructed on stone pillars and reinforced by solid iron girders, remained undamaged by Allied bombing and continued to provide a lifeline across the wide stretch of water and its surrounding floodplains. The fields nearby had become temporary resting stops and were filled with fleeing refugees who were waiting to cross. Sam, Elsa and an exhausted Klara joined them, taking courage in numbers. Several dead horses, their bodies swollen with decay, lay by the side of the road, each one a macabre testament to how many thousands of refugees had crossed the river in the days, weeks and months before them.
Sam found a spot under a damaged wagon where they could sit and rest. The risk of discovery was far too great to speakopenly, even in hushed tones. They communicated by gesture alone. Even though they had recently argued, now that they could not speak openly he suddenly missed their conversations, no matter how brief and mundane they had been. He would rather argue and barely speak than not be able to speak at all. Food and drink were still scarce, but he had some Brussels sprouts he’d filched earlier that day and water from the river. He divided up portions for Klara and Elsa. When Elsa took her share, he fancied that her fingertips lingered a little longer on his palm than was needed. He did not recoil and wondered if she felt the same craving for human contact as he did. Their eyes met, their earlier argument now firmly in the past. They were bonded in their desire to stay apart from the rest. He knew his reason for wanting it so, but he could not fully understand hers.
They spent the next hour sitting side by side, watching the people around them. Every aspect of humanity had descended upon the field with the same thought in mind, to camp for the night and make the most of safety in numbers. Children found new friends and played together, the war temporarily forgotten. Even Klara ventured out from beneath the wagon to watch the other children playing. Elsewhere, small family groups sat around methodically built bonfires and ruminated on the journey ahead. An elderly couple wrapped in blankets huddled together in the back of a wagon and stared blankly up at the stars as if they were bewildered to find themselves out in the open. A woman sought solace by cutting her family’s hair, and offered the same to anyone who asked for it. Eventually, too tired to carry on, she gave up and settled down on the ground to rest. Sam ran a hand through his own hair and, not for the first time, felt disgusted by how he must look.
Elsa noticed and abruptly left his side to talk to the woman, returning triumphant with a pair of scissors in her hand. She indicated for him to sit down. Warily, he did so and she cameto kneel behind him. He stared at the ground, his cheeks burning in shame as he felt the warmth of her body against him. To her credit the condition of his hair did not faze her and she began gently raking it with her fingers in the absence of a comb. His body weakened at her touch, and he closed his eyes. The snip of the scissors evoked simpler times when, as a young boy, he would sit at the kitchen table to have his hair cut. He remembered his mother’s comforting presence behind him and the aroma of recent baking filled the air. He smiled at the memory. The abrupt silencing of the scissors indicated the haircut was over. He opened his eyes to find Elsa looking at him, the scissors hanging loosely in one hand as she stared. Once again he had that kick of recognition that he could not explain. She was smiling at him, yet her face had a strange expression, as if a little surprised, and he suddenly felt worried that he might look worse than before.
Aware they were not alone, he asked in one of the few German words he knew, ‘Gut?’
She nodded reassuringly. ‘Gut. Sehr gut.’
Her compliment made him feel ten feet tall. She looked genuinely pleased with his appearance. While she was returning the scissors, he constructed a temporary buffer against the easterly wind by using some canvas from the back of the damaged wagon. She crawled under the wagon and into the makeshift tent several minutes later, impressed by his efforts. They exchanged tentative smiles and set about making their new home a little more comfortable before the temperatures began to plummet with the setting of the sun.
* * *
An hour later, despite his best efforts, Elsa and Klara began to shiver beside him, so it felt only natural to circle Klara with their bodies and hold each other close. Finally, thesun disappeared, sucking all the light with it and casting the field and its anxious silhouettes into darkness. They lay down together to sleep, still wrapped in woollens, gloves and hats, and not daring to remove their boots. After some minutes they moved closer, until finally they lay in a comforting embrace of three, finding both warmth and reassurance in their physical closeness. They had found what they needed and wanted without speaking a word.
Although there was a child between them, it was Elsa’s presence that made the greater impact. His forearm rested behind her shoulder, holding her close. His shins barely touched hers beneath Klara’s feet, yet this modest connection to her held as much significance for him as a full embrace. It felt good to feel a woman again, snuggled towards his body as if she had always belonged there. Yet this woman was German and to find pleasure in her company was something he had not been prepared for. What would his family, friends or fellow soldiers say if they knew how good this felt? Would they call him a traitor? He had not gone to war with the intention of betraying king and country, yet here he was, questioning why he should be fighting in a war that meant he killed people like Elsa. This woman had lost family and friends to this war as he had done. Peace had to start somewhere.
Her long, delicate, curved lashes briefly fluttered in her sleep. Her jaw moved too as if she had a succulent berry in her mouth and was savouring the moment. In her dreams she was carefree, but in reality she had come into his life vulnerable and terrified of the Russian Army.
The war was not of his making. And it was not of Elsa’s making either, nor of this sweet child’s. Was this how it would feel having a wife and a daughter? It was in that moment he realized that he was on the precipice of falling for Elsa, if he allowed it. He couldn’t recall looking at Moira this way. He hadnever wanted to share in her dreams as she slept. He had never envisaged a future beyond their engagement. Yet here, now...
He closed his eyes and turned his head away, as if he could somehow distance himself from the domestic scene. His attempt only seemed to heighten the sound of her quiet sleeping breaths beside his, reminding him of companionship, softness and warmth. The woman beside him had remained beautiful despite weeks of living on the road.
After a while he turned his head back to hers. She was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the turmoil inside his head. Inside his body. He gently moved Klara’s sleeping body higher so her head now lay between them, but he could still see the rise and fall of Elsa’s chest, so close yet so far. Klara lifted an arm so it came to rest on top of his face. He smiled and allowed it to stay there. He closed his eyes, consumed by their comfort and humbled by the trust they placed in him. As he drifted off to sleep he made a promise to himself that he would remember this moment. Bad memories always outlasted the good, but not this time. This would always be a good memory, the moment he felt as if he had come home.
Chapter Ten
Elsa glanced at Sam. They had crossed the Elbe River at dawn and had been walking ever since, slipping away from the other refugees so they could speak in English without fearing they would be overheard. She’d quickly realized that although being with other people had, at first, felt safer and comforting, she could see Sam’s fear at being discovered and there was always the risk Klara might let it slip that he could not speak German. She would rather talk to Sam than anyone else so they had slipped away from the others — and she’d been making up for it ever since.
‘I like to talk. Don’t you?’ she asked as he remarked on her enthusiasm.
‘I don’t have much to say.’
