Elsa shook her head. ‘I should have left Gollnow with them. I would have noticed Mother was ill sooner. Perhaps found her a hospital.’
‘This isn’t your fault, Elsa. Come stay with me. We don’t have much but—’
‘No, I’m grateful for the offer, but no.’
The woman slowly nodded. She sat beside her, squeezed her hand and stared at the water as it gently lapped against the banks. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you what happened. Perhaps it would have been better if I had kept quiet and you still had hope.’
Elsa found her handkerchief. ‘I’m glad I now know the truth.’ She tried to stem the flow of tears. ‘You did the right thing. Thank you for finding me.’
‘We must meet regularly. Perhaps we could find bigger accommodation where you can live with us. Do you like that idea?’
Elsa inwardly recoiled. Having the death of her family confirmed was too new and too raw to replace them with another. She needed time to process everything she had heard. Her family could not be replaced... like an old sideboard or bed. But it was more than that. She had Klara to think about. And she would be hiding the secret that she had feelings for a British soldier. He had changed everything about her and she could not enter a family and pretend they had never met.
‘Thank you for the offer. I would like to keep in contact, but I have accommodation and a little work. There is no need to worry about me.’ She sounded more confident than she felt. In reality, the future looked uncertain and more difficult than this woman could ever imagine. She dried her tears, blew her nose. She smiled and took Frau Schmidt’s hand. ‘At least the war is over now. I don’t have the luxury of time to feel sorry for myself. None of us do. I would like to sit here a while. On my own. Do you mind?’
‘I understand. I’ll meet you here this time tomorrow. I don’t want you to be alone. I want to help you in any way I can.’
Elsa nodded and watched the woman walk slowly away.
What was there to live for now? Klara, for a start. And the search for Klara’s family. Perhaps Sam would keep his promise and return one day. She could not live her life, or end it, without seeing him one more time. What else could help her keep putting one foot in front of the other so she did not crumble and give up?
We have to rebuild Germany so the next generation can live happy lives in peace, she thought.We must. Somehow. We have to. The children of Germany did not start this war. If we don’t help Germany rebuild, they will have nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Six years later, Cornwall
‘Samuel Walker!’
Sam turned to see a man walking towards him. His features nudged at some distant memory in his brain, but not enough to recognize him.
‘How are you?’ the man went on. ‘I’ve not seen you since you went away to Kent. It’s good to see you again!’
They shook hands, and the distant memory of a skinny fourteen-year-old boy who lived two houses down from Sam’s own finally fell into place. ‘Ben?’
Ben grinned, pleased to be remembered. ‘That’s right. It’s been a long time. How are you? I thought you were dead until I heard you were captured.’
‘You are not the only one. I was imprisoned for a year before the Red Cross was able to arrange the delivery of letters home and I could reassure my family that I was... well.’
‘That explains it. Are you a vet now? You were always talking about being a vet when I knew you.’
‘The war stopped that dream.’
‘It stopped the dreams of many people. Have you come back to Cornwall to live?’
Sam nodded.
‘Can’t blame you. After a war you want to just be home. I expect you weren’t in Kent long enough to call that home. Is Mary with you?’
‘You mean Moira? No, we broke up.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
Ben didn’t sound sorry. Sam’s parents had a similar tone when he had told them the news.
‘It’s almost ten years since it ended. It was probably for the best.’ His pain at losing Moira had faded somewhere on his journey through Germany. Elsa came into his mind, as she so often did.
Ben stepped back and looked at him, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Well, you haven’t changed much. I always looked up to you when I was little.’
