“This is getting us nowhere,” Skye surmised. “Surely there’s a compromise we can reach?”
“No,” Dusty and Andreas said in unison.
“See!” Mia called from her deck chair. “You do agree on one thing at least.”
Andreas pressed his lips into a thin line. Thrusting the paperwork at Dusty, he stalked past the four of them toward the house.
“See yourself out,” Dusty said in satisfaction, only to be immediately reprimanded by Louisa.
“I’ll go after him,” Skye said, turning away before any of them could argue. She caught up with Andreas as he reached the truck, putting a hand on his arm that he immediately shrugged off.
Skye stepped back, feeling stung.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
Andreas nodded curtly.
“And are we OK?”
He sighed. “I have something for you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Andreas ignored her, moving around to the passenger side and opening the door. Skye knew what was coming, though the dismay still landed like a stone.
“I thought you were going to translate them,” she said, staring down at the bundle of letters.
Andreas rubbed a hand across his roughly stubbled jaw.
“I think it is better that you ask Theo or perhaps Cora to help with this. I am very busy. My friend has bought a bus and needs my help converting it into a pizza restaurant.”
“Oh.” Skye was taken aback by the unexpected detail. “I see.”
“Éla.” He placed the small package on her upturned palm. “It is better this way.”
Was it? Better for whom? Not for her, certainly. Skye’s mind drifted back to that evening after they’d first discovered the letters, sitting together in his truck as he’d read aloud, lost in a past he’d painted so vividly for her. It had felt like a treasure, a portal into another time, and the thought of unpacking the mystery without him seemed wrong.
“I don’t mind waiting,” she said. “Until you do have time.”
Andreas clambered into the truck, slamming the door behindhim. His hands gripped the steering wheel, eyes locked on something far beyond her or the hillside. The engine spluttered into life. Skye stood back, the sting of unshed tears burning her face as she watched him drive away. It wasn’t possible to lose someone you never wanted in the first place, but somehow, that was all she could feel. Andreas had been hers. And now he wasn’t.
Thirty-six
April 1941
Katerina stole from her bed before the light emerged. She had woken in the stark darkness, pulled from slumber by the strangeness of warm breath against her neck. Not a baby goat in her bed on this night but a man. One who would soon become her husband.
Stefanos looked peaceful, the deeply etched lines softened, his battle-weary heart at rest.
It was the day of her wedding, but the chores must still be done. Animals knew not of impending conflict nor celebrations of unity conducted by humans. The ovens at the bakery would not light themselves, the dough that had rested would be impatient for shaping. Would they even have time to eat after the ceremony? Break bread as husband and wife?
Curse this world and this war and the criminals who sought to take the lives and lands of others. Katerina aimed a kick at a loose stone, the dust rising as it ricocheted across the hillside. It shattered a silence that was near complete, save for the hushed whisper of the sea, rhythmic, steady, soothing.
“Kaliméra.” It was Leni, closing the door to her house, her movements quick and soundless. She wore her hair in a thick braid over one shoulder, the dress below it patched yet clean. There was something clutched in her hands that she offered to Katerina.
“I made these for you,” she said. “They are only olive branches. I wanted to use roses, but it is too early. They will not bloom for weeks.”
Katerina stared down at the tightly wound crowns. The leaves appeared gray in the predawn murk, though in truth, they were green. The color of life, of nature, and of hope. From each crown trailed a long white ribbon.
