Our mains arrive, and he asks more questions while we eat. By dessert, I realize that this is the longest I’ve ever talked about my occupation and, indirectly, myself. Like, in my whole life. I keep going because Theodor keeps egging me on. His attention remains focused. His blue gaze never wanders off or grows glassy from distraction, no matter how technical my answers get.
No boyfriend or friend, not even Mom, has had the patience to dig this deep into the whats and whys of my craft.
It’s only now that I realize that Theodor may be using this to avoid talking about himself. But he could’ve opted for a less labor-intensive solution—enjoy our delicious dinner in silence. I’m no chatterbox and, from what I’ve seen of him so far, he’s more than comfortable with silence. Yet, despite that fact, and despite the letters he must be dying to read, he’s been asking me dozens of questions about glassblowing.Weird…
Over coffee, I pick up my phone and open the first scanned letter. “Shall we?”
In response, he moves his chair to my side of the table.
The letter is from Elise to Simon. She penned it shortly after he left the couple’s home in Chambéry in 1943 when the Germans replaced the Italians as the occupying force. The letter talks about her job, their son’s grades at school, the church service that Simon missed. She shares some gossip and tells him how much she misses him already. How hard it is to know that her beloved won’t be home for dinner, nor anytime soon.
“Aha, he must’ve joined a local Resistance group,” Theodor says.
I make a noncommittal sound, dreading the letdown and humiliation when the real reason why he’d left his wife and son becomes obvious. It won’t be glorious. Otherwise, why would Grandpa François be so upset about me reading these letters at last?
With unsure hands, I swipe to the next scanned document. It’s Simon’s reply dated a few days after Elise’s inaugural missive. The handwriting is a lot harder to read, especially the note he scribbled at the top.
Don’t show this to François!
Theodor and I exchange a quick look.
“Grandpa must’ve been about ten at that point,” I say. “I wonder why Simon didn’t want him to read the letter.”
“Let’s find out!”
We read it silently.
Simon begins by asking lots of questions about everyone back home. Then he goes on to tell Elise how much he misses her and their boy. But, especially, her. Diligently, he lists every part of her that he misses, and what specific act involving that part he’s missing the most.
Warmth pinches my cheeks and I shift uncomfortably. I was so not ready for this!
“Now I see why Simon needed the warning at the top,” I say.
He doesn’t reply. I’m itching to glance at him but something holds me back. Instead, I study the wooden flooring. Oak, I’d say. Unvarnished but polished to a sheen.
“Read this part,” Theodor says.
Returning my attention to the screen, I read the paragraph he points to.
Yesterday, I had a chance to help a family to safety. They had an amazing collection of rare antiques with them. It blew my mind. One day I’ll recount to you the wild tales they told me about some of their objects. One in particular was fascinating. If someone told me a tale like that last year, I would not have believed it. But these days, mon amour, I believe anything.
I look up at him. “You think the object Simon is talking about is your key?”
He nods.
We read four more letters, but they have no further mentions of the family with the very special object.
“What do you think Simon meant by ‘helping them to safety’,” I ask Theodor. “Do you think he smuggled those people across the border into the unoccupied Switzerland?”
“Given the proximity of the Swiss border and the fact that Italy was a no go, I agree with your inference.”
I check my watch. “Do you mind if we read the rest of the correspondence tomorrow?”
“Why not tonight?”
“I have a commitment.”
He tilts his head to one side. “Late in the evening?”
