Author's Note: Thank y'all for your unbelievably wonderful comments. I'm not going to lie, for a fun-writing fanfiction, this mess has been difficult to write. I didn't realize when I started this story how sticky the subject matter was bound to get but I feel like I can't write this story unless it is addressed head on. That's mostly why the past couple chapters Ruth has been chilling in the USA while I work things out for Leon. But don't worry! It's all going to change! I promise! Yall are wonderful, I hope this chapter is satisfactory!

July 1946
USA, Tennessee

Closing my eyes, I prop my bare feet against the wooden railing and lean back in the rocking chair. There is a rhythmic chorus of insects whirring in the trees. Their evening song echoes across the open yard. The heat is a comfort, humidity wrapping itself like a blanket around me. I could almost fall asleep.

The screen door creaks. I open one eye to see Florence emerging with a bottle of chilled beer in each hand. She lets it slam shut on its own and the screen bounces noisily before settling into the frame. Her gaze scans the field in front of her family's country home. A few of the cattle graze in the far corner of the fencing, one laying down with a calf cuddled into its side.

"You've thrived here." I comment as she meanders towards me.

"It's in my blood, I suppose." She sits down in the chair next to me and holds out a beer, "Was bound to happen sooner or later."

"You just never expected sooner?"

I tip back the bottle, the condensation on the glass slipping between my fingers. Florence props her boot up on her knee, smoothing out the denim on her pant leg like it was silk and not soiled, work slacks. She lights a cigarette and sinks into the seat, blowing a cloud into the thick, summer air.

"My father was getting on in years when I left." She calmly states, "When I first got back, I couldn't believe he was actually gone."

I nod, "Did you get the chance to say goodbye?"

"He was the one who brought me to the train in Memphis before I left for the front." Florence gives me a brief smile, "That was our goodbye."

I press my lips together and exhale through my nose, "How is your mother?"

Florence snorts, "Fit as a fiddle, though not according to her. She's always complained of one ailment or another. That woman will outlive me, I swear. She's healthy as a horse."

"Will I meet her?"

"Do you want to meet her?" Florence takes a swig from her bottle, "Yes, I suppose I should swing you by the town house while you're here. She stays there mainly, always has. It was just me and dad out here most of the time while I was growing up."

"I'd prefer it out here as well." I lay my head back and close my eyes again, "Do you ever get lonely?"

"No, I don't get a chance to be honest. The ranch and the rail line keep me pretty busy."

"You certainly are a wonder, Florence Wilkins."

"How's your brother?"

"Doing very well, started work again. Nothing keeps that man down."

"I'm not surprised. You hear from anyone these days? From back then?"

She speaks like it's been more than just a year since we were all in Austria. I know who she means to ask after but I don't know if I want to go there yet.

"Tab is back in Indiana, he's doing fairly well. I got one letter from him around Christmas. I think he might have buried some of his wounds from war deep down." I take another drink, "They are only coming to the surface now."

"Poor Tab."

"Never thought I'd hear those words from you."

"He ended up impressing me. How well he dealt with… you know…" Florence takes another drag and peers over at me, "Everything that happened at the end there."

I stand restlessly, the neck of the bottle held lightly between my fingers. I approach the porch railing and lean my back against the nearest post. I catch the flash of a snake falling from one of the willows by the pond in the field. It leaves a curly-queue ripple on the stagnant surface of the water. I take another drink.

"Have you ever tried to contact-"

"No." I cut her off, my eyes falling to the dusty wooden boards under my feet.

"So I'm assuming he hasn't as well."

"He wouldn't know where to start, if he's even alive." I answer with a shrug, "Besides, have you seen the newsreels? Things are really bad over there. He's probably too preoccupied trying to make sure his loved ones are fed."

"He left without a word?"

This is the first I have spoken with anyone about Leon Wagner since arriving home nearly a year ago. It's like prying open rusty hinges in my gut. I swallow hard and peer over at her. Florence sets her boot on the ground and leans forward onto her knees. Her blonde French braid tumbles over a slim shoulder as she narrows her eyes on me. She waits. I sigh.

"He asked me to send his mother a book and a letter home, in case he didn't make it."

"Did you?"

"Can I tell you something kind of crazy?" I give her a half grin, "Sending it by mail feels so insubstantial to what I felt for him. Whether he's alive or not, I feel the need to give it to her… myself."

I lift an eyebrow. Florence purses her lips with an even nod of her head.

"You mean go to Germany." She blows smoke out the side of her mouth, her gaze returning to the far horizon, "That's a hell of a trip."

"I know."

"Especially now."

"I know."

"When do you leave?"

I snort, "Whenever I get enough money saved. It may take some time but I have been making a good living at the factory."

"You going alone?"

"Looks that way."

"No. You're not." Florence stands and marches towards the railing, "And you'll be going a lot sooner than that if you wish it."

I scoff and shake my head, "What on earth- Florence Wilkins-"

"Don't argue with me on this." She smirks, "Just say yes."

"I can't let you."

"Too bad because it's happening whether you like it or not." Florence lifts her bottle towards mine and clinks them together, "I've got more money than I know what to do with. I can't sit here and listen to you talk about when you'll have enough scrounged up. On top of that, it might be trickier getting into that cesspool than you think. We have some family friends in DC that might come in handy. You know I'm right. Don't get prideful, just accept it."

I bite my lip. Florence lifts an eyebrow, but I don't argue.

July 1946
Germany

The doctor had come and gone. There was nothing to be done. Just wait.

Leon pats his mother on the shoulder after the physician leaves. Sitting in watchful silence, her bright blue gaze drifts up from the old woman on the thread bare sheets. In the faint light of the single lamp on the bureau, the somber lines of Frau Wagner's once beautiful countenance are dimly visible. Her mouth down turned, she sighs and stands.

"You go sleep." He lifts an arm towards the door, "I'll stay up with her. If anything changes, I'll come fetch you."

She grasps him by the shoulder and wordlessly leaves the room. Like everywhere else in the house, the walls have been stripped bare. Most of their possessions have been bartered away, except for the bare necessities. Though it isn't as prominent as in the big cities, there is a thriving black market in their little village with the occupying soldiers. Trades for cigarettes, extra rations, chocolate; anything really is available. For a price.

Leon's stomach lurches with hunger. He retrieves the book on the bedside table. Leafing through the worn pages, he pauses at chapter twenty two.

"Read to me, liebchen."

Leon glances up. He hadn't realized she was awake. Her eyes are closed but loosely, relaxed. The doctor had given her something before he had left to make her more comfortable. He was thankful to see it working. He clears his throat.

"From that time on, the world was hers for the reading." He quotes slowly and clearly, "She would never be lonely again, never miss the lack of intimate friends. Books became her friends and there was one for every mood."

"Who was the young lady?"

Leon stares at the page. He wets his bottom lip.

"The one whose name is on the inside cover?" She persists.

He had forgotten Ruth had inscribed her name into it. He had kept the novel to himself until Hannah had become bedridden. He had started reading aloud to her in the evenings and would leave it by the bed after she drifted off. She must have gotten curious one day and picked it up.

"Is she Jewish?"

Leon glances up with a half-smile. Hannah's eyes are open, the same midnight shade as Ruth's. She studies him as she used to when he was a little boy.

"With a name like Ruth, it made me wonder." She explains, turning her snowy head towards him.

"I don't believe so." He shuts the book, running a worn thumb down the spine, "She is an American."

"Ah, an American girl." Hannah says quietly, "They are a diverse lot. What is she like?"

"Dark." Leon leans back in the chair, "Dark hair, dark eyes. Quiet at first, at least you think she is in how she moves. But then she looks at you and-" He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, "I sound ridiculous."

"Tell me more, please."

He meets her eyes with a heavy breath.

"You know, my friend from school, Albrietcht Huber, he was in the Luftwaffe. He told me about when a hole was punched into the side of their aircraft and sucked out the gunner. The pull was so strong, he was certain he was going to be dragged out into the empty sky by the draft. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. Deafening and all consuming."

"When you saw this Ruth then…"

"I felt like I was being pulled out into nothingness. Everything I was, all I had done-" He swallowed hard, "Everything muted. I was at peace."

"Love will do that you know." She smirks knowingly, "I should know. I've loved enough in this life of mine."

Leon shakes his head, lowering his gaze to his hands.

"You do not think it was love?" Hannah coaxes gently.

"I wonder if I am capable of it anymore."

"Why is that, Leon?"

He can feel the ache in his throat grow at the thought. He knows he can never tell her what happened during the war. Not Hannah Stahl, his nanny since birth. The woman who had scolded him for making messes and cleaned his cuts. Wiped his tears when Paul would exclude him from games with the older boys. The woman who had taught him to read before he had even started school. She had praised every piece he had ever written. The woman who had loved him even in the uniform that was an affront to her existence. The Jewish woman who, along with her grandson Elya, were the sole survivors of their family.

Leon ran a hand over his face and breathed deeply.

"Come here."

He peers up. She is holding out her spindly arms towards him, the mottled skin on her hands as supple as velvet. Without hesitation, he allows her to press his face into her shoulder as she used to when he was a child.

"Liebchen, dear boy." She says quietly which ushers a flood of tears from Leon, "I forgive you."

He sniffs and pulls away, dragging his sleeve under his nose, "You don't know, Hannah. You don't know what it is I have done. I don't deserve it."

"No, I suppose you don't deserve it." She answers gently, "But you need it desperately."

"It cannot be that simple."

"Sometimes it is, my boy."

Leon rises on his one leg and grasps one crutch under his arm. He maneuvers towards the half open window. Night steeps the courtyard below, insects humming in the last of the summer foliage in the trees. He rests his elbow against the pane.

"I shouldn't move past it. How can I?"

"You won't move past it and perhaps it's best you don't. These things should never be forgotten." Her brittle voice fills the room like a white light, "But you can grow from it, let the ashes fall away and learn to live with it. All of you must now. It's the only thing left. You must for your mother, brother, my little Elya. You must."

He pivots towards her once more and she smiles before closing her eyes.

"Don't let your heart grow dead from self-hatred. Hating yourself is as destructive as hating someone else." She lifts her branchlike hand and beckons him over, "Now come and read to me. I am feeling tired."