This is the final chapter. After this the epilogue.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
UNITED STATES - The White House May 8 1946
Reflections - Edward Aaron Miller
The reception room of the East Wing of the White House was used primarily for events such as balls and dinners to honour visiting dignitaries, or sometimes at the behest of the incumbent president, a concert by his favourite jazz orchestra. No one would dispute the popularity of the Glenn Miller Orchestra who had entertained the troops in France and England and who had performed at the White House. Other events held in the reception room included the honouring of war veterans and medal of honour recipients.
The room was large and airy, with its entranceway covered by drapes suspended at waist height by ornate tiebacks, huge tassels of gold or bronze depending on the current theme of the soft furnishings of the room. A lavish gilt grand piano stood to one side, more towards the right side of the entrance to the room. Manufactured in 1938 by Steinway & Sons to celebrate their 300 000th piano, it was donated to the White House, and was now a permanent feature in the East Room.
Still, the main feature of this grand room was the three chandeliers, spectacular fixtures suspended from the ceiling of the room with a diameter of 6ft, each consisting of 6000 cut glass pieces and with a weight of 1200 pounds. It was an instant eye catcher, particularly when the chandeliers were lit.
As an historian, Edward Aaron Miller had done his homework just after he, as one of the family party, was invited to the White House to attend the medal ceremony. He'd spent some time studying the room where he now sat at the end of the second row so that he could stretch his callipered leg. Next to him sat Lucy who seemed equally overwhelmed by the opulence about her, but mostly, just by being at the heart of the American government with President Harry S. Truman himself in attendance. Next to Lucy sat Katrine and young Célestine, then his mother Althea and Isaac Wachinski.
It was a blessed day for the families of the recipients who at that moment were waiting in another location before they were ushered into the East Room.
Edward glanced down the row. He thought Katrine looked somewhat nervous, while his mother's hands couldn't stop shaking. Lucy was calm but inside, he knew, she was a little worried about Charles and the children. She had wanted to stay at the hotel to watch over three hyper active kids. But fortunately, families of the recipients, himself included, had made a request that the little ones be brought along - some were children of those recipients who had died on the battlefields - and be entertained by female staff in a separate room. Once or twice Lucy had wanted to get up and see what their kids were doing. Little Charlie at five and a half, Evan at four and Winonah at two were terrors when they were all together. More than once he reassured her that the kids were okay.
Sighing, he thought how quickly a year had passed since the end of hostilities in Europe, exactly one year ago. He had been following the events via radio and newsreels and had known by April of 1945 that the end of the war was very near, especially after the grand orchestrator of the Reich, the dictator Hitler, had killed himself a week before German High Command, or those left of that body, officially signed the contract of surrender. Personally he thought that der Führer was a coward who dishonoured the very beliefs of the SS and who deserted the people of Germany. With his suicide, he left behind those who had followed him like slaves, only to relinquish their fatherland to the Allied Powers.
Up until that moment, they had had no idea where Charlie was on the field of battle in Europe. Edward had some sketchy information as the 5th Infantry Division was accompanied by a war correspondent. He knew they had liberated Buchenwald and Dachau, but where exactly Charlie was had remained a mystery to them.
Even now Charlie had not spoken much of the actual battles he'd been involved in. Edward could understand that. The trauma of witnessing all manner of brutality and injury had had a devastating effect on soldiers, including his brother. When Charles phoned their mother last year, Edward had been told only then that he'd been promoted several times and was now a brigadier-general. It was not as if they demanded he inform them of his every move. Yet, they greedily absorbed every morsel of news that came their way. Once, Katrine herself had phoned their mother to tell her that she had married Charles. That had come as a shock to them, though perhaps not to their mother.
"Mama?" Edward had been surprised when she'd phoned him with the news. "They only just met!"
"What can stop love that can be so all consuming?"
"After what, just two months?"
"I married your father after just two months, Edward. Charles was ready to fall in love again. You should have heard Katrine's voice. Their love - I think it is very mature. Charles has met the right person at last. Just goes to show Lucy and Charles were never really meant to be."
"Darn! And Charles didn't inform you himself?"
"Well, you know your brother. Never one for the big announcements. He'd win an Olympic medal again and not say a word about his achievement.
"He sounds happy, Mama."
"Yes, you could hear it in his voice. He didn't say much about Katrine except that he loved her. Now that is something that was hard for him to say. I am very happy for them, Edward. Try not to begrudge him that."
How had Mama noticed that he'd momentarily felt the old, old resentment towards his brother? Charles the Olympic medallist, Charles the coxswain of UW's rowing eights and West Point rowing eights for four years. Charles the newly minted one star Brigadier General. Charles the hero of Vidouville, St. Clair, Remagen, Buchenwald and Prague. It was inevitable. He couldn't help himself and Mama had picked up instinctively on his change of mood.
It was wrong of him, of course, to begrudge his brother anything. Yet resentment, however small now, was something that remained hidden in the furthest corner of his heart. Most times he forgot completely and then they were just simply brothers who could get into good fights and banter, and go rowing these days at Poughkeepsie. He loved Charles. Sometimes Lucy would tell him that it was natural and human to feel that way. Then Lucy would tell him in her gentle yet firm manner, "Besides, I chose you, Edward, because I love you. There is no doubt about that."
"I know, Mama," he'd said on a sigh. "Katrine is very beautiful, just like Charlie described her in his first letter to me. I am so happy that they found young Célestine. What an astounding miracle that was!"
"What a story they're going to tell!"
And what a story it was. Charles had been critically wounded during the final skirmish in Czechoslovakia. Katrine had been frantic when she telephoned them. They'd airlifted him to the American military hospital at the US base outside Paris. The war was over for Charles. He had recovered very quickly, telephoned them as well to speak of returning to America. It was a long year in which so many things had to be done. Katrine had phoned many times, sometimes just to tell them how bull-headed Charles was about his post-operative treatment and rehabilitation.
They accepted Katrine and Célestine, a wonderful, brilliant child into the family, embracing them with love. Célestine had become an instant hit with her adoptive little brother Evan who followed her around the house and wanted to play the violin like his big Sis. Evan had apparently asked her about the tattooed number on her arm. She'd told him that it was a reminder that she would never be lonely again. Evan's response had been priceless when he'd asked, "Can Papa make one for me so I can't be lonely?"
Now, sitting in the East Room of the White House, he rocked back to the present when the recipients marched in and took their seats in the front row. Everyone stood at attention when President Harry S. Truman entered with his entourage, the president taking his place behind the podium.
Edward experienced a burning sensation in his chest as he looked at his younger brother, now a one star brigadier general who looked resplendent in the dress uniform of his rank. Charles looked stern, he thought, as if he were afraid to smile. One moment, just a glance from Charles, and Edward smiled at him. All the rancour he'd ever felt at not being where Charles was, at not serving his country in battle, flew out of him at that moment. He felt a sting of tears as the group took their seats.
I am very, very proud of you, my brother.
"My fellow Americans..."
Reflections - Althea Miller-Wachinski
Althea Miller-Wachinski could not contain her excitement. She was in the White House which in a way did not overawe her that much. It was witnessing her son being honoured by the president of the United States himself for bravery in battle that would be a fantastic story she'd be telling her friends and neighbours.
Charles deserved the honour. He deserved every happiness that the good Lord chose to bestow upon him. She had watched him grow from a belligerent child who defended his sickly older brother and got into more scrapes with the principal than many young students in his school. Not that Edward couldn't defend himself. When they were together they were a force to be reckoned with.
He had had so many disappointments, so much pain over the years, it was no wonder that he always looked like he was scowling. He had been unreachable, unapproachable, especially after his disappointment with Lucy. He'd gone away into the night and returned in the early hours of the morning never telling them where he had been. But she was a woman, a mother, and had sensed that pubs in the dark alleyways of downtown Detroit were his primary destination. Pubs and women, though she could swear that Charlie was not a drinker.
He was always going to be in the military where he could expend most of that dark, pent up energy and repressed anger. Other times during that terrible month in which he had been betrayed by his brother and Lucy, he'd spent on Lake St. Clair rowing in their long boat for hours until he returned home exhausted.
The war hardened him. It turned him into a person reluctant to share his experiences except when Katrine was the willing ear. While war made him somewhat cynical and tough, Katrine was the foil, his soft side. When she stood next to him, Althea's heart rejoiced for only then she could see the Charles who was happy, filled with joy, his eyes always shining and the dimples more and more visible when he smiled. Althea could not have loved a nicer person than Katrine. When her daughter-in-law phoned her that first time, she was ready to love her unconditionally, not only because she brought such changes in Charles, but for herself.
She loved Katrine and she loved Célestine, the little girl who had been thought dead for so long. So many things had happened since they arrived in America, ever since Charles had recovered from his injuries. Charles had formally adopted both Célestine and young Evan. Katrine and Célestine had both received citizenship and were now US citizens. Charlie himself could claim French citizenship because of his marriage to Katrine. They were good for Charles. His love for Katrine and especially for Célestine was so palpable. It brought joy into her heart that her son was happy at last.
She and Isaac had finally made the decision to uproot themselves from Detroit and relocate to New York state. That way they were near to Charlie, Katrine and the children, and could drive to Boston on weekends to visit Edward and Lucy. Isaac had sold his practice and set up a new one with a small group of doctors in New York City. The new arrangements worked well for all of them. She made new friends through the church group she joined and liked their new neighbours. She never felt like she missed Detroit and Isaac had been happy enough when she bought them a new queen-sized bed!
Now, looking about her, touching Célestine's hand in a comforting gesture, she smiled at the child.
"Are you nervous, Ma?" Célestine asked in perfect English, although Althea could understand and speak some French. She'd been quite good at school and loved to practice her skill with both child and mother.
"I am not."
"Your hands are shaking, Ma."
Althea smiled kindly at Célestine. "You are too sharp today, child. I am a little nervous. Don't tell anyone!"
"Sure, I won't."
Althea's eyebrow lifted. Very soon, she thought, Célestine would lose her French accent. She was picking up Americanisms quickly.
"Thank you."
Célestine touched her hand and couldn't suppress the little giggle. Althea could never stop looking at her granddaughter. The child had survived all manner of atrocities in the concentration camp, had witnessed inmates shot dead in front of her, had suffered extreme privation, been ill with typhus to the point of dying, all before she reached the age of nine. Sometimes, when they visited over a weekend, Célestine's eyes would darken. Then she simply drew the child to her and allowed her to rest her head against her bosom. Minutes later she'd be back to normal, walking with Evan in the little garden, or teaching him to play her violin.
It had shocked her when she heard Célestine play the violin. A real prodigy who was under the tutelage of an excellent teacher. But she'd been astounded by Célestine's prowess. Katrine had told them how Célestine had shown an early proclivity for the instrument when she had been just two years old.
They'd all been apprised of how Charles himself had discovered that Célestine was still alive. It was one of the few stories Charles shared willingly with them. He'd told them how Célestine had spontaneously taken to him even before he told her that he'd married her mother. When he and Célestine were together, they'd take turns in sharing that experience. Lucy had declared it was the most romantic tale on earth and it should be a book or movie or something. When she'd spoken those words, Charles's eyes had shone, especially when Célestine hugged him spontaneously. Charles had filled quite a few journals about his experiences. It might be worth something, some day!
Her last conversation with Charles - was it only last night? - had been very revealing. They were in the small reception room of the hotel they all stayed at.
"I see you like the shiraz wine," Althea said conversationally. Charles was not much of a drinker so it surprised her when he'd sat in the hotel's restaurant taking a sip from his glass.
"I have the best teacher in the world, Mama."
"Katrine taught you to drink?" she'd asked with a hint of humour in her voice. Charles had smiled. There was no offence taken.
"To understand and appreciate good wine. She's French. It was part of her upbringing. She owns a pretty restaurant in St. Clair, the Coeur de Lion."
"So what happens to the restaurant now that you are all in America?"
"Katrine and I with two of her closest friends are part owners in the restaurant. They are a married couple who run the establishment for us."
"You have a share in the place?"
Charles had nodded, then explained that Katrine wanted him to share in everything that she owned. As Evan's official guardian, Charlie had sold the used car dealership and set up a trust fund for the boy. All he kept was the Cadillac that had been paid for already. Winonah had been crazy about that car when Lansing had sold it to him.
Charles had looked stable, at peace with himself and the world. He looked loved, she thought with sudden clarity.
"You're going to be okay, son," Althea'd told him in a contemplative manner.
"I - I get nightmares, Mama."
"Son?"
"War is ugly and I have been inside it."
It wasn't necessary to hear the wretched details of those bad experiences. Charlie was clearly looking undone in a rare moment of vulnerability. Men who'd fought during the First World War returned home and many, very many looked shell shocked. Charlie seemed to handle the trauma well, but because he suppressed it, it manifested itself in his dreams.
"I am sorry to hear that, son." She had felt a tremendous sympathy for him. He was a leader of his troops and led by example. He had to keep everything together. They could not see him as weak.
Then Charles had given her one of his rare smiles. "Katrine is wonderful. And Célestine, she has nightmares too. I'm glad Katrine is there - "
"- to comfort you both. Charles..."
"Yes?"
"We can all see how much you love one another. It shines from you both. You cannot know how happy Isaac and I are for you. Katrine is a brilliant daughter-in-law and Célestine is the most adorable grandchild. Do you know she came into our room last night and played the Mozart lullaby for us?"
Charles smiled knowingly. "She does that, especially if someone close is not feeling well. You can expect some more of that in future!"
She'd studied him and thought how different he looked now with Katrine by his side, how powerful and deep their love was. It was a far cry from what he and Lucy had experienced. Theirs was the love of the young, the kind that merely prepared them for something deeper and more enduring but with different partners. Lucy had that now with Edward, just as Charles had that with Katrine.
Sitting in the White House East Room, Althea was brought to the present when the recipients entered through the main door. She gasped a little at how stunning her son looked with his array of ribbons above his left breast pocket, the star on his epaulettes. But Charles, she realised suddenly, looked tense, like he was suffering from a headache. She glanced at Katrine, gave a quick smile and watched as Charles seated himself directly in front of Katrine. Katrine gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before she sat back.
Then the president began to speak.
Refelctions - Brigadier Charles Anson Miller
Such an important day like today and he had to have a flaming headache. He hadn't wanted to tell Katrine this morning because he'd already seen the flash of concern in her eyes. She'd frowned and let him be. He would tell her when it reached unmanageable levels. She did hug him gently, remaining in a close embrace for long seconds before she released him.
"It's not your old injuries," she'd said softly and he'd nodded.
Then they'd prepared to leave for the White House with Célestine and Evan in tow. Evan was extremely excited and he was certain Célestine was too, though at ten years old, she showed more reserve and control.
"You got your things, Célestine?" he'd asked.
"Yes, Dad!"
He'd raised an eyebrow. "Little Charlie calls Uncle Edward 'Dad'" she'd said by way of explanation.
"Don't lose your French, okay?"
"Never!"
Now he looked at the other recipients as they waited. Although there were ten honourees, three of them had died on the battlefield. None of the others looked nervous. One young lieutenant had an amputated arm while another private first class was a leg amputee. Charles didn't look like he'd sustained any external aggressive injuries, as if that was the benchmark for receiving the nation's highest award for bravery. But then it was not entirely about injuries.
Sighing, he sat down on a chair, thinking that he'd have preferred not to receive any commendations. It was a job he'd done, endeavouring to keep his companies safe, to guide his men in the best way possible, to strategise and plan ahead. He had the best men who were closest to him - Cruikshank and Linklater who'd died in battle, Davis, Longman, Compton and Riley. They were his elite snipers. Without them there'd most likely have been a lot more casualties.
No, his headache had just sprung from nowhere. He bent over, bracing his elbows on his knees and clutched his head.
He had almost died. Almost. Most other times he'd been injured - shot through the arm, hit on the head, grazed his forehead - he'd arrogantly believed those wounds to be so superficial he'd recover quickly and be back battling the enemy moments later. But that day...
That day hurried into his consciousness like a horse drawn chariot racing through the streets of Rome.
One moment he'd seen the glint in the distance, the little puff of smoke that indicated a shot was fired. He'd dived in front of Compton, instantly assessing where the bullet was going to hit. The next moment he was slammed back so hard against Compton that it left him winded. Another shot made him shudder. He'd been unaware of a third that had penetrated his upper arm.
He had the distinct impression that he was dying. He heard from a great distance, it seemed, the screaming voices of his men. After that he knew no more.
That day…
Something weighed him down, like a boulder had landed on his chest. He couldn't breathe, every intake scorching his ribcage, but despite the weight he'd felt less pain. Pain! His memory triggered that word, causing him to cry out. Opening his eyes became a mission, an exhaustive exercise of trying to lift his eyelids.
He heard voices - unfamiliar and familiar. Was he in hell? Did a thousand voices scream at him? Couldn't be, because he felt no heat of unrelenting fire in his chest. Slowly his breathing eased and with it, the awful pressure of the boulder on top of him.
"Finally."
Rheddam "Beanpole" Compton. Accident prone Compton. Crack shot Compton.
He managed at last to open his eyes. Faces bent over him so closely that their breath fanned his face. He stared at each one, then his gaze rested last on Compton. Compton looked worried, like there were tears in his eyes.
"You okay, son?"
"Goddammit, Colonel!" it burst from him. "You very nearly got killed by three goddam bullets. Your body slammed into mine while you managed to shoot that goddam German sniper who aimed at me! You were brought here critical, bleeding internally. You had a hole blasted through your goddam upper arm again. And you ask me if I am goddam okay? Huh?"
Charles managed a tight smile, wincing as he tried to move. "I guess you are okay."
Then Riley, Longman and Hemmings chimed in, all speaking at once. It gave him a headache, a good kind of headache, he decided.
"The war is over, Colonel!" Longman said, "right on the day you were shot. Think about it, on the day the Germans surrendered on May 8, Colonel Charles Anson Miller of the 5th Armoured Infantry Division - the Red Diamonds - was the last American shot in Europe!"
"How long was I out?" he asked, frowning.
"Three days!" they chorused again.
"Three days!"
He had immediately worried about Katrine, about his mother and stepfather, his little boy, Célestine, Edward, little Charlie... Did they know?
"And then," Compton began, "you actually saved yourself, Colonel. If it weren't for that goddam book!"
The others smiled at Compton's constant commentary.
"C'mon, Beanpole, the Colonel saved your life. That was the fourth or fifth time. You've been on his savings list since Iceland!"
"Not to mention that grenade incident and being saved from the waters of the English channel!"
"Always did like being Cappy's irritation!"
"What book?" Charles managed to utter, groaning as he raised his hand and tried to grab Compton, bringing the soldier's face close to his own. "What book?"
"Why, you don't know? Caesar's Gallic Bloody Wars!"
He let go of Compton, out of breath and exhausted by the action. He was weak, he realised. Where was the medic?
"What did that book have to do with anything?"
Then Hemmings, mostly quiet, bent down and from a low bed table picked up the book and held it so that he could see.
A bullet was stuck near the left side of the book. Hemmings turned the book to show him the back. The point of the bullet stuck out on that side. Charles always carried the book in the top left pocket of his jacket...
"And then the second bullet pierced your lung. It's lodged against your spine."
Instinctively Charles moved his toes, relieved that there was feeling and movement. How the heck was a field hospital going to extricate a German bullet from his spine?
"The third bullet went clean through your left arm. Now you have two arm holes - ." Compton realised just what he said and began to laugh hysterically. Hemmings slapped his shoulder. Compton hiccoughed loudly. "Sorry, Colonel. Two arm holes. Boy, am I going to tell my grandchildren that one day!"
"My family..." Charles started lamely, trying not to laugh. Compton clearly saw the funny side of things as long as no one died. He remembered how the corporal - he was a private then - cried his heart out when Linklater died.
We all have our vulnerabilities. They make us entirely human.
"Scoot! All of you!" the medic shouted as he approached the bed.
The men retreated, very reluctantly, it seemed. Charles was dizzy. The doctor touched his arm and he opened his eyes again.
"Told them only two minutes," the doctor muttered under his breath as he took Charles's temperature. "You're heating up again, Colonel. That was some spectacular dive you did three days ago."
"My injuries, doc. What is wrong with me?"
"You'll live."
Charles tried to lift himself again. He cried out in pain, but he grabbed the medic's arm.
"You will tell me what I want to know, is that clear?"
"Fine. A bullet would have pierced your heart and killed you instantly had it not been for a book in your top pocket. Caesar's Gallic Wars did enough to reduce the force of the projectile. You'll have a tiny scar just where your heart is. You were very, very lucky."
"The other?"
"Pierced your lung, though you can still breathe a little after we treated you here. Good thing your men brought you to us, practically racing with the ambulance here. Now, what we haven't been able to do here is refined X-ray work to pinpoint the exact location of the bullet, though it has possibly just touched a vertebra. You require more specialised surgery than what we are able to handle here, Colonel."
"It has to come out, doc. I'm not walking anywhere with a bullet in my chest."
"We have already radioed the US Military Hospital in Paris. You're going to be airlifted within the hour. Thank Sgt Holling, your radioman, for making contact and letting your wife know. They'll be waiting at the hospital."
The doctor's voice had trailed off, the sound travelling further and further away. He distilled only one word from the doctor's outline of his injuries.
"Katrine..." he murmured before losing consciousness again.
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
When he opened his eyes he was disoriented at first. He blinked against the white light. In fact, everything was white and pristine. Even the white clad female moved about the room like a shadow. Could there be shadows that were colours other than dark and deep? An angel with unfurled wings stood by the window.
Angel? He wondered about that for she looked remarkably like...
"Oh, Charles!"
"Katrine..." His throat felt parched; he swallowed with difficulty, but her name tore hoarsely from him.
She rushed forward from the window, his angel whose voice sounded so welcome, so familiar. He felt her lips on his, a loving caress. He'd missed the caresses, he'd missed everything that was familiar, immediate, here and now. But where, what, was now?
"Where am I?" he asked when she broke the contact between them, but kept holding his hand in hers.
"You do not know?"
"I was in a field hospital. That's what I remember..."
"Mon chéri, you are in Paris, in the American Military Hospital. You were airlifted from Germany."
He couldn't stop staring at her beloved face, the gentle smile whenever she addressed him, unless they had a little argument. He raised his hand, realising belatedly that a drip needle was attached to his forearm. But he wanted to touch her, to feel she was real, beautifully, blessedly real. He had dreamed so often about her and those dreams were good, safe dreams where there were no shadows, no fire and bomb blasts and grenades exploding, no young soldiers blown to pieces.
Charles wondered for a moment why he was so lucky to be alive. Did the gods choose him deliberately? Was he just their random choice to be kept alive so that he could share all his experiences with his family, with the world? Did they do it so that he could have a fulfilling life with a woman by his side forever, to complete the picture of family by giving him a young son and daughter? He thought how Evan came to him, an orphan whose parents died together in an accident, how Célestine came to him, a girl who witnessed too many tragedies for a child to remember.
Why did they choose him?
"In Paris? I am home?"
Katrine had given him a secretive little smile.
"Yes. You are not going to ask about your injuries, Charles? It seems to me you do not care about them! You nearly died!" Her eyes filled with tears. He felt like crying too.
"So many of my men died. I just wondered why I am alive."
"I believe the gods decided they are not finished with you yet, mon amour. Perhaps your task is greater than you believe it to be." Katrine paused, breathless after her passionate words. "Now," she began, more like the Resistance leader Katrine he used to know, "the bullet has been removed from your spine. It was touch and go, the doctors said. They also said that your strong constitution kept you alive."
"I thought it was Caesar's Gallic Wars."
"Well, that too!" she said with a relieved smile.
She stayed with him until the visiting hour was over, promising to bring Célestine the next afternoon.
Several days later, the doctor entered his ward.
"I am discharging you, Colonel. Madame Miller has assured us that she will take good care of you in your own home. We believe recovery will accelerate and then you will have a month of rehabilitation which again, she has assured us, she will arrange herself. You have a wonderful family, Colonel."
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
He had wanted to go home. There had been so many things he and Katrine needed to discuss which they seemed to skirt around whenever she'd visited him in hospital. Meanwhile he'd written letters to the men in his company who had been closest to him. The war had ended, ironically, on the very day he had been injured. He wrote to Davis again, to Hemmings, Longman, Compton, especially to Elsevier who had been his driver for so many years. Always, during the writings he'd wondered whether he'd ever see them again.
"Thank you, Captain. I'm feeling much better. I can walk!" he added since they'd been particularly worried about damage to his spine.
"I understand, Colonel, that you're up for promotion to brigadier general, being the Red Diamond's one and only recipient of the Medal of Honour. Congratulations."
He'd nodded and before he could respond with yet another 'it was nothing, really', Katrine breezed into the ward.
"Has my husband behaved, Doctor?"
"We were about to chain him to the bed, Madame Miller, for he is in a mighty great hurry!"
The surgeon laughed then left the ward. There were many other more severely injured infantrymen and officers that needed his attention. Charles was glad Katrine arrived, glad that he could go home, to listen to Célestine play the Mozart Lullaby for him, to listen to Katrine when they lay together in bed. He loved to listen to the soothing cadences of her voice as she recounted the very legends he used to tell her back in St. Clair. He had given a great big sigh.
That first night back in their home, after Célestine had played for him and she'd retired for bed, he just sat back on the couch.
"I've placed Célestine in school again. She is catching up very fast."
"I am very glad. Daisy Ginsberg and the other women did a really fantastic job in teaching the children to keep them more or less up to date. It seems she hasn't lost much."
"Did you know that Maestro Sargozy has emigrated to America?" she'd asked.
Charles had frowned at her words. That had come as a shock to him, not that Sargozy left France, but that Célestine had lost the great tutor. Their recourse now was to enrol her in the Paris Conservatoire of Music. Katrine, when he'd studied her expression, had looked a little nervous. He dreaded what she was going to say. He had dreaded it for a long time. He remembered Robert Davis's words on the outskirts of St. Clair when he'd spoken about his first love, Brigitte.
My patriotic hubris was greater than my common sense. I could no more encourage her to leave her country than she could order me to stay in France."
"Katrine? Is anything the matter?"
Katrine had taken a deep breath before she began speaking.
That was when Charles heard voices or a voice and he realised he was dwelling in the past.
"General... General..."
Charles awoke from his deep reverie. The room came into focus. He looked up in the concerned face of Lance Corporal Romano.
"You okay, General?" a young enlisted soldier - the one with the amputation - asked.
He realised he was still sitting with his elbows braced on his knees.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern."
"You're welcome, General Miller. We will be haunted for a long time..."
"Yes...yes."
A moment later they were called to attention. They were ready. They began moving out of the room and made their way to the East Room reception hall. Once they stepped inside, Charles was stunned by the size of the audience. In the second row sat his family. The children he knew, were in another room in the East Wing, being cared for by the president's female staff. All except Célestine who sat next to her mother.
He sat down in the front row, with Katrine directly behind him. He dared not turn to look at her, but he felt her hand on his shoulder, the gentle squeeze so reassuring that his headache seemed to dissipate all of a sudden, as if she knew his slight unease. He breathed in deeply, comforted by Katrine's touch.
Then President Truman began his speech.
Reflections - Katrine Miller
Katrine Du Plessis-Miller preferred to drop the Du Plessis element of her last name these days. She liked the idea of simply being Katrine Miller. Charles had made good on his vow to adopt Célestine as well as Evan. They now had two children five and a half years apart. Evan was crazy about Célestine and had taken to calling her Celia. Their daughter had told him on more than one occasion that he'd be calling her by her full name, which she preferred, once he got older.
They'd all made their way to Washington DC, to the White House where Charles and other soldiers were to be honoured. Charles had fretted all morning about a lot of things. He'd had another nightmare last night and it had taken all her resolve to comfort him. This time there had been no Célestine, who'd slept in another hotel room with Evan, little Charlie, Winonah and Lucy. Charles had thrashed about wildly, nearly knocking his hand in her face.
Later, after a shower and shave, he worried about the small accidental cut on his jaw. Then after breakfast which was a riotous affair with three tables drawn together and the entire family sitting down around the elongated table, he'd been unsettled again. He'd been in a plain shirt and pants and had only begun to dress for the celebration when they'd returned to their room.
"You looked pinched, Charles. What is the matter? Do you remember the dream?"
His face creased as he looked at her. She could swear there was a headache brewing.
"Just a slight headache, honey. It will go away - "
"But, Charles! Let Pa Isaac take care of it! You know he takes his medical bag wherever he goes just in case of such emergencies. Please." She knew she'd sounded over concerned, but since his release from the hospital in France, he'd been like a bear with a sore head just after a nightmare.
"It will go away, Katrine. Don't worry so.
"But - "
"Please, let it be, okay?"
"Fine!" she'd said and practically stomped her foot.
"Are you angry, honey?"
She'd smiled and pecked him on the cheek. His mood had seemed to lift.
"You know how I worry, mon amour."
"I know. Now, will you knot my tie? You do it so perfectly."
So she'd knotted his tie, made sure there was not a thread out of place and smoothed down his jacket. She marvelled as always at the array of accolades pinned to his uniform. Because he was still considered ground forces, he'd retained the rhombus-shaped red diamond on his left upper sleeve. Now, above the ribbon rack gleamed a pin with the Armed Forces logo. The shoulder straps with the single star denoted his rank.
She'd smiled up at him when she remembered the day he received his new promotion in France at the American Embassy. She had been given the honour of helping to pin the new strap to his shoulder. He had been inordinately proud that day, barely a month after he'd been discharged from the Military hospital. By then , he knew about her momentous decision.
"Thank you," he'd said earlier this morning after she'd knotted his tie. "And honey..."
"What is it, Charles?" she'd asked.
"Thank you again for the big decision you made last year. I am so honoured."
She'd smiled gently because he looked so patently happy despite the headache. Now, sitting between Ma Althea and Célestine, she glanced quickly at her daughter. Célestine didn't seem to be overawed by the big occasion or being in the East Wing of the White House with its magnificent chandeliers. Once, she'd visited the Château de Versailles and stood in the Hall of Mirrors, astonished by the grandeur of 17th century architecture. Here in the East Room was a taste of that opulence. The great chandeliers, she noted, seemed to drag down the ceiling battens. Sometime soon, they'd have to take the chandeliers down and rebuild the entire room.
But that was just her opinion. Her thoughts strayed again to Charles' words of this morning. She experienced once more a warmth in her bosom, loved Charles all over again and didn't regret that she married him. She'd fallen deeply in love with him, so much so that she'd wondered many times how much she had really loved Joseph. She did love Joseph, but accepting that he'd died had laid the foundation for a new, exciting, very powerful kind of love. For a moment she closed her eyes and thanked God that Charles had come into her life.
That night after Charles had been discharged from hospital and Célestine had gone to bed, she'd sat next to him on the couch. She'd experienced a momentary dread that he'd be unhappy, whenher own feelings had been so new, so thrilling. She'd asked him whether he knew that Maestro Sargozy had emigrated to America. Then she'd paused and Charles had sensed the hesitation, causing a strange, fearful look in his eyes.
"Katrine...?"
She'd given a little sob, summoned the courage and never took her eyes off him as she spoke.
"When I was living in St. Clair and fighting for the freedom of my country, I always imagined that there was not a single person who could love France more than Katrine du Plessis-Blumenthal. I bled for France, you know, for I represented her people who never gave up on her desire to be free. We were sold out by my government, by a leader who had once been a national war hero. And so I refused to give up my country, my flag, my national symbols, just like Brigitte and Berry and Solange and Lamine - for we were all patriots. Lamine adopted France as his own for he had no family living in Senegal. My country became his. We had the courage, the determination and fierce devotion to fight for what belonged to us - our land, our resources, our wines, our art works, our beautiful chateaux, to preserve our national pride."
While she'd spoken,Charles had not moved; instead he'd kept his gaze on her. It was not as if she'd shared those sentiments with him before, but at that moment she had spoken passionately about her country.
"Joseph and I worked for the Resistance here in Paris and after he died, I did not stop,as you know."
"And then what, Katrine?" Charles had asked with eyes in which a certain hope had suddenly soared to the surface.
"Then I met you. You were the other side of me, so truly American, saving another country as you fought for your own. I sensed in you the same dedication, the same love and honour, the same national pride. Always, the thought lay inside of me that we had to confront our dualism one day. We never addressed it, did we, Charles? We were always so afraid to explore those very important issues. You struggled too with those concerns, I know!
"When you were fighting on the battlefield, being injured, I feared constantly for your safety, for your life. And you, Charles, you always pretended as if those injuries were nothing, nothing at all! But do you know how I dreaded a knock on my door that would tell me you were lying somewhere, critically injured, how I wanted to be there, with you, to comfort you and to will you in staying alive? Do you?"
"I am so sorry, Katrine, that my actions have saddened you. I always, always thought of you. This...latest injury... When I was shot, I tried to save the life of one of my best men. Compton was the most accident prone soldier but also one of the best snipers in the army. I felt my body slamming against him, to push him out of the way. My only thought then was of you. I remember now how I wanted you to be there to take my hand, how I wanted to tell you once again that I love you. I thought I was dying, that knowing you loved me would make my journey easier..."
"And that was when I decided - "
A sudden hope sprung up in Charles's eyes.
"Qu'as-tu décidé, mon amour?"
"I want to be wherever you will be, Charles. I know how you dream of going back to America and live there, work there, raise your children there. I have known you almost a year now, yet I cannot imagine a single day without you. If I am not with you, I will wither. I love France, but I love you perhaps more. The reason I fought so hard for my country is no longer there. I want to walk beside you,Charles, be the perfect other side of you and for you. Quando tu Gaius, ego Gaia, Quando tu Gaius, ego Gaia, Quando tu Gaius, ego Gaia... Where you are Gaius, there is Gaia."
"Katrine! My love!" Charles had cried out, for he understood Latin, understood her vow. He who read Latin texts like she read French and English.
Charles had hauled her into his embrace, unconcerned about his body that was still healing and for a long while he'd held her close to him. They'd talked long into the night, making arrangements. They laughed, they wept, they kissed.
So Charles had adopted Célestine by French law. He had applied for French citizenship, making him a dual citizen. They'd gone to the embassy and filed formal applications for her and Célestine's immigration to the United States. She would receive special dispensation to work in America. They'd travelled to St. Clair to tell their friends the good news, to ensure once again their partnership with Lamine and Solange. The restaurant would remain their source of income.
On a cold November day, after all their arrangements and legal matters had been completed, Katrine, Charles and Célestine had moved into their new home on the outskirts of New York City. They were happy, although much had to be done still. Evan was with them, legally their son. A trust fund had been set up for him after the used car dealership had been sold. Célestine auditioned successfully at the Juilliard School of Music and lo and behold, one of her tutors was going to be Maestro Sargozy.
She had formally met the whole family, with Ma Althea and Isaac living nearby, and Edward, Lucy and the children in Boston. They had a housekeeper, a young woman who needed a job. Her name was Amelia and she loved Evan and Célestine, took care of little Charlie and Winonah when they visited. Life was good, Katrine decided. Now, all she longed for was -
"Mom, look!" Célestine's voice broke through her reverie. "They are here!" she whispered.
Instantly on the alert, a hush fell over the audience when the recipients entered the hall and quietly moved towards the seats in the front row. Katrine could see Charles was still nursing his headache. His face looked a little sallow, the drawn features so unlike the way she knew him. When he sat down directly in front of her, she spontaneously leaned forward and touched his shoulder, squeezing it gently. She felt his sigh of relief. Then just as spontaneously Charles covered her hand. She felt a prick of tears.
This was Charles Anson Miller, her reluctant hero, the man who so often played down his achievements. Yet through their touch, she also sensed the magnitude of the occasion, that he accepted it as probably the proudest moment of his life.
Then President Harry Truman, who had walked in with his aides, stood on the dais, resting his hands on its sides. He looked at the audience, then glanced at the soldiers in the first row. Then he began to speak.
Presidential address - President Harry S. Truman
"My fellow Americans
"Today is one of the most pleasant things I have had to do as President of this country. This is indeed a very special occasion. We are here to pay tribute to an extraordinary group of young men who have distinguished themselves as heroes. We ask ourselves 'what is a hero'? Well, in my book that is someone who performs a very special act of courage that goes above and beyond the call of duty. He doesn't have super powers but an instinct to protect and save a life.
"A year ago to the day, Germany surrendered to the Allied forces and in September last year Japan surrendered. The world had been plunged in a conflict such as we have not experienced in modern times. To realise a dream of a herrenvolk, a race supposedly far above every other, as if men were not born equal, a dictator seduced his nation into believing that his Reich, such as Charlemagne's Holy Roman Empire, could last a thousand years.
"Victory against the enemy came with extreme hardship, with loss, with sacrifice. I would like to think that we have seen the end of all wars, such as men and women thought of after the Great War. But, ladies and gentlemen, as long as there are men dwelling this earth who dream of domination and subjugation, who dream of enforcing their ideologies on others, who dream of victory against a brother, who dream of annexing a people without any manner of forethought but the simple and selfish need to conquer, we will have conflict.
"And to counter such conflict our men and women must stand ready to take up arms, especially if such engagement tears at the very fabric of our own existence, our lands, and our social and economic structures.
"We were drawn into this war when we encountered an unprovoked attack on our fleet. That, ladies and gentlemen, was not to be endured, for then we had to overcome the enemy who dared to strike at us. The enemy had indeed awakened a sleeping giant, but at what cost?
"The United States of America have lost in this war altogether 419 000 soldiers in battle, the United Kingdom 450 000; France has suffered casualties of 210 000 soldiers in arms and a further 390 000 civilians who died due to casualties of war and crimes against humanity. This figure, ladies and gentlemen, does not include soldiers who are, at this point in time, still missing in action.
"Our soldiers went out there to fight against the might of the German war machine. They died, they were injured, they were imprisoned. They have conducted themselves with great distinction and valour. They were soldiers who were loyal to their country and loyal to their command and command structures. They formed friendships where they perhaps wondered, "Will I see you tomorrow?"
"Let me tell you about them. They are sitting right here, in the front row. They are men of valour, men of daring, men who put their lives on the line in order to protect one of their own. There were hundreds, nay, thousands of soldiers who performed acts of courage. Whether it was a simple action of setting up a stack of sand bags while under enemy fire, or decoding and relaying messages intercepted from German High Command, that was what defined heroism. But there are occasions when soldiers and officers commit acts of bravery that stand out, that will be remembered forever for the singular manner in which they have saved the lives of others.
"We are here to honour extraordinary acts of heroism in battle. Some of our recipients are not present today to receive the nation's highest honour, for they have made the ultimate sacrifice. In saving the life of a comrade, they lost their own lives. Such fearlessness can only ever be commended. It was not that they didn't care about their lives, but in the midst of a skirmish, their only instinct was to go in and protect, for in that second, one must believe, they could not see or accept that another soldier might die needlessly.
"The Congressional Medal of Honour is not limited by creed or race or rank or military component, ladies and gentlemen. Our recipients range from young enlisted soldiers and sailors to senior officers of the United States Armed Forces. This is a proud moment for them, but prouder still are we as Americans to have such great heroes in our midst, who will be remembered as role models of the future.
"Now, we shall proceed with the pleasant task of honouring our recipients. We begin with the enlisted soldiers..."
So each soldier got up, saluted stiffly and stepped forward, then turned to the audience. Behind him against the wall hung the flag of the United States, crossed with the flag of the US army. The president outlined briefly the achievement of each recipient as well as his unit name and area. Those who had died in battle were represented by a parent or wife who received the medal. Each medal had a light blue ribbon with the medal depicting the particular component, such as the air force or navy or army.
The proudest moment came when President Truman himself hung the medal around the neck of the soldier. Then the soldier saluted again before taking his seat.
When it came to Charles's turn, the flag of the US army was replaced by a red flag with a single star in the middle, indicating that it was the flag of a brigadier general of the army.
"We call Brigadier General Charles Anson Miller..."
There was applause from the audience as Charles rose to his feet and saluted the president before taking his place in front.
"Brigadier General Miller," the president began, "is an officer of the 5th Armoured Infantry Division called the Red Diamonds. He led the A-company of the 10th regiment where he has distinguished himself above and beyond the call of duty. When they landed at Utah Beach back in July 1944, one of his infantrymen was in danger of drowning. I understand that this particular infantryman was in the habit of being accident prone. General Miller swam back into the raging waters of the English Channel and rescued the soldier.
"I also understand that the same soldier had jammed the pin of a hand grenade in Iceland on maneuvers, in which Captain Miller as he was known by his rank at the time managed to literally defuse the situation. Had the grenade exploded, everyone within five yards of the stricken soldier would have been seriously injured or dead. Apparently they called him a cat with nine lives and Brig. Gen. Miller used up quite a few on this soldier who also happened to be one of America's finest snipers.
"During the Battle of Vidouville, Brigadier General Miller pulled a critically injured soldier out of the line of fire and stayed with the dying soldier with a disregard for his own life. His example has touched many of the men under his command."
While the president spoke, Katrine studied her husband. He looked almost impassive, as if he were afraid to acknowledge that he was a hero. But she knew him, just as his mother and his brother knew him. That was the stuff Charles was made of. He was born to lead, born to be a hero. Sometimes he lost patience with the men under his command, but most of the time, she knew, Charles was fair and just and understood when a soldier was stressed and distressed about the carnage he witnessed. He didn't slap a soldier out of impatience for the young man's obvious trauma, like she'd heard General George Patton had done. While Patton was one of Charles's greatest heroes, Charles was by no means unjust to his men. But he did expect as much from them as he expected from himself. She smiled when she caught his glance. His eyes shone and her heart surged with joy.
"Brigadier General Miller," President Truman continued, "liberated the French town of St. Clair. We know that he is a crack sniper and with his small team, they wreaked havoc amongst the Germans in the town. We understand that Brigadier General Miller met his future wife there..."
There was a chuckle from many people in the audience. Katrine felt a little embarrassed as they cast their eyes in her direction. But Lucy, who sat on her right, gripped her hand and smiled gently, the gesture comforting. Her eyes said, "Don't worry, it's only today!"
"Soldiers have died in his arms, his words of comfort their solace in their final resting places. We think especially of one such incident in which a soldier was gravely injured. Brigadier General Miller stayed with the dying infantryman, a Private First Class who had been in his company since 1940.
"Your body is pockmarked!" was what General George S. Patton said of Brigadier General Miller, when he commented on the fact that he had been shot so many times and survived. Corporal Compton of his regiment remarked that Brigadier General Miller had arm holes, since he'd suffered bullet wounds in both arms during different engagements.
"I have here a letter sent me by Admiral Owen McKenzie Davis whose son, Lieutenant Robert Davis, was rescued by General Miller at Remagen. He wished to thank this young man for saving his son's life.
"But most of all, ladies and gentlemen, Brigadier General Miller is deserving of the Medal of Honour for his leadership over the years. It was under his command that Buchenwald concentration camp was liberated. His command to his men was that they treat the German prisoners of war according to the protocols of the Geneva Convention. Surely it is this quality that distinguished him from others. He has led his men with great distinction, discipline, a moral order, strength and loyalty to the Red Diamonds. He is indeed an inspirational leader, one in whom all of us sitting here can be justly proud. Such men in command often put aside their own needs to ensure that the needs of their men are met first. They appear larger than life, but are approachable.
"By a miracle of God, Brigadier General Miller also discovered a child, long believed dead, still alive, a child who had survived the unbelievably harsh conditions of Buchenwald. That child, ladies and gentlemen, is sitting right here in the audience. She happens to be his daughter. He assures me he does not think of her as a stepchild, but as his own whom he has formally adopted. Such is the stuff great films are made of!
"During the final skirmish of the Red Diamonds, in fact exactly one year ago, Brigadier General Miller, who had already been nominated for the Medal of Honour, was severely injured when he yet again saved the life of a fellow soldier. Once again, it was the same soldier who had already been saved three or four times by his commander. This time Brigadier General Miller spotted the enemy sniper from a great distance and instinctively dived in front of the soldier, collecting three bullet wounds. The one that would surely have killed Brigadier General Miller was the bullet that was lodged in the book he always carried in his top left pocket. While many soldiers carried a little Bible in their pockets, this man went everywhere with a copy of Caesar's Gallic Wars."
Katrine could see the faint bulge created by the book in Charles's pocket. She'd wanted him to remove it. His face had hardened a little before he muttered, "I go nowhere without Caesar's Gallic Wars and that's that!"
There was a hush when an aide appeared, dressed in the regimentals of the 5th Infantry Division's Honour Guard with a gilt tray. Truman lifted the medal with its light blue ribbon and held it aloft.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is an honour to bestow on Brigadier General Charles Anson Miller the Congressional Medal of Honour, for meritorious service above and beyond the call of duty. The United States of America is proud of its son..."
Katrine gave a little sob and a single tear rolled down her cheek as she watched her husband. Charles smiled as he waited for the president to hang the medal round his neck. She thought of the day she met Charles, so hard and forceful and committed. Even then she'd sensed his great leadership, that he seemed born to it. She'd known then that however much she prided herself as the commander of a resistance cell, Charles spectacularly rose above all her expectations of the qualities that made a leader.
Her tears could not stop flowing. She had fallen in love with Charles, had known that day that her destiny would be inextricably woven with his, that no amount of resistance would be able to withstand the force of nature her husband was. He was destined for greatness, had risen through the ranks purely because of his abilities and his readiness to lead, to delegate, to be as good as his men were. He was never a shirker of duties, that was what she knew about him. They'd had arguments but the knowledge that they could step back and accept the other's opinions and desires was always going to be a part of their union.
She wiped at the moistness on her cheek. Célestine gave her hand a gentle squeeze before she got up quietly from her seat and made her way to the left side of the room.
When Charles looked at her, Katrine smiled through her tears. He was so attractive in dress uniform, now with the medal adorning his neck. His mother had packed all his medals, ribbons, University of Washington pennants into a box when they moved from Detroit to New York. He'd once described and explained every medal and ribbon to her.
Katrine glanced at her mother-in-law and saw that she too had tears in her eyes.
Althea Miller wept quietly as she watched her son. She had never been more proud of him than at this moment. Charlie had been angry since his school days, always fighting injustice. She remembered days when their father had gone to the school and walloped Charlie because he invariably got into fights with other kids. Those days he was more the leader than Edward who was a year older. Charlie was always protecting his heritage, the fact that both her sons looked so much different from others, with their tanned skin, their dark eyes and raven black hair, their native American looks. He'd used his little fists liberally in those days. Their father had very quickly managed Charlie's early rage by teaching the boys to swim, to dive, to row. He'd have them up at five in the morning down by the lake and drill them no matter what the weather was like. In many ways, he acted like the elder son. More often than not, Edward had joined in the fight whenever he'd seen his brother outnumbered. She had never boasted when they defended themselves. Later the rest of the kids had left them alone, especially after Edward became so ill.
When Edward contracted polio, Charlie had been the first to defend his brother who had been bedridden a long time before he could become mobile again. Children were often unintentionally unkind, but Charlie had never used that to back off from a good fight. The brothers were fierce allies. She loved them both so much.
Watching him being honoured made her heart burn with affection and love for him. He deserved every accolade. She'd always thought Charlie was born to lead. There was an inner strength that exuded from him, that made people single him out for those skills that came so naturally to him. Now the medal that adorned his neck was not only for saving the lives of others, but for his leadership that his superiors recognised was defining in the way he led his men.
She reached to touch Katrine's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She loved Katrine as much as she loved Lucy. Katrine gave stability to Charles's life, her kind nature absorbing the traumas he'd experienced, her love so clear for all to see.
"Tu as bien fait, mon enfant," she whispered to Katrine.
"And now," President Truman said in conclusion to the proceedings, "a young lady is going to perform for us. She is only ten years old but already an accomplished violinist. She will be accompanied on the piano by David Green..."
David Green was seated at the Steinway grand piano, with Célestine standing next to the beautiful instrument, ready to play. The audience listened with rapt attention to Célestine as she launched into Massenet's "Meditation". She played with such confidence, every note escaping from the strings a caress, a pained memory of a sad time in her life, a tribute to those soldiers who had given their lives, a thank you to those who had protected their country.
Charles felt inordinately proud of her as he knew Katrine and everyone in the family also felt. His headache had subsided to the point that he hardly felt anything.
When Célestine finished, she remained standing with the bow still poised mid-air. Spontaneous applause broke out among the audience with the president moving quickly to her to shake her hand. Célestine smiled shyly as she mouthed her 'thank you'.
nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
It was over. People were milling about outside on the lawn of the White House, some already moving towards the gate to leave for their respective homes. Some, Charlie knew, had travelled great distances. One of the recipients lived in Seattle, another was from Wyoming. It was indeed a joyous occasion, though he wished he was already back home with his family. The children were reunited with their families, with Evan excitedly telling Katrine something about the lovely ladies who looked after them and told them stories.
Suddenly Edward stood in front of him. Charles gave an inward sigh, fearing he'd see and hear again the cynicism in his brother's eyes and voice. He'd lived with it since their high school days. But Edward's face was open, his admiration unblemished when he shook Charles's hand.
"Congratulations, Charlie. You deserved every accolade you received this morning. I am very, very proud of you!"
Charles smiled with relief. "Thank you, Edward. We fought some hard battles, lost a few good men, but we persevered. I couldn't have done it without the group of young soldiers who fought side by side with me. I often think of them, you know."
"They wrote you, I presume."
"Yes, I got letters from almost all of them. Rheddam Compton - they called him 'Beanpole' because of his height - wrote me to say he's back on their farm, that his father had passed on early this year. He has taken over the reins of their ranch. He told me his experience working with me gave him discipline and focus. He was a crack shot, one of my finest snipers - "
"You have done well, Charles. I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if - if I didn't contract polio."
"Let me tell you about that, my brother. You might have spent your life in the field and would never have married Lucy. These things, you know, come from a Higher Power who decides the path of our lives. I might never have met and married Katrine."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"Putting things in perspective."
Charles spontaneously moved to pull his brother in a tight hug. When they pulled apart, they both had tears in their eyes.
"Dad was always right," Charles said. "He taught us never to give up, that there are no boundaries in whatever we try to achieve. You are living proof of that, Edward. If it hadn't been for him with his no nonsense attitude to life, who knows?"
"You're right. I might have languished in hospitals and wheelchairs. Now I get about comfortably, and my students like me! They act as if I didn't have a disability. You never thought of me with a disability. I am blessed."
"I am glad. Look, I see Lucy waiting for you and Katrine waiting for me. Take care, big brother!"
Charles gazed at the two women standing about ten yards away from them. His regard softened as he saw the love in Katrine's eyes for her husband. When he waved with his hand, Katrine smiled while Edward walked to meet his wife.
Katrine's steps were measured, slow, yet full of assurance. His heart burned fiercely as she approached him. Her hair glinted burnished bronze in the midday sun. She wore a mustard coloured dress, the shoulder pads giving the dress extra lift, extra confidence. A belt gathered the dress at her tiny waist. He'd seen Ingrid Bergman walk like that in a movie, Bette Davis float with haughty elegance down a curved stairway. Katrine should be an actress! He was getting breathless again, fearing he might expire or suffer palpitations because his heart hammered against his ribs in uncommonly loud thuds.
The lawns of the White House seemed suddenly to be cast in gentle shade, the people moving away from them, as if by mutual consent they allowed the couple to be alone, to let the sun bathe them in a spotlight.
They were not aware of the crowd around them as Katrine stopped in front of him. Charles thought she had never looked more beautiful. He loved her. He knew in that moment Katrine would be his present and his future, that their destiny would forever by linked.
Katrine's gaze was unwavering as she walked up to her husband. She'd waited patiently until Charles had finished talking to Edward and other dignitaries. He'd been feted by them all - the president, by his fellow officers, by the families of the other recipients. The president had seemed very taken by him and she'd known that Charles had come to the presentation with the best credentials in military science.
This morning he'd had a headache that seemed to have dissipated. Now his face looked relaxed, the strained look gone. But it was his bearing, the way his dress uniform fit on his body, the medal round his neck and the ribbon rack which lent an aura of almost unapproachability which in itself was attractive. There was a fierce, burning pride inside her that made her love him even more. Only now she understood a little why the French girls fell for the German soldiers, especially the officers. The girls were more attracted by their stern looks and uniforms, for they presented an air of authority that was as alluring as it was deceptive.
Charles was, by the very virtue of his association with the United States military, always going to be in uniform. Yet, she'd come to know the man, hard, unflinching, disciplined, focused but also just and caring.
She heard Lucy's voice again, "Go to him, Katrine. We can see he misses you. Don't worry about the kids..."
Katrine gazed deeply into her husband's eyes. He graced her with a little half smile that deepened his dimples. Yet he stood, hands at his side, at attention as if he were facing President Truman. Katrine raised her hand and caressed his cheek.
"Two years ago," she said, speaking in her native French, "I didn't know your name. Now my dear, beloved Charles, I cannot imagine a day without you."
"And I knew your name," he responded in French, "even before I met you, my love. Then I wondered what little spitfire dared to tell me that she was in charge?"
Charles opened his arms and Katrine stepped into his embrace, a quiet, unhurried movement. He held her loosely, his hands encircling her waist. She could gaze up at him, her palms against his chest. Charles felt so strong, so rugged, a rock against which she could lean.
"My life," he continued, "became meaningful when you stomped with your tiny feet all over my heart. Everything I have done or achieved in the past, I always assumed held little relevance for me. I dismissed my own accomplishments, thought little of how those things I had done could impact on others, that I could make a difference in someone's life. I never really thought of that.
"Yet, to have heard the president speak, it seemed that it has and I feel proud that I could mean something to someone. You taught me about the grace of giving, or giving with grace, I should say, and of receiving the 'thank yous' that came my way and to receive that too with grace and not play it down, not knowing that being dismissive could hurt that person.
"You showed me that whatever goes wrong in our lives or when we are struck with pain and heartache, a Higher Power has not forsaken me. Once you told me that as a scientist you don't adhere to religion, that your beliefs are rooted in absolutes. I tell you now, my love, that you have no idea what you mean to me, what you have meant to others; the things you do to make someone feel safe is a gift surely given to you by God.
"I never thought that after Lucy left me, I'd be happy again, that I would meet and fall in love with someone who understood me. I will remember forever that day I drove around Paris, disoriented, trying to find your home, how you comforted me in your soft, beautiful voice, telling me the legend of my people. You cannot know in those moments how desperately I loved you."
It was a long speech and Charles was out of breath at the end of it. Katrine stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
"Charles," she began, "when I married Joseph Blumenthal, I was very young and in love. He was Jewish and I - well, let's say I was not religious or church bound. We had a good life, almost as if we were playing at being married. But I loved him. We made a beautiful child together. We each had our own work and the one thing we did together was serve in the Resistance.
"Joseph was a kind man, one who never turned away any person regardless of race or creed, seeking always to help. If you say that I am good and kind and just, it is because Joseph's example inspired me. I cannot say what would have happened had Joseph still been alive and I had met you. I want to believe fervently that the Higher Hand you spoke of in all his wisdom decreed that you and I meet, that Joseph and his subsequent death prepared me for a love that would transcend everything I experienced before. I can never begrudge what I had before, Charles.
"When you met me, you met the mature Katrine, one who had gone through very deep waters, one who had begun to believe that she was never destined to be happy, to experience joy again. I feel privileged that I could have a second chance at life and love, to live again, that I could be your anchor and you my anchor. You found my daughter whom you now consider yours too, just as we consider little Evan to be our son.
"I love you, Brigadier General Charles Anson Miller."
Katrine rose on tiptoe and kissed her husband again. Only then did Charles hug her tightly, desperately to him, his mouth against her hair. When he held her away from him, his eyes were moist with unshed tears.
"Let's go home, Katrine..."
They stepped out of the spotlight and the grounds of the White House came into view again. They saw people still milling about. A little distance away from them, they saw his mother and Isaac who was holding Evan's hand. Célestine stood next to his mother Althea who carried Célestine's violin case. When the children saw them, they rushed to their parents.
"Mommeee! Daddy! Evan shouted as he ran towards them. Célestine was a little more sedate, moving at a moderate pace.
"Come here, children," Charles said.
"You were very good on the violin today," Charles said to Célestine. "Are you ready for Juilliard?"
"Oh, yes, Daddy. I can't wait to start!"
"And me, Daddy! I'm going to kindergarten!"
Katrine looked at Charles while she ran her fingers through Evan's pitch black hair. He looked so like both Charles and Edward that people were often surprised that Evan was not his son. Célestine's eyes shone. The shadows were gone, although Katrine knew that the memories and trauma of Buchenwald would surface again and again. They were ready to guide their daughter, to be there when she had nightmares. But right now, Célestine appeared unaware of the tattooed number on the inside of her left forearm.
"Papa..."
"Yes, honey?" Charles knew when Célestine slipped into "papa" mode, there was a request coming.
"You promised us you'd teach us to row. When?"
"As soon as we visit Poughkeepsie near West Point, honey. I will be there most days of the week."
"Oh, goodie! And little Charlie too?"
"Bring along Winonah as well if you like. We're setting a new tradition here."
Katrine, only too happy that Célestine was so open and sparkling, nodded.
"Come, we're going home now."
As they walked through the gates of the White House Garden, Charlie hugged Katrine to him.
"Charles..." Katrine whispered, not wanting the children to hear.
"What is it, mon amour?"
"You know Lucy is with child again?"
He stopped. The children stopped and looked quizzically up at them. Charles ushered them to walk with their grandparents. Then he gazed at his wife and frowned.
"Is this something women always discuss? Edward told me this morning, before the presentation. Their third child."
"And Charles..."
Charles studied his wife for a full minute. He glanced once at Lucy with their kids. Lucy winked at him. Edward winked. Althea nodded knowingly. He gazed at Katrine again. How did he miss the fullness in Katrine's cheeks? How did he miss the awesome Madonna-like bearing of his wife? How? He gave a sob, tried hard not to weep right there on the sidewalk. His throat worked and his mouth moved but he struggled to utter a single word. At last he found his voice.
"K-Katrine...?" he stammered.
Katrine's eyes filled with tears.
"Oui, Charles… c'est vrai."
"Happy?" he asked softly, planting a kiss on her cheek.
"Supremely, General!"
THE END
Consuesse enim deos immortales, quo gravius homines ex commutatione rerum doleant, quos pro scelere eorum ulcisci velint, his secundiores interdum res et diuturniorem impunitatem concedere.
The immortal gods are wont to allow those persons whom they wish to punish for their guilt sometimes a greater prosperity and longer impunity, in order that they may suffer the more severely from a reverse of circumstances.
From - Caesar's Gallic Wars.
THE END