Waterbound

by JoviRose

With the shadow of the Titanic tragedy hanging over their heads, the survivors strive together to rebuild their lives. This is the sequel to When We Meet on that Distant Shore, covering the following 50 years from 1920 to 1969.

27. 1944 (Part 1)

January

December 12, 1943

Dear Mom,

The camp where I'm at isn't bad so there's no need to worry about me. They treat us all very well here. There's plenty to eat and I have a nice bed so I get plenty of sleep. I've also made a good friend, Daniel Katz. He's from Ohio and has four children–all of them daughters! He says it's nice not feeling outnumbered for a change.

There isn't a whole lot to do here but I'm not too bored. There are a few books we can read, most are in Italian. And there's an open space where a group started up a game of football the other day. It didn't last long. First, there was confusion over the rules as there aren't a whole lot of Americans here. Apparently football is different in other countries. Then, just when they finally started to play, Red Cross parcels arrived and the game was forgotten. It was still fun to watch while it lasted. Football and books aside, mostly we all just sit and talk about home. Argue over whose mother is the best cook. It's not much of an argument, if you ask me. You can outcook anyone any day of the week.

I miss your cooking. Do you think you could make meatloaf as soon as I get home? I know I don't like it very much usually but, for some reason, it's all I can think about. And maybe you could also make a pie. Rhubarb would be fine or maybe a cherry one but not the raisin pie you make some times. I'm tired of raisins. And some oatmeal nut cookies. Maybe you could send me some? I'm not sure how that works or if it'd be allowed but I could go for a few right now. I suppose you definitely couldn't send me a meatloaf. It'd probably take too long to reach me and it wouldn't be hot anymore.

I'm almost out of room so I should end this here. Hope everyone's doing well. Say hi to June and Alice for me. And don't forget about the meatloaf. Or the cookies.

Love,

Tommy

Ps. I also want mashed potatoes. A lot of mashed potatoes.

---

England, Florida, New Jersey, Georgia. It was all the same. Just a different location. But Arthur did like being in England. He liked the older feel to the nearby village. He liked the rolling green hills. He liked that there was no swamp to trek through, no alligators or crocodiles to be wary of. He decided, at once, that he wouldn't have minded visiting if there weren't a war going on. If the streets weren't full of soldiers. If he wasn't wearing a uniform and being constantly told where to go, what to do.

The very first time he was off-duty, Arthur purchased a small blank book. He didn't have a camera like some of the other men but he still wished to remember what he could. Once he filled the book full of drawings, he hoped to mail it home. Or maybe he'd hold onto it and give it June. He immediately found a quiet spot away from people where he could sit on an old stone wall, a distant view of the ocean on one side and the tiny village on the other, and draw.

It only took two days for Ernie to find him. "What are you planning on doing with all of those?" He asked. He looked over Arthur's shoulder as he sat beside him on the wall.

"I don't know," Arthur replied. "Keep in the book, I suppose."

"So you're not going to buy a gallery for them, then?"

"Buy a gallery?"

"Don't all rich people buy galleries? I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that all rich people buy galleries." Ernie gave him a look. "You are rich, right?"

"My father has a bit of money. I do not." Arthur wasn't sure how word had gotten out about his family's financial situation. He certainly had never mentioned it.

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"It's not the same thing."

"So, if you were to write to your father and ask for $100, what would he do?"

"He'd probably send the…um…" Arthur concentrated on his drawing. It was difficult to capture the way the sunlight reflected off the water.

"Right. Precisely that," Ernie said. "But if I wrote to my father asking for money, you know what he'd say? He'd tell me to get a job."

"That's different."

"Is it now?"

Arthur sighed. He flipped to a blank page in the book then turned around on the wall so he was facing the village. A lone man on a bicycle was slowly pedaling by. "My father once offered me a job," he mused.

"You didn't take it?"

"I didn't want to work in a factory." Several times, he wondered if he had made a mistake.

Ernie looked at him skeptically. "Your rich father offered you a job in a factory? What sort of factory?" He asked. "What type of job?"

"It may have been managing it," Arthur replied. "And aluminum."

"You know, I think you might be the stupidest person I've ever met."

Arthur looked at him in surprise. "Where'd that come from?"

"Aluminum factories are essential. They wouldn't have drafted you if you managed one."

"I've never been very lucky so I'm sure they would've found a way to draft me regardless of my job." He thought of the bad luck he'd had over his life: June marrying Tommy, getting drafted, his entire childhood minus a couple days here and there. Of course, he would've been drafted. His father couldn't stop it; how could a job do any better?

Ernie broke off a tiny stone from the wall and flicked it out toward the village. "Your father's not still looking for someone to run it, is he? Because I'd be more than willing to do it."

"It's already been filled."

"In that case, your father's not looking to adopt another child, is he? Because my father never gives me any money," Ernie said. "I wouldn't mind a new one."

Arthur laughed. "He has six children already if you count stepchildren. I doubt he wants to add another one."

Ernie sighed. "I guess I'll stick with my own father then. My own 'handouts lead to softness' and 'working hard for your money builds character' father."

"What does your father do anyway?"

"He's a bank teller."

"And he still won't give you any money?"

"I know, right? It's maddening." Ernie looked over his shoulder again. "Is that supposed to be a bicycle?"

Without a word, Arthur reached over and pushed him off the wall.

---

Of course the enemy was entrenched inside the houses that lined the road. The flat terrain surrounding them left no place to take cover. John would've done the same if their positions were switched. But it didn't mean he liked it.

It had been a nerve-wracking past several hours as they systematically cleared Germans out of each house, all the while dodging small fire and hidden machine guns. He knew they must have missed a few as some of the gunfire seemed to come from behind.

John went through the rooms of one house that had recently been struck by an artillery shell. Broken glass crunched beneath his boots, and a lingering haze of smoke hung in the air. With his rifle raised, he moved slowly, certain that there must be an enemy hidden behind each piece of furniture. Everywhere there was only the sound of his own footsteps.

He turned a corner and stepped into what remained of the kitchen. There was a faint sound behind him, like a small pebble being kicked. He swiftly spun around, finding himself face to face with a young German soldier, his own weapon raised. For a half a heartbeat, the two men stared at each other. The young soldier began to lower his weapon but before John could process the movement, he acted on instinct. The sharp crack of his gunshot shattered the tense silence, the sound reverberating through the room as the man crumpled to the ground.

John looked at him as he lay sprawled across the ground, the man's eyes staring at nothing, and felt a wave of nausea. Firing at a faceless enemy from a great distance was a different experience than looking a man in the eyes and still killing him.

"All clear, sir." Another man, one of his own, had stepped into the room.

"Then move on to the next house," John commanded.

"Yes, sir," the soldier replied, swiftly turning on his heels and exiting the room.

John approached one of the broken windows and looked out. The whole road was nearly clear of Germans and he looked forward to getting a break. All he really wanted was to sit down for a time, preferably someplace quiet. What he wouldn't give for a moment of complete and total silence. Across the street, Jimmy and two other men emerged from a house. There was a sudden burst of machine gun fire and all three fell.

"Shit." Without thinking, John bolted from the room. He hesitated briefly in the doorway of the house. He didn't know where the gunfire was coming from. Another soldier tried to run toward the fallen men only to be forced into cover by another burst of machine gun fire.

One of the men cried out for help. John couldn't let him lie there. He took a deep breath, slung his rifle over his shoulder, then raced toward the injured men. Bullets whizzed dangerously close, miraculously missing him. He reached the first man, grabbed him under his arms, and pulled him back to the safety of the house. John hesitated once again in the doorway. One of the men who still remained in the road was clearly dead. Even from a distance, John could see that he had been shot through the throat. But Jimmy was still alive. He could see his old friend's hand move.

He took another deep breath as he ran out from cover once more. Bullets whizzed past him again, then a sharp impact as one struck his helmet, knocking it from his head. He found himself momentarily stunned on the ground and wondering if he was even still alive. But then he reached up and felt his head, was both relieved and a bit surprised to find it still intact. John got back to his feet and continued on. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed Jimmy who groaned at being touched, and with every bit of strength he could muster, dragged him into the house.

---

Sarah had always worried about John since the very first moment he volunteered—how could he be so stupid as to volunteer? But now that worry was stronger, more focused, more vivid. Before learning that Tommy had been captured, with a bit of effort, she could imagine that they were both far away from any fighting, safe in some barracks somewhere. But Tommy's capture shattered that illusion. They were fighting. They were not safe. John was not safe.

The one and only good thing about Tommy being a POW, was that it gave her a fairly good idea where they had been fighting. Tommy was being held in Italy which meant that they were not somewhere in northern Europe; they were, thankfully, not in the Pacific. They both must've been in Italy when Tommy was captured. John was likely still there.

The moment she made that realization, she ran out and bought every book she could find on Italy: histories, travel guides, cookbooks. If it had 'Italy' or 'Italian' in the name, she bought it. She spread out her pile of books on the kitchen table and began to go through them one by one.

"It might be easier if ye just ask Fabri's wife what it's like," Pat suggested. He picked up one of the books from the pile and read the cover. "A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy."

Sarah shook her head. "I don't want to bring up unpleasant memories for her," she said. "And this, at least, gives me something to do."

Pat flipped open the book in his hand and began to read. "Ye have been in France? Said my gentleman, turnin' quick upon me with the most evil triumph in the world. Strange, quoth I, debatin' the matter with meself, that one and twenty miles sailin', for 'tis absolutely no farther from Dover to Calais, should give a man these rights—how is this helpful?"

She snatched the book from him. "It just is."

"Did ye even open that one? It's full of naked drawin's."

Sarah's cheeks colored pink. "I haven't gotten to it yet. I have a system." She wished she had thought to flip through them before buying them.

Pat came up behind her, putting an arm around her, and placed a kiss on the back of her head. "Ye know, John might not even be there anymore," he said. "I imagine they're movin' quickly. They could even be in Germany by now."

"You think?" She looked down at the books on the table. "Maybe I should've gotten a few on Germany."

"I'll pick some up for ye after work tomorrow."

"Alright." Sarah thought of John marching quickly through Italy without a moment to rest and furrowed her brow. "Do you think he's eating well?"

"I'm sure he is."

She wasn't sure if she believed him. How could anyone be certain with John so far from home?

"The Army knows that no one's goin' to be fightin' well if they're not well-fed," Pat assured her. "Or well-rested."

"I know but—"

"John is a smart lad. He knows to stay out of trouble. If anyone was goin' to come back from this war with hardly a scratch to them, it'll be him. Ye know that."

Sarah managed a smile. "I'm sure you're right." She wasn't sure, one bit, but Pat sounded confident and she trusted him implicitly.

---

"Is your job going alright?" Cal asked. He had recently found Lelia a job at Brown Industries—formerly Brown Metal Works—making parts for military aircraft. He knew the job was beneath her but he couldn't find anyone looking for a secretary or typist. "I suppose I could make Pat hire you as a secretary. You like aluminum, right?" For all he knew, Pat already had a secretary.

"It's fine," Lelia replied. "I like where I work. Half the workers are women so I fit right in. And it pays well which is what matters most."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Stop worrying about it," she said. "Now can we discuss Fabri?"

"Alright." Cal pulled a notebook closer to him. He knew there wasn't a great deal either of them could do when it came to finding him but he still wanted to make a plan. Neither one of them were ready to give up. "Obviously, we'll start in Genoa," he said, writing 'Genoa' down. "I assume there's a prison there?"

"Marassi," Lelia replied. "I don't know if he was taken there though. All I saw was him being loaded onto the back of the truck."

"It's as good a place as any to start." Cal wrote 'Marassi' down beneath 'Genoa.' "They must have records of all arrests."

Lelia made a face.

"What?"

"Do you really think they're the sort to keep records?"

"I don't know anything about them but there must be some sort of documentation. They can't just go around arresting people and not write things down. That'd be…that must be illegal."

"It's war, Cal, and Fabri was innocent. I doubt legality plays any role in this."

He knew she was right as much as he didn't want to admit it. "Well, Italy's on our side now. Perhaps they released all of their prisoners."

"I could see them releasing the partisans and political prisoners but Fabri wasn't one of those."

"Maybe they thought he was," Cal said. "Let's say he was released. Where would he go?"

"Home," Lelia replied at once. "I don't know. Our home may not even be standing any more."

"If it is standing and he does come home. You're not there…"

"He'd probably think I left him." There was a quaver in Lelia's voice and, for a moment, Cal thought she was about to cry.

"Lelia." He reached over and touched her arm. "He wouldn't think that," he said. "What would he do next?"

She took a deep breath. "I suppose he might write to you for help."

Cal frowned. He hadn't received any letters or telegrams from Fabrizio in a very long time. If he had been released, if he had returned home, he certainly hadn't reached out for help.

"He hasn't written to you," Lelia said softly. "Which means he hasn't been freed or he's dead."

He sighed. He knew it didn't look good no matter how he might try to spin it. As he looked around the room, his gaze fell on a recent Red Cross Bulletin. "Maybe I'll go speak to someone with the Red Cross. They did find Tommy when he was taken prisoner. Maybe they'll know something." He knew it was a long shot.

"Fabri isn't a prisoner of war," Lelia pointed out. "They only deal with prisoners of war."

"I know," Cal replied. "But it can't hurt to ask." He certainly couldn't think of a better idea.

February

It wouldn't stop raining. John tried to recall for how long—was it five days?—but he couldn't even recall how long he had been crouched uncomfortably in the muddy hole. Weeks? It felt longer. He shivered as he tried to find a more comfortable position, a wet blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The hole was only chest high so he couldn't stand or stretch out his legs; his back ached from staying in one position for so long. His fingers were cold on the rifle that he kept on his lap. His feet, buried in ankle deep muddy water, were frozen. He closed his eyes against the sharp wind. He didn't understand how it was able to reach him where he was.

The nearly constant artillery had finally silenced for the time being and John knew he needed to take advantage of the opportunity to catch whatever sleep he could. At any moment, it could start up again.

But whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Jimmy lying on the worn wooden floor of the house, a spreading pool of blood beneath him. He heard himself call for a medic. He felt Jimmy's hand trembling within his own.

"Hold on," he had told him. "A medic's on their way."

Jimmy tried to say something but nothing came out. He had looked so afraid.

John snapped his eyes open. He took a deep breath and brought a hand over his face. It was the same scene that played in his head every time he closed his eyes.

It had taken so long for a medic to arrive.

It had taken too long.

John startled as a young man dropped into his hole.

"Hi," he cheerily said.

John stared at him. The new arrival looked well-rested. His uniform was still relatively clean. A replacement. "Hi," he said back. He hoped the new man wasn't feeling chatty.

"This is some weather, huh?" The replacement commented. "How are you?"

"Fan- fucking -tastic," John replied tersely. "Now, shut up so I can get some sleep." He didn't want to sleep—he couldn't bear to watch Jimmy die again—but it was better than a conversation about the weather.

---

January 10, 1944

Dear Tommy,

Don't know why it took you so long to write to us. I've been over here worried sick for you. I'm glad to know you're doing okay. I'm glad to know that they're taking good care of you. If they weren't, I'd have to come over and show them a thing or two.

What are your meals like? Are they healthy? I read that the Red Cross sends you parcels regularly. I hope there's healthy food in there and not just treats. Are you warm enough at night? I think I can send you a blanket, if you need it. I might send it regardless. There's no such thing as too many blankets. I'm glad you have some ways to pass the time. I know the sort of trouble you get into when you're bored. The Red Cross Bulletin said I could send you small things like a deck of cards. Maybe I can send you a few books as well–in English. Or maybe you'd prefer to spend your free time writing to your mother? Or June. Please make sure you're writing to June as often as you can. Let her know that you're thinking of her.

Everything is going well here. Arthur's in England now and he seems to be enjoying it a great deal. I don't suppose there's any fighting going on over there. No one's heard from John in a month but I assume he's been too busy to be doing much in the way of writing. Sarah expects a letter any day now. This is a case where we're assuming no news is good news.

I miss you. I love you. I'm proud of you no matter what. Don't forget that for a single moment.

Love,

Mom

Ps. Please try to stay out of trouble.

---

Eileen loved studying with Richard. She loved it even though they no longer shared the same classes. She didn't mind that they could no longer study together. Simply studying beside him—each quietly going over their own notes—was more than enough.

As she stared at the book on her lap, rereading the same section that she had read twice already, she could feel Richard looking at her. "If I have food on my face, you have to tell me."

"You don't," he quickly replied. "You look very nice."

Eileen felt herself blush. "Then why do you keep staring?"

"I was just thinking…" He closed his own book. "What are we?"

It was the same question she had been silently asking for years. "We're friends," she replied. As much as she might've wanted it, she didn't want to say they were any more than they were.

"Oh."

"Very good friends," she clarified.

"I see." Richard sighed as he reopened his book. He started to flip through the pages.

Had she said the wrong thing? "Why? What do you think we are?"

"Friends, of course."

"Good friends?" Eileen was certain she had said something wrong.

"Of course." He ran a finger along the pages. "But…" He hesitated. "If we were more than—"

"I'd like that," she replied before he could finish the question.

"You would?"

"I think so."

"Alright, then." He returned to his book.

Eileen stared at him. Was that it? She had the distinct feeling that she was missing something. "Richard—"

Suddenly, without warning, he leaned forward and kissed her, a gentle peck on the lips that left her heart racing.

Eileen didn't know what to think. She couldn't think. It felt as though her entire world flipped upside down but in the best possible way.

"There's a group going hiking this weekend," Richard said nonchalantly, as though nothing wonderful had just happened. "It might be fun."

Still reeling from the kiss, it took Eileen a moment to catch what he had said. "Hiking in February?" She made a face. "Wouldn't it be cold?"

"You could wear a hat."

"I suppose I could."

"I don't think it'll be a long hike."

"Are you going?"

"If you are."

"Might as well then."

"We could get lunch afterward."

"That'd be nice." Eileen turned back to her book, unable to keep the smile from her face. She wasn't entirely sure what had happened but she knew it was a good thing.

---

They all huddled close together in the corner of one of the barracks, listening to a small, clandestine radio. It didn't work real well; the reporter's voice crackled in and out of existence. Tommy didn't know who it belonged to or how the owner had managed to acquire it or even where it was kept hidden during inspections. He was certain the guards wouldn't be too happy if they were to find it. But he was glad it existed, if only as a way to remember that the world outside of their prison still existed.

Tommy kept his hands drawn up inside his sleeves in an attempt to keep his fingers warm. There was a small stove in the middle of each barracks but they were only given a few pieces of wood a day and those they saved for the evenings when it was the coldest. He thought they could have spared a single piece for during the day but he was only one man and not the one man who seemed to make all of the important decisions.

'American planes have carried ou … the greatest daylight operation of the war against unannoun … targets in German...'

Tommy's stomach rumbled. He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't hungry. Instead of listening to the radio, his attention drifted to thoughts of home and whether it was lunchtime there or maybe dinnertime. Possibly breakfast. They could've been eating pancakes at that very moment.

'The Allies … ave turned back repeated German counter attacks at Anzio. Russian forc … have moved closer to Pskov and … pacific offensive continues…'

"Where's Anzio?" One man asked.

"Italy," Daniel replied.

"So we are still in Italy then."

"Of course, we're still in Italy," Tommy snapped. "Everyone's still in Italy. All there is, is fucking Italy." Everyone stared at him but he didn't care.

"Shut up," another man said, gesturing to the radio.

'…the Allied com… nder did not make a mistake in … derestimating the enemy. They knew the German resourcefulness and the … man desperation would produce violent counter action against this menac … beachhead.'

"I wish I was there," the first man said.

"You do?" Tommy looked at him in surprise. There was nothing about German desperation and violent counter actions that sounded even remotely appealing to him.

"Better than being here," the man replied. "I rather be doing something, you know. Making a difference." The man gave him a look. "At least you get regular meals out there."

"We get regular meals here," Daniel pointed out. "They're just small and sort of terrible."

'On Friday morning a handf … of Allied troops were seen fighting its way into Monte Cassino monast … None of them came back to tell the story. Since then we have not tri … to storm the place again.'

"Where's Monte Cassino?" Someone asked.

"Also Italy," Daniel replied. "If the question is 'where,' the answer is always Italy. For fuck's sake…"

"I was just asking…"

Tommy wondered if John was a part of those Allied troops who had been lost in Monte Cassino. He hated not being able to know what was happening. It wasn't fair to be so cut off from everything and everyone. Noticing a small bug crawling along the shoulder of the man beside him, he reached over and picked it off, crushing it between his fingers. One down, four million to go. Maybe it was better to be out there fighting.

A noise came from just outside the building, the sound of voices coming closer. Immediately, the radio was switched off and vanished into its hiding place as the men scattered to their various bunks.

Tommy climbed into his own bed, disappointed that he hadn't seen where the radio had gone. Was there a hole in the floor? It would've been seen if it was simply beneath someone's mattress. The other man was right, he realized. Despite the fighting, despite the constant fear, he did wish he was still with his company, still with people he knew and trusted. He gently brushed a bug that had been slowly crawling toward him, off his mattress, knowing that it would only come back later. They always came back.

---

February 14, 1944

Dottie,

Richard kissed me! I'm starting to think we might be more than friends. We almost started talking about it but then we didn't and then he kissed me and then we made plans to go hiking the next weekend. Neither of us has said a word about it since and he hasn't kissed me a second time. Should I kiss him? Maybe he's expecting me to do something next. I wish I knew how all of this worked. What happened with you and John? Did he kiss you first and then you kissed him second? When did you two decide you were more than friends? Oh, this is so frustrating.

If only I hadn't had too much to drink at the Halloween Party. I feel like that would've been the perfect moment for some big move. I told you about the party, right? My costume was perfect. But I've never had a drink before and I think I drank too much. I can hardly remember more than a few bits and pieces. Richard tells me that's completely normal when you drink a great deal. I'm not a fan of memory loss so I don't believe I'll be drinking again. At least, not as much.

Now that that's out of the way, are you bossing men around yet? How long until they make you Sergeant? I bet you're nearly there. There are so many questions I'm dying to ask you about what you're doing but I'm betting you wouldn't be allowed to answer a single one. So I won't ask them here. But don't think you're off the hook either; I've been writing them down in a notebook. I expect essay-long answers for each and every one of them the moment you get home.

Have you heard from John recently? None of us have received a letter in months. We all assume he's simply too busy to write or maybe there's no mailboxes where he's at but it's hard not to worry. Especially with Tommy being captured.

Write back as soon as you can.

Your sister,

Eileen

Ps. Not ten minutes after I finished writing this letter, Richard called and asked if I wanted to see a movie for Valentine's day–I had forgotten it was Valentine's day! Well, we were in the car, on the way to the theater, when he turned to me and said, 'Eileen, I like you a great deal. I don't want to see any other girl but you. What do you think about that?' Dottie, I screwed up all my courage and I kissed him right then and there. Sort of. I may have missed his mouth but, in my defense, I'm very new to all of this. It ended up alright though. He just laughed. Then he took my chin in his hand and he kissed me. Needless to say, I'm in heaven.

March

Arthur didn't care much for pubs and would never have ended up in one if it weren't for Ernie's relentless pushiness. That and the fact that he was afraid his friend would end up going alone, immediately getting himself into trouble—Ernie could annoy a mosquito.

The pub itself was everything Arthur hated. It was small and noisy, packed full of servicemen. Just as many women weaved their way among the men, searching for the best looking-looking, the most eligible.

One woman, in particular, seemed to have attached herself to him the moment he set foot inside. Arthur didn't understand how she could've found out about his father's money. It wasn't possible for word to spread so quickly. And he couldn't see any other explanation for her interest.

"So, how long until they make you an officer?" She asked, her hands playing with his shirt.

Arthur tried to step back but there were too many people behind him. "I don't want to be an officer so hopefully never."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "Well, that's alright then. I don't mind so much."

"Alright." He looked around the room for Ernie and, catching his friends eye, gestured to the door. Ernie adamantly shook his head.

"There's a lovely little spot, just behind the church," she continued. "There's a bench for sitting on and, in the summer, it's surrounded by roses. Do you know it?"

"No."

She leaned in closer so she could whisper. "It's very private."

"That's nice."

"I could show you, if you like."

"I'm a bit busy." Arthur caught Ernie's eye once again and beckoned to him.

"You don't look too busy at the present moment," she said. "It's not far."

"He's not busy," Ernie said, coming over to join them. "Where're you going?"

"It's nearly bed check," Arthur said, giving his friend a sharp look. "So we're going to go. Maybe next time."

She looked disappointed again but smiled nevertheless. "I'll hold you to it."

"It was nice to meet you…" Arthur couldn't remember her name but took his best guess. "Shirley?"

"Sheila." Her look of disappointment had turned into one of irritation and she crossed her arms.

"Sheila. Nice to meet you, Sheila." Arthur took Ernie's arm and half-pulled him from the pub.

As they stepped out into the cool and quiet night air, Ernie gave him a look.

"What?"

"I can't believe you brushed her off like that. I mean, did you even see her?" Ernie shook his head. "And she was so interested in you."

Arthur shrugged. "Well, I wasn't interested in her."

"Why not?"

"There's sort of someone else."

"You never mentioned having a girl back home." There was a note of accusation in Ernie's voice.

"I don't have a girl back home," Arthur replied. "It's complicated. I don't want to talk about it." It was bad enough to think about June, knowing how they both felt about each other, but helpless to do anything about it.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Tell me," Ernie pressed. "Or I'll slip a snake into your bed but I won't tell you when I do it so it'll be a complete surprise and I'll do it at night when you're sleeping so you won't have a chance to check for it first."

Arthur stared at him, trying to decide if he was being sincere.

Ernie stepped off the road and began poking through the bushes.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for a snake."

He was sincere. "She's married," he said at last. "That's what's complicated."

"You can't go after a married woman," Ernie pointed out.

"I'm not going after her."

"You're pining over her just the same."

"Am not," Arthur insisted. "And if I wanted to go after her, I can't because she's sort of married to my stepbrother."

"So you turned down Sheila for no reason at all?" Ernie suddenly smacked the back of his head.

"What the hell?" Arthur hit him back.

"That's for being stupid," Ernie said. "You know that nothing can ever happen with your girl back home and here you are turning down the prettiest bird you've ever seen."

"You don't know that."

"You would really steal your brother's wife."

"Stepbrother and it's not like he cares at all about her."

"I bet he does. He married her after all."

"He hardly knows her," Arthur insisted. "He met her, got her into trouble, married her—which he had to be talked into—and then was immediately drafted into the Army." He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Ernie or himself.

Ernie gave him a look. "You're not hoping he gets killed so you can move in on his wife, are you?"

"Of course, not. Why would you even say something like that?" It was horrifying enough that that thought had crossed his mind before. It was even worse to hear it spoken aloud.

"Okay, I was just checking."

"I can't help how I feel," Arthur said glumly. "She really is great and she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. My brother doesn't even realize what he has."

"That's nice, but maybe you can take advantage of this war and use it to get over her," Ernie said. "Maybe find someone else."

"Like who?" Arthur didn't see how anyone else could ever come close to June.

"Like Sheila from the pub."

"I can't marry some girl I meet in a pub."

"I never said a word about marrying anyone. I just meant have some fun."

"Not interested."

Ernie sighed. "You know what? I give up." He turned and started to walk away.

"Where're you going?"

"Back to the pub," his friend called back. "I'm going to see if Sheila's willing to give me a try."

"Good luck," Arthur called after him. "You'll probably need it."

"Shut up."

Arthur walked back to the barracks on his own, his thoughts on June, like always.

---

January 23, 1944

Dear Tommy,

I'm glad to hear you're doing well. I've been worried, thinking of you over there. I had imagined you in chains, slowly starving to death so it makes me happy to know I've been imagining it wrong. I'm glad the Germans are treating you so kindly. And you have books to read! That's wonderful.

It must be nice to get to meet men from all over the world. That would've never happened in Spokane. Don't get me wrong. It's not a good thing that you're in prison but one must look at the bright side of things. Life could always be worse and for many it is. I'm just happy that you're alive, you're no longer fighting, and you're well taken care of.

You'll be pleased to know that I regularly show Alice your photo. I want to make sure she recognizes her father when you finally come home. I've told her you're a soldier and she's pleased as punch to hear it. I'm not entirely certain that she knows what a soldier is, but, to her, it sounds important and that's enough to give her a very high opinion of you.

Speaking of Alice, you'll hardly recognize her when you see her again. She grows so fast. I always seem to be letting the hem out on her dresses.

Tommy, I know how difficult things must seem at times. Being treated well doesn't make up for being far from home, far from your family. Remember that it is only temporary. Please be patient. Don't do anything reckless. Before you know it, the war will be over and you'll be home once again.

Your wife,

June

---

True to his word, Cal had spoken to the Red Cross. Lelia hadn't expected them to be helpful and they weren't. All they learned was that Germany had taken control of Genoa and its prison. The majority of the prisoners had been transferred to other prisons and camps throughout Italy and Germany. More than once, the Red Cross had made it clear that it would've been easier if Fabrizio had been a POW as the Geneva Convention would require his family to be notified of his location at all times. But he wasn't a POW and he was lost.

It all felt so hopeless.

"They have his name now," Cal tried to reassure her. "So if they come across him in one of the camps, they'll let me know."

The Camps. Why was that word so much more frightening than prison? "But he's innocent," Lelia insisted. She took a deep breath in an attempt to remain composed. "He shouldn't be in any camp. He should be home with his family."

"I know."

"It's not right." There was a deep ache in her chest and tears were gathering in her eyes.

"It's not."

"How could…" Another deep breath. "How could this be happening? It's…it's not…" All at once, the battle over her emotions was lost. She brought her hands to her face as she cried.

Cal put an arm around her, holding her tightly until she ran out of tears. "It's alright," he said softly. "We're going to find him." He gently brushed the tears from her face with his hand.

There was so much surety in his voice. So much security. It had been so long since she had felt taken care of, since she felt safe. Overwhelmed by a sudden pang of loneliness, she tilted her head up and kissed him. And immediately knew it was a terrible mistake.

Cal removed his arm from around her and moved away, looking uncomfortable.

Lelia could hardly breathe. She hadn't been thinking. "I am so sorry," she apologized. "I don't know what I was…I didn't mean…" Unable to even look at him, she stared at the ground in front of her. "I know I shouldn't have done that. I don't know why I even…" The tears were back and she started to cry once more. She was certain she just drove away her only ally, her only friend.

"It's alright," Cal said at last. "Don't worry about it." He lightly patted her back. "Now, I have some work I need to do that I should probably go do." He stood. "I'll let you know if I hear anything else."

Lelia couldn't find her voice; she could only bring herself to nod.

---

February 18, 1944

My dear Arthur,

You make England sound like a great deal of fun. I must admit I'm somewhat jealous of your adventure. I've never been outside of Washington. Please tell me at once if you happen to meet the Queen. Maybe take a photo or two? Or maybe a drawing. I think a drawing would be better. You've gotten so good at drawing people.

Yesterday, your father was trying to shovel snow off the walk. Alice, the sweet child that she is, decided she was going to help him. She clearly didn't realize why he was doing what he was doing because, believe it or not, she followed along behind him, shoveling snow back onto the sidewalk. Maybe she thought he was just moving snow around for the fun of it? Or, more likely, she was being difficult. Once he realized what she was doing, she fell into such a fit of giggles that it was impossible to be angry with her.

Oh, I do miss you. I miss talking to you. I miss hearing your voice. Every morning, I pray that this war will end so you can come home. I pray the same every evening. I can hardly believe how long you've been gone. I know it's only been about a year and a half but it feels like an eternity. Please take care of yourself. And please stay safe. I need you to come home. We all need you to come home.

Love,

June

---

Eileen kept volunteering at the USO even though it wasn't the same without Dottie. It was certainly nowhere near as much fun. It wasn't easy to find the time as her college classes kept her plenty busy with papers and other school work but she still managed at least one day a month where she could say she did her part.

As she sat behind a table of untouched donuts and hot coffee, she wondered if the one day a month was even worth it. The weather outside was cold and rainy, the atmosphere inside was equally dreary. Only a small handful of men chatted over their coffees. She couldn't imagine anyone wanting to venture out, no matter how good the donuts might be. If they even were good. Eileen looked at the donuts on their tray, donuts that were slowly going cold. It seemed a shame to let them go to waste. She picked one up and, with a cautious eye kept out for Mrs. Keplinger who wouldn't have approved of her eating a donut, she took a bite.

She sat up straighter at the sound of raised voices coming from just outside the room. She suspected one of them belonged to Peter.

"Because it's absurd," Elsie insisted as she entered the room.

Peter was right on her heels. "Absurd? What about it is absurd? So far as I've always known, it goes: boy meets girl, boy dates girl, boy marries girl."

"Or boy pressures girl until girl leaves him for someone who won't rush her into anything."

"Rushing? Ha. That's a laugh. Snails have moved faster than us. Honest to God, snails."

"Oh, for God's sake, Peter. I already told you my answer."

"Could you two please take your argument outside?" The sound of raised voices had drawn Mrs. Keplinger out of the backroom and she stood before them with her hands on her hips. "You're disturbing the other guests."

"There's no argument," Elsie huffed. "I'm going home." She turned toward the door.

"Elsie." Peter ran after her.

"Leave me alone," she said. "We can talk again just as soon as you see some sense."

Eileen watched it all from her table across the room, a half-eaten donut held up in the air. She tried to put the pieces together in her head despite knowing it was a private matter and any respectable person would do their best to forget what they had heard.

Mrs. Keplinger turned to look at her and frowned. "Don't eat the donuts, dear. Those aren't for you."

"Sure." She returned the half-eaten donut to the tray, her attention elsewhere.

Having lost Elsie, Peter came back into the room. He sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck, then took a seat near a window. He glanced out at the rain coming down, looking as miserable as the weather.

Eileen quickly poured a cup of coffee and brought it over to him. She quietly set it in front of him.

He looked up and smiled. "Thank you."

She lingered by the table. "Is everything alright?"

"Not really."

"I'm sorry." She knew she should leave it at that. It wasn't any of her business. She looked back at the table of donuts. She should probably return to it.

"I'm going overseas," Peter said suddenly.

"You are? When?"

"In a week."

"I'm sorry," she said again.

Peter sighed. "I knew my turn was coming soon enough. I could hardly be lucky enough to spend the entire war at Ft. Lewis."

"I think you were lucky to have been able to stay so close to home for so long," Eileen said. "My brother and cousin had to do all of their training all the way in Texas."

"My home is in Virginia."

"Oh." She hadn't expected that. "Then why are you always in Spokane? Mrs. Keplinger said Ft. Lewis was several hours away by bus and Spokane's not that nice for just visiting for the fun of it. I think Seattle's closer."

"Elsie's from Spokane."

"Oh, so you're always here to see her."

"Of course, she was my fiancée."

"Was?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. Still is, I suppose." He picked up his cup and took a drink. "I wanted us to marry before I left."

"That makes sense," Eileen said. "You could be gone for so long. She didn't want to?"

"Elsie wants to 'wait and see.'"

"Wait and see what?"

He shrugged again. "If I live? If she misses me when I'm gone? If we still love each other after a few years of absence. I don't know."

"How long have you two been…"

"Nearly two years."

"Nearly two years and she still hasn't waited and seen enough yet?" Eileen couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. It had only been a month since Richard had kissed her and she had thought that was more than enough time to know she wanted to be with him for life. "Goodness, I've only been going steady with Richard for a month and I already know that I…" She stopped at the look on Peter's face. "I'm sorry. I suppose this is none of my business. I should probably get back to my donuts."

He nodded as he picked up his coffee once again.

Eileen took two steps to the donut table then stopped to look at him. "For what it's worth, I'll miss seeing you around. Not all the time because sometimes you drive me up the wall but at least a part of the time. Maybe even half the time."

Peter smiled. "Thank you, Eileen," he said. "I mean it."

She looked at him in surprise. "You called me Eileen."

"Gravy Girl."

"Peter Rabbit," Eileen replied at once.

Peter laughed. "I think I'll miss you a part of the time as well."

"Eileen!" Mrs. Keplinger's voice broke over them, interrupting the moment. "The donuts are not going to serve themselves."

---

It was an impossibly difficult thing. Kate had already been through so much pain, so much betrayal, so much hurt. Cal didn't want to bring her more. But he also knew that he didn't want to keep anything from her, and didn't want to lie to her either. Hugh had already done that too many times to count. But before he said anything, he bought her a necklace and came up with a plan for moving forward.

He found Kate in the living room, reading a book on the sofa, her legs tucked up beneath her. She looked up at him and smiled. His heart fluttered in his chest. Ten years together, he had known her for thirty and she was still just as beautiful as the first time he saw her. Immediately he held out the necklace, the light catching the diamonds that seemed to drip off the thin silver chain.

Kate looked at it and the smile faded from her face. "Hugh used to buy me jewelry whenever he'd lose his temper and hit me," she said quietly. "Now, I know ye've never struck me before so I'm left wonderin' what other terrible thing ye must've done to warrant something like this."

Cal sat beside her and took her hand. He took a deep breath before speaking. "I'm telling you this because I don't want there to be any secrets between us," he said. "Nothing happened and there's no reason to worry."

Her face tightened and he knew he was going about it badly. "Just tell me what it is," she said.

There was no going back. "Lelia kissed me."

"I see." Kate pulled her hand from his grasp.

"It was only a kiss and I immediately pushed her away and she apologized at once."

Her expression was unreadable. "Do ye love her?"

"I love you."

"Did ye sleep with her?"

"Absolutely not."

"Do I need to worry about it happenin' again?"

"No."

"Alright then."

Cal could tell that she was still unhappy, possibly angry. He reached for her hand but she moved it away. "Kate?"

"I don't want to be unkind but she…" She hesitated. "I want her to find another place to be stayin'."

"I know," he said. "And I've been thinking about it." He turned on the sofa so he faced her better. "Do you remember how we once talked about putting a payment down on a house for Tommy and June once the war was over?"

"I remember."

"What if we do that now?" Cal asked. "Lelia and her children can stay in it until Tommy comes home."

"And then they're thrown out?"

"Ideally, no," he replied. "Ideally, Fabri will be home by then or…Lelia's been saving money. She thinks she'll have enough to rent a small apartment in a year or so."

Kate reached over and took the necklace from his hand. "I don't like the idea of choosin' a home for Tommy without his say," she said. She held up the necklace to see it better.

"You know that June has already picked out a home for them."

"That house wasn't for sale." She handed the necklace back. "Can ye put it on me?"

"I already spoke to the owner," Cal explained as he clasped the necklace around her neck. "He's willing to sell."

"For how much?"

There was no use in hiding it. "A fair amount."

"Ye promise we're not about to go broke?"

Cal almost laughed. "We are very far from going broke."

She still looked uncertain.

"Kate, she…we made a mistake and I'm doing my best to rectify it. If you can think of any other way…"

Kate managed a smile. "I'm goin' to be a bit upset for a time but I appreciate ye tellin' me. I think the house will be fine. June will be thrilled to have it purchased."

Cal leaned forward to kiss her but, at the last moment, she turned her head, leaving him to kiss her cheek. "I do love you, you know."

"I know and I love ye too," Kate replied, managing a smile. "But I might need a moment."

"Take all the time you need." He gently kissed her head then stood up.

"Where're ye goin'?"

"I was going to go tell Lelia about…the…" The words withered under her gaze. "Maybe I'll leave you to tell her."

"I think that'd be a good idea," Kate said. She picked up her book and began to read once more.

April

March 29, 1944

Darling Dottie,

Please forgive me for not being able to write to you sooner. Perhaps, you've already heard the news. I'm not certain how quickly those sorts of telegrams are sent. And I'm not certain if you're in regular communication with his family. Jimmy was killed at the end of January. Forgive me a second time for the lack of details. I have to be mindful of the censor. He was hit by a sniper. I think I'm allowed to say that much. I tried to save him. I promise, I tried. But I couldn't save him.

I don't believe he suffered much at all. I am sorry for it. Jimmy was always a good friend to me and I know I never returned that friendship. I wish things had gone differently between us. But, I suppose there was no way around it so long as we both loved the same girl. There was never any possibility of giving you up and I think he felt the same.

Dottie, with Tommy captured and now Jimmy gone, I feel as though I'm losing friends. There are plenty of good men here who I like a great deal but none of them I knew outside of the war. None of them I grew up with. It makes me question when my own turn is coming. Why hasn't it come yet? I'm sorry this letter is so melancholy. I'll keep the remainder of it more positive.

You should know that I just had my first hot shower in four months. It was pure heaven. And it finally stopped raining. We're all hoping the sun will have a chance to dry things out a bit. Everything is so wet. Now, I'm afraid that's it. That's all the positive I can muster at the moment.

Needless to say, I miss you a great deal. I'd give up every hot shower, every hot meal, every good night's rest just to see you again, if only for a few minutes.

All of my love,

John

Ps. My mother told me that Arthur is currently in England. I would suggest you pay him a visit but his exact location was censored in the letter. All I can say is that he's in England, possibly by a coast, but maybe not. I trust you to sort it out.

---

It was her mother's idea to invite Richard over for dinner. Even though her parents had met him briefly whenever he'd pick her up or drop her off, Eileen knew that parents wanted to subject him to a proper interrogation. After the Gene situation, she could hardly blame them but she still didn't like it. What if their questions frightened him off? She knew she would never find someone else. Richard was the only boy to ever like her. There would never be another.

Wanting to keep as many things under her control as possible, Eileen helped her mother make dinner. She picked out the recipes. She made sure to taste each dish every few minutes. And when her mother happened to lose interest and wander away, she stepped in to keep the chicken from burning and the carrots from overcooking. As it neared Richard's arrival time, she set the table as nicely as she could. Then, she dragged her mother back into the kitchen to keep an eye on things while she went to change into her pink dress.

When Richard arrived, Eileen noticed that he seemed to be dressed in his best as well. He immediately complimented everything: the neighborhood, the yard, the house, the room, both of her parents, and her. Eileen thought he might've been overdoing it but she supposed it could've been worse.

At dinner, as they sat around the table, Richard complimented the food. "This is really good," he said, looking at Sarah.

"Eileen gets the credit," Sarah replied. "She did just about everything."

"I didn't know you could cook," Richard said to her.

Eileen waved a hand nonchalantly. "It's only a bit of deviled chicken and sugared carrots. Anyone could make it."

Beside her, Pat stifled a laugh that turned into an 'ow' as Sarah kicked him beneath the table.

"Richard's studying business management," Eileen brought up in an attempt to salvage the moment.

"That's nice," Sarah said. "What are you hoping to do with it?"

"I'd like to manage a business," Richard replied.

"What sort of business?" Pat asked

"A…um…a large one. I mean, I haven't given it much thought yet. I still have three years of school left." Richard looked slightly uncomfortable. "I just like the idea of running something myself. Maybe I could own a business someday."

"I think it's great," Eileen said.

Pat didn't look impressed. "What does yer father do?"

"He works at the aluminum mill."

"My aluminum mill?"

"I suppose so," Richard replied. "Is that the only one?"

"Does your mother work?" Sarah asked.

"She takes care of the house."

"And ye'd be expectin' Eileen to do the same?"

"No, of course not." Richard looked at Eileen. "I like that Eileen's in college and that she's so smart. She's much smarter than me and it'd be a waste for her to stay home and do nothing with it. Unless that's what she wants to do. I don't want to stand in the way to…I mean, she can do what she likes and I'll do what I like so long as everyone's happy. That is to say, the house shouldn't fall to pieces or anything but together we might be able to keep it together while also working and…um…"

"Richard," Eileen whispered to him. "Stop talking." She was horrified at the line of questioning, irritated that they were discussing her like she wasn't even in the room.

Richard immediately took a large bite of chicken so he could no longer answer any questions.

Eileen looked at her parents. "Could you two stop interrogating him? You're both being very unfair," she said. "And stop talking about me like I'm not here. If I want to stay home and keep house, I'll do it. And if I don't, I won't."

Pat held his hands up. "We're just gettin' to know him, that's all."

"Be nicer about it."

The rest of dinner went by more smoothly.

Afterward, Eileen walked Richard to his car. "My parents didn't frighten you away, did they?"

"Not at all," Richard replied. "I like them."

"Do you really?" She was certain he wouldn't like them.

"I do." He opened his car door. "Goodnight, then."

Eileen glanced toward the house. She knew her parents were watching. "Richard?"

"Eileen?"

She hesitated. "You could kiss me if you want."

His eyes darted to the house then back to hers. He stepped forward to give her a light peck on the lips. "That's all I dare with your parents watching."

It was enough. "Goodnight, Richard," she said with a smile.

"Goodnight, Eileen."

---

It came as a surprise, though perhaps it shouldn't have. Why would anyone tell them anything? They were only prisoners. Tommy had been expecting to spend the day writing letters; he already had four of them written in his head that only needed putting down onto paper. But then, after the morning roll call, he found himself set aside in a group of men. His immediate thought was that they were all about to be executed but then they were each handed a small loaf of black bread and a piece of cheese. If they were to be executed, why would they be fed first?

The group was herded to the train station where a waiting train loomed ominously. As they stood there, Tommy looked around at the German guards, many of whom held back large dogs on leashes. He thought the dogs looked friendlier than their handlers. Spotting Daniel, he moved to stand near him. At least, wherever he was going, he'd have one friend.

After a time, the doors were opened on the boxcars and the group was forced inside. More and more men. Too many men. Tommy found himself against the far wall, far from the door. He clutched the bread and cheese in his hands, more frightened of what was happening than he cared to admit. At last, when no more could be pushed inside, the door slid shut with a bang, plunging them into darkness. There were two small grates near the door and next to the roof of the car but they only let in a minuscule amount of light. A tiniest sliver of fresh air. Tommy slid to the floor, his back against the car. There was such little room that he had to keep his legs pulled up close to him.

With a shrill whistle, the train lurched into motion. He listened to the murmur of voices in the stifling darkness. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself anywhere but crammed into a crowded box train. He thought of the tunnel he had slipped through several months earlier and wondered which situation was better. He ate the cheese in an attempt to distract himself from the encroaching claustrophobia but still he held onto the bread.

It grew hotter in the car the longer they were in there. A heavy, stifling heat. Was it an hour? Two hours? Ten hours? There was no way of telling. Most conversations had fallen silent as the men waited. The absolute absurdity of their situation suddenly struck Tommy. They were all grown men stripped of all autonomy. A toddler had more ability to direct their lives than any of them. They were reduced to passive spectators, confined within the claustrophobic confines of a boxcar racing toward an unknown destination, where someone none of them knew might decide to let them out. If they let them out. Maybe they were to stay in the cramped space until they all starved to death. Or maybe a firing squad waited for them. It was all too much to think about.

"Daniel?" Tommy knew his friend was somewhere on the train but couldn't pick him out in the darkness.

"I'm right here." Daniel's voice was surprisingly close, somewhere beside him.

"Just checking." He still wasn't alone.

Tommy must've drifted off to sleep at some point, lulled by the rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the track, made drowsy by the heat. He awoke to find someone attempting to pry his bread from his fingers. He fought against him, digging his nails into the thief's hands. It wasn't until he bent a finger back, eliciting a cry of pain that the man suddenly let go. He immediately ate the bread, hastily shoving it into his mouth, before anyone else could try to take it.

---

Kate had sent a letter to Tommy. She received it back, two months later, marked 'undeliverable.' It made no sense. Her other letters had reached him. She even double-checked the address on the envelope to make sure she had written it correctly. Everything was right. It should've reached him.

"I just don't understand."

"It was clearly sent back by mistake," Cal said. "Why don't we get a new envelope and send it again? I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

"Maybe he's dead and we just haven't received the telegram yet."

"Kate," He gently rubbed her back as he spoke calmly, reassuringly. "There is no reason to worry. I'm sure he's fine."

She shot him an irritated look. He was also so calm, so optimistic. "Can ye not do that?"

Cal raised an eyebrow. "What am I doing?"

"Yer always thinkin' the best. Why can't ye just worry with me for once?"

"Kate."

"Don't 'Kate' me," she snapped. "Why aren't ye worried?"

"I am worried. I am worried that he is no longer where they said he is. I am worried that something might've happened. I am worried that he might be…" He stopped himself. "But we can't both be worrying at the same time or this house will fall apart."

Kate wrapped her arms around herself. It took everything she had to keep from crying. She knew that Cal was right but it didn't make her feel any better. Nothing short of her son coming home would make her feel better.

Cal gathered her into his arms. "You know, he might've escaped. The POW camp doesn't know where he is because he is currently on his way to Switzerland. Maybe he'll send us a telegram from Geneva."

"If that happens, can ye go fetch him?"

"Army might not like it," Cal said. "But to hell with them. Tommy deserves to come home."

Kate rested her head on his shoulder. "I hope yer right."

---

One day. Two days. Three days. Tommy tried to keep track from the slivers of lights that managed to make its way through the grates. Four days? He knew he must've slept at times. No one could remain awake for so long. They had been on the train for so long.

The train that had only grown more unpleasant by the moment. There were too many men in too small a space for too long a time. The air was thick, heavy, fetid. Tommy tried not to breathe it in. He wanted out desperately. It wasn't fair. He should've been at home. The Army should've never selected him. He wasn't meant to be a soldier. He never wanted to be one. And now he was trapped on a train, slowly suffocating.

Through the darkness, he caught tiny bursts of conversation, none of them ever lasting long.

"Is he dead?"

"I think he just fainted."

"Get him out of the way."

Tommy wished he hadn't eaten his bread. He was ravenous, his stomach ached for food despite the stench making him nauseous. Or maybe it was the hunger that was making him feel sick. What he wouldn't give for a bit of fresh air. He tried to stretch out his back without moving from his spot. A deep pain had settled in his lower back from how he was sitting but he didn't dare stand up, afraid that if it were to move, he'd lose his spot. Other men may have been taking turns sharing a place to sit down but Tommy refused to join them.

A man jostled into his shoulder as he lowered himself to the ground. "You doing alright?" It was Daniel.

Tommy tried to give him a look but it was too dark for his face to be seen. "I think I might be sick."

"Please don't," Daniel said. "It's bad enough in here with all the piss and shit everywhere. You don't need to add to it."

With a groan, Tommy buried his face in his arms. He wished he was home being taken care of by his mother.

"I'm sure we'll be there soon," his friend said.

"And you're basing that on…?"

"Pure, stupid hope."

"I don't think–"

Their conversation was interrupted by the roar of aircraft directly overhead. Tommy looked up despite being in a boxcar. He wished he knew who it had belonged to. His question was immediately answered by the thunderous percussion of artillery.

"Shit," someone said. "We're firing on us."

It seemed impossible to believe. Why would their own planes fire on them? But, as a rattled spray of bullets struck a nearby car, he knew that there was no way for them to know that the train carried prisoners and not ammunition.

Tommy tried to make himself smaller and squeezed his eyes shut. There was nowhere to hide, no way to protect themselves. All they could do was wait for the raid to stop and hope they would still be alive at the end of it.

Another airplane roared overhead and a volley of bullets loudly struck their own boxcar. Someone screamed from the far end. Someone kept screaming. Tommy put his hands over his ears and prayed for it to end.

Was it fifteen minutes? Twenty? At last a silence fell over them broken only by the wheels clattering on the track below them and the wounded man's cries.

"Everyone else alright?"

"Fuck no."

Eventually the man's cries dwindled into groans and the groans faded into a silence. Tommy tried not to think about it. He couldn't let himself think about it.

Finally, the train rattled to a stop. The doors slid open, letting in the harsh sunlight. Tommy couldn't see much of it from where he sat but as men began to shuffle out of the car, he could hardly believe it was finally over. When it was his turn, he stepped out onto the ground, stiff and sore from days spent sitting in one spot. His throat was parched and his stomach ached for food. He looked at the men around him, all looking exhausted and disoriented, beaten up. Looking how he felt.

They were counted several times, each count compared and discussed. Tommy imagined quite a few men must've been killed in the air raid but he didn't want to know any names and he hoped he never learned just how many were lost. After the guards were sure of their numbers, they were marched through a village.

Tommy stared at the ground as he walked, unable to look at the curious villagers who had lined up to watch them past. He didn't understand why his feet hurt as he had sat for the majority of the journey. At last, they reached their new home, stopping just outside a ten foot high barbed wire gate. A sign read 'IX-B.'

"Are we in Germany?" He quietly asked Daniel.

"Halt's Maul!" A guard snapped at him, giving him a hard shove that nearly knocked him over.

It was the same guard who later took his coat, the letters he had always kept in his pocket, everything he had on him. For a moment, Tommy thought the man was even going to take his shoes, leaving him barefoot for the remainder of his captivity, but, instead, he was sent to a different man with a clipboard.

"Name?" The man spoke English. "Rank and serial number?"

"Thomas Brandt. Private First Class," Tommy replied. "3908262." He was so disoriented and hungry that he could hardly make his brain work.

The man wrote it down. "And how many in your unit?"

"What?" Tommy didn't know if he meant platoon or company or regiment or division but it was all a moot point anyway as he didn't know the numbers of any of it.

"Tell me your officers?" The man pressed him. "You can tell us. Your colonel already told us everything. We just want to hear from you."

"If you know my colonel, then you know my officers." Tommy didn't know how the man could've known any of that but he had been a prisoner for quite some time. Maybe they were losing the war.

The man looked angry at his response and furiously wrote something down. "Your religion?"

"Religion?" The question caught him off guard. He couldn't see any situation in which that would be useful to know. "Personal."

The man's expression seemed to soften. "You do not need to answer but if you die, how will we know what service to provide?"

That seemed reasonable enough. "Catholic," Tommy said. He didn't consider himself to be of any religion but he knew his mother considered herself Catholic so he assumed he must've been as well.

"Gut." The man nodded as he jotted it down. "Now, move. Next!"

Once the questions were finished, Tommy walked beside Daniel as they looked for their assigned barracks. Everywhere were prisoners, emaciated men, thin, bony, unhappy. The sight sent a jolt of fear running down his spine.

"Did they ask you your religion?" Tommy asked.

"They did," Daniel replied.

"Did you tell them?"

"Fuck no," he replied. "They don't need to know that."

"Oh, right." Tommy wondered if he shouldn't have said anything. "Is that because you're—"

Daniel shot him a look and elbowed him hard. "I think this is it."

They had reached a low building. Both windows by the door were broken. Tommy entered slowly, freezing just inside the doorway. There were no bunks, no beds. Only dirty straw strewn across a large concrete floor.

"How…" Tommy began, his voice trailing off into uncertainty.

"It'll be alright," Daniel said. "I'm sure this is temporary."

"Temporary. Right." Nothing about it looked temporary.

"It'll be fine."

Tommy couldn't help but notice that beneath Daniel's assurances, his friend sounded as nervous as he felt.

May

April 19, 1944

My dear John,

Jimmy's death is not your fault. Don't you dare blame yourself. You tried to save him and that is all that matters. John, I know you are a good man, frustratingly so at times because you refuse to put yourself first. Your entire life, you've been trying to take care of everyone you meet. Even when we first met. I don't know if you recall, but I had just moved to Spokane. I had no friends. Everyone called me Spotty Dottie. What did you do? You took care of me. You saw that I had no friends so you gave me a friend.

I know you so I know how hard you're taking things. Tommy's capture was not your fault. Jimmy's death was not either. You cannot take care of everyone all the time. And I'm worried you're going to get yourself killed if you try.

I've been thinking about what we might do once this is all over. I'd like us to get a house, not too big, but large enough for a family. Ideally, it'd be within walking distance of your parents' house–I know how much your family means to you…they mean just as much to me. I adore your parents and Eileen. In my head, I imagine us having a garden full of vegetables and flowers everywhere but I've never grown vegetables before and wouldn't know the first thing about flowers so I'm certain it'll be a complete disaster. But it is going to be so much fun to give it a go. I'd add a slightly tasteless comment containing the words: 'fun,' 'making,' and 'children,' but I don't believe it'd make it through the censors. They can be rather prudish at times even though it's the 1940s now and a wife should be able to discuss the enjoyment that might be found in doing an activity that may or may not lead to children. But I could never possibly write such a thing as I'm a lady.

I hope this letter has cheered you up a bit. You are everything to me, my oldest friend, my dearest friend, the best part of my life. I cannot possibly imagine a world in which you are not a part of. Please take care of yourself. I love you. I miss you.

Love forever and ever,

Dottie Xoxo

Ps. I tried to find Arthur but I couldn't remember his last name. Apparently there are close to a hundred Arthurs in the United States Army in England at the moment and that's not including all of the Arts and Arties and Archies. I'm afraid the war may be over by the time I'm able to sort it all out.

---

"Well, I like him," Sarah said. She laid half-tangled in the blankets with her head resting on Pat's shoulder.

Despite the early morning sun streaming through the bedroom windows, neither one was in a rush to get up and start the day. Sarah, especially, preferred to cling to every moment spent together, remembering all too clearly the years spent away from each other. Despite how well everything had been going for them for the past few years, always, the small fear that they would somehow be pulled apart once more, lingered in the back of her mind. She knew the fear was irrational; Pat had a good job and if the asylum hadn't come looking for their escaped patient in the past fourteen years, surely they wouldn't start looking now.

"He's alright," Pat replied. He had undone her braid and was gently running his fingers through her hair.

"Alright?" She turned to look at him. "He's very polite and he's obviously intelligent. He's in college."

"He doesn't know what he wants to do afterward," he pointed out.

"Of course, he does. He wants to manage a business."

Pat snorted. "What else would ye do with a business management degree but manage a business? I think Eileen can do better."

"And I think you're being unfair," Sarah said. "He's a good young man and he seems to really care for her."

"I just don't want to see her hurt."

"I know, but I don't think Richard will hurt her." She kissed him.

"I suppose I could always fire his father if he breaks her heart."

"Patrick Murphy, you will do no such thing."

He sighed. "Fine. I was only thinkin' anyway."

Sarah laid her head back down. She could feel his steady heartbeat beneath her as his fingers resumed their course through her hair. She could've stayed like that forever. "I think threatening to fire his father should work well enough," she said. "No sense in giving yourself extra work."

Pat laughed. "And this right here is why I married ye." He gave her a gentle squeeze. "Ye ready to get up yet?"

Sarah shook her head. "Ten more minutes."

"We can stay here all day, if ye like."

"Don't tempt me." All day, forever. It sounded wonderful.

---

Lelia found it difficult to shake the guilt. Cal and Kate had taken her family into their home and she had only caused problems. Why had she done it? There were no romantic feelings there. She had realized a year ago that she still loved Fabri—if only she had realized sooner. Everything ached for him. She wanted him back desperately. But then, in a moment of pure impulsivity and loneliness, she had kissed Cal. She couldn't blame them for wanting her out of the house. She would want the same.

The house that wasn't her house was beautiful. Lelia couldn't believe she finally had a space all of her own again—albeit a temporary space. There were windows that let in fresh air. A small green yard and flower boxes beneath the windows (currently empty). Bright yellow daffodils stood in clumps on either side of the front door. The day she moved in, June came along with her. June, who was a very sweet girl, told her that she and her family could stay for as long as they needed. Lelia immediately assured her that it would only be short term. She longed for the day when she wouldn't need to live on someone else's charity. Currently, she was saving every penny from her job. She was sure that Spokane must have apartments for rent somewhere. Or maybe she could save enough that they'd be able to move back to New York.

There wasn't much in the way of furniture. Anything they owned that couldn't fit inside the one duffel bag was left behind when they fled Genoa in the middle of the night. Cal had offered to buy some but Lelia refused. She had accepted more than enough charity from him. Instead, using a small amount from her savings, she purchased a few items secondhand: a small sofa, table and chairs, a bed, and a set of bunk beds. She thought Maria and Carlo might take those. Caroline and Beatrice could share the bed. She'd sleep on the sofa. June brought over a few more items—some curtains, a rug, some kitchenware—saying that she was merely pre-furnishing it for when she and Tommy later moved in.

Lelia had thrown all the windows open, reveling in the gentle spring breeze that drifted through the house. She thought of the tiny two room tenement they all shared long ago and how she could never open the window there without letting in a greasy stench from a nearby restaurant. She took a deep breath but all she smelled was green, growing things. She could hardly believe how wonderful it was. She wondered if she'd be allowed to plant a garden. That was one thing that she disliked about living in New York. There was never any room for green things.

There was a gentle knock on the door and she turned to see Kate in the doorway, a basket in her hands. "You can come in," she said, realizing the absurdity in the statement. Of course, Kate could come in. It was her family's house.

"I brought ye a few things," Kate said as she stepped inside. "There's some bread in here and some cookies. I also have a few books. I'm not sure if ye like to read or not, but they're there if ye want them. I also wanted to let ye know that we have an extra bed yer welcome to."

"I couldn't possibly—"

"There's five of ye," Kate cut her off. "Ye can't be sleepin' on the floor. Not at yer age."

Lelia took the basket from her. "Thank you," she said, ignoring the jab about her age, particularly as she was fairly certain that Kate was older than her.

Kate looked uncomfortable. "Cal said he'd help ye apply for a ration book of yer own. Now that ye have an address, they shouldn't turn ye away."

"That's nice of him."

"I married a good man."

Lelia tightened her grip on the basket in her hands. She didn't want to fight with Kate. She genuinely liked the woman. So far as she saw it, they were on the same side. They both had people they loved lost somewhere in the war. No one had heard from Tommy in nearly four months and Fabri…Lelia tried not to think about him.

"Kate," she said tentatively. "About what happened…I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I don't know why I did it. You've all been so kind to me and my children and I crossed a line and I'm sorry."

Kate's expression had tightened at the beginning of her apology but softened by the end. "It's alright," she said. "I don't think I'm angry at ye."

"Cal had nothing to do with it. He pushed me away at once."

"I know and I'm not angry at him either." Kate hesitated. "I think there were just too many in one house. Too much worry all in one place." She shook her head. "I don't want ye to think I'm tossin' ye out. It's not like I'm jealous of ye. Maybe I'm a little jealous," she admitted. "Cal and ye are very close and sometimes I wonder how I compare and—"

Lelia laughed suddenly, earning a sharp look from Kate. "I'm sorry to laugh but, Kate, if only you knew how much he talked about you. Years and years before he moved to Spokane, every conversation was about 'Kate.' Even long before he divorced Dinah." She shifted the basket in her arms. "He loves you so, so much."

"Ye can say that but…" Her voice faltered.

"Cal doesn't drink anymore, does he?"

"Not for years now."

Lelia smiled. "Fabri and I had tried for years to get him to stop but he never would," she said. "You want to know how you compare? He quit drinking for you." Kate may have been jealous of her friendship with Cal but Lelia was jealous of their relationship. Fabri had always refused to listen to her side of things, refusing to leave when war first threatened to break out. But Cal was more than willing to change a large part of himself for the woman he loved. It was hard not to be jealous.

"I suppose he did," Kate replied thoughtfully. "I did have to tell him I'd leave him if he kept drinking." She looked around the room. "I suppose ye could probably use some linens, sheets, blankets, towels, that sort of thing. I'll make sure to bring ye some. And before ye argue, we have whole closets full of the stuff. I swear they multiply on their own."

"Thank you," Lelia said once again. "I mean it."

---

Objectively, it was a beautiful spring day. The smell of growing green things and the sound of insects in the air. Birds called from the trees that lined one side of the road. Sheep grazed lazily in the fields that lined the other. Their herders turned their heads to watch as they passed by. Everyone was in a good mood, bolstered by the pleasant weather, and chatted happily. Poorly sung strains of the "Dogface Soldier," the song that had somehow become their anthem, drifted up from the back of the column.

John didn't understand it. He didn't understand how everyone could forget everything they had just gone through. It was as though they had forgotten the fighting, the artillery shells, the holes filled ankle deep with water and mud. They had forgotten the endless rain and the cold wind that was always able to find its way through one's clothing. They had forgotten everyone they had lost and they had lost so many. They had forgotten Jimmy. John was jealous of the ability to 'forget,' their ability to keep themselves in the present.

Dottie had told him that he wasn't to blame but he couldn't accept it. There must've been something he could've done differently. Maybe if he had paid more attention, Tommy would be a free man, maybe Jimmy would still be alive. He couldn't stand the thought of being a helpless watcher as other men's fates were seemingly chosen by a well-positioned sniper or a conveniently located Jerry.

The thought of Dottie only made him more miserable and he wished the men would stop singing. He could hardly believe just how much he missed her, how much he missed his family. He sighed heavily.

Don nudged his arm. "Cheer up."

"Why?"

The man gestured to the clear blue sky. "Because it's a good day."

"Doesn't mean tomorrow will be."

"No, but today is," Don said. "Might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Besides, you're Sergeant Clarke now. You should be setting an example."

"Right." John was always forgetting about that damn promotion; he hadn't even bothered to tell his family. He didn't even know why he had accepted it except that 'yes' was an expected answer. Who in their right mind would turn down a promotion? Now that he had it, he knew there would be even more men he couldn't save because, in the grand scheme of things, he was helpless. Always helpless.

June

Cal insisted on trying to teach Evy how to play poker even though she clearly wasn't interested and never paid much attention. But even with her resistance, he didn't stop trying.

Kate watched him try to explain what a flush was for the third time and felt guilty. Her husband was a good person and she knew she hadn't been fair to him. "Evy, could I have a moment with yer father?"

"Okay." The child tossed her cards down and sat back.

"I'd like to speak with him alone," Kate tried again. "Why don't ye go outside to play?"

"Okay!" A smile spread across Evy's face as she jumped from her seat and raced outside.

Cal looked at her. "I know you think she's too young to learn but my father taught me when I was her age."

"And ye turned out so well," Kate replied dryly. She moved to sit beside him. "I don't think Evy's too young. I just don't think she's capable of sittin' still long enough to learn."

"If you'd let me teach you, I wouldn't have to go in search of another opponent."

"Ye know I don't like gamblin'."

"We don't have to bet money."

"No? What else would we bet then?"

"I'm sure we could think of something." He leaned in and kissed her. "Is this all you wanted to speak to me about?"

"No." Kate hesitated. Why was it always so hard for her to apologize? "I wanted to say I was sorry. I know I've been unfair to ye. I know ye've only been tryin' to do the best by everyone," she said. "Even now, ye could be angry with me for how I've been actin' but yer not."

"Kate." He took her hand. "You don't need to apologize for anything."

"No, but I do." She clutched his hand tightly. "I love ye. Please don't leave me."

"Leave you?" Cal laughed. "There is nothing in the world that could make me leave you."

"Are ye sure?"

"Quite." He kissed her again.

"It's just all very hard."

"I know."

"I'm doin' me best."

"You are," he said. "And I am so proud of how well you've been handling everything. Life has thrown you a great deal of unpleasantness but you always keep going."

Kate smiled. She didn't believe that she had been handling anything well at all but it was still nice to hear him say it. There was enough sincerity in his voice that she knew he believed it. "It's very quiet in here."

"I think we have the house to ourselves," Cal said. "For the moment, at least."

"Where's Bridget?"

"Out with friends. And with Henry at work and Evy causing destruction somewhere outside, I think we're alone."

"When was the last time it was just us?"

"I think it's been years." He traced his fingers along her arm.

"We should probably be takin' advantage of it then," Kate said. She leaned in close to him and lightly brushed her lips against his cheek. "Unless ye'd prefer to teach me how to play poker."

Cal looked at the cards on the table then at his wife. "To hell with poker. Come on." He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the bedroom.

---

The water Arthur waded through was miserably cold. It wasn't so bad when it was only ankle deep but the depth seemed to change by the minute and with the various ditches and holes hiding beneath the surface, he found himself underwater twice. He shivered as he struggled to keep up with the other men. Men who did not seem to be bothered by the cold. In the distance, he could hear artillery and gunfire coming from farther inland. His company may have landed at midday but he knew men had been coming ashore since the previous evening.

Ernie smacked his arm to get his attention. "At least there's no crocodiles out here," he said with a grin. His glasses were so covered in water droplets that Arthur didn't know how he could see where he was going.

"Plenty of Germans though," Arthur replied. He had been keeping an eye out for them but hadn't seen any thus far.

They finally reached dry land and met up with the 502 Parachute Infantry. As they set up their pup tents for the night, Arthur thought about how glad he was that he didn't have to jump out of airplanes. He knew that every paratrooper had volunteered to be one but he couldn't fathom why anyone would do such a thing. He didn't even like the idea of being on an airplane, let alone jumping out of one. Every single member of the Parachute Infantry must have been at least partially insane. There was no other explanation.

"Get a lot of sleep," their sergeant had told them. "You'll need it in the morning."

Arthur thought about those words as he laid in his tent. He didn't know how anyone could possibly sleep knowing where they were and what was still going on around them. He turned to look at Ernie who shared the other half of the tent and, sure enough, his friend had fallen asleep at once.

"Lucky bastard," he muttered to himself. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself in a bed, far from war. Safe.

---

'Dear, June

I'm sorry I haven't written in a bit. They've moved us to a new camp and it took awhile to get settled in.'

It had been two months since the unending train ride. Two months and Tommy still hadn't been able to shake the pain in his back from sitting in one place for so long. Two months and the shock at seeing their new 'home' hadn't yet gone away. He didn't know how such a place was allowed to exist.

'The new camp is nice. It's certainly larger.'

Tommy wished he could say more about it. He wished he could write the truth. IX-B was larger than Camp 59 but not even the guards could describe it as nice. Everywhere was rundown, messy, dirty, smelly. The barracks were in various states of disrepair. Even the nicer ones, the ones that were filled with beds and straw-stuffed mattresses, had leaking roofs and cracked windows. The roof of his own sad barrack may have been fine—for the time being—but the straw spread across the concrete in lieu of beds and mattress had plenty of rats and bugs hiding in it, always looking for a warm body. No one could lie down without immediately feeling something crawling on them. Daniel thought the building might've at one time housed cattle. Tommy thought that would've been cruel to the cattle.

'The guards are very attentive here. It's nice how well they watch over us.'

Every morning, no matter the weather, they stood in rows outside of their barracks as the guards meticulously counted them. Every evening, they did the same. The roll calls always seemed to last several hours. Hours standing in the hot sun. Hours standing in downpours and thunderstorms. Hours standing. On the very first day after they had arrived, four men, still weak from their train ride, fainted right where they stood. The guards, not blinking an eye, counted them just the same.

'They keep us busy here so there's very little time for boredom. For the most part. There's obviously too many of us for everything they need done but if you're lucky, you might get selected. Supposedly there's more to do in winter with snow shoveling and cutting down firewood but I hope I'm home before then.'

Tommy had only been there a week when he was assigned to a burial detail alongside a few other men who had come with him from Camp 59. He had wondered why none of the long term 'residents' had been selected, but after digging a grave for a man he had spoken to only three days earlier, he understood. No one who had been there for any length of time, could handle the backbreaking work. No, the longer anyone was at IX-B, the more likely they were the ones being buried.

'Everyone wants to get selected because it means more food and, also, something to do. Not that they don't already feed us plenty.'

A cup of lukewarm tea in the morning. A thin soup at midday, mostly water with the occasional bit of rotten potato. For the first two weeks, Tommy picked out all of the potatoes and watched as other men fought each other over them. But by the third week, he ate them all, rotten or otherwise. In the evenings, they were given a small loaf of black bread to split among eight of them. He found a piece of glass baked into his portion on his first day.

"They make them out of sawdust," a man told him. "Why shouldn't there be glass in there as well?"

Tommy flicked the piece of glass aside and ate the remainder of the bread. He couldn't remember a time he had ever been more hungry.

'I cannot stress enough how well we are taken care of. We hardly have a chance to worry about a thing before one of the guards has an immediate answer. There is nothing they can't solve.'

Just that morning, they had been forced out into a field, made to face a row of machine guns. The night before, someone had attacked one of the guards and they were informed, none too kindly, that if they didn't give up the guilty party, every tenth man would be killed. No one moved. No one said a word. It seemed unfair to him that he might die because someone else chose to break one of the cardinal rules. You don't touch the guards.

Tommy coughed suddenly; he couldn't hold it in.

Maybe the guard thought he was laughing because, before he knew what was happening, the man struck him in the face with the butt of his rifle. Tommy's eyes watered and there was the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. The guard stared at him as though daring him to cry out but he made sure to stand perfectly still, to not make a sound.

It was seven hours before two men finally stepped forward. They were, at once, dragged away and the rest sent back to their barracks. Locked inside their barracks. There were no watery soups or sawdust-filled bread that day.

'I miss everyone. I miss sleeping on a bed. I miss being able to bury myself in blankets. I miss my mom's cooking. I miss…well, everything. I hope I get to come home soon. I'm tired of being here, away from everyone.'

It was beginning to grow too dark to see as their barracks was not one with working electric lights. Tommy laid on his stomach on the concrete floor, trying to write his letter in a space that he cleared free of straw. He felt a tickle of something crawling on his leg but he ignored it.

'I wish I could write more but they only give us the one tiny piece of paper.'

"You're wasting your time," Daniel said. He was lying on his back beside him, using his coat as a pillow—he had been allowed to keep his coat. "They're not going to let you send that."

"They have to," Tommy replied. "The Geneva Convention says they have to. And I didn't write a single negative thing so there's no reason for them to keep it."

Daniel snorted. "The Geneva Convention doesn't give a shit about us or this place wouldn't exist. Not a single one of us has gotten a letter since we arrived."

"It's going to take some time for our letters to catch up," Tommy said, feeling less certain as he said it. "That's all it is."

Daniel was silent for a moment. "I'm sure that's it," he said quietly. "Is your face alright?"

"It's fine. Believe it or not, that's not the first time I've been hit in the face."

"Bit of a troublemaker in your youth?"

"You could say that." Tommy smoothed down his letter before adding the final bit.

'I miss you. I'm thinking of you.'

He hesitated as he knew what he wanted to write but wasn't sure if it was appropriate. It was something he had never told June, or any girl, for that matter, and he wasn't even certain if he truly felt it. It could have only been homesickness but maybe it was something more.

"Would it be strange if I told June that I love her?"

"Your wife?" Daniel gave him a look.

"Yeah, you're right." Tommy sighed. "But I think I'll think I'll tell her anyway."

'I love you.

Your husband,

Tommy'

---

Pat came into work one morning and was surprised to find Richard lingering in the doorway to his office. The young man looked nervous. "Ye might as well come in and go on then," Pat said. He had a feeling of what was coming and wasn't looking forward to it.

Richard looked even more nervous as he stepped inside. He looked around the room, his gaze falling on the photo on Pat's desk. "Is this Eileen?"

"Out with it. I have a lot of work to do."

"Right." Richard cleared his throat. "You know how much I care about Eileen. She's smart and funny and so kind. And we have such a great time together. I think she's really swell and—"

"Get to yer point."

"I'd like your permission to ask her to marry me."

Pat stared at him. He knew how much Eileen liked the young man and, while he believed she could've done better, she also certainly could've done worse. "Do ye have a job?"

"Not at the moment. I'm in college."

"So ye can't support her then."

"I'll get a job," Richard quickly said. "I'll drop out and get a job. You don't need to worry about that. Maybe I could even work here. Are you hiring?"

Pat sighed. "Don't drop out," he said. "I do like ye and I know how Eileen feels about ye. But, fact of the matter, she's only eighteen and that's too young to be gettin' married."

"We could have a long engagement."

"Ye don't mind waitin'?"

"Not for her."

"Then, in that case, ye can wait to ask her."

"But—"

"Richard, she's too young and I think yer too young as well," Pat said. "If ye really love her, ye have my permission to ask her in a couple of years. And then the two of ye can marry once yer both out of college. Eileen's the first one in this family to attend college and I won't have ye ruinin' it for her."

Richard looked crestfallen.

"It's only three years," Pat pointed out. "If ye don't love her enough to wait three years, then ye don't love her enough to marry her."

"Alright," the young man sat at last. "I'll wait to ask her." He sighed. "I'll let you get back to work." He reached for the door.

"Richard?" Pat called to him. "If ye ever raise a hand to her, I promise ye that by the time I'm through with ye, there won't be enough of ye left to bury."

Richard opened his mouth to respond.

"That's not an idle threat," Pat continued, cutting him off before he could speak. "It's a promise."

"I would never hurt her." Richard looked distressed at the very suggestion.

"See that ye don't."

---

May 29, 1944

Dear everyone,

Still alive and still doing fine. I finally had the chance to do a bit of sightseeing. I got to see [ CENSORED ] but I didn't get to meet the Pope. Some of the other guys got to meet him but I guess he wasn't around when I was there. There are so many incredible churches in this city. They're very different from the ones back home. They're bigger and more ornate. Tomorrow I'm going to see the [ CENSORED ] . Could you imagine getting pitted against a pack of lions? I don't think I could ever be a gladiator. Not only would I be terrible at it, I couldn't imagine willingly hurting a lion.

As I write that, I recognize the hypocrisy in the statement, considering where I am and what I'm doing. Honestly, it's all terrible and I hate what I'm doing but no one here is given much choice. All we can do is whatever we can to make it to the next day and hope for a chance to later ask forgiveness.

I hope everyone's doing well. I know I'm repeating myself but I miss everyone. I'd give up all the coliseums and churches in the world just to be home again.

Love,

John

Ps. Eileen, do not make any rash decisions with this Richard until I've had a chance to meet him. As your older brother, it's my brotherly responsibility to deem him worthy for you (and your sisterly responsibility to tell me to shut up and then make your own decisions).

---

They went into Tourlaville unopposed just as darkness was beginning to fall. Arthur was one of the men lucky enough to catch a ride on the back of one of their tanks. Supposedly, lucky. He clutched the metal beneath him, terrified of falling off. He couldn't begin to imagine what would happen if he were to get caught beneath the massive treads. He assumed it'd hurt a great deal.

So far, the fighting hadn't been nearly as bad as he had thought it would be. He knew they had landed farther south than originally planned which meant less resistance. He also knew that his regiment was one of the last ones to set foot on the beach. The heaviest fighting was over by the time he touched sand. He had been exceptionally lucky and he hoped that luck would continue to last as long as possible.

As they rumbled by a group of German prisoners, Arthur turned his head to look at them as they passed. They looked like normal men. Some looked frightened; some looked defiant. Some simply looked bored. There was nothing frightening about them at all.

"Arthur," Ernie said from beside him. "Did you see it?"

"A crocodile?"

"The bird that just flew over us."

Arthur stared at him. They were on the back of a tank, rumbling into an overthrown city and had just passed a group of prisoners and Ernie was concerned about a bird flying overhead. "No."

"Do you think it was some sort of gull?"

"I don't know what a gull looks like."

"Of course, you do."

"Do you?"

"Yes," Ernie replied. "Everyone knows what a gull looks like."

"Then do you think the bird you just saw looks like a gull?"

"Sort of but this one was more hawkish."

"Then it's probably not a gull," Arthur said.

Ernie sighed. "Just let me know if you see another one."

"I didn't see the first one."

The tank had reached the town center and stopped. Everyone climbed down, Arthur taking extra care to step clear of the tank's treads. He didn't know why they frightened him more than the barrel.

"You know, " Ernie began as he readjusted his rifle on his shoulder. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be."

Arthur looked at the tank. "No, but I did think they moved faster."

"I meant, we're all still alive."

"At the moment," Arthur replied. "Might not be tomorrow."

"Why do you always have to do that? How about you just enjoy that at this precise moment, we're both still alive and the worst that's happened is getting a bit wet."

"We were also shot at."

Ernie shrugged. "Yeah, well, they all missed."

"They did miss." Arthur thought of Tommy, locked in some prison somewhere and John, a man he admittedly didn't know very well, currently fighting his way up the Italian peninsula. His half-brother was safely out of the war while John was working his way up the chain of command, seemingly impervious to bullets. Wouldn't it stand to reason that he would be the one to get killed? Arthur tried to push the worry from his mind. He had never before considered himself a superstitious man and he refused to start. No, he was not going to get killed. It was absurd to even think about.