“I can’t see how anyone could have survived that.”
“I don’t believe anyone did.”
Theda’s thin lips drew tight as she held closed her coat collar. Edgar was busy trying to see around the group of Berchten soldiers as they cleared away the smoking wreck. We were fifty feet from the tracks but I could see that the cars where the explosion triggered were obliterated.
Pieces of wreckage hung from naked tree branches, the sun brightly shining down on the ruin. The derailed train lay in the ditch beside the tracks like an upturned snail. A few fires had yet to be put out.
“This was done by the Resistance, wasn’t it?” Edgar chirped, earning a cuff on the head by Theda.
Marcus Trueval, our neighbor, gave a sad smile down at him, “So it would seem, son.”
“But that’s good right? It’s good this happened?” Edgar insisted up at me.
My mouth tightened. Scanning the crowd of grey uniformed men, I spied Viktor Domnin. His face was grimey from the smoke with a few unsightly streaks of red. It wasn’t his blood though, I could tell. Strangely, it made me relieved.
I swallowed hard as his razor blue eyes cut into me, my stomach dropping to my knees. From only his look, I knew that he didn’t believe I was gathering truffles the night before in the woods.
“Come. We’ve tarried too long as it is,” Theda’s warm voice jostled me out of my fears as she led me like a child through the crowd, “We have work waiting at home.”
After we finished our morning chores, Theda walked Edgar to school and let me know she would be visiting her sister for the afternoon. For once, I dreaded the solitude. As I stood at the stove stirring a vat of root broth, my mind wandered over the earlier evening.
The Resistance was holed up in a broken down mill deep in the wood. Hannie Guillory, the Cat as she was known, had been direct and accusatory. Even as I swayed with dizziness from my fall, she was grueling in her interrogation. The masked girl who had helped lead me into the forest said that the Cat was the best our region had seen for a Resistance leader. She was there in Belnon for something very important.
All I knew was that last night had been a test of my loyalty. They informed me of the plot against the train tracks, daring me to tell the officers in my home. They promised they would be watching.
I tried not to think of Peter Maier and told myself it must be another train he was on. However, as the explosives detonated on the tracks, I knew in my gut that he had been killed. Maier would never see his Greta again.
And I had let it happen.
A splash of broth cascaded over my wrist. I hissed, dropping the ladle. It clattered to the flagstones. Staring at my hands, I could almost see the stains of Sergeant Maier’s blood from the evening of the wolf attack. I gritted my teeth.
The rumble of a motorbike jolted me out of my thoughts. Rising on the toes of my boots, I peeked out the window into the courtyard. Sergeant Domnin removed his riding goggles and cap. I almost would have preferred Gruber at the moment.
Wiping my trembling hands on my apron, I approached the door and opened it. He was already on the front step. His icy eyes were red rimmed and face still a mess as it had been earlier that morning. I wondered if he had gotten any rest. He nodded, his russet hair clumped with ash and dirt.
“Miss Roux, I am looking for Lieutenant Gruber,” he stated calmly.
“I’m afraid he’s in town, trying to sort through matters,” I replied, the breeze playing with the stray strands of hair on my shoulders, “Won’t you come in and have some tea?”
Even if he was the enemy, I had always had a soft spot for lost causes, especially ones that took the forms of people. He hesitated, his eyes intently searching my face.
“Thank you,” he conceded, stepping over the threshold.
An uncomfortable silence fell after he sat down at the table. I put on the kettle and retrieved the tea pot from a shelf in the cupboard. I glanced over at him, his shoulders slumping. A smear of blood was on his neck. He looked over, startling me with the fury in his eyes. I busied my hands with the silver leaf strainer.
“Do you remember the wounded man I brought here the other night?” He asked quietly. Before I could reply, he scoffed and leaned forward to perch his elbows on the table, “What am I saying? Of course you do. You visited him in the hospital.”
The familiar aroma of the dry mint leaves did nothing to quell my nervousness, “How did you know that?”
“He told me when he gave me back my handkerchief. He said he was very fond of you.”
The tea kettle sang out its shrill note. He was staring at me, a tick in the hollow of his cheek. Rising slowly, he moved to the stove and picked up the kettle. I retreated a step as he brought it over to the tea pot and poured the boiling water into it.
“He was happy to be going home.”
I inhaled sharply, “I know.”
“He’s dead. I found the body myself." Viktor lifted the spout and brought it over to the stove.
With shaking hands, I placed the quilted cozy over the pot, “I am sorry. He was nice.”
“That’s a lot coming from you.”
As he pivoted, his jaw tightened and the emotion froze in him. Dirty and exhausted, he appeared so much older in a matter of hours. Though I could only guess this was a gradual wearing away.
Combat was like a steady stream of water on stone. Give it enough time and the rock will wear away, never able to return to its former self. I could only imagine what would have happened to Sid had he lived. He probably would have looked a lot like Viktor Domnin.
Despite what his country had done to my family, in our kitchen filled with the homey scent of root broth, I found pity the hardest emotion to ignore.763Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdHALUXQEMa
“Come.” I insisted, grasping his wrist and surprising us both as I led him into the courtyard. In a corner by the chicken coop, I pointed towards a wooden crate beside a barrel of clear rain water, “Sit there and wait.”
Viktor obeyed, studying me with interest as I strode away. A few moments later, I returned from the house with a worn towel, a bar of honey and tallow soap and a wash pan. He was quiet as I spread the towel over the neat angles of his shoulders. I peered down, his mouth parting in a silent question.
"Lean your head forward." I growled awkwardly, "You're filthy."
Without mercy, I dumped the bowl full of rainwater over his head. He hissed through his teeth as it raced cold down his bare neck, the skin erupting in gooseflesh. To my shock, a bark of surprised laughter burst from him. I couldn’t help the smile as I threw another splash onto him.
Lathering the soap in my hands, I sunk my fingers down to his scalp. His posture stiffened. Viktor clutched his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. Combing the soapy strands with my fingernails, his blue eyes drifted shut.
I shook the suds from my hands, heart thudding so hard it hurt. His head tilted back as I poured the water over his hair, the sweet smell of honeyed soap drifting up. Viktor exhaled slowly through his nose.763Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVD6opQqdCd
I dried my trembling hands on my apron and retreated a step. Another laugh rumbled low from his chest as Viktor shook his head like a dog. A cascade of droplets caught the light. I shielded myself with my hands, giving a breathy laugh. Viktor rose, rubbing his head with the towel.
He locked my eyes. His fallow stare feathered away. The spark returned to his gaze. His hand reached out but didn't grasp mine. Rather it hovered tauntingly before it.
"Tell me. Did you know?”
My mouth was dry as I peered into his face, “I was- I didn’t.”
A bark of laughter echoed down the road behind me. Edgar raced towards home, his books strapped by a belt and bumping against his legs. He hooted out a greeting to Viktor.
“Sergeant Domnin!” He shouted joyously, heaving with exertion as he halted in front of us. His brow furrowed, “Why are you all wet?”
My face burned as Viktor let out low chuckle. He didn’t look over as he handed me the towel. Viktor rubbed the newsy cap from Edgar's head as he strode over to his bike. I came up behind Edgar and wrapped my damp forearms around his shoulders. Before he put on his goggles, Viktor met my eyes pointedly.
“I’m sorry I can’t stay for tea, Miss Roux. We’ll have to reschedule,” he jutted out his jaw with a nod. His strident tone struck both fear and excitement in me.
“It’s your first night at the Black Gytrash, right?” Edgar asked as Viktor drove away.
I nodded mutely as we watched the Sergeant disappeared around the bend. The briefest shadow flashed in the trees across the road. The Resistance had said they would be watching. I had a feeling I would receive another visit from the Cat very soon.
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