Even in the kitchen, the house vibrated in a way that indicated emptiness. He relaxed a little. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad place to spend the night after all. It sure as hell beat sleeping in the woods.
He moved to the door and lifted the latch, reluctantly admitting that Bauer was right — there was no key, so the door had been latched from the inside. It seemed likely that whoever had closed the door had never left.
On the other side of the door, Bauer knocked as if worried that Cole had forgotten he was out there.
That Kraut is awfully pushy, Cole thought.
He yanked the door open. Bauer was waiting on the stoop.
“Well?” the German asked. It came out as Vell.
“Nobody home.”
“Good.” Bauer pushed inside the kitchen and stomped his boots as if to warm them, although it was not noticeably warmer indoors. Instead, the kitchen felt cold and abandoned. “Better call the others.”
“Don’t you go giving orders,” Cole growled. “You’re still a prisoner, in case you ain’t noticed.”
Bauer nodded. “I have not forgotten. But under the circumstances, we might do best to work together.”
“My mama always said, don’t dance with the devil.”
“Is that what I am, the devil?” The trace of a smirk had returned to Bauer’s lips, and Cole fought the urge to smash him in the face with the butt of his rifle.
“Close to it,” Cole replied, then stepped through the door to wave Vaccaro and Rupert toward the house.
Inside the kitchen, the German was inspecting everything and using his two bound hands to open drawers. If there was still anything here to eat, he seemed intent on finding it. Despite all the good old smells, the kitchen cabinets and drawers were bare.
The kitchen was old-fashioned and lined with shelves rather than cabinets, the wood worn and dark from having absorbed who knew how many years of smoke, oil, and spills.
“Hmm,” said Bauer, having reached the wood-fired range. It was a massive thing that seemed big as an aircraft engine. His hand rested on a cast-iron kettle. “Not warm, but not completely cold either. Whoever was here must have left recently.”
“We didn’t see any tracks coming or going.”
“There is the mystery,” Bauer said. “Someone may be hiding in the house.”
They moved on from the kitchen, entering an expansive dining room with tall ceilings. Once painted a bright cheerful yellow, the color had faded on the damp plaster walls. The gray light did not improve the brightness. They could see an outline on the floor where a carpet had once been, but where there were now only scuffed floorboards in need of refinishing. The dining room table lacked a tablecloth, revealing scars from years of use. Hinting at past glories, a chandelier hung above the table. Rupert tried the light switch, but there was no power.
Cole moved through the dining room into what had once been a grand living room. Tall windows faced the forest and hills beyond, but they were covered by the exterior shutters. Heavy old drapes the color of dried rose petals had been pulled shut across the windows.
A huge fireplace dominated the space. It was not quite tall enough for Cole to stand up in, but it was close. The fireplace was surrounded by marble tiles. A mirror in a gilt frame hung over the fireplace. It was the only attempt at decoration. Although there were nails in the walls, any pictures must have been taken down by the owners and put into storage.
“Lieutenant, I guess this must remind you of your manor house back home,” Vaccaro said.
“Hardly. I have to say that this place is a bit more posh than I’m used to,” Lieutenant Rupert said. “You Yanks must think us Brits are all aristocrats. My father’s a village doctor, not the Duke of York.”
“I’m definitely not a duke, but this will do nicely,” Vaccaro announced, flopping down on an antique sofa trimmed with carved wood. The upholstery had been covered with a canvas cloth, like a drop cloth, apparently to protect it.
“You think so, huh?” Cole found the grandeur of the room, however faded and apparently unlived in, to be overwhelming. “We best go have a look-see upstairs before it gets dark, just to make sure this place really is empty.”
Vaccaro got to his feet. “I’ll do it.”
Cole snorted. “When did you ever volunteer for anything?”
“Ever since I wondered if there was anything valuable upstairs, that’s when.”
“See if you can find some extra blankets. And take Rupert with you.” Cole caught himself. “Uh, Lieutenant Rupert. Sir. If you wouldn’t mind—”
“Come along, Vaccaro,” the lieutenant said, and the two men went in search of the staircase, leaving Cole alone with the German.
There were two candles inside glass globes on the mantel, so Cole lit them to dispel the gathering darkness. By candlelight, the room was transformed, its shabbiness forgotten, the soft glow creating an atmosphere of old-world elegance.
Then he got to work building a fire. He went back to the kitchen and rounded up the kindling that he had seen there. A small stack of logs stood beside the fire, evidently more for show, but Cole decided that there was no time like the present to put them to use. He set to work building a fire lay in the big fireplace, looking forward to some warmth after a long, cold day outdoors. They could also use the fire to heat their rations.
Quietly, Bauer watched him work for a minute, then spoke up. “Do you think that building a fire is wise? We may attract unwanted attention.”
“It will be dark soon. Nobody will see the smoke. And the way those windows are covered up, the light won’t show.”
Bauer nodded, conceding the point. He sat down in one of the elegant chairs and made himself at home.
“I would help you, but you see…” The German raised his bound hands. “Also, at some point, we have the problem again with relieving myself.”
“Shut up,” Cole said. He was enjoying building the fire lay, and the German was ruining the moment.
Overhead, the ceiling creaked as Vaccaro and Rupert passed through the empty rooms. A few minutes later, they came marching into the living room just as Cole had managed to get the flames to lick at the wood in the fireplace. He squatted on his boot heels and watched the fire with satisfaction.
He couldn’t help but think of growing up in the mountains, where building a fire was one of the first skills that a boy learned. In the Cole family’s cabin, it had been the only form of warmth. In the woods, the ability to build a fire on a cold night could make the difference between life and death.
“Nothing,” Vaccaro reported. He was carrying an armload of bedding and tossed it down on a sofa. “Looks to me like the whole place has been cleared out.”
“Good to know,” Cole replied. “Now let’s divvy out those rations and heat up some supper.”
“Home sweet home,” Vaccaro agreed.
Beyond the shuttered windows, the night closed in around the château.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wanting to get a start before darkness fell, Brock led the others down the road leading out of Bastogne.
The soldiers’ boots squished through the slush and mud with a sense of purpose and urgency. The clink and rattle of their equipment was the only other sound they made, mingling with the distant noise of combat that included the rattle of small-arms fire and the thump of artillery.
Somewhere in the distance, they could hear a woman wailing. Having heard similar sounds in dozens of towns since landing at Normandy months ago, they ignored it. Tears were simply part of the background noise of war. Their attention remained on the present. When they spoke, their voices were hushed, their words clipped.
“You got ammo?” Brock asked.