“I could use a drin—” Paul begins. Then he stops, turning to me.
“Want to come with us?”
I hesitate, surprised. Paul is asking me to join him in town. My head spins. But camp residents are not allowed to leave the grounds. “I can’t.”
Paul looks from me to the soldier, then back again. “Give me a minute, Drew, okay?” The other soldier shrugs his shoulders. “I’d better go with them,” Paul says to me when he has gone.
“Salzburg really is lovely.” I fight to keep my voice even.
Paul reaches out and touches my sleeve. “It was good seeing you again, Marta. I’m glad to know you’re okay.”
“Goodbye,” I reply. Then I turn and walk back across the lawn, still feeling the warmth of his touch. As I round the side of the palace, my eyes begin to sting. What is wrong with me? I should be glad that he is gone. He was drunk and not at all what I expected. I walk down to my favorite spot by the water’s edge, beneath the willow tree. Then I drop to the ground and lean over, studying myself in the lake. My wild curls and too-large spectacles stare back. What were you thinking? my reflection demands. Did you really expect him to stay here with you, instead of going into town with the other soldiers? I take off my glasses and brush my eyes with the back of my hand.
Suddenly I hear footsteps coming down the lawn. I replace my glasses and turn, expecting to see Dava, coming to chastise me for being outside so long. But it is Paul, standing behind me, hands in his pockets. He carries a small backpack on his shoulders that I had not noticed before. “Sorry to sneak up on you again.”
I swallow over the lump that has formed in my throat. “If you need directions into town…”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I decided not to go.”
I inhale sharply. “Oh?”
“I’m kinda tired and the jeep was too crowded. I spend enough time with those knuckleheads, anyway.” He takes a step forward. “Mind if I join you?” Before I can answer, he drops down close beside me, leaning back and planting one arm on the ground for support. “It’s really beautiful here.” I am too surprised to respond. He did not go with the others after all. We gaze up at the mountains, neither speaking. Out of the corner of my eye, I peek down at his forearm, tanned and muscular. Desire rises in me.
Paul turns toward me. I look away quickly, staring hard at the water and praying he did not notice me watching him. “I’d love to go for a walk before it gets too dark,” he says, gesturing to a dirt path to the right of where we are sitting that runs along the perimeter of the lake. My heart sinks. He’s going to go off and leave me again. But he is still looking at me expectantly. “Care to join me?”
I hesitate, too surprised to respond. A walk, just the two of us? The idea sounds like a dream. But technically, the path is beyond the camp grounds, off limits to residents. And I barely know Paul; it would hardly be proper to go off alone with him, especially since not an hour ago he was drunk. His eyes are clearer now, though, his face the one I remember from prison. And I cannot bear the thought of him leaving again so soon. I have to find a way to go with him. “Wait here for a minute.” I stand up and run back into the palace, looking for Dava. The foyer is empty so I walk quickly into the ward. I spot Dava at the far end of the room, checking Rose’s temperature.
I race toward them. “What’s wrong?”
“Rose has a slight fever.” Dava’s voice is calm but there is concern in her eyes.
“I’m fine,” Rose insists, struggling to sit up. “How did it go with the new arrivals?”
“Fine.” I force my uneasiness down. “Dava, I need to ask you a favor.”
She does not look up. “What is it?”
“I need permission to leave the grounds and go around the lake, just for a little while. I saw someone I know. That is, the American soldier who saved me at Dachau.”
“Paul?” Rose asks eagerly.
I nod. “Anyway, I want to go for a walk with him.”
“You know the rules, Marta,” Dava replies. “Residents are not permitted off the palace grounds.”
“I know. But I was hoping you could make an exception, just this once. Please.”
Dava hesitates. “Curfew is in less than an hour.”
“I was hoping you could sign me in at bed check.” Dava frowns and I can tell that I am pressing my luck.
Rose reaches up, touches Dava’s arm. “Let her go, Dava. For me.”
Dava looks slowly from me to Rose, then back again. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of paper and a pencil. “Take this pass in case anyone questions your being off grounds,” she says, scribbling something on the paper before handing it to me. “But I want you back by midnight and not a minute longer.”
“I will be. Thank you.” I lean down and kiss Rose on the cheek.
“And thank you,” I whisper. “But if you aren’t feeling well…”
“I’m fine,” Rose replies softly. “And I’m really happy for you, Marta.”
I race out of the ward and back through the foyer. When I reach the patio, I stop. The spot where Paul sat minutes earlier is deserted. He’s gone, I think. My heart sinks. Perhaps he became tired of waiting for me and went after the other soldiers into town. Hurriedly, I scan the banks. Paul is standing farther to the right along the edge of the lake, head down, back to me, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the last rays of the setting sun. Studying the way his torso tapers to his narrow hips, I feel a tightness in my chest, strong and sudden. I have never felt this way before, not even with Jacob. Easy, I think. It is just a walk, something for him to do while he waits to leave again. I force myself to breathe slowly, struggling to regain my composure.
I start toward him, and as I near, he turns, his face breaking into a wide smile. “Look,” he says in a low voice, gesturing toward the water with his head. Closer, I can see that his attention has been caught by a mother duck and four fuzzy, yellow ducklings that have drifted close to the bank, heads tucked in sleep. I study his face, boyish with wonder as he watches them.
“Ready?” He looks up from the water, his eyes meeting mine. He blinks, and the serious expression I noticed earlier on the lawn appears on his face once more. Not pity, I decide. Something else.
I swallow over the lump that has suddenly formed in my throat. “Y-yes.” I follow him toward the low white gate that marks the edge of the palace grounds. He holds the gate open for me and I step through onto the dirt path. A few meters farther along the water’s edge, an elderly man sits in the grass, holding a fishing rod, a small dinghy docked at his feet. He eyes us warily as we pass. What a strange pair we must make, I realize. The American soldier and the refugee. But Paul does not seem to notice. He whistles softly under his breath as we walk, looking up at the mountains through the trees.
“It’s just beautiful here,” he remarks. “Reminds me of our ranch in North Carolina. My family farms tobacco, just at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Our mountains aren’t as dramatic as these.” He gestures toward the Untersberg. “But it’s still beautiful countryside.” He steps too close to me on the path and our sides brush. “Sorry.”
I feel a twinge of disappointment as he moves away. “I’m from the country, too,” I offer, eager to have this in common.
He looks down at me. “Really?”
“Yes, our village, it’s called Bochnia, is close to the Tatra—” I stop midsentence, interrupted by the sound of voices. Down the path, there is a group of teenagers coming toward us, laughing loudly. A knot forms in my chest.
Paul notices my reaction. “What is it?” I do not answer, but gesture with my head toward the youths. “Do you want to go back?”