Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)(75)

“Healthy,” Nick countered.

Elizabeth smiled. “Very. But the trees held my weight as if I was just another bird dropping by.” She shook her head. “Poor trees. My weight was the least of what I subjected them to. I’d climb up, as high as I could go, and sing to the orchard at the top of my lungs.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” said the man whose life had been joyless until, as a boy, he’d discovered the same joy. “Singing to the trees.”

“It wasn’t bad for me. I loved it. Love to sing. Unfortunately, I can’t begin to carry a tune.”

“I’m sure the trees didn’t care. You said they never creaked in protest.”

“They’re pretty gracious. Like my grandparents. I serenaded them endlessly, too. The price of unconditional love, I suppose.”

“A price they were delighted to pay.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “They’d even suggest that I sing, if I hadn’t for a while.”

“Happy memories.”

“So happy. So lucky. What about you, Nick?”

“Go right ahead,” he said. “Sing for me.”

“That wasn’t what I was asking.” I wasn’t asking, she thought, for your unconditional love. But the serious eyes that met her startled ones seemed willing to offer it. Another mirage, she told herself. And a lingering one…“I—What I meant was, are you a singer? Do you love to sing?”

The questions were logical. Their answers, she’d have imagined, straightforward.

But Nick frowned.

“I can sing,” he said at last. “And there was a time, when I was a boy, that I loved singing. Since then, I’ve only sung when people needed me to.”

“Needed you to? Because you sing so well and your voice is so comforting?”

“Something like that.”

“You don’t love it anymore?”

“I haven’t sung for a while. Perhaps if I sang with someone who loved to sing, it would come back to me.”

“Assuming that someone could carry a tune.”

“It wouldn’t matter a bit.”

“I can’t just break into song.” Not now. Not yet.

Nick smiled. Neither could he. Not now. Not yet. “Maybe later.”

“Maybe.”

“You probably like Christmas songs.”

“I do.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“I’ve never thought about it. But I suppose, if I had to choose, I’d say ‘Jingle Bells.’ What about you?”

“If I had to choose,” he answered softly, “I’d say ‘Jingle Bells,’ too.”

During the three days until the Tuesday afternoon when Nick would have to cancel Gram’s Wednesday-morning eye appointment, he and Elizabeth ate breakfast with her, and lunch and dinner.

And, at forty-five-minute intervals in between the home-cooked country meals, Nick and Elizabeth talked.

And, in between that, Elizabeth scanned the letters she’d already read, and read several more. She wasn’t searching for proof that Nick was right in saying Charles would withhold from Clara the horrors of war. But she found it. Even when war claimed the life of a friend.

May 18, 1942

My dearest love,

Danny died in battle three days ago. We brought him back to camp with us, and he’s on his way home to Cedar Rapids.

I need your help, my darling. As you know, Danny’s family opposed his decision to enlist, and there was anger on both sides when he boarded the train.

Danny never regretted his decision. He wouldn’t regret it even now. But he regretted the pain he caused his parents, and that he hadn’t made things right with them before he left. He’d been planning to write, to apologize for hurting them and to plead—again—with them to understand. Of all of us, Danny had the clearest vision of the importance of what we’re doing, and must continue to do.

He was a hero, Clara. In life and in death.

He was also a loving son.

I couldn’t save Danny. But I have to try to save his parents from suffering more than the immense anguish they’ll feel at his death. The enclosed letter is to them. I’ve written about Danny’s life since they last saw him, the good things, the memories that will make them smile. The jokes he told. The poker face he didn’t have. The way he spoke of them. They need to know his anger was gone. And that he believed, long before he died, that theirs was, too.

Will you see that my letter gets to Danny’s parents? I don’t have their address. The army will, of course, but it will reach them more quickly if I send it to you. His mother teaches school in Cedar Rapids. Her name is Rose. And his father, Daniel, is a dairy farmer. Danny’s last name, as I’m sure you remember, is Small.

I love you, Clara. Please know that without the slightest doubt. And never doubt, either, your support of my decision to go to war.

It was the right decision, my love. I’m where I need to be, doing what I need to do. For our children, and our children’s children.

I’m going to see our babies, Clara. And their babies. I will return, my Clara, to you. It’s more than a hope, or a wish, or a dream. It’s a belief, deep inside. I don’t know why we’re meant to be the lucky ones, only that we are.