9 comments/ 20233 views/ 8 favorites A Love in War By: HLD "I hate this place." "I hate that you're such a brat," Danielle said to her little brother. "Why do we have to go? Ma-mère doesn't even speak English," he whined some more. "She does, too." She reached over and smacked him just because she could. "You're just too stupid to understand her." "Dani, don't antagonise your brother," her mom scolded from the front seat of the mini-van. "They don't even have a Playstation!" Good God, just shut up! Danielle thought to herself. Before she said anything else that might get her in trouble, she plugged her earbuds in and turned up the volume on her iPod to drown out her sibling's lamentations. For her part, she loved visiting her grandprarents and great-grandmother. Ma-mère still lived in the same house where she had raised her family after the war (the second one), and Grandma and Grandpa lived a couple of blocks away. Danielle liked it because it was quiet. She liked perusing through her great-grandmother's voluminous library and listening to her stories of France and Germany and England and lands far away. It also drove her brother bonkers, and that was just an added bonus. The drive from Charlotte took almost all day when they finally pulled in to Ma-mère's driveway. Danielle thought she was beautiful. Still slender and always immaculately dressed, she was the envy of women two decades younger than her 88 years. She was standing on the porch along with Danielle's grandparents, Ma-mère's daughter and her husband. Her curly white hair glistened in the setting sun. She was fit and spry for her age, but still had to lean on her son's arm to walk down the steps to greet her grandson and great-grandchildren. "You've gotten so big!" Danielle stood half a head taller than her great-grandmother, but never minded returning the loving hug she knew was always coming. Ma-mère's spoke perfect English, but she was never going to lose her melodic French accent. Marie's colloquial name literally translated as "my mother", which is what her children called her, and the subsequent two generations just kept using it, even though "Grand- mère" may have been more appropriate. "Come in!" The seven of them went inside, her father and grandfather retrieving the family's bags. The adults were visiting and her brother was playing with his Nintendo DS when Danielle slipped away to her favourite room at her great-grandmother's house: the library. Years ago, she had been given free run of the place, except for one glass-enclosed cabinet of antique leather-bound books. On the family's frequent visits, Danielle had read through some of the collection. She liked the history and travel books, and eschewed the romance and fiction novels. "I see it didn't take you long to find you way here," Ma-mère called from the doorway, a wide smile on your face. Danielle blushed slightly. "Come sit with me, Dani. I have something to show you." Too big to sit on her great-grandmother's lap, she settled for the next best spot: on the soft couch under a reading lamp. On the coffee table was a box of pictures, a photo album and two small, worn books. "You have always been interested in my history books, Dani," Ma-mère reached for the photo album. The pictures were discoloured under the yellowed plastic page covers. "I want to show you some history of my own. Your mother tells me you're studying French in school? Good, I have something to help you with that." She turned the first page and Danielle's eyes grew wide. One of the people in the first picture was clearly her great-grandmother. The other was older, with a full, white beard. They were standing in front of a small stone cottage. "You were beautiful, Ma-mère," Dani whispered. "This is me and my father outside our house in France, right before the war." There was a sad, wistful tone to her voice. "You are fifteen now, yes? That's how old I was in this picture." There were several more of Ma-mère and her family. "Who is that?" Dani pointed to a very handsome man in an army uniform. "That is your great-grandfather." The corners of Ma-mère's mouth turned up into a sad smile. "This was in the spring of 1944, right before the Americans and the British came." "Great-grandfather was a German?" Danielle blurted out. There was no mistaking the distinctive uniform of the Wehrmacht. "Yes, he was," Ma-mère whispered, a flood of memories overtaking her. "That's why we had to come to America. No one back home wanted us there." "Why not?" "For many reasons, Dani, many of which I still don't understand." For the first time that she could remember, Danielle saw her great-grandmother frown. There was a flash of anger and hurt in her eyes. "Do Grandma and Grandpa know?" "I told them a long time ago, but no one else in the family wanted to talk about it," Ma-mère sighed. "It's the one family secret everyone wanted to go away." "You loved him." It wasn't really a question. "Yes, I did. I still do." She flipped back to the end of the album to a family portrait. Ma-mère was seated in the middle along with four children, one of whom was her grandmother. A handsome man sat next to her, but he was not the man in the German army uniform. "After he died, I married again, and I loved this man, too. But not as much as I loved my Christof." "What happened, Ma-mère?" Marie didn't say another word. Instead, she handed her wide-eyed great-granddaughter her diary. She wiped a tear from her eyes, took a deep breath and left Danielle on the couch to read through the chapter of their family history that was shrouded in secrecy. *********************** There was very little for the French to be happy about in the summer of 1943. It was the third year of the German occupation, and in all of the villages along the northern coast of France, they were preparing for an invasion by the Americans and the British. The puppet government in Vichy controlled the southern part of the country, but in Marie's village, a German Major was the prevailing authority. Before the war, it had been a small farming village along the Normandy coast. But with a looming assault from across the English Channel, it was simply another gun battery post along the coast in Hitler's Festung Europa—Fortress Europe—which stretched along the coast from France to Denmark. Marie never had any problems with the Germans. But then again, she was a pretty young woman who was only fifteen when they arrived to take over the town, and had just turned nineteen when she was pressed into the French Resistance. For the most part, the Germans who came to the town left the French people alone, as long as they didn't cause trouble. It seemed as if they were trying to be friendly. They paid a fair wage for work and didn't try to humiliate or torture the locals. Of course, when the SS came in, tensions rose, but they were a small, sleepy town that most people just passed through on the way to somewhere else. Many of the German soldiers who came weren't really German, they were Ostlegionen, conscripts from the eastern front who were supervised by German sergeants and officers. They did a lot of physical labour, but they were also trained to man the guns and mortars that were zeroed in on the beaches in the case of an invasion. Most did not speak French, German or English, and they generally stayed to themselves. Of the Germans who came, some were elite armoured or parachute regiments, but many had been injured in Africa or Russia, or were otherwise too infirm to fight on the front lines. And then there were men like Christof. He was the son of a former German Navy Captain from the First War, who also happened to be a prominent Nazi supporter. Like all parents, he wanted to protect his children, so before the war, he arranged for Christof to be given a commission in the Army, and was then subsequently transferred to a staff position. Until he arrived in France, Christof had spent much of his time in Bavaria at a supply depot. When she first saw him, Marie immediately noticed his handsome blue eyes and charming smile. He was reporting for duty at the major's house, and she knew he was important because he had a driver and a staff assistant. Their eyes met for a second, and he smiled at her, making Marie blush unconsciously. For just a moment, she considered that if he hadn't been a German, it might be nice for him to call on her some time. *********************** Summer turned to fall and then to winter. The Germans were busy building bomb-proof shelters and gun emplacement for howitzers which would repel the invaders. When their conscripts from the Ukraine weren't enough for a task, they would employ the locals to help, some times on a more compulsory basis than others. Marie saw Christof a couple more times. Once, he even stopped to talk to her, although she did no more than exchange pleasantries with him. He spoke fluent French and English, with only a slight accent. Her father's hatred of the Germans was no secret, although he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut around them, lest he "disappear" like some other men in a village a couple of kilometers away. The rivalry between the French and Germans went back for centuries, and it seemed to always spring up every generation or two, whether it was the Napoleonic Wars, the Franco-Prussian War or the First World War, giving new fuel to the fires of hatred, intolerance and misunderstanding. It wasn't until one night in March of 1944 that Marie learned the lengths her father would go to see the Germans driven from French soil. She thought they were going over to a neighbour's for dinner. After the meal, her father and the neighbour led her into the basement. When she saw the maps on the wall and the radio in the corner, her pulse raced. When her eyes fell on the rifle butts under a blanket, she found that she wanted to run back to her house as quickly as possible. "Marie," Sacha began. "We want you to do something for us. But you must do it in secret." "Papa, what are you talking about? What is going on?" A dark and sad look crossed her father's eyes. "We are the French Resistance here, Marie. The Americans have asked us for our help when they come to kill all the Germans." Her blood ran cold when she said the words. "What do you want me to do, Papa?" "You will not have to shoot or kill anyone," Sacha said gently. He was a little older than her father. Both had fought in the First War. He had been a generous friend of their family for as long as she could remember, and had always been sweet to her. "You do not have to pass messages or build bombs or anything like that." He paused to exchange a look with her father, who shook his head and turned away. "That German lieutenant has taken an interest in you," the other man said. "Your father has refused to let him see you. But we think he may be useful." Sacha took a deep breath before continuing. "We want you to go out with him. See what he knows. Relay anything to us about what the Germans are doing to get ready for the Americans and the British." "How will I . . . I'm just a . . . I don't know anything . . ." Marie stammered. "We know," her father took her hand and held it to keep them both from shaking. "We don't want you to be in danger, and you will not be seducing him. But we need to know what the Germans are up to." "I can't tell you what else we're doing, but you are not the only one keeping any eye on the Germans," Sacha said. "Won't the others think less of me?" she asked. That much was true. Some of the girls who voluntarily consorted with the Germans were outcast from their families and communities for fraternising with the enemy, even though it often brought favour or extra rations from the occupiers. "They probably will," Sacha conceded. "But when this is all over, we will tell everyone that you were doing it because we asked you to, not because you are a collaborator." Marie's head was swimming. She had no inkling that her father was in the Resistance, much less that he would bring his daughter into it, too. A part of her wondered exactly she would have to do, but another part was secretly thrilled at being given the opportunity to do something—anything—to help end the war with a victory for France. "Let me think about it," she said softly, and both men nodded. Her father led her back to their house, where she retreated into her room, even though she had already made up her mind. *********************** "Thank you for having me over tonight," Christof said as they were seated around the table. He was dressed immaculately in the uniform of the Heer, or German Army. The young officer was a couple of years older than Marie, and came to dinner alone. He was very handsome. Marie's father had given her no instructions other than to be polite. For his part, he was aloof and a little rude, but that could easily have been taken as the over-bearing patriarch trying to intimidate anyone who came calling on his daughter. Marie remembered him acting the same way when other young men had come to court her. Her mother was upset, but not obviously so. Marie knew that it was because her father and brother had been killed at the Battle of the Somme. Still, she was the perfect hostess to their guest. Marie did not know if her mother knew that her father was an active partisan. The four of them made small talk over dinner. There were many uncomfortable silences at the table, but Christof was naturally charming and did not come off as an arrogant officer of a conquering army. When the meal ended, Marie and Christof were left in the parlour of their small house, her parents retiring to the den, where they could still hear everything that went on, but afforded the young pair some moments alone. Marie was naturally shy, and if not for the war, probably would have been entertaining courtship offers from several of the young men in her district. As things were, most of the young men were gone, either to work in the cities or to the Army; some were in the Vichy Army and others had left for exile to serve in the Free French Forces. So at a time in her life when her horomones were in need of some male attention and the only viable prospect seemed to be an enemy officer, Marie found her palms sweating and her pulse racing at the charming smile and boyish good looks of a German. The couple's night ended with a formal bow from their guest and the promise of a second date at a later time. As she lay in bed at night, Marie wondered how soft her handsome visitor's lips would feel pressed against hers. *********************** For the next month, Oberleutnant Christof Weber called on her once a week or so. Marie found herself looking forward to his visits. In every case, their date was done by sundown, so that the local curfew was observed, and the lights in her town could be turned out to avoid the attention of the air raids which were coming more and more frequently. By mid-April, the weather had warmed up and Christof began coming by more frequently. He always asked her father's permission to see her first. One night, when they could hear bombs falling off in the distance, her father stopped in to her room. "Marie, your mother is going to pack a picnic basket for you and Christof. He has asked to see you tomorrow. See if he will take you to one of the southern fields for lunch." "Why, Papa?" she dared to ask. "Don't ask that," he replied, his eyes dark. "Do not ever ask. The less you know, the better off you will be if we are discovered. I will never put you in danger, but you must trust me." "Of course, Papa," Marie rose and gave her father a hug. "I love you, mon ange," he said gently. My Angel. "I love you, too, Papa." The next day, Christof was delighted to see the meal he thought Marie had packed for them. He arrived, driving the army car by himself. When she suggested the location for their lunch, he told her that those fields were not safe for their picnic, but that some others to the west were. When she returned later that night, she told her father what she had learned. He promptly disappeared into the basement. She wondered why it was important. What Marie didn't tell him was that after they were done with their lunch, her first kiss had been from a handsome German officer. Nor did she tell him that she had initiated the kiss. *********************** For the next couple of weeks, Christof began to call more often. She felt as if he were talking more freely than before. Marie also found that she looked forward to his visits, something her father sensed and disapproved. After each date, her father would quiz her on what she had seen and where they had gone. As they were together, Marie found herself observing things she would not have noticed had their courtship occurred during a period of peace. Soon, she could identify the various armoured tanks and vehicles around town, and Marie made mental notes of where anti-aircraft guns were placed, if only because she knew her father would ask her later. For his part, Christof seemed eager to point out the machines and weapons of the German Wehrmacht, telling her all about the engineering which went into each piece. She did not ask too many questions for fear of tipping her hand. As she got to know him, she found that he did not fit the image her father had always painted of Germans. He was sweet and kind, not at all the fanatic Nazi she first imagined. More than anything, he wanted to go back to his parents and his home. He never really wanted to join the Heer or the Kriegsmarine, and he was not politically ambitious. Really, all he wanted out of life was a wife and family, a job in accounting and a full stein of beer. Marie would not admit to herself, much less her father, that she was not only attracted to Christof, but that she imagined growing old along with him, and bearing his children. It was on one of their day time dates that she found herself in the chateau where the German officers were staying alone with Christof. The major in charge had returned to Freiburg on leave, and the hauptmann (captain) in charge was inspecting some of the fortifications along the coast. The enlisted soldiers in the house left the officers alone, and the French servants were used to Marie coming and going with Christof, often with a nasty sideways glance at her. Christof had always been a perfect gentleman, so he was surprised when he found Marie snuggling up to him on the couch. Neither spoke as their lips met and their hands roamed over one another's bodies. "What are you doing, Marie?" he mumbled dreamily. "Your father—" "My father will never know," she silenced him with a kiss. She let out a surprised gasp when he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom where he was staying. Her pulse raced as he set her down on the bed and locked the door. Marie tugged at his uniform and her heart began to pound. At first, she thought to reign her feelings in. Yet, over the past couple of months, she found that she genuinely liked Christof. And her body desired him. His eyes shone with lust. He was so strong. So handsome. So gentle. She let him undress her. Marie cried out when his hands cupped her breasts. He moaned as she stroked his tumescent sex. Neither were very experienced, but both somehow managed. Laying back on the bed, Marie spread her legs for her lover. The head of his cock pressed against her labia, which were swollen with excitement. She had to bite the pillow to keep from crying out in pain has he thrust roughly through her maidenhead. Both were clumsy and inexpert, but neither cared. A Love in War Marie's toes tingled, and the pain turned to pleasure as each gave their virginity to the other. Their lips met hungrily and she pulled him in to her until she felt her womb flood with his warmth. Looking up into her lover's eyes, Marie uttered words which she knew she would only cause them grief, yet she meant them from the depths of her soul. "I love you." *********************** She returned home right on schedule, having managed to clean herself up as best she could. Christof assured her that he would disposed of the blood-stain sheets without anyone knowing and they shared one more kiss before leaving in his car to go back to her house. In public, they never showed any affection, not even holding hands. But Marie always had a secret smile for Christof. Luckily, her mother had gone to the market and her father was nowhere to be found. Marie bathed quickly, washing away all evidence of the tryst with her lover. A little while later, her father returned and debriefed her. She let him know that the garrison's commanding officer was out on leave and that a new anti-aircraft battery had arrived. That night, Marie lay in her bed, touching herself. Remembering the hurried excitement of her first love-making. Remembering how Christof's weight pressed down on her. Remembering his masculine smell. Marie fell asleep dreaming of Christof's arms around her. *********************** Over the next couple of weeks, Marie continued to see Christof on a regular basis. They were never able to be intimate again, but she knew she was walking a dangerous line. In the back of her mind, she knew the reports she was giving her father were being passed up the chain in the French Resistance, which in turn were being reported to the Americans and British. She didn't know what her role was in all of this, nor did she pry. Marie trusted her father's judgment and continued to view her interactions with her lover as part of the war effort. At the same time, she knew she was falling in love with the German officer. He was everything a husband and lover should be. When they were together, she felt her heart skip a beat when he smiled. She found herself laughing at his stories and wanting nothing more than for him to hold her. Near the end of May, she sensed something was about to change. Her father was gone for long stretches of time, more than usual. So was her mother. She heard men coming to the house in the middle of the night and leaving very quietly. The Germans seemed to be moving men and equipment around. The air raids were coming more frequently. During one of her meetings with Christof, he seemed distant, although not distracted. "Ma chère," he started nervously. "When the war is over, may I see you again?" "What are you talking about?" Marie asked, confused. He shifted uncomfortably. "The war will end soon. The Americans will turn the tide and we would be wise to make peace with them before the Russians come to Berlin." It was the first time he had spoken to her about the conduct of the war. "Do you know when?" she dared to ask. "When the Americans are coming?" Christof shook his head. Marie breathed a sigh of relief, afraid she had overstepped her bounds. "No, but it will be soon." Neither spoke for a long moment. "Marie, when the invasion comes, we will either fall back through Belguim and Holland into Germany, or we will be killed or captured by the Americans." He took her shaking hands in his. "I would like nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. . . . If you'll have me. So when I return, may I call on you and court you properly? As a gentleman, not an invading officer." Her heart melted at his dejected smile. "Of course," she replied gently. "And when you return, we will make love as husband and wife." They gazed into each others's eyes, knowing the remaining time they had together was slipping away. They kissed tenderly and held one another until it was time for Christof to drive Marie home. She reported to her father that Christof believed the Americans were coming soon, and the absence of several tanks at the motor pool. Then she retreated into her room and cried herself to sleep. *********************** The air raid sirens sounded, but something was different this time. Her father and his fellow partisans weren't sneaking around any longer. Explosions could be heard, closer than Marie could ever recall. There was lots of shouting. She got out of her bed, and dressed quickly. Her father stood in the living room, holding an odd-looking weapon, which she later found out was a British Sten gun. The other men with him were similarly armed. The blood drained from her face. "Go to the basement, mon ange," he said sternly. As if to punctuate his order, an explosion rocked the house, causing the glass windows to shake in their panes. Marie went to her room, to get her coat. When she came out, her father and the other Resistance fighters were gone. Blinded by her love for Christof, she ignored every instinct she had to hide and ran out of the house towards the German garrison. In the night, she made her way through the town. The sky was lit with searchlights and explosions. Strange shapes fell from the clouds. Tracer fire from the German guns hunted the American planes and gliders. It was the invasion Christof had warned her about the week before. Tears streaming down her face, she ran through the darkness, somehow managing to avoid being seen by either the Germans or the French Resistance. When she got to the chateau where Christof was staying, she heard gunfire. Dead Germans lay in the street alongside dead Frenchmen, some of them her neighbours. She burst through the doors of the chateau and followed the sounds of the guns and angry French voices. "Papa!" she called out, stumbling through the darkness. Marie found them in the room the Germans had taken over as their command center. One of the Frenchmen recognised her and let her pass. Christof was on his knees, his hands raised in the air. His handsome face was bloodied and his uniform torn. Her father held the German's Luger in his hand. "What are you doing here, Marie?" he thundered. "What are you doing, Papa?" she ignored his question. "I'm going to kill the German dog who would lay his hands on my daughter!" "You cannot kill him," Marie shouted. Strong hands restrained her from running over to take Christof in his arms. "Why not? What's one more dead German?" The question hung in the air for an eternity. Marie burst into tears. "Because I love him!" A stunned silence fell over the room. "No," her father whispered, disbelief and anger in his eyes. He turned to Christof and raised the pistol to shoot the German. "He is the father of your grandchild!" The hands holding her recoiled and she ran over to stand between her father and her lover. Marie knew that in her father's eyes, the sun rose and set around her. But in that instant, they became strangers, their relationship forever changed. Still, she refused to back down. "The Americans are landing in the western fields because I found out the southern fields are mined," her voice was defiant. "You were able to shoot your way in here because I told you how many soldiers are stationed here and where their guard posts are! You know how many guns and tanks left last week because I told you! You used me to find out things you could not find out on your own, Papa!" No one spoke for a long time. "What would you have me do?" her father growled. "The Germans came here as conquerors! They destroyed and humiliated our army, and we should kill them all." "Not him!" Marie pleaded. "Turn him over to the Americans. You don't have to let him go. He can't hurt you anymore." "Marie," Christof looked both relieved and hurt to see her. Relieved that she might be able to save his life. Hurt that she had used him to gather intelligence for the French Resistance. "Please go. Please don't see me like this." "Shut up, dog!" one of the other men slapped him across the face. She turned and pressed her forehead against his. Both were crying. "I'm so sorry, Christof," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry." "Don't be," he whispered. "Don't be sorry about anything." "Tell them everything," she implored her lover, grasping at straws to save his life. "Tell them everything you know. Tell the Americans." Marie shrieked in agony as she was lifted away from Christof and carried away. "Take her to my house," her father said, his voice sad and angry. "And stay with her. Do not let her leave again." She struggled, but was unable to break the grasp of the men who held her. *********************** American and British paratroopers landed that night, and were followed by the sea invasion in the morning. Marie's father returned at dawn, but he did not speak to her. She stayed in her room, crying. Their village was one of the first to be liberated by the Allies, the Germans and the Ostlegionen driven back or destroyed. She did not find out what fate befell Christof, no matter how much she begged her father to tell her. She rarely left her house, her status as a pariah cemented when word of her pregnancy spread. Other women who had taken German lovers were stripped naked, their heads shaved and were paraded around the towns and squares of France, but this fate was not hers. While she made no secret the she loved Christof, it was also widely known that she had been instrumental in feeding military information to the French Resistance leading up to the Allied invasion. So the others in town mostly left her alone, as long as she kept to herself. It helped that her father was a prominent figure in the Resistance cell. The following March, her daughter was born. Marie named her Christiane and waited for the war to end. Although only twenty, she grew up quickly. Both her mother and father seemed disappointed and angry with her, and there was always tension in the house. She hoped the baby would bring them around, but if anything, the presence of the little girl only made things worse. It was as if the child's crying was a constant reminder that their daughter had dared to bed a German. Marie was unable to find a French suitor; apparently none of the local men wanted to have anything to do with a woman who had been soiled by the enemy. Peace with the Germans was made in May of 1945, and attention in Europe turned to rebuilding their war-torn cities and coming to a truce between the Americans and the Soviets. On a warm summer day, a single car drove up to their house. Marie ran out the door as soon as she saw the driver. Christof lifted Marie into the air and spun her around, joyously laughing for the first time in months. He took his daughter in his arms and fell in love with another young French girl. Any worry Marie had about Christof being angry with her disappeared instantly. He asked Marie's parents for their blessing to marry their daughter. Her father only waved dismissively, and her mother readily agreed, as if to get her out of their house and town that much quicker. Without another word, the young couple packed up her belongings and loaded them into Christof's car. Marie clutched her husband's arms with one hand and held their daughter in the other as they drove out of France, knowing that she had left her family behind forever. *********************** Danielle closed her great-grandmother's diary, tears in her eyes. She felt a hand on her shoulder and tried to smile for Ma-mère. "What happened to him?" "Papa turned Christof over to the Americans when they arrived. He spent the rest of the war in a prison camp in Texas." The older woman sat next to her great-granddaughter. "After the war, he returned to Germany, and then came to get me. We were married in his home town in Freiburg and lived there until 1947, when we came to America." A sad look passed over Ma-mère's eyes. "Christof went to work at a bank in Canton, but he was killed in a car accident two year later. My heart broke for the second time over him that day. The first was when I thought Papa had killed him." Instinctively, Danielle took her great-grandmother's hands in hers. "I re-married and that is the man the rest of you know as my husband, but Christof will always be my first and true love." "Did your parents ever speak to you again?" Dani asked softly. "Not until after Christof died," Marie replied, her voice filled with regret, touched with a hint of anger. "And they never treated your grandmother very well, even though she had done nothing to them other than have a father who was a German officer." "He was a very handsome man," Danielle said. "Yes, he was," Ma-mère agreed. "And he was a good man, too. Not all of the Germans were Nazis, and not all of them were evil. Your great-grandfather was the most wonderful man in the world. At least to me." For the remainder of the evening, the pair—separated in age by 71 years—flipped through the worn scrapbook of pictures, reliving Marie's memories of growing up in France and her new life in the United States. At one point, Danielle had enough presence of mind to record several of the stories on her smartphone, so that they were not lost forever. Right before their evening meal was ready, Ma-mère drew out a small box and handed it to Danielle. "What is this?" the girl asked. "Aside from the pictures and memories, these are all that I have left of my beloved Christof," Marie lifted the lid, revealing some more pictures and a couple of other trinkets. "This was the ring Christof gave me when we left for Germany. I wore it until the day of his funeral. I had thought to bury it with him, but then I didn't want to give up everything he had given me." Danielle looked on in surprise as Ma-mère slipped it on to her finger. "I want you to have it, ma chère," Marie said gently. "Of all my children, grandchildren and great-granchildren, you are the student of history, and you will appreciate it most." The young girl trembled as her great-grandmother's hand gently caressed her cheek. "You also have his eyes," Ma-mère whispered. "His beautiful blue eyes. In three generations, you are the first to have eyes like his. And that is how I know my dear Christof lives on."