Free Songbird Under a German Moon by Tricia Goyer Page B

heart.
    I have to stop thinking about Betty. It’s better for me—and for her. Don’t want her wrapped up in the business I’m in—
    â€œYes, well, that’s what two months here will do for you, when you come to care for someone, I suppose. Your world gets turned upside down overnight.”
    The woman looked in their direction and met Art’s eye. He lifted his hand and signaled her over.
    â€œSo, is that your girl?” Frank asked.
    â€œI wish. She’s still looking for her husband. Magdalena is Czechoslovakian—an international star who is now penniless. The Czechs sent her back to Germany because of her connection to Bayreuth and all her luggage was stolen, including valuable jewelry. So sad. But I’ll stick around, just in case. It’s horrible to say, but if her husband doesn’t show up, I want to be first in line.”
    Frank wanted to be outraged by what the Czechs had done to the woman, but he couldn’t help siding with them. Their land had been overrun by the Germans and now they were ready to be rid of any German influences and reminders. Still, as with so many people he’dmet who were now displaced, the question wasn’t “Where should I go?” but “Where are the ones I love?” Seeing their desperation at learning the fate of family members they’d lost track of during the war made him realize even more how important family was.
    The woman approached. She was plain-looking, but in a beautiful way—like a statue of Mary, without adornment. She sat in the chair next to Art and smiled.
    â€œDis a friend?” She pointed to Frank.
    â€œYes, my old buddy—a photographer like me.”
    The woman extended her hand and Frank took it in his, shaking it gently. Her hand was cold and frail, and he was almost certain that if he shook it too hard it would break.
    â€œSo you are a singer?” Frank asked, even though it was obvious.
    â€œ
Ja
. Or I used to be such.”
    â€œSweetest soprano you ever heard,” Art said.
    â€œDid you sing in some of Wagner’s operas?”
    â€œJa.” The woman nodded. Her face appeared weary. “That was many lifetimes yet.”
    â€œYour English is good.” Frank felt a weariness coming over him and he smiled, wondering when it would be polite to ask Art about their accommodations so he could head out.
    â€œI worked with many Americans. I’ve traveled there also, debuting—” She shook her head and looked around. “It doesn’t matter now. I’ve had good life. A good career.”
    â€œMaybe it’s not over yet. You never know.” Art patted her hand.
    Magdalena smiled at Art, but it was obvious she didn’t believe his words.
    â€œI know some of the singers who are at the opera house now. I’m sure they would like to meet you—to hear about your career,” Frank said.
    Magdalena’s eyes widened and her lips pressed into a thin line. “I think I would like that,” she finally said. But even as she said the words, Frank could see it was far from the truth. The woman’s forced smile said one thing—but her eyes said something else completely.

    Dierk’s footsteps were light as he walked down the narrow alley. Rays from a yellow moon lit his way, yet he knew that even if there were no moonlight he’d still walk unhindered. He’d made this same trek nearly every night since the Americans had moved in and the Germans had abandoned their labors. The warehouse at the end of his path stood in the midst of a larger factory complex. Thankfully, the Americans had yet to explore thoroughly the treasure hidden within the boxes and piled in dusty corners. The foreign invaders believed the war had ended—Dierk knew this was not the case. The war would never end. Evil would rise again. And what Americans didn’t understand
would
hurt them. Their death cries would be part of the final act.
    The