Johann nods.
Rosita tuts. “What is it with French and apparently English women bedding the enemy? French men are the best lovers. German men…” She makes a sound of disgust.
Despite the levity of the situation, Johann huffs a laugh. “Well, it is a good thing I have French blood in my veins from my great-grandparents.”
“How is it you’re even allowed to be in the German Army?” she asks. “Hitler doesn’t have a favourable view of the French. Our country is good enough to steal from and our women good enough to bed, but any child born to a French woman by a German soldier is looked down upon. They aren’t pure blood.”
“Somehow, that part was overlooked. They were more concerned about my sister being deaf than they were about my family’s bloodline.”
Rosita’s expression shifts, and the corners of her mouth tilt down. She must have heard of what the Germans and Austrians were doing to adults and children who were physically or mentally disabled or deaf.
Dr. Hubert lowers my hand to the table. “The pregnancy won’t be a problem for resetting Angelique’s hand. But it will come with risks. It just depends on God’s will and the will of your baby.”
“I understand.” I silently pray to a God I’m not sure I believe in that my baby will be all right.
And that Johann, our child, and I will survive this war.
“I will check your baby’s health after I set your hand,” Dr. Hubert says, his eyes kind and nonjudgmental.
21
JESSICA
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
“Which book doyou think I should start with?” I ask Bailey. The stack of craft books Garrett loaned me is sitting on my coffee table, taunting me with how much I don’t know about writing fiction. “Or do you think I’m crazy for believing I can write a novel?”
Bailey cocks her head to the side.
“You’re right. I should probably start with the book on story structure and plotting.” Yes, I’m using Angelique’s journals to write the story, but maybe the events shouldn’t be told in a linear fashion. Structure will help me hit all the right notes for what to include and what to leave out—I hope.
Bailey barks.
“Good point. I need more hours in the day to read all these books.” And to finish reading and transcribing the journals.
I’m definitely crazy to think I can do this. But crazy or not, it’s something I want to try, even if Anne’s the only one who sees the story.
The doorbell rings as I’m finishing the second chapter of the story structure book. Bailey’s head perks up from her snoozing spot on the floor by my feet. Must be Troy. He’s due here about now—hopefully with my bike and trailer, which I left at Garrett’s.
My body buzzes in anticipation at what the doorbell means. Troy and his golden kisses. I push to my feet from the couch, excitement zipping through me since I plan to tell him about the books Garrett loaned me—the reason I was at his brother’s house.
I follow Bailey to the front door. She parks her butt on the wood flooring and looks expectantly at me.
I open the door, ready to fling myself into Troy’s arms. But he’s not here alone. His brothers are behind him, as are Lance, Simone, Zara, Emily, Avery, and Noah.
It’s Thursday, so they aren’t here for Game Night.
“Hi?” My gaze lands on each of them in turn, waiting for someone to tell me what’s going on. They’re smiling, so they’re not here to deliver bad news.
Noah steps forward. My heart rate jacks up, but not enough to signal a fight-or-flight panic attack that could still come from him being a cop. A definite improvement at least.
“Your renovations are stalled because of Troy’s shoulder and your ribs.” Noah’s eyes sparkle with warmth. “We’re here to help get your plans for the house back on track.”
Avery moves up next to him. “Unless you’ve got someone else hidden inside.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “No, only Bailey and I live here now.” My gaze falls on Lance. I’ve never hung out with him—with or without Troy. I usually just see him at work, when he likes to tease me.
