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Silence fell, and Grandpa Jack just watched her. She looked back at him, unsure of where he was headed with this. Okay, so there were a few years between her aunt’s and father’s births and Grammy and Grandpa Jack’s wedding. That was hardly uncommon during World War II.
Wasn’t he her biological grandfather? Was that the big secret?
“So you weren’t Grammy’s first husband?”
What kind of question was that? she asked herself. How much of a comfort was she to Grandpa Jack now?
Grandpa Jack showed no concern at Melinda’s comment. He laughed.
“Oh, honey, no, that’s not what I’m trying to tell you. Your Dad’s my son, no question.” But he didn’t say anything about Aunt Lille.
Melinda knew she should’ve asked Grammy more about her life, especially after Grammy was diagnosed with cancer last year. But the final date of her divorce from Nicholas loomed, and overwhelmed by the thought of losing Grammy, it hadn’t occurred to her.
She’d been too self-absorbed.
“So why the gap, Grandpa? It was the war, right?”
“I was in a concentration camp.”
The words flew like bullets from a sleek pistol. Quiet. Oh, so smooth.
Shocking.
“But, Grandpa…why? Are you Jewish?”
Melinda had never seen any great religious fervor in Grandpa and Grammy. They were spiritual, and both their children, as well as Melinda, had been raised Catholic, but not in a strict way.
Melinda racked her brain, trying to remember everything she’d learned about concentration camps during World War II. She recalled that more than thirteen million had been slaughtered in the Holocaust. Six million Jews and the rest a mix of Catholics, Gypsies, homosexuals and whoever else didn’t fit Hitler’s grand scheme for the “master race.”
She’d never seen any connections between her grandparents’ lives and what she’d studied.
“No, honey,” her grandfather answered. “I’m not Jewish, but your Grammy and I tried to help the Jews. We also worked against the Nazis when they moved into Belgium, and the rest of Northern Europe, for that matter.”
Grandpa Jack’s statements poured out of him as though he’d spoken of this his entire life.
But Melinda had never heard any of it before. All her grandparents had ever said about their lives prior to arriving in America was that “times were tough. We’re happy to be together now.”
Certainly their son, James, Melinda’s father, had never revealed any knowledge of their past. He just said his parents were from Europe. Aunt Lille had never revealed that she knew anything, either.
“You’re from England, and Grammy was from Belgium, right?”
“Yes, that’s true. But it was unusual for a Brit to meet a Belgian like your grandmother during the middle years of the war. The circumstances we found ourselves in…”
Grandpa Jack’s voice trailed off and he gazed down at the coffee in his cup. He took a swig.
After a moment he said, “Your grandmother kept a journal. Hell, more than a journal—it’s our life together. And her life before she met me. Our tough times, even after the war, here in America. It’s part of your legacy, Melinda.”
“Why didn’t you mention this sooner?” Melinda searched her memory for all the times Grandpa Jack could’ve told her about Grammy’s journal. For that matter, why hadn’t Grammy said anything while she was alive?
“We’ve always been reluctant to talk about the war years.” Jack grew still, his expression somber. “We experienced struggles that, until recently, would’ve been unimaginable to you, to your parents.”
Melinda knew what he meant. Until September 11, 2001, most North Americans wouldn’t have been able to fathom the depth of suffering experienced at the hands of the Gestapo in occupied Europe.
“There’s one more thing, my dear. I kept a diary after my release from the concentration camp. I’ve never even shared it with Grammy. She’d already suffered too much by the time I found her again. But you deserve to know both sides of our story.”
Grandpa Jack looked at her and raised his chin. Slightly, but enough for Melinda to read the pride and conviction on his face.
“We went through hell to get our freedom.”
Chapter 2
The heavy, leather-bound journal sat on Melinda’s lap. Pages jutted out from its frayed edges, added later or falling out from age. It was one of several books Grandpa Jack had given to her, all with Grammy’s writing.
Melinda ran her hands over the dark brown cover, as though she could somehow sense Grammy’s love, feel her presence.
God, she missed Grammy so much.
As an adult she should be past needing her grandmother’s affection. Most of her friends and colleagues had lost their grandparents far sooner than she.
Yet the long talks and the hours spent cooking and baking together were all woven into the fabric of her life with Grammy. She just wanted to be able to pull out that blanket one last time.
A tear slipped from her eye and Melinda blinked.
She’d cried enough these past few years, hadn’t she?
If not about Nicholas, then about Grammy.
Nicholas.
She glanced around the Victorian home they’d restored in the early years of their marriage. The floral wallpaper in the living room reminded her of her neglected rose garden, out back. She and Nicholas had made love there on more than one occasion, in the gazebo.
What had brought that memory to the surface?
She swiped at her tears. Maybe coming home to Buffalo hadn’t been the best idea, after all.
But Grandpa had called. And Grammy’s words called her now.
And no way was Grandpa going to let her stay with him.
Melinda pulled on the leather string that held the journal together. Despite the cracked condition of the book, the string ran soft and supple through her fingers. She whispered a quiet prayer, lifted the old leather cover…and saw a large cream envelope with her name written on it in Grammy’s shaky cursive.
Melinda
The envelope was fairly new.
Grammy had left her one final birthday card, perhaps? She’d turned forty a week ago, and Grammy had always made it a point to celebrate Melinda’s birthday. Even when she’d been on assignment in D.C. last year, Grammy had sent balloons and chocolate to her one-bedroom efficiency condo.
Melinda opened the envelope. The edge of the flap gave her a paper cut but she paid no heed.
This was no birthday card.
Grammy had left her a sympathy card. A white embossed dove rose from a pale blue background, and the words To Comfort You in Your Loss were written across the top in silver. Melinda read the message inside.
Dear Melinda,
This is a sympathy card because by now I figure you’re missing me a lot. Know that I am with you and I’ll always love you. As much as I’m confident that I’ll be having a grand time wherever I am, know that I must somehow miss you, too. Unless, of course, I’m allowed to haunt you. In the most positive way, of course! No, I haven’t lost my mind, I’m just losing my body and I wanted to write this before it’s too late. Please read the enclosed letter before you start my journal.
XOX
Grammy
The enclosed letter had dropped onto Melinda’s lap when she opened the card. Along with it wafted the scent of Grammy. Baby powder and roses.
Grammy’s hand cream of choice was always rose-scented.
Melinda couldn’t help laughing through her tears. Grammy never lost her earthy sense of humor, even when the cancer limited her world to her bedroom those last few months. She shook her head and unfolded the lavender-colored paper.
Dear Melinda,
By now I’ve been gone at least a month. I told Jack to wait until the dust had settled, not just on my grave but in your lives.
Melinda honey, we’ve shared the best of our lives with each other. You and I have been blessed with a wonderful bond these past forty years. As much as I’d be the first to wish your father had been more available to you and that your mother had lived, it’d be a lie to say that I regret the consequences. It was a blessing to me, and to Jack, that we were able to spend so much time with you. Being able to raise you as our own for so much of your childhood meant everything to us.
We struggled financially while your dad was young and weren’t able to spoil him the way we did you. But as you already know, spoiling you with material things wasn’t ever our main focus. We wanted to spoil you with our love.
I’ve worried these last couple of years whether we’ve spoiled you too much. When things got rocky with you and Nicholas, I thought it might pass. All couples go through rough spots—that’s just life. But then you picked up and moved to Washington, D.C., and your whole life revolved around Senator Hodge’s career and agenda.
Jack and I were happy when you went to college right after high school and got your degree. We were so proud! And it always seemed destined that you’d marry Nicholas. Ever since you met him at St. Bonaventure, your eyes held a bright light.
We thought you were proud of his service in the Reserves and understood that it meant he could be called away at any time. So when he was called to war and you took it so badly, we questioned our assumptions. You said you believed that if Nicholas loved you, he wouldn’t go. That he’d put family first.
Since you’d been unable to get pregnant I wondered if you worried he was leaving during the time you’d have left to get pregnant. Remember when I took you out for coffee and ordered you that huge maple scone? And you said, “I’m not supposed to eat refined sugar or wheat.” I was trying to get you to relax, to enjoy yourself.
You’ve worried about so many things in your short life, Melinda.
It’s clear to me that Nicholas is a true patriot and simply answered the call he always knew could come. Maybe he’s even relished the challenge, in the way only a warrior does.
But you took it personally.
I’m sorry if this sounds like a lecture, Melinda. I just hate to see you suffer, and to see you throw away what may be the love of your life.
I know what pain that brings, as there was a time when I’d lost the love of my life. It was the bleakest period of my existence.
As you know, I’ve always liked writing. I’m sure you recall the column I wrote for the Buffalo Evening News. But what you don’t know is that my greatest work is what you’re about to read. Mind you, I started it when I was young, idealistic and thought myself a cross between Jane Austen and James Joyce—unlikely though that sounds!
I kept the journal hidden throughout the war but, just in case it was stolen or fell into the wrong hands, I wrote in English. Even though I was fluent, I was speaking my native French daily, so you may find some errors.
Read my story—you’ll figure out quickly that it’s not just my story but also that of Grandpa Jack, and millions of World War II survivors. Read this with an open mind and heart. Finally, understand why I found my peace and love here, in Buffalo.
Think about coming back to Buffalo, dearest, so you can give yourself a real life. I’ll never believe that working in that rat race on Capital Hill is good for you, Melinda. You’re certainly smart enough to be there with the best of them, but I don’t want you to waste your heart on things that won’t mean anything once you’re my age. You were such a natural in the classroom. Your former students still ask about you.
I’m feeling bold, since you’re not here in person to roll your beautiful blue eyes at me. I want you to reconsider your marriage to Nicholas. Twenty years of love and laughter—including the fifteen you’ve been married—is a lot to throw away, Melinda. Trust me when I tell you that no one will love you the way he has. I’ve seen both sides of love and marriage, and what you and Nicholas share is real.
I want to write more, but I’ve given you enough to read in my journals. I’d say “read it and weep” but unfortunately, I know you probably will. It is my prayer that you’ll also find some things humorous, and that you may even find a reason to believe in love again.
XOX
Grammy
Melinda let the letter fall back onto her lap. Leave it to Grammy to think she could fix everyone’s problems, even from the grave.
But her problems with Nicholas were about more than not having a baby. Their communication had broken down when she felt restless as a high-school English teacher. She’d wanted more.
“Why don’t you write the great American novel?” Nick wanted to solve her problems for her.
“I’m not a novelist. I’m interested in politics, Nick. I really think I’m supposed to use my talents in this direction.”
“Honey, I’m not being patronizing. But don’t you think your restlessness is mostly due to your biological clock ticking away?”
Melinda had rejected his observation that this was all about her hormones. Sure, they’d been trying to conceive and nothing had happened, but it wasn’t the entire focus of her life.
Or was it?
Nick had made his decision without her. He’d chosen to take another tour in Afghanistan. And she’d decided to take the job in D.C. without his help. They’d stopped relying on each other’s judgment years ago.
All they had in common now was this house.
A house neither of them lived in anymore.
She plucked at the multicolored yarn on the afghan she’d snuggled into on the brown leather couch. Grammy meant well. She was a woman who’d always been with the love of her life, so Melinda understood the basis for Grammy’s opinions.
But Grammy didn’t understand that the situation today wasn’t the same as during World War II. Nick had a choice—whether or not to serve. Whether or not to break Melinda’s heart.
Esmée’s Journal
May 25, 1940
How can this be happening? How can men of intelligence bring us to our knees again? Haven’t we suffered enough?
I’ve spent my entire academic life studying the Great War and how it destroyed our beloved Belgium. My family’s strength, faith and resourceful nature are the only reasons I am able to write this entry today.
A scant generation later we’ve begun another ugly battle.
Ugly it is. The Germans have no room for anyone except themselves. They tolerate us, they use us. Over the past three weeks I’ve seen everything I’ve ever read about in my literature studies—and more.
Bloodthirsty warplanes bombed our capital, and smaller, tactical aircraft strafed my village’s cow pastures. Douglas DuPont, who owns the fields behind our street, was shot dead while he tended to a birthing cow. His widow and five children are heartbroken and see no justification for his death.
Only Nazi barbarism.
