Anyway. Okay, you know this is me, Ella, right?”
Rowan stared at the cell time. Five p.m. Dothan time. Ten p.m. in Heidelberg. What the hell was she doing calling him at ten at night? He had called her cellphone and her landline with no answer. One just rang and the other went straight to voicemail. Tomorrow he planned to call her father to see if he knew anything. And maybe he’d call her supervisor to see what was going on there. None of this felt right. Not being able to reach her felt worst of all. Rowan drained his beer and tossed the bottle toward the kitchen garbage can. He missed.
“I kind of need you, Rowan.”
When Ella woke up, Greta was again at her bedside. Without preamble, the nun handed her a steaming cup of tea and began speaking.
“My name is Greta Schaefer,” she said. “I taught English before the war and worked in a munitions factory in Manheim during the war until it was bombed.”
“Your English is really good,” Ella said. As she sipped from the strange dark tea. She realized she was wearing a rough cotton shift she didn’t remember putting on. She felt safe with this nun and in this place. She trusted Greta. She wasn’t sure if that was wise but it felt inevitable.
“The war had just ended,” Greta said. “I was living with my mother in Heidelberg until things could be resolved after the war.”
“’Resolved’?”
“I had a husband in the war,” she said. “I had not heard from him for a year. We all believed he had been killed, but I was waiting with my family to see if he would come home.”
“Oh. Sorry,” Ella said.
“Heidelberg was not damaged in the war. Did you know that?”
Ella shook her head.
“Although we didn’t think the Americans cared for such things, it was widely believed that they were so enthralled with Heidelberg’s beauty that they could not bear to destroy it. One day, I was coming home from late mass from the Catholic Church of the Jesuits. It began to rain, much like the storm we had last night. The heavens opened wide, the night sky was illuminated with terrible bolts of lightning. I tried to hurry. Stupidly, I had left my umbrella at home. My mother warned me to take it.”
Ella held the hot tea and blew gently across the surface. And waited.
“I fell.” Greta said. “It was a shortcut and the stones were slippery. Very near where you were found.”
“How did it happen?”
“I do not know. One minute I was rubbing a skinned knee in the dark in 1946 Heidelberg, thinking of my dinner waiting for me at my mother’s and the next minute I was here.”
A wave of urgency suddenly came over Ella as she found herself blurting out what she soon realized was, up to this moment in her life, the most important question of her life: “Is it possible to go back?” she asked.
“Back to your own time? I believe so. Once, when I was bringing the lambs in during a bad rain, I found myself very near that same spot at the base of the garden lane. I felt a terrible pulling in my soul. It was an almost irresistible urge that convinced me that if I were to just let it happen, I would return to my own time after the war.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I found a better life here.”
“Were you a nun in 1946?”
“I was not. I am not proud of that part of the story,” Greta said. “But I believe I have made amends to God in the way that matters.” She looked at Ella and smiled. “In all the ways that
Rowan stared at the cell time. Five p.m. Dothan time. Ten p.m. in Heidelberg. What the hell was she doing calling him at ten at night? He had called her cellphone and her landline with no answer. One just rang and the other went straight to voicemail. Tomorrow he planned to call her father to see if he knew anything. And maybe he’d call her supervisor to see what was going on there. None of this felt right. Not being able to reach her felt worst of all. Rowan drained his beer and tossed the bottle toward the kitchen garbage can. He missed.
“I kind of need you, Rowan.”
When Ella woke up, Greta was again at her bedside. Without preamble, the nun handed her a steaming cup of tea and began speaking.
“My name is Greta Schaefer,” she said. “I taught English before the war and worked in a munitions factory in Manheim during the war until it was bombed.”
“Your English is really good,” Ella said. As she sipped from the strange dark tea. She realized she was wearing a rough cotton shift she didn’t remember putting on. She felt safe with this nun and in this place. She trusted Greta. She wasn’t sure if that was wise but it felt inevitable.
“The war had just ended,” Greta said. “I was living with my mother in Heidelberg until things could be resolved after the war.”
“’Resolved’?”
“I had a husband in the war,” she said. “I had not heard from him for a year. We all believed he had been killed, but I was waiting with my family to see if he would come home.”
“Oh. Sorry,” Ella said.
“Heidelberg was not damaged in the war. Did you know that?”
Ella shook her head.
“Although we didn’t think the Americans cared for such things, it was widely believed that they were so enthralled with Heidelberg’s beauty that they could not bear to destroy it. One day, I was coming home from late mass from the Catholic Church of the Jesuits. It began to rain, much like the storm we had last night. The heavens opened wide, the night sky was illuminated with terrible bolts of lightning. I tried to hurry. Stupidly, I had left my umbrella at home. My mother warned me to take it.”
Ella held the hot tea and blew gently across the surface. And waited.
“I fell.” Greta said. “It was a shortcut and the stones were slippery. Very near where you were found.”
“How did it happen?”
“I do not know. One minute I was rubbing a skinned knee in the dark in 1946 Heidelberg, thinking of my dinner waiting for me at my mother’s and the next minute I was here.”
A wave of urgency suddenly came over Ella as she found herself blurting out what she soon realized was, up to this moment in her life, the most important question of her life: “Is it possible to go back?” she asked.
“Back to your own time? I believe so. Once, when I was bringing the lambs in during a bad rain, I found myself very near that same spot at the base of the garden lane. I felt a terrible pulling in my soul. It was an almost irresistible urge that convinced me that if I were to just let it happen, I would return to my own time after the war.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I found a better life here.”
“Were you a nun in 1946?”
“I was not. I am not proud of that part of the story,” Greta said. “But I believe I have made amends to God in the way that matters.” She looked at Ella and smiled. “In all the ways that
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