as if at anymoment he might literally leap from the bed and take her by the shoulders to shake some sense into her. “I have left my homeland and risked my life to come here,” he pointed out. “Few people would make such sacrifices for mere political gain. What do you take me for?”
She met his challenge with her own. “I take you for the spy that I believe you to be. I take you for someone who has come to this island in order to find some way to the mainland where you and those who probably came with you that night—”
“For the last time, no one came with me,” he said, his voice hoarse with frustration. “It is complicated,” he admitted after a minute. “How to make you understand that I believe you and I share the same goals when it comes to this war.”
“I doubt it.” Maggie flung the words at him.
“Then I am wrong that if you had the power, you would end this tomorrow?” The question hung there between them, Stefan stubbornly waiting for an answer and Maggie just as stubbornly refusing to give one. “I am not a traitor to my country or a spy for yours, Maggie.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Your English is exceptional. Of course, as a translator you would be proficient.”
He could see that she was working through the questions that would naturally spring to mind. “I am German,” he assured her. “I am a translator for the German government. All of this is true.”
Now she was frowning. “How can we possibly be on the same side?”
“I do not mean that I am in favor of what your country and its allies are doing any more than I believe my government is right to pursue this quest for domination—not at the cost of its own citizens. Not at any cost.”
“America is there to try to end this,” she argued.
“As am I on the side of ending this war. From what I have learned and seen in my short time with you, I believe that you and your family also are in favor of such a thing. So you see, we are not so different after all.”
Maggie rocked back in the chair and folded her arms. She seemed about to say something but simply pursed her lips and waited for him to continue.
“I do not like what is happening to my country, my homeland,” he said quietly. “In the name of war, many innocents are suffering, dying.”
Maggie glanced toward the photograph of his sister and nephew on the bedside table. “Your family?”
Stefan closed his eyes against memories he did not want to relive. And yet those memories might be the very thing to finally get through to her before it was too late. “When the British succeeded in blockading the North Sea, a blockade that prevented food and other essentials from reaching the innocent citizens of my homeland, I blamed them. It was then that I volunteered for service. I could not stand by while the very old and very young were denied the basic things necessary for survival.”
“Go on.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her, trying to decide if it was worth continuing. “My sister, Uma, married young. Her husband was a soldier and he was killed in the beginning days of the war, leaving her and my young nephew, Klaus.”
Maggie picked up the photograph and studied it closely. “Your sister is very beautiful.”
“Yes, she was—once. That picture was taken in happier times.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died,” he replied, his throat closing over the words. “And Klaus, as well.”
“How?” Maggie whispered as she continued to study the photograph.
“They starved,” Stefan replied and watched her carefully as the words sank in.
“Starved? I mean how could that be? They were—they look so…”
As was always the case when he forced himself to recall the process that had led to his sister’s tragic end, Stefan had to fight against his rage at the unfairness of her death. “She did not have enough to eat,” he snapped. “How else does one starve to death? And what she had for herself she fed to her son—to no avail, for he
She met his challenge with her own. “I take you for the spy that I believe you to be. I take you for someone who has come to this island in order to find some way to the mainland where you and those who probably came with you that night—”
“For the last time, no one came with me,” he said, his voice hoarse with frustration. “It is complicated,” he admitted after a minute. “How to make you understand that I believe you and I share the same goals when it comes to this war.”
“I doubt it.” Maggie flung the words at him.
“Then I am wrong that if you had the power, you would end this tomorrow?” The question hung there between them, Stefan stubbornly waiting for an answer and Maggie just as stubbornly refusing to give one. “I am not a traitor to my country or a spy for yours, Maggie.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Your English is exceptional. Of course, as a translator you would be proficient.”
He could see that she was working through the questions that would naturally spring to mind. “I am German,” he assured her. “I am a translator for the German government. All of this is true.”
Now she was frowning. “How can we possibly be on the same side?”
“I do not mean that I am in favor of what your country and its allies are doing any more than I believe my government is right to pursue this quest for domination—not at the cost of its own citizens. Not at any cost.”
“America is there to try to end this,” she argued.
“As am I on the side of ending this war. From what I have learned and seen in my short time with you, I believe that you and your family also are in favor of such a thing. So you see, we are not so different after all.”
Maggie rocked back in the chair and folded her arms. She seemed about to say something but simply pursed her lips and waited for him to continue.
“I do not like what is happening to my country, my homeland,” he said quietly. “In the name of war, many innocents are suffering, dying.”
Maggie glanced toward the photograph of his sister and nephew on the bedside table. “Your family?”
Stefan closed his eyes against memories he did not want to relive. And yet those memories might be the very thing to finally get through to her before it was too late. “When the British succeeded in blockading the North Sea, a blockade that prevented food and other essentials from reaching the innocent citizens of my homeland, I blamed them. It was then that I volunteered for service. I could not stand by while the very old and very young were denied the basic things necessary for survival.”
“Go on.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her, trying to decide if it was worth continuing. “My sister, Uma, married young. Her husband was a soldier and he was killed in the beginning days of the war, leaving her and my young nephew, Klaus.”
Maggie picked up the photograph and studied it closely. “Your sister is very beautiful.”
“Yes, she was—once. That picture was taken in happier times.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died,” he replied, his throat closing over the words. “And Klaus, as well.”
“How?” Maggie whispered as she continued to study the photograph.
“They starved,” Stefan replied and watched her carefully as the words sank in.
“Starved? I mean how could that be? They were—they look so…”
As was always the case when he forced himself to recall the process that had led to his sister’s tragic end, Stefan had to fight against his rage at the unfairness of her death. “She did not have enough to eat,” he snapped. “How else does one starve to death? And what she had for herself she fed to her son—to no avail, for he
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