The Major's Daughter by J. P. Francis Page A

beside her. He smelled of pine and the heat of the day. She quickly drew the letter from her waistband and passed it to him.
    â€œA few of the lines gave me difficulty,” she said, “and I had difficulty with the meter. But I think I’ve managed.”
    â€œThank you,” he said.
    â€œIt was my pleasure. It’s a lovely poem. I’d never heard of the poet before.”
    How strange and powerful it felt to be near him! She worried he would snap open the letter and read it in front of her. But fortunately the bear managed to struggle free from Lieutenant Peters at that moment and Lieutenant Peters hurriedly released him on the ground. The little bear ran to the man at the center of the ring for security, and the men laughed at seeing such a human behavior.
    Gradually the men, tired and dirty from work, began to disband. The man in the center picked up the bear and carried it like a baby toward the barracks. He made Bruno wave good-bye with his tiny paw. Collie waved back, then looked up once more at August. He smiled, and their eyes could not let go.
    â€œDo you write your own poetry?” Collie asked, more for conversation than for anything else.
    â€œYes, a little.”
    â€œI look forward to reading your work someday.”
    â€œIt’s nothing important, honestly.”
    â€œI’m sure you underestimate yourself,” Collie said.
    â€œI am better at music. I have a few years of classical training.”
    â€œHow wonderful. On the piano?”
    â€œYes. I am not so good, but I can manage. Do you play?”
    â€œOnly in the most rudimentary fashion. I’ve requisitioned a piano, because I thought it would be good for camp morale. But as for me, ‘Chopsticks,’” she said the last word in English, because she had no idea what the word in German might be.
    He made a puzzled face. She pantomimed two hands playing “Chopsticks” and he nodded immediately.
    â€œYes, of course. ‘Chopsticks.’”
    His mispronunciation of
chopsticks
endeared him to her. At the same moment, she realized the other men had disappeared, even Lieutenant Peters. Part of her wanted to say that speaking to a young man was perfectly respectable, but another part of her understood how obvious their attraction must appear. She felt nervous at the thought of it.
    â€œA nice bear,” he said, apparently finding it as difficult as she did to break away.
    â€œYes, a lovely little thing.”
    â€œCan you tell me,” he asked, his face suddenly serious, “if the rumors are true that we will be sent to England after this? Still as prisoners?”
    â€œI haven’t heard such a thing.”
    â€œIt’s talked about in the barracks. We will work to make reparations to England for our bombing of London.”
    â€œI think it’s too early to know what may happen.”
    â€œThat would be very hard,” he said, pushing his chin toward the barracks. “Hard on these men.”
    â€œYes, I could imagine.”
    â€œRumors are like mice. They live in the corners and feed on crumbs.”
    He smiled. It was a charming smile. For a moment she could do nothing but stay in his eyes. Finally she managed to excuse herself without panic. He thanked her again for the poem and promised to read it that night. She backed away and said good-bye. She wondered, as she climbed the steps to the administration building, if he felt even the smallest part of what she could not help but feel.
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    â€œIf you ask me, the Germans should pay heavily, heavily indeed for their aggression,” Sherman Heights said, his hand pushing away a large cigar from his mouth. “We can’t let them up again. We should put our heel on their throats and not give them a breath. We went too easy on them after the First War.”
    â€œThey think they have the right . . . ,” another man began, but Major Brennan watched him