Remembering You (14 page)

“I thank God for things. I just don’t think I should ask God for stuff.”

“But sometimes, Grandpa, God puts something on our hearts so we will ask. Then, when we get it, we know it’s from Him, and He becomes more real to us. Why don’t you try praying for something specific. Something that really matters.” Dennis placed a hand on Grand-Paul’s shoulders. “It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?”

“I guess not.” Grand-Paul looked from Dennis to Ava and back again.

As they continued to walk, Ava waited for more. She expected Dennis to quote a Scripture verse or to list ways God had answered his prayers, but instead his eyes fixed on the tall, open-air building ahead.

They neared the memorial. It was a large pentagram with names of the forty-eight US states engraved around the top. Inside were paintings of battles. Ava took her camera out and snapped photos—of the men, of the place. Other people milled around. A group of old men—most likely another veteran’s group—a young couple, a small group of children on a school trip. She looked at the inscription on the wall nearest to her and furrowed her brow.

“You wish for me read?” a voice interrupted. Ava turned toward a woman who’d approached to her left. She had short black hair—streaked with gray—and wore glasses at the tip of her nose. Her name tag said her name was Camille. The woman pointed to the Latin words on the wall.

“I would love for you to read it to me. Thank you.”

“‘
Liberatoribus Americanis Populus Belgicus Memor
,’” the woman said. “This translates: ‘The Belgian people remember their American liberators—July fourth, nineteen forty-six.’”

“Can you repeat that?”

The woman repeated it, and Ava wrote it down in her notebook.

“Thank you for your help.”

The woman turned, but Ava reached for her hand, touching her arm. “Excuse me. I have another question.” Ava looked around her and saw Dennis taking photos of the two grandfathers with the American flag in the background. Ava thought about what her grandfather had said—about not wanting her to find Angeline—but she also couldn’t get past the idea that they were here, and before her was someone who might be able to help. When would they get that chance again?

Ava took a step closer to the woman. “Do you happen to have records around here? Of citizens maybe? I’m looking for someone who might have lived in Bastogne during the war. A woman named Angeline.”

Chapter Fourteen

The woman led Ava to the Bastogne Historical Center, next door to the memorial. With quick steps, they moved past the photos, maps, presentations, life-size battle re-creations, and even a wartime Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Ava knew she’d come back and look at the displays, but not now. First she had to see if Camille knew anything about Angeline. She’d told Dennis she was going to scout some areas for footage, and his look of distaste told her she wasn’t in danger of his following.

The older woman led her into the back room of the center. Additional artifacts were stacked on metal shelves. Books about Bastogne filled a bookcase. Photos of old veterans in uniform and note cards were tacked onto a corkboard. It seemed that many men had returned here, to the place that had never left their thoughts.

“We have files of citizens who lived in town. I have them on computer here. It tells me if I have any information in our filing cabinets. Angeline is a common name.”

The woman looked up some things on the computer. Then, finding what she was looking for, she approached a long row of filing cabinets and pulled out a file from the fourth cabinet down. “This has information on female survivors,” the woman said.

“Do you mind if I look at that file?”

“I do not mind.”

Camille cleared a spot on the desk. Ava sat on a wooden chair that creaked, and she opened the file. She pulled a small notebook from her purse. There were six Angelines. Four had been older at the time—at least forty. Much too old for her grandfather. One—a young woman, age twenty—had died before the end of the war. A little girl, age four or five, had disappeared, never to be found again.

If her grandfather thought he’d be able to find Angeline, the older women would be out of the question. That would make them far over one hundred years old. The child wasn’t worth following up on. Children, she knew, were often killed as soon as they arrived at the concentration camps. They couldn’t provide slave labor, so wasting resources on them didn’t make sense to the Nazis. More than that, Ava knew it would be a dead end trying to find more information about the youngster since the note said she had disappeared. Had someone smuggled her to safety? Ava hoped so.

From the moment she’d read Angeline’s name, Ava had assumed she was an old flame. Another possibility was someone he liberated from one of the camps. This most likely meant the woman he was looking for was indeed the twenty-year-old Angeline—and she was dead. Maybe Grandpa Jack knew this deep down. Maybe he didn’t want it confirmed that he was right.

After going through the file, rechecking to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, Ava approached the woman, who was busy typing data into a computer. “Excuse me. Do you have any information about this woman—Angeline de Vos? It says here she was twenty in nineteen forty-five.”

“I do.” The woman’s face brightened. “I am familiar with that name. Her family owned restaurant in town during the war. They cared for much Americans…cooked for them.”

The woman hurried to the far side of the room and searched through another filing cabinet.

“Yes! Good, good!” she exclaimed and then returned with a file, pulling out a photo. It was of a beautiful young woman with light hair and eyes. She wasn’t smiling as she looked into the camera—at least with her mouth. Her eyes were bright and smiling, though, and she looked full of life. Ava turned it over and looked at the back. There was only one word.
Angeline.

“She’s beautiful.” Even as she said the words, Ava had a feeling this was the woman her grandfather was looking for. She wondered how they had met. Her grandfather had fought the Germans in her town. Maybe he’d protected her family from danger. Maybe her family helped him. Perhaps they brought him in on a cold night and fed him. Maybe that’s when the two fell in love, gazing at each other over the table. When he left with his unit, he promised to return but never did. After the war it was impossible to get back. She imagined her grandfather always wondering about her, and also wondering if she still thought about him. Ava let out a heavy sigh. And then she remembered. Angeline was dead.

“So when did she die? It wasn’t during the battle, was it?” Ava asked Camille.

The woman looked in the file. “No, it says here Angeline became ill in April—few months after the Americans passed through. It doesn’t say cause. Just illness.”

Ava nodded, wondering if she should tell her grandfather. Would he get mad that she hadn’t dropped it?

She brushed her hair back from her face and wondered why he wasn’t back here asking these questions. Maybe he was too embarrassed—an old man dreaming of lost love. Maybe it was because of what he knew deep inside—that what he’d find wouldn’t be good news.

“Is there any way I can get a copy of this?” Ava held up the photo.

“Do you know Angeline?” The woman’s face brightened.

“I didn’t. But I know someone who I think did.” She didn’t want to tell the woman about Grandpa Jack. The woman would no doubt make a big deal out of it, embarrassing him for sure.

Camille walked to the photocopy machine and made a copy. “We usually charge for copies, but not this time. It is good to know it goes to someone who will appreciate it.”

“Thank you so much. My grandpa will be, uh, surprised.”

“It was your grandpa, then, who knew Angeline? He was here in the war?”

“Yes.”

The woman approached and took Ava’s hand in hers. “Tell him thank you…tell him we will continue to remember.”

Ava nodded and considered telling Camille that her grandfather was here and she could thank him herself, but she didn’t want to risk the chance of the woman mentioning Angeline.

“Thanks again.” Ava tucked the photo in her satchel. Leaving the back room, she walked around until she found the guys looking at the displays.

“It looks like you’ve been busy.” Dennis pointed at the notebook in her hand.

Ava closed it, remembering the only thing she jotted down was the words on the monument’s dedication. “Yes, it’s been a good day.” Excitement over solving the mystery mixed with regret that there would be no reunion…no happy ending.

Next, they decided to go to one more museum before lunch, and Dennis drove them to
Au Pays d’Ardenne l’Original
, which the guidebook said was the Original Museum of Ardenne.

When they parked, the guys seemed eager to get inside. The guidebook said it was the largest collection of American military items left from the battle. Even Grand-Paul climbed out of the car without assistance. Ava moved more slowly. Maybe it was because of the long night and lack of sleep. Maybe it was the fact she’d skipped breakfast. Maybe it was because Dennis was polite but distant. Or maybe that her mind was full—full of the romance between her grandfather and the Belgian woman. Her mind was also full of questions about how she should break the news about Angeline.

“You coming?” Dennis looked over his shoulder.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. A little down the road, there was a great view of the countryside. I’d like to get some footage.”

“Do you want me to drive you back there? Or go with you and carry your stuff?”

“No, it’s fine. Go inside and enjoy yourself…and keep an eye on those guys. I’d hate to see what would happen to the curator if our grandfathers disagreed with any of his displays.”

Dennis nodded, looking away.

Ava walked down the road to where the town ended and the countryside began. There, she set up her tripod and video camera. There were rolling hills, similar to those in Northern California. In the distance, she spotted another small village. Lilacs were in bloom. A content cow and a red-feathered chicken shared a grassy field.

She videotaped for a while and then sat on the grass, leaning against a stone wall. She tried to close her eyes but was afraid she’d fall asleep, not make it back, and cause the guys to worry. Or even worse have her equipment stolen while she snoozed.

As she rested, her mind wandered to her grandpa’s little talk about prayer, and her own questions about what she believed about that. A year ago she would have agreed with Grandpa Jack, but lately she’d been acting more like Paul. She was afraid to pray—afraid she’d ask for the wrong thing. Afraid she’d be disappointed.

It’s not that things had always been that way. For most of her life—after meeting Dennis and being inspired by his faith—she’d taken time to read her Bible and pray every day. Her dedication had slumped when she started working at
Mornings with Laurie and Clark
. Since the show went live at 10:00 a.m., she had to be in the office by six. Not being a morning person, she struggled just to make it to work on time. But she supposed it was her relationship with Jay that changed everything. As she found herself getting closer to Jay, God became less and less of a priority. And when their relationship ended, she seemed to lose her comfortable trust in God too.

She thought again of the e-mail he’d sent last night. Her mind had been so busy trying to figure out the mystery about Angeline, she hadn’t dwelt on it too much. But each time she remembered, it was like a pinprick to her heart.

Why, God?
A familiar ache was resurrected as she thought about her former fiancé, and as she considered their plans and the future she would have been living if he hadn’t ended things.

She’d uprooted her life and moved from Portland to Seattle so he could keep his job. She’d found a new job, excelled at it for over a year. They’d bought a condo with the plan that once they’d saved a little, she would quit her job and they’d start a family. It’s not like they’d drawn out a graph: work, condo, marriage, have a baby, but in her mind it was like they had. And then for him to end things and for her to be left without a husband and with a condo she couldn’t afford. Ava covered her mouth with her hand and refused to let the tears come. Why had she even e-mailed him back?

A bird chirped from the top of the fence, and she glanced up, remembering where she was. She was in Europe with the first guy she ever loved. Actually the first two guys she ever loved, her grandfather and Dennis. God had a wicked sense of humor.

Fear gripped her chest, and she released a slow breath, wishing she could breathe it away. She couldn’t fall in love again. She couldn’t. The pain of loss was too great. Thankfully Dennis wasn’t giving her the chance.

Ava rose, repacked her things, and headed back into town. An American flag flapped in the breeze, and she looked at the buildings, searching for bullet holes.

Walking by a small café, she saw them. At first, the holes appeared to be chipped paint, but as she looked closer she saw the pattern of machine-gun fire. Her heart felt riddled in just this way. She kicked at a rock on the cracked sidewalk.

Of course what she faced seemed trivial compared with what had happened in Bastogne. And here she was feeling sorry for herself.

Dennis was waiting outside the museum when she approached. He glanced at his watch. “I was giving you five more minutes, and then I was going to look for you.” He offered a sad grin. “Maybe all those photos of injured women and kids are getting to me. I was starting to get worried.”

“I’m fine. I was just shooting video and wrapping my mind around…well, everything.” She moved toward their car and he opened the trunk, taking the things from her and putting them inside.

“It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?” Dennis closed the trunk. “Seems like something out of a novel. Doesn’t seem like a war that horrific could have happened.” He nodded his head toward the building. “I read in there that eighty-one thousand Americans lost their lives or were injured in the Battle of the Bulge.”

“Eighty-one
thousand
? That can’t be right. They must mean the Americans
and
the Germans?”