The year is 1942 and Europe is at the height of World War Two. Mila Goldstein, a Dutch Jew living in occupied Holland, has signed on as an informant for the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS). However, days before her assignment, a wounded Ge...
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"Scheisse," Josef cursed in German as Mila poured the remainder of the gin bottle's contents over his wound.
"Sorry," Mila muttered, patting the wound dry with gauze. It had healed nicely during the ten days Josef had been under her care. The bright red, inflamed tissue had begun to turn pink and he hadn't had anymore bouts of fever.
The Knight's Cross she had found had been the wakeup call Mila needed, and she had resolved since then to keep her distance from the soldier, only coming into his room to bring him food and water, or to dress his wound. Sure, she hadn't let him die after finding him on her door step, but something told Mila that if her secret was discovered, that fact would carry little weight with the German Reich ... or with Josef for that matter.
"It's hard to believe you're not a nurse," Josef said, watching her as she packed all her supplies onto a tray. "You've never thought about becoming one?"
"Actually, I have," Mila replied, a small smile flickering across her face at the idea. "I had plans to go to London and study at the Nightingale School of Nursing there," she paused, the smile fading from her lips, "That was before the war of course."
"War changes everything," Josef replied absentmindedly.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, Mila cleared her throat, "What about you? What did you do before the war? Or were you always a military man?"
Josef chuckled, "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."
Mila smiled, "Try me."
"I ... was studying to become an ... accountant," Josef replied, watching for her reaction. Mila pursed her lips, trying to fight the laugh that threatened to escape her.
"An accountant ... that's ..." She began, but he cut her off.
"Dull?" He smirked at her.
"Well, I wasn't going to put it so plainly," She replied, chuckling.
"My father's been an accountant for nearly forty years so it just made sense to follow in the family business..." Josef began, trailing off.
"I suppose war does change everything," Mila said.
"I suppose it does," Josef replied.
Trying to fill the void of uncomfortable silence that blanketed the room once again, Mila took to gathering up the rest of her supplies. "I'll bring you some dinner," She said, screwing the cap on the empty gin bottle before placing it back on the tray she had been carrying. It wasn't until she had stood to her feet and turned for the door that Josef spoke again.
"I really wish you'd stay this time."
Mila froze in her spot, contemplating what to do next.
"I've been here for ten days and I've only seen you for a handful of minutes," He added. He was watching her. She could feel his eyes burrowing into her back. She swallowed, turning on her heel to face him.
"I thought you could use the extra rest," She lied. Adequate rest hadn't been her reasoning for spending so little time in his room. She, of course, had intentionally been keeping her distance from him.
"Well," Josef began, sitting up in bed, "I'm feeling much more rested. And I wouldn't mind some company for dinner."
Mila hesitated. She really had only spent mere minutes with him since he had woken up a week ago. Would one meal together really hurt anything?
"Well," Mila finally spoke, "You do seem to be feeling better. I suppose we could eat in the kitchen ... If you're feeling up to it."
"I would like that," Josef smiled, chucking the blanket back, attempting to stand up.
"Oh, here, let me help you," Mila sat the tray down and, placing an arm around him and a hand underneath his arm, helped Josef stand to his feet. "Take it nice and slow," She added, walking a few paces behind him until he was seated at the kitchen table.
"Thank you," Josef said as Mila sat a plate of food in front of him.
"You're welcome," She replied, taking a seat with her own plate. It wasn't much ... just some porridge and bread, but Josef seemed content with it nonetheless. In fact, he seemed happy just to be out of the room he had been confined in for nearly two weeks. "So do you have any brothers and sisters?" She asked, deciding to make conversation.
Josef nodded with a smile, "A younger brother and sister."
"Do they live at home with your parents?"
He shook his head, "My sister does. My brother was called up about the same time I was," He paused, the smile fading from his lips. "He died in France ... nearly two years ago now."
"Oh..." Mila blinked, glancing away, "I'm sorry."
"He died an honorable death," Josef replied smoothly, his voice level as if he had rehearsed the response a hundred times. Mila nodded, prodding at the food on her plate. "He would've been about your age," Josef added, looking up at her. "You're what? Twenty two ... twenty three?"
"Twenty two," Mila replied. Josef nodded absently. "My brother ... he would've been about your age now."
Josef fixed his eyes on her, as if he was seeing her for the first time since their conversation had begun.
"And my sister," Mila continued, grasping the gold locket that hung around her neck. Unclasping it, she held it out for Josef to see, a faded black and white photo of her sister framed within the oval casing. "Gwen ... She's seventeen."
"Where is your sister now?" He asked, taking the locket in his hand, briefly studying it before returning it to her.
"England," Mila replied, closing the clasp, returning the cool metal to her chest. "My father thought fourteen was too young for the horrors of war, so he sent her away to live with relatives back in '39," She lied. After all, she couldn't risk divulging too much. Especially information that might put the only family she had left in danger.
"Your father was right," Josef replied, causing Mila to look up from her plate. "I said the same thing about my brother when he decided to enlist ... and he was twenty." A bitter smile flickered across his face as he recalled the memory.
"I suppose it doesn't matter how old they are, when it comes to someone you care about," Mila said, returning his bitter smile. If she had had it her way, her sister would've been sent to England at the beginning of the war. Even with Mila's attempts to shield her from it all, Gwen had seen so much. Much more than any seventeen year old should.
A faint smile crossed Josef's lips, "I suppose not."
