Only a Paper Moon [ Band of Brothers ] 3

[2] Quite a Catch

[ 2 ]

QUITE A CATCH

June 1945  | Zell am See, Austria

Marc hadn't seen Adélaïde smile so much in years. But sitting on the terrace of the Austrian hotel, a dozen tired soldiers listening to her sing songs in French, and then English, and then Italian, she seemed to have found some amount of peace. He recognized the regular listeners: Sergeants Luz and Malarkey, First Sergeant Talbert, Private Heffron, Sergeant Alley, and Corporal Liebgott.

The shadows of the doorway hid him from their view. He was content to just watch his sister pluck at the guitar someone had gotten for her from a USO troop. It hadn't taken her long to learn it. She'd always been gifted like that. Golden hair fell in her face as one of the men made a joke he couldn't hear and she laughed.

Movement to his right drew Marc away from the scene. In the shadows of another archway, two of the leaders of the Americans stood chatting. He recognized them both: Major Winters and Captain Nixon. He didn't spend much time with the former. Ida did that. But Captain Lewis Nixon was another story all together.

Though the man chatted with Winters, Nixon seemed to only have eyes for Adélaïde. Marc felt his chest tighten. He'd seen it weeks ago. After their arrival in Zell am See, in the weeks where Adélaïde recovered from her wound, he had helped her. The moment he'd spoken French, however mutilated it sounded because of his American accent, she'd smiled. And she hadn't stopped smiling since.

Nixon laughed at something Winters said. He took a sip of his silver flask, then turned back to where Adelaide had just finished another song. The shadows suited Marc well enough, gave him a place from which he could watch the men. She could take care of herself. He knew it. He'd seen it. But she shouldn't have to, so he stayed there, watching them.

A third officer, shorter, closer to Adélaïde's height than his own, nodded to Marc as he walked passed him onto the terrace. Lieutenant Welsh. A good man, as far as Marc could tell. He and Robert didn't do much while laying low in Zell am See except act as German translators, but the interactions he'd gotten with Welsh had been pleasant enough. Marc watched as he joined the other two officers.

It didn't take long for Nixon and Winters to turn and spot him in the shadows of the archway. As he met their gazes, Marc offered a small smile. Not with his eyes, as Adélaïde pointed out to him on more than one occasion. She'd always said he didn't smile much with his eyes, not anymore, not since Paris had fallen. She was right, of course. He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against and moved to join them.

"Your sister's a fantastic musician," Winters stared. He seemed to be trying to break the ice. "How many instruments does she play?"

Marc glanced over at Adélaïde. She still sat there, clutching the guitar in her metal chair as the men lounged on the ground or in tables around her. Her smile never wavered even as she plucked at strings between songs and chatted with Luz and Talbert. He turned back to them.

"If she can get ahold of it, she'll learn to play it," Marc told them. "Primarily piano, though. And some violin."

Winters nodded. He took another bite of the apple he'd been eating. They fell into silence again, a few moments of peace listening to the early summer breeze rustle the leaves of nearby trees broke only by the laughs of the enlisted.

"Must've been hard, then, leaving Paris behind," Welsh said next.

Marc broken into a rueful smile. He shook his head. They didn't know the half of it. They didn't know what had led to their flight from Paris. They didn't know how their youngest sister's blood had stained the cobbles. And even if they had known, they couldn't understand.