her staring, Lorna backed out of the shed before he could even realize she was there.
Over the next few days, more than a dozen lambs were born with no danger to either lamb or ewe. But there were a couple that needed help with the birth, and both those ewes had pushed their lambs away, which meant they’d need to be fed by hand.
Mrs. Mack told Lorna that Paul had barely left the lambing shed each day. She was determined not to appear over-interested in him, but Lorna went to the lambing shed to offer help anyway. But Paul refused, saying he was fine. His manner was curt and efficient. Though Lorna knew she had said the wrong thing to him, she didn’t feel she needed to give an actual apology. It wasn’t like his feelings should matter to her or anything.
It was a relief just to know that the flock was well cared for during the daytime. The nights, however, were taking their toll on Lorna’s father. Lorna hadn’t seen him look so tired since he had been juggling days working on the farm with regular night patrols with the East Lothian Home Guard. Thankfully, those duties had ended before Christmas when the Home Guard had been stood down, but still, Lorna hated seeing her dad looking so weary.
One evening after tea, he announced that he’d written to the camp commander at Gosford, and Paul had been given permission to stay overnight at the farm, at least during the lambing season. Hearing this news, Nellie widened her eyes at Lorna in the mirror as she applied another layer of bright red lipstick in preparation for her evening off down in the village.
“So now shall we start locking our bedroom doors then, duckie?” she asked. “But then again, perhaps not!”
She gave Lorna a sly wink and danced out of the door before Lorna could respond.
Not that she knew how to respond. Would it make any difference at all to her if Paul was on the farm overnight? No, of course not, no difference at all. None.
The following morning, Lorna helped her father bring the old canvas camp bed down from the attic. They put it, with a pile of sheets and blankets, into the hayloft above the barn, where Paul would be sleeping until lambing was over.
It then fell to Lorna to take Paul’s evening meals to him. That first night she found him sweeping the floor of one of the pens in the lambing shed with the big hard-bristled yard broom. He greeted Lorna politely, and she felt another pang of … not guilt exactly, but … well, she knew she ought to clear the air.
Lorna set the dishes down on the barrel by the door and watched Paul work. After a few seconds, he looked up.
“About what I said”—Lorna’s throat caught on the words and she had to cough to clear it—“when you first arrived …”
Paul didn’t reply, and she could read nothing in his face.
“I didn’t mean to … at least, I didn’t think …” Lorna couldn’t find the right path at all. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“But you don’t want me here, me or the other Germans.”
“Well, no, I mean, yes, oh …”
Paul stood up straight and sighed.
“Fräulein Anderson, do you think that we like being here?”
It hadn’t occurred to Lorna that these men might be as angry about being in Scotland as the people they met there. He must have seen the confusion on her face, and he softened. “But thank you for”—Paul seemed to be searching for the right English—“your words.”
He went back to his sweeping.
Not sure what else to say or do, Lorna returned to the house. The conversation hadn’t solved anything, but she was glad she’d said something.
Later, when she went back out to pick up his dishes, she found Paul sitting on the straw in one of the pens with his back against the wall, feeding a lamb with a bottle. Another lamb was curled up asleep beside him.
As Lorna pulled the door closed quickly behind her so no light escaped, he looked up at her, and this time he smiled.
“Forgive me, I cannot stand up,” he said, lifting the lamb slightly as if to show he had his hands full. “But thank you for dinner. It was very delicious.”
“Tea,” Lorna corrected. “We have dinner at midday, in Scotland anyway, so we call this your tea.”
“I will try to remember that, thank you.”
As she cleared the plate, bowl, and empty milk bottle into her basket, Lorna became aware that Paul was still watching her.
“Sometimes,” he said, “you make me think of Lilli.”
Against her better judgment, Lorna asked, “Lilli?”
“My sister,” he replied. “She will become sixteen in May, and she is not shy to say what she thinks. Like you, Fräulein.”
Lorna wasn’t sure how to react. It unnerved her to be compared to someone he loved. But she was also intrigued that he too had left a little sister at home, as her brothers had.
So would it hurt just to ask one question?
“Is Lilli your only sister?” she asked.
Now his expression did change, she could see that even in spite of the burns. But did he look pleased that she had responded? Or relieved? She wasn’t sure.
“Yes, we are two,” he replied, “with our father and mother. Or we were. Before. Now it is only Lilli and Mother and me.”
“So your father …?”
Paul looked down at his hands and picked at a dirty hangnail on his thumb, and Lorna wished she’d kept her mouth shut. He took a deep breath.
“My father was ein Uhrmacher, a clockmaker, before the war. In Dresden.” He suddenly looked up at Lorna. “You know of Dresden, Fräulein Anderson?”
Lorna shook her head no, but then, perhaps she had heard something about Dresden quite recently. But where? At school? No, she didn’t think so. Perhaps a news report on the BBC?
“Dresden is very beautiful, very old,” Paul continued. “The River Elbe goes through the city, and there are many churches and art galleries. And parks, many parks. But you know, life in Germany has been difficult for some time, even before the war began. We had little to eat, and what food my mother could find was expensive to buy. And there was much to fear. But before that, I can remember a time when life was better. When my life was good.”
He was smiling now. Lorna could see it in his eyes, as well as on his mouth. How could she ever have thought it was a sneer?
“When we were little children, our parents took us on a Sunday afternoon to the Zwinger museum sometimes. And after, if we were good, they took Lilli and me to a coffeehouse for chocolate cake. Lilli loves chocolate cake, but I know she has not had chocolate cake for a long time.”
Lorna rested her hip against the pen gate. His tone was wistful. It must have been a long time since he’d last talked to anyone about his home and his family, she realized.
“In the summer, we all went to ein Biergarten, a beer garden, to hear the music, and our parents drank big glasses of beer, with lots of … Schaum.”
Paul looked at Lorna questioningly and waved his fingers over the top of an imaginary beer glass held in his other hand.
“I am sorry, I do not know the word in English. The white on the top of the beer?” He mimed again. “Schaum?”
“Oh, um.” Lorna was caught off guard. “Do you mean froth? Or foam?”
“Froth?” Paul repeated. “Beer with much froth, yes.”
Lorna smiled back at him before she could stop herself.
“Of course, we were too young for beer with froth,” he continued, “so we ate Bratwurst instead.”