“You mean, recruit her?” Bobby asked with suspicion.
“Well, they’re going to try. They need analysts, she has the language skills, and her experience will give her an edge.”
Bobby took a deep breath. “I don’t think after all she’s been through that she’ll want that.”
“In a way, I hope you’re right. You said she’s a musician, right?”
“A cellist.”
“Pretty girl like that, talented. With her story, I have a sneaking suspicion she’d do more good working for us selling war bonds.”
Bobby tried to imagine Karen dolled up in a fancy dress, barnstorming from town to town, playing cheesy musical numbers and appealing to humble Americans to support the war effort. He couldn’t.
“I think she’d rather work for the OSS,” he confided.
The general laughed. “Well, then, let’s see if you and I can’t convince her.”
CHAPTER 47
THE HARD GOOD-BYE
Karen spent the entire night searching for Petr. She finally found him coming out of a Red Army recruitment center.
He had a bundle of clothing—a new uniform—and a rifle. Obviously, he’d joined up again.
The recruiter had been suspicious—even though Petr was a war hero—that Petr had somehow deserted. But Petr claimed he was captured by the Germans and kept as a prisoner of war during their summer campaign. He’d managed to escape and wandered back until ending up here.
It was an unlikely story, but since the Second Shock Army had been completely destroyed, there was no way to verify it. They couldn’t have proven that Petr was lying even if they’d wanted to. And the truth was, they didn’t want to. The Red Army needed every soldier it could muster, especially veteran heroes like Petr.
Petr and Karen faced each other on the sidewalk. He halted when he saw her, then composed himself. “What do you think?” He held up the new uniform against his chest. It was tan instead of green, and it wasn’t quilted like the winter uniforms.
Karen had to admit that the earthy color complemented Petr’s blond hair, and she could imagine its straight cut would also complement his broad shoulders and angular physique. “It looks smart,” she said.
Petr shrugged as he bundled it back up under his arm. “Doubt I’ll be able to keep it that way.”
“When do you leave?” Karen asked.
“First thing in the morning. Another boxcar,” Petr added with a smile.
“I’ll see you off,” Karen promised.
Petr gazed at her sympathetically, then shook his head. “No you won’t—you have a plane to catch.”
“Aren’t you…” Karen hesitated. Then she gathered her courage and said what was on her mind. “Aren’t you going to ask me to come with you?”
Petr stared at her in silence, for a long time. “No,” he said finally. “I’d never do that to you, not where I’m going.”
“I would,” Karen replied.
Petr shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t, not if you loved me.”
Karen knew he was right.
“It was a beautiful dream,” Petr continued, “our dream of living the rest of our lives together. But that’s all it was: a dream. The war’s reality. We should have known that someday we’d have to wake up.”
Karen was surprised. She’d written those same words months ago, in her letters to Bobby—the same letters now being used by army intelligence against the Russians.
How was it that she and Petr could be so alike, having grown up so far apart, so differently? She hugged him, uniform bundle and rifle and all, and again she cried. This time, so did Petr.
But eventually they parted because, as usual, Petr was right. Someday they had to wake up from their dream. And today was that day.
Or was it?
Karen began to wonder during her walk back to the airfield. Not everything dies. Her father died, but his symphony didn’t. Why should dreams have to die?
The airfield was dark when Karen returned. But the moon and the stars were out, providing just enough light for her to see Bobby, already there. When she walked up, he turned to her, smiling, apparently relieved. “I was worried you’d be late. The general wants to depart at dawn.”
“I’m sorry,” Karen said, “but I’ve come to say good-bye.”
She turned and walked away. She didn’t look back; she couldn’t bear to face Bobby. She couldn’t bear to talk to him.
“You are coward,” said a voice from the darkness.
Karen turned toward the voice. It sounded familiar. There was a flash and a flame. The flame rose to a cigarette, and Karen saw a girl’s pretty face.
It was the Russian pilot who’d accosted her earlier. What was her name? Lenka?
“No, I’m not,” Karen shot back.
“Look at him,” Lenka insisted as she inhaled the cigarette’s smoke.
Karen glanced over her shoulder. She could barely see Bobby’s dark outline. His shoulders slumped as he stared up at the moon. He looked defeated.
“He deserves explanation.” Lenka held the cigarette out to Karen. “Take this. It will help.”
Karen did as she was told. She inhaled and immediately coughed. But the nicotine’s narcotic effect soothed her brain. It gave her strength.
“Now tell him,” Lenka advised.
Karen nodded, handed back the cigarette, and returned to Bobby. He didn’t seem to hear her approach. He didn’t turn around.
“I love him,” she said, to Bobby’s back.
Now Bobby turned. There were tears on his cheeks, glistening in the moonlight. “You said you loved me.”
Karen nodded. “And I still do, I think. But could you love me back?”
“Of course,” Bobby stated. “I’ve always loved you.”
Karen shook her head. “You don’t deserve me. You know that now. You’d never forget what I did to you.”
“I’d try.”
“You’d try. I know you’d try. But still, you’d never forgive me.”
It was true. Karen knew it was, even if Bobby didn’t. “Good-bye,” she continued. “I wish I was more like you.”
Once again Karen walked away. And once again she was interrupted by that voice from the darkness. “I was wrong. You not coward.”
This time, Karen just kept walking. She went to the train station. The sun was rising by the time she arrived. Soldiers were everywhere. She pushed through the crowds, searching for Petr. She began to call out to him. Eventually she heard him call back in surprise: “Karen?”
He was standing in the open door of a boxcar, wearing his new summer uniform.
Karen was right. He did look dashing with the flared breeches and knee-high brown leather boots. It wouldn’t look dashing for long, she knew. Soon it would be filthy and probably even bloody. But right now it was beautiful.
She pushed through the crowd until she stood next to the boxcar.
“What are you doing here?” Petr asked, looking down at her in wonder. “Aren’t you supposed to leave?”
Karen wasn’t, generally, a stupid girl. She’d proven that with her remarkable escape from Leningrad and her subsequent survival. Both those accomplishments had required no small degree of common sense. So her decisions this morning were not the result of dim-wittedness. She wasn’t being a fool. She was certain that her actions this day would eventually result in her death. A sensible voice in her head told her to turn around and run back to Bobby, to beg his forgiveness and ask him to fly her back to America.
Russia was horrible. She’d grown to hate Russia. And her terrible experiences had made her love America even more than she ever had before. But it wasn’t a very loud voice, because although Karen hated Russia, she loved a Russian. And she no longer really cared if she lived or died. Her life no longer mattered to her. All that mattered was that she spend the rest of it with the man she loved—with Petr.