Tags:
World War II,
Christian fiction,
New Love,
Healing,
1941,
Christian Historical Fiction,
Mauthausen Concentration Camp,
Nazi-occupied Austria,
Tatianna,
death-bed promise,
winter of the soul,
lost inheritance
short and treasured minutes. Although she continued to call Tatianna’s name in the late-night hours, there was less urgency in her voice. Yet no opportunity had arisen for Darby to ask about her grandmother’s mysterious friend.
Darby waited until her mother went grocery shopping, then found the number for her grandmother’s lawyer.
“Is she gone?” Fred asked before saying hello.
“No, not yet.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I see my share of lousy people in this profession. It’s an honor to know someone like your grandmother.”
“I agree. But I’ll get to the reason for my call.” Darby propped her elbow on the counter beside the telephone. “Grandma told me about a personal safe she has left with you.”
“Ah, yes. She brought it to me about a year ago. I don’t normally keep such things and encouraged her to get a safety deposit box, but you know her thoughts about financial institutions.”
“Yes. In high school, she’d let me leave an IOU note for every ten-dollar bill I borrowed from her mattress. Does she have her savings in the safe, or should we check under her bed?”
“Actually, I’m not at liberty to tell quite yet. Besides, I don’t know the complete contents. My instructions are to wait for her passing, then we’ll move to those details.”
“Grandma didn’t tell me anything except that you had a safe, and I’d find some information she wanted me to have inside.”
“I understand, but those were the instructions.”
“That’s all I needed to know. Take care, Fred.”
“You too, Darby. And take care of our lady.”
“I promise.” She hung up the phone and sat back in her chair. Whatever was in the safe, it wouldn’t help her at present. Soon, too soon, the safe would be opened, for her grandmother would be gone.
Darby spent the nights in Grandma’s room, in case anything happened.
The days and nights blurred until their borders appeared as one continuous fog, only distinguished by the house lights being turned on or off. In the middle of a night, a voice stirred Darby. Fatigue held her as she struggled toward the surface of consciousness. Suddenly, she sat upright, seized awake.
The voice traveled its own journey, moving backward along a near-forgotten path as Darby’s eyes sought through the dim light to where her grandmother sat up in bed.
“Perhaps in another time or place it would not have felt so intense—but we were there, in that troublesome time. People fear hard times, but challenges usually make strong bonds stronger. We found great love in the midst of turmoil.”
Darby strained forward, mesmerized by Grandma’s voice. Its rhythm was like a midnight hymn rocking her back and forth.
“Would our love have changed if given the chance to be together all these years? I’ve wondered, can’t imagine it, but we only had six months as husband and wife.” A chuckle escaped. “We cherished every moment of that time.” Her voice seemed to drift away to memory.
How welcome this dreamlike spell was compared to the coughing fits or troubled callings. Grandma Celia reached for Darby’s hand. Darby moved forward and grasped the outstretched fingers, surprised to see her grandmother’s eyes shining lucidly and full of comprehension in the reflected light. “Darby, will you open the window for me?”
“Of course.” Darby leaned awkwardly over the bed to pull the window up an inch. Cool air swam into the room, and moonlight filtered through the parted curtains.
“That box on my dresser, the one Uncle Marc made me. Bring it to me, please.”
Darby moved toward the lamp switch.
“My dear, please don’t turn on the light. The moon is bright enough. I don’t want to lose this—this magical night. I have found your grandfather in my memories here.”
“Yes, Grandma.”
Darby retrieved the miniature carved box. She turned and stopped, seeing Grandma Celia with streams of moonlight flooding the bed. She was beautiful. Her rumpled gray hair glowed like an
Anthony Shugaar, Diego De Silva