EpilogueFrom deep within the house a baby cried, and Basil looked up toward the ceiling. Muffled footsteps hurried across the wooden floors overhead. Rosa’s voice filtered down the stairs singing a German lullaby in her throaty alto tones. The sobbing ceased, and he imagined his wife sitting in the rocking chair, little Conrad nestled in her arms.
At first she refused to name their first-born after her deceased husband, but Basil knew it was the right thing to do. The man’s life had been cut short before having children. He should have had a son, and now he did.
Basil sighed and picked up the newspaper. More than three years into the war, and headlines still shouted of battles lost and won. Casualty lists took up several pages. Photos of bombed-out cities glared at him.
He bowed his hea
