Page 84 of All We Thought We Knew

“Dear Ava,”I read aloud, a tremor in my voice.“I arrived at Fort Lincoln, North Dakota yesterday, a place I had never heard of but now find it is my home. The internment camp is much like the one at Camp Forrest, although it is no longer a—”

The rest of the sentence was blacked out.

“Looks like military censors didn’t approve of what Gunther wrote,” Nash said.

“I didn’t realize they did that back then.”

He nodded. “There were a lot of spies around the world, and most of their communication was written. The government censored just about everyone’s mail.”

I continued reading.

The barracks are made of red brick. They tell us the temperatures during winter can drop to forty below zero. I hope they are wrong. There are many Italians here as well as Germans. I have been assigned to the hospital and look forward to beginning my duties. I appreciate Colonel Foster’s recommendation.

I miss our English lessons and your chicken salad sandwiches. I am ever grateful for the time we shared together. It is bold of me to ask, but I hope you will write to me. It would brighten my day.

Sincerely,

Gunther Schneider

I finished reading the letter but didn’t return it to the envelope. “I wonder what he means by theinternment camp?”

“When we were in school, I remember Mr. Mott talking about German POWs at Camp Forrest during the war,” Nash said. “Maybe he was a POW.”

I gaped at him. “A POW? I know Mama worked at Camp Forrest, but why would she befriend the enemy? Especially after her husband was killed in the war.”

“The Germans weren’t responsible for Pearl Harbor.” He took the letter from me and read, “Gunther wrote,I miss our English lessons. It sounds like your mom was a tutor or something.”

“That’s definitely something she would do, even for the enemy.” I reached for the next envelope in the stack. “Maybe the other letters will shed more light on their relationship.”

I read the next letter and the next, but they were both similar in content to the first, with descriptions of the camp, the weather, and Gunther’s appreciation for the note Ava sent him.

“It doesn’t sound as though they had a romantic relationship,” Nash said. “These letters were written after her husband died, so she might’ve been lonely. He may have needed a friend and found one in your mom.”

“Possibly, but why would she want me to read these if they didn’t have anything to do with me?”

“I can’t answer that.”

The clock in the hall chimed midnight.

“We better turn in.” I counted the remaining envelopes. “There are six more letters. We can read them later. If you want to, that is.”

His eyes met mine. “I want to.”

The softness of his voice, along with the intense way he looked at me, stirred butterflies in my belly. I swallowed, tempted to move closer and sink into his strong embrace.

I forced myself to look away.

Nash was a good friend. Anything beyond that was a bad idea. Staying in Tullahoma wasn’t in my future. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to start something that couldn’t be finished.

I stood and he followed suit. Jake slowly rose from his spot near the fireplace where embers glowed.

“Hopefully Mama will tell me who Gunther Schneider is when I see her tomorrow.”

I bid Nash good night and carried the letters upstairs. His recollection about POWs being housed at Camp Forrest during the war, along with his earlier math calculations, reminded me that although he hadn’t been a good student, barely passing most of his classes, he’d obviously paid attention in school. I found it sad that his parents hadn’t cared whether he did well or not.

Dad had always stressed how important it was to get an education, making sure Mark and I did our homework and brought home A’s. He’d wanted us to attend college, too, but the war in Vietnam changed things for Mark.

And for me.