Before Our Dawn| ongoing

forty-seven

Chapitre quarante-sept
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By November, Hans, Isra, and Klaus had settled into their newly renovated home, and it was starting to exude a sense of belonging. While their official move-in date was back in September, they waited until Hans and Yves were certain that all renovations were completed before making it official. Now, with everything in its rightful place, they finally felt the comforting embrace of a true home. Despite the occupation of Le Chambon, life carried on with a semblance of normalcy.

Hans was now employed as a teacher at the local primary school, educating students in literature. It paid decently and kept them afloat, though as wartime would have it, there were still struggles in certain aspects of their lives. However, their marriage and relationship thrived, and neither of them had ever felt better.

As Isra stood at the kitchen counter, slicing vegetables for dinner, Hans approached her from behind, his strong arm encircling her swollen stomach. The warmth of his touch sent a comforting shiver down her spine and brought a smile to her face. 

"Eight months already," Hans murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "Our little one will be here before we know it."

Isra beamed, leaning back into his embrace, relishing in the domesticity of the moment. "I can hardly wait," she simpered, tilting her head back and catching his gaze.

Just then Klaus, toddled into the kitchen, his chubby hands reaching out to tug on Hans' trousers. "Up, up!" he exclaimed, his face lighting up with delight.

"Ja, mein Schatz," he replied in German, his words a sweet melody that Isra was slowly beginning to understand, despite not yet mastering the language completely. He scooped Klaus up into his arms with practiced ease. "Someone wants to be carried, huh?" 

As Klaus babbled, Isra couldn't help but smile at the endearing sight. German was a language he had picked up quickly, primarily because it was the only one Hans spoke to him. 

"Was sagst du, Klaus?" his father asked with a grin, delighting in his son's attempts to communicate.

He repeated his words in his sweet, melodic voice. "Papa spielen!"

"Ja, wir können später spielen," he said, his tone affectionate as he gently ruffled Klaus's unruly hair.

"Looks like I'm missing out on all the fun," Isra commented. Laughter illuminated her eyes as she stirred the pot on the stove.

Hans turned to her with a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't worry, Liebling. You'll have your turn to play with Papa too." He winked, and Isra responded with a playful swat at his arm, her cheeks flushing slightly at the implication of his words.

"Oh, stop it, you."

His grin widened as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "I can't help it if I'm looking forward to our playtime later."

Once dinner was prepared, Isra set the table with care, placing plates and utensils in their proper places. Klaus, eager to assert his independence, attempted to feed himself with clumsy enthusiasm but ended up making a mess of his plate.

Hans reached out to gently guide his son's hand. "Hier, Klaus. Lass mich dir zeigen, wie man richtig isst."

Their son looked up at his father with wide, curious eyes, eager to learn.

"Look at you," Isra gushed, leaning over to kiss Klaus' chubby cheek. "Learning so quickly."

As they quietly savoured their dinner, interrupted only by occasional murmurs exchanged between bites, a sudden rap at the front door startled Isra and Hans. They sent each other puzzled glances, unaccustomed to visitors at this late hour. Their secluded existence, necessary for their safety as Jews in a perilous time, discouraged casual callers.