The Kingdom of Night (Book 3)

Epilogue - Clearing Skies

Emma

I didn't hear from Toby again until that December, right before George and Hannah's wedding. He'd been injured badly in the Battle of the Bulge, his hearing damaged in one ear and burns all up the right side of his body. But his letter had a positive note to it, especially with the surrenders of the Axis coming through on the wireless practically every day now. This one, although we didn't realise it at the time, turned out to be the last German offensive of the War. Still, it caused heavy losses on both sides, and I was more than relieved that Toby had not been one of them.

The wedding, when it did happen, was a beautiful ceremony. We held it in the same church Uncle Petey and Auntie Grace had gotten married in, and Papa and Mum. Before that, Auntie Grace's parents, a James and Catherine Fullerton. Hannah was beautiful in her dress, not a pure white but rather a nice cream colour, one which Mum didn't hesitate to point out she had picked herself. George was dashing and handsome in his uniform, medals winking at us from the front of the nave. And his smile when he first laid eyes on his bride was as bright as ten suns.

'How does it feel to be married?' I asked him at the reception, just a small one in the drawing room of his parents' home. 'Now that it's actually happened, I mean.'

'A bit odd, I suppose,' George said, spreading his fingers and squinting at the gold wedding band. It had tiny intricate etchings on it, winding around it like vines. 'Considering this time two years ago I wasn't even thinking of it.'

'Then again, this time two years ago, you were pelting through the sky and bearing down on those Germans,' I pointed out. That was when he'd gotten his first big promotion, from Flight Lieutenant to Squadron Leader. Wing Commander had been a half a year afterward. Now he was Group Captain and a decorated officer, festooned with medals and cords.

He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink while running his other hand down the front of his tunic. 'Where's Al? I thought she'd be here.'

I sighed and shook my head, thinking again of my sister, my poor tortured soul of a sister. When we'd finally asked her what had happened down in the cave that day, she'd recounted it for us, dissolving into tears multiple times. It broke my heart to hear my sister cry like that, and I was frustrated that I couldn't do more for her. If Wittenberg ever decided to come back to life, he'd have me to deal with.

'Couldn't, I guess,' I answered eventually. Al had her own reasons for not being here, and I didn't think she would much like for me to be spreading them about. It wasn't my business, anyhow.

Of course, it wasn't all smooth from that point. The war kept dragging on, through the remainder of winter—I had yet another birthday, my twentieth, in wartime—and on through spring. That was when the tide began to turn in the Allies' favour. Soviets and Americans were liberating even more concentration camps, Hitler killed his wife and himself right around Al's birthday, and the German army was on shaky ground, and only getting shakier.

Then, that May, just before Mum's birthday, the Axis surrendered. The war, at least on the European Front, was over. Never before had I seen so many people in one place–flooding the streets, hugging, kissing, crying, laughing. I had half a mind to join them.

I was surprised with a telephone call about a week after that to look out my bedroom window. When I did, I could have sworn my heart skipped a beat. Toby, in his brown khaki and wool uniform, cap cocked to the side and arm in a sling, was out on the front walk, waving to me from the fence. I hurried downstairs and straight to his arms, and even though he teetered a bit, he held me so tight it seemed he would never let go. Then he cupped my face and kissed me deeply, more so than ever before. Only then did I realise he had meant what he said, that day when he'd told me he was leaving. He truly did want to return to me.