Whisper on the Wind Read Online Free

won’t abandon what I brought with me.”
    “I don’t care about the risk for me. I’ve done so many things the Germans could shoot me for that one more thing doesn’t matter. It’s you. Maybe the Germans wouldn’t shoot you—being just a girl—but who knows?”
    “I’m not—” . . . just a girl. But she didn’t bother with the words. She doubted they’d convince him.
    She looked away, embarrassed. All she could think of when she agreed to smuggle the letters was how desperately she had wanted news of him and how other families cut off from their loved ones must be desperate too. She couldn’t have refused to take a chance with the letters and lived with herself. “I agreed to take the risk for the same reasons you’ve taken so many. Your mother and father didn’t teach values only to you and Jonah, you know.”
    He emitted something between a moan and a laugh, then took her arm. “We’re going somewhere for you to take out the letters. And the newspaper clips.”
    “But, Edward—”
    He looked at her then, and she could see he was not to be argued with. “I’ll carry them in my cloak. It won’t be the first time.”

2
    Monster Armored Cars Used by British in Charge on the Somme
    Called “tanks” by those who’ve seen them, Allied soldiers themselves refer to these huge traveling fort machines as “Willies.” Driven like motorcars but able to scale barbed wire, leap trenches, knock down houses, and snap off tree limbs, they are a formidable weapon indeed and will no doubt play an important role in the defeat of the Germans.
    La Libre Belgique
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    They walked the rest of the afternoon, which to Isa was far preferable to sitting within searching distance of any German soldier. Until they came to a checkpoint they could not skirt.
    “Put it together,” the soldier said. “Play.”
    Sweat moistened Isa’s palms as she looked at the pieces of her flute. Should she run? Not without the flute. And from a soldier with a gun?
    She looked from the disassembled instrument to the German, feigning ignorance of his language.
    “You . . . you play?” His attempt at French was barely decipherable.
    She shook her head even while he shoved the pieces at her as if to convince her with his insistence. This soldier was as stubborn as a caricature in the American newspapers she’d left so far behind.
    “You play the music,” he demanded once more, in German again instead of his poor attempt at French.
    She leaned away from him, taking a small step back, still shaking her head.
    “Ach . . . Dummkopf . . .”
    Better a free Dummkopf than an imprisoned flutist.
    The soldier waved them away. Isa dared a peek at Edward, whose face was as emotionless as, she hoped, her own. If only he knew!
    “This way,” Edward said quietly once they were beyond sight of the guard station. She followed him off the road again, back into the bramble that had once been cultivated land.
    “Is Genny in Louvain?” She’d wanted to ask details all day, but Edward was in such a sour mood she hadn’t dared.
    “We’ll stop in Louvain because of what we’re carrying, but my mother isn’t there anymore.”
    “The Bardiou family is still in Louvain,” she said. “I’m sure they will—”
    He stopped so suddenly she nearly bumped into him. “No one is left, Isa. No one you knew, at any rate. Stop talking.” Then he turned away from her, not even looking back to see if she could match his stride.
    They walked at a steady pace, past farmhouses that looked empty, around motley crops. Mostly weeds grew in the fertile ground these days, with an occasional cluster of wheat, so different from what she remembered.
    Isa had visited Louvain many times during the years she’d spent more time with Edward’s family than her own, living in one of the best rooms their exclusive inn had to offer while Isa’s parents often traveled. But as they entered the outskirts, her heart went heavy. This was not the Louvain she knew.