November 25, 2019

Amherst, New York, United States

It wasn't that Elle didn't enjoy visiting her grandparents. But being dragged north to Buffalo for Thanksgiving every single year was starting to get old. She had homework over break, she had tests to study for. Midterms would be coming up soon. And she felt that as a seventeen year old, she had earned the right not to sit at the Kids' Table.

Hunter was nineteen. He got to sit with the adults. She was only a year off from being an adult anyways. So why did she have to sit with the little kids? Her feet dragged as she followed Hunter and her parents up the driveway from the street. The house was old, too. Not ancient, but the brown and white siding screamed vintage. And not in a cool way.

Elle clutched at the book her arms. Between her phone and the new novel, she'd hopefully be able to stay to herself during this crazy get together. She knew Aunt Noëlle and Uncle Bob would be there, and her Uncle John Paul and Aunt Olivia. Then of course Melanie would be bringing the kids. That meant the Kids' Table.

"Smile, Elle," her mother ordered.

"I am!" she snapped.

With all the grace and poise she could muster, Elle waited at the door. Her dad had knocked. Now they waited. When it swung open a moment later, she found herself looking at her drop dead gorgeous cousin Melanie.

"Aunt Heather! Uncle Mike!" She grinned, moving away to let them in. With hugs for Elle's parents, Melanie then turned to her and her brother. "Hey Hunter! Elle, you look nice!"

She brightened up a bit at her cousin's compliment. Elle glanced down at herself. She'd put on a grey sweater dress and curled her dark hair so it bounced just below the shoulders. "Thanks, Melanie. You look good too, as usual."

They walked inside. The dark wooden staircase rose up on the right, leading to the upstairs. The brown bear she'd remembered since childhood, definite vintage, sat in a tiny rocking chair in the hall. Elle smiled. Maybe Thanksgiving wasn't so bad.

Screams from further in interrupted her pleasant thoughts. Hunter had gone off somewhere, probably to find Melanie's husband. They got along well. But the screeching twins and their younger brother echoed through the entire building. Elle groaned.

Before long she found herself standing alone in the foyer. To her left, an antique pink glass and crystal chandelier hung over the large table that had been set up for the adults. The couches were pushed to the side to make room. After venturing into the kitchen and giving quick hugs to everyone as she was expected to do, Elle managed to sneak back out.

She found a cushy armchair that had been left alone. Her phone buzzed with activity, likely her group project chat. Wanting to avoid schoolwork as much as she could while she couldn't do anything to help, she put her phone back in her lap. Instead she turned to the book she'd picked up from the store.

"Interesting book."

Elle looked up. Grandma Ettie had come into the family room. Her greying hair was short, permed. She stood fairly tall, about the same as Elle at five foot eight. Elle always thought she dressed well for her age. She smiled.

"Yeah, I picked it up a few days ago. Look interesting," she said. Elle turned it around and showed her grandmother.

"A Woman of No Importance. The Untold Story of the American Spy Who Helped Win World War II.' Now that sounds like a good story," Grandma Ettie told her. With a smile, she pulled over a wooden dining chair and eased herself into it. "What's her name?"

"Virginia Hall. She had a wooden leg!" Elle said, breaking into a smile. "Can you believe that? She was a woman, and a spy for the Allies with a wooden leg. And she named it!"

Grandma Ettie smirked. "What'd she name it?"

"Cuthbert."

"She sounds like my mom," Grandma Ettie said.

Elle looked at her in confusion. "Great Grandma Nixon? What do you mean?"

Another scream from the five year olds echoed through the halls. They both winced. Grandma Ettie looked at her closer. With a smirk, she heaved herself up from the chair. "Come here. I've got a job for you."

Closing the book, she followed her grandmother to the stairs off the kitchen. While Melanie and her husband tried desperately to reign in their three children, and the other adults stayed out of the way, they just snuck down the stairs.

The steps were wooden. Once they reached the bottom, Elle's shoes sunk into the carpet squares hap-hasardly thrown about the concrete floor. The basement had never been finished, but it had plenty of light. On the left, an ironing board and some storage, and on the right, wooden shelves with old toys like Fisher Price. She remembered playing with them as a kid.

Grandma Ettie led her to the far side of the basement. Several wooden chests and a crate sat untouched, but not too dusty. Well cared for, Elle guessed. They looked old.

"We don't talk about my mother much," Grandma Ettie said. "Or my dad, either. But they both fought in World War Two."

"What?" Elle stared at her. "But women didn't fight."

Grandma Ettie laughed. "You're right. But she did."

For a moment, Elle wondered if her Grandmother had gone insane. Women didn't fight in the war. Some were nurses at field hospitals, plenty participated in non-combat roles. But they didn't fight. But as her grandma opened one of the chests and then laid a key in her hands, Elle didn't respond.

"Take a look. It's quieter down here than up there anyways," she joked.

Elle nodded. Watching her grandmother make her careful way back to the stairs, she paused. She looked at the key in her hands. Then Elle looked at the chests.

She placed her book and her phone on one of the carpet pieces. Grabbing a second one, Elle pulled it over to kneel on. When she looked into the chest, she frowned.

The first thing she noticed was a stack of letters tied together by twine. They had faded a bit, the edges crumpled and the paper yellowed. Elle pulled them out and then grabbed three more stacks. She placed them on the ground. There were a pair of uniforms beneath the letters, brown. Two hats accompanied them.

Elle pulled them out. She saw the medals on the breast of the jackets. On their uniforms she saw Lieutenant's and Captain's bars. The hats had a patch with a parachutist. Paratroopers.

Her eyes widened. Elle placed the clothing in a gentle pile. Then she looked further in. A random assortment of other items sat inside. There were three green glass bottles of some kind of alcohol, if she had to guess. A cigarette pack, too. She found a few folders, and a necklace with a star of david. And in the bottom sat two thick journals.

Elle took out one of the folders. She sat back cross-legged, giving herself some room. Then she opened it. Inside, dozens of photographs of her great-grandparents with other men and women sat in black in white. A few were in color, where they looked older.

On the back of each, a date and a list of names. Bill And Fran Guarnere, Joe Toye, Babe Heffron, Dick Winters, Harry Welsh, Kitty Welsh, Pat Christenson, Carwood Lipton, George and Del Luz, Don Malarkey, Johnny Martin, Gene Roe, Ron Speirs, and a dozen more. Of the group, only Ron Speirs stood in uniform. But Elle began to realize they must've all been soldiers together.

Great Grandma Alice Nixon had been a soldier. How was that even possible? Elle placed the photos carefully into the folder and closed it. She set it to the side.

Pulling out the two journals, she carefully untied the leather strap from around one. Her eyes widened as occasionally, she found the writing to be French or German. But most of it was in English. It seemed to be a notebook of memories or nightmares, Elle couldn't distinguish. Freezing winters, excruciatingly hot summers, running up mountains, artillery barrages. More names, too. Skip Muck. Alex Penkala. Donald Hoobler. Alton More. David Webster. With them were a few pictures.

Then, she found a list of names that shared their last names in common. Bernadette Klein. Robert Klein. Marc Klein. Helene Klein. Wilhelm Klein. Elsa Klein. No pictures accompanied these, but some sketches of a star-shaped flower, or a few words in German Elle couldn't understand.

She put the notebook down. It felt wrong, almost. But then her eyes fell on the other notebook. Elle couldn't resist.

Untying it, she opened to the first page. The writing here was all in English, most names with information beneath each. Elle didn't recognize any of them; they were definitely not Americans. She recognized quite a few Russian surnames. Some looked Polish. But they were all women.

"I need to speak to Genevieve and Juliette, see if they remember anyone else. Maybe get in touch with Simone again. Maybe Ron has contacts in the military still."

Ron Speirs? Elle continued to skim. A couple names stood out to her: Corrie ten Boom, Anne Frank. Then she came to another note that caught her eye.

"Germaine is Virginia Hall? Double check sources. It would make sense though. I never knew the extent of her work. Need to cross-reference with any other Maquis survivors."

Maquis! Elle looked over at the book to her right about Virginia Hall. She'd not gotten far, but she'd done some googling about the Limping Lady before buying it. Elle looked at the pages, hoping to find a date. 1973.

Great Grandma Alice Nixon had been compiling a list of women from the war. Or at least, that's what it looked like. She had names, dates, missions, accomplishments. Taking a deep breath, Elle closed the journal. She turned back to the files. There was still one in the bottom. She pulled it out.

Only two things sat inside. Detailed pencils sketches, it looked like. The first one had her great grandmother in the center, mountains behind, and to either side, a dozen men. They were all in uniform. Alice laughed in the picture. An arm from the man next to her, smoking a cigarette, draped over her shoulders.

The other was similar. Alice stood in the center again, flanked by five other men in uniform. One to her left she recognized immediately as Great-Grandpa Lewis Nixon. To his other side, a man who stood even taller. On the other side of Alice stood three more, the one directly adjacent to her barely taller than Alice herself. All stood in uniform.

Her breath caught. That was proof. Right there, proof that her great-grandmother had served in the war. Maybe not a photo, but at least a drawing. Two, actually. Alice Nixon had been a paratrooper.

Elle didn't want to put the art away. But she did. Leaving her phone and book on the floor, she turned back to the journals. Elle didn't hesitate a second time. Before long, she found herself immersed in the writings of this woman she'd never known. Alice Klein.

FIN

Author's Note:

You guys, I don't even know what to say. What a ride. What a rollercoaster of emotions, this duology has been. 

Honestly I feel like Frodo at Mount Doom right now. It's done, it's finished. Wow.

I hope you're content with this ending. I thought it was a really good way to tie it up with what inspired the series in the first place, Sonia Purnell's novel. 

Thank you for joining me on this adventure. I hope you join me on the next. In a few minutes, the third story will go up. It's going to look VERY different. That'll all be explained in there.

A huge thanks to hufflepuffturtle for being my "creative consultant" in this whole thing (minus like the first ten chapters as I inducted her into the fandom). Darling you're my guardian angel hah. I love you.

To everyone who read along, a huge thank you as well. And to everyone who voted and commented, you all are the real MVPs. I adore you. Thanks for sticking with me.

See you real soon,

Julianne

PS: Want more of my historical fiction & Band of Brothers works? I've got a collaborative story going on AdamantiumDragonfly's profile featuring two very different, very broken, very inspiring young Russian snipers. Check out her profile for the main story (Under the Banner), and mine for some behind the scenes content (Russian Roulette). 

For more Alice content, see Only a Paper Moon here on my profile!