After breakfast on Saturday morning, David lifted the long skeins of sausages from the smoker racks and handed them down to Bethia. As she stood cutting the twisted gut between the swells to separate the sausages, he asked, "What are these called?"

"They're my version of cervelat, the Swiss national sausage. I smoke them a bit longer than traditionally, but cooler and in a waning fire. They have a slightly firmer texture and a deeper flavour."

"We've not had any of these on the platters."

"No, they're fried or grilled and served hot. The traditional way is to split the ends a bit, so they fan out as they cook — I'll do some for lunch. I expect if Maria is missing you as much as you're missing her, they'll be here around noon."

Bethia tended her brisk Saturday morning business, spending most of her time in the front as the bell continued to regularly tinkle. David had the background of lively, friendly chatter of the shop beyond the curtains, as he sat at the kitchen table composing a letter to his parents.

He crumpled out another notebook sheet and added it to the pile. There must be a safe way to do this that won't arouse suspicion and start them searching around here. Surely they'll open a letter addressed to Canada. Stop thinking, David. Still your mind. Let the solution emerge.

He put the pen on the table and sat with eyes out of focus, relaxed his shoulders and loosened his neck. Loosened his mind. Within a minute, he was shaking his head at the simplicity of the solution. Write a postcard so the censors won't have to open it. I don't have to say much; just tell them I'm well. Mail it from somewhere far down the valley from here. If the censors suspect anything, they'll have a search done there.

He quickly drafted the message and read it:

Dearest Mamère and Dad;
I'm well, safe and with good friends.
Love, David

When Bethia next came through the curtains, he showed her the text. "Does this tell my parents enough to relieve their worry?"

She looked at it, smiled and replied, "That is exactly the message Herr Krings would love to receive from his missing son."

David sat bolt upright. Looked wide-eyed at Bethia, and slowly shaking his head, he asked, "Herr Krings?"

"At the slaughterhouse. You met him yesterday."

"Josef? — At the slaughterhouse? His name is Krings? Is that a common name? Is his son also Josef? His fraülein named Freda?"

"How do you know young Josef and Freda?"

"There was a postcard in his uniform pocket. He helped save my life," David replied in a croaking voice, tears welling in his eyes. "He's dead."

"Josef will be deeply saddened to learn this. He hadn't heard from his son in over three weeks. He's been rattling between confusion, hope and despair. Then the deserter news last week ..."

"We'll have to find a way to let him know. Think of a way to let the Army know that doesn't endanger me." He told her the story of regaining consciousness and wandering in the dark, wounded and in a daze, then realising he was on the German side.

"Young Josef is the dead soldier whose uniform and identity I took. His identity allowed me to have my shredded face stitched, allowed me a week of sick leave and allowed me to come here. His sick leave expired a week and a half ago. He's now officially listed as a deserter. Punishable by death. A horrid stigma for the family."

"I'm sure you'll think of ..." She paused and turned toward the sounds of the gates creaking open and saw Maria running from the lorry across the courtyard. "They're back," Bethia said, looking around at the empty chair. David was already through the back door and running down the steps.

Rachel sat in the lorry cab, watching the long embrace, not wanting to roll forward into the courtyard and disturb them. She watched their shudders, sensed their tears with her soul, followed their movements as they stroked and caressed, nibbled and kissed. The tinkle of the shop door broke Bethia's trance, and she pulled herself away from the doorway.

"We should move and let Mama drive in," David said quietly as he licked the tears from Maria's cheeks. "We're blocking her way."

"Did you miss me?" she asked as they unwrapped themselves and stepped aside.

"I've never been so empty. Lying in bed last night was the first time I've ever sensed loneliness. It's so strange and foreign to me. I've spent so much time alone in the mountains, but I've never before felt lonely."

They paused and watched Rachel wheel the lorry in and place its rear next to the steps. "Yes, I missed you," he continued, "I had feelings I didn't realise existed. And did you miss me?"

"It was as if a big part of me had been removed." She paused to stroke his beard again, to kiss him again. "I know loneliness. I've lived with it since Dada was killed – then my brothers – but the depth of loneliness I had last night; that's new, that's so different."

They walked over to greet Rachel as she climbed from the cab. "I missed you also, Mama," he said as he hugged her. "How was the drive?"

"Surprisingly easy," she said, running her fingers through her hair to begin untangling it, "But the wind whipping through the cab made a mess of my hair. My chignon fell out a while back, so I just let it fly. I must look a mess."

"One of the two best-looking lorry drivers I've ever seen."

"While we're still grubby," Rachel said, "we should unload."

"The load can wait." He looked at his watch, "It's almost noon, and Tante has fresh cervelat for us for lunch. Come in, clean up and relax."

"Now I've stopped driving, I'm feeling a bit wobbly," Rachel turned to Maria and continued, "I understand now how you felt from your drive up yesterday. Yes, a soak in the tub and lunch would be a welcome break."

"You two go on in; I'll close the gates. Tante's probably in the shop with customers; it's been quite busy all morning."

The three women were in an animated chat in the kitchen when he came in and caught the last of Rachel's sentence, "... such a sense of power and independence."

"Driving the lorry?" he questioned.

"Oh, yes! It's so exhilarating. It fills me with energy. Drains me, too. My shoulders are aching from all the steering and my arms are rather rubbery. I need a good soak."

"You go on up, Sweetheart, take your time. I close the shop at one on Saturdays, so there's a good hour until lunch. Soak and relax. There is always plenty of hot water with Aaron's system."

The bell tinkled again, and Bethia headed through the curtains. Maria picked up David's hands and said, "I need these to massage away the aches in my back and shoulders and to ease aches elsewhere." She led him up the stairs, then past the bed and into the bathroom, saying, "I feel grubby. We had no hot water at home, so we didn't bathe. Let's soak for a while first."

She put in the plug and adjusted the faucets, and they began undressing each other, lingering to touch, caress and kiss. "I can't believe how much I've missed you." He shuddered as he freed her breasts and watched their hypnotic movement while she worked the buttons of his trouser front.

"Looks like you're caught down your trouser leg again," she said as he lifted his left foot to the chair seat to relieve the angle. She reached into his loosened trousers and swivelled it around to lay across his hip. "I guess most men don't have to worry about this; a quick little flip across the thigh would do it."

"It's something I've never thought of."

"Yes, but until you saw others in the Army showers, you had thought this was normal." She swivelled it up across his belly, allowing his trousers to drop the rest of the way.

"But it is normal. It's normal for me. It's the size I grew up with, the size that grew up with me."

"We've had this discussion before." She giggled, unbuttoned her skirt, let it drop to the floor and stepped out of it.

"You need baggier trousers to give yourself sufficient turning room. It's like I found when I tried to drive the lorry along the winding streets to the nursing school. Some streets were more suited to a small runabout." She looked down and slowly stroked. "I prefer your lorry to a runabout."

She sat in the tub, nestled between his legs with her back against his chest and her head tucked under his chin, while he explored every bit of her that his hands could reach.

"You're supposed to be relaxing," he whispered in her ear after several minutes of this.

"But I am. I am so completely relaxed and contented."

"What about these?" he asked, running his fingers across her tightly erect nubbins. "And this?" he questioned as he reached down to her folds and flipped the tight protrusion there.

"Those seem independent and nonconforming," she said with a wide smile as she gently mashed her back against the bulge. "You certainly don't seem relaxed back there."

"Maybe we should soap, rinse and dry. Then, we can explore each other's outstanding bits. See if we can discover new ways to pleasure them. New ways for us to enjoy each other."