She’d chosen a place that had a magical feel to it in an attempt to convey the spell-working that had somehow kept this group of men together and alive and intact through so much bloodshed. Fairy rings of mushrooms spiraled across the ground. Two of the enchanted trees twisted over the men, providing both the protection of a canopy of naked boughs and the eerie strangeness of the distorted branches. The moss, in the pale midwinter sun, was just a shade brighter than the men’s uniforms and when they sat beneath Les Faux, they looked as if they were mingling into the forest, becoming a part of the French landscape in such a way that it would be almost impossible to return to chipped coffee mugs and creaking stairs.

“I’m first.” It was Sparrow, of course, using his height and size to maneuver his way to the front of the pack of men.

Sparrow’s claim was followed by the usual jostling for position that happened every time the GIs saw her camera. She laughed with them as they razzed each man when he sat for his portrait, calling him ugly, telling him he had a face only a mother could love.

“A lot more people love this face than you know.” Sparrow grinned broadly, the torment in his eyes shoved aside by a glint of something Jess didn’t like, and the quality of laughter changed: shifty, with an overtone of nuance she didn’t understand.

Then another man said, sotto voce to Sparrow, “Hey, you’re not the only one,” and the laughter continued on, starkly.

She put it out of her mind; it was probably a lewd joke they thought might singe her ears. Instead, she concentrated on the focusing and positioning of the Rollei until she had everything she needed.

“Thanks,” she said, standing up at last from the crouched position she’d been occupying. “I guarantee this will keep your sweethearts’ attention fixed on you for at least another few months.”

“Except if you’re Jennings,” Sparrow said, punching the other man in the arm. The laughter chorused again.

Jess caught a glimpse of Jennings’ reddened face but she had no idea what was going on. She collected her things and hadn’t quite reached the chateau when she realized she’d left her notebook behind. She turned around and was almost past the tents and back to the pocket of dwarf beech trees where they’d taken the pictures when she heard her name, spoken heatedly, the voices raised beyond ordinary conversation. For just a moment she felt the tree before her reach out, its curious and beautiful arms pleading with her to step away. She shook her head. The tree, odd and curling as it was, was just a tree. Sparrow and Jennings’ discussion cut through her strange hallucination.

“Of course I’m a member,” Jennings was protesting.

Sparrow replied, goading. “Where’s your evidence? To get your J Club badge you need proof. Like we all have.”

Jess was about to move forward and tease them about their mysterious club when she heard Sparrow continue. “Soon you’ll be the only man in the battalion without a badge. Maybe Jess is immune to your charms.”