Or any of the people whose memories he’d clung to like a mantra back in Normandy. He was too cold to consider anything except lasting one more minute.

And he barely wanted to do that.

The men who’d died of exposure were better off.

At the end of every battle—won or lost—there were bodies piled to be sorted later, their dog tags wrapped around their necks to identify them. Medics used the fatigues of dead men to tear into tourniquets to save the living. Chaplains prayed over them in groups rather than giving individual absolution. Snow fell white and landed pink as it mingled with the bloodstained ground.

Tom typed letters to families who would grieve upon receipt of them.

It was a terrible task.

Every day brought another battle as the Germans seemed bent on taking out as many troops as they could even as their ultimate defeat seemed inevitable. Maybe that even fueled their ire. Revenge upon all they’d ceded.

During a particularly gruesome fight, Tom ran into the supply tent to forage for any ammo that had been scavenged off of dead bodies and found one half-used belt for a machine gun. He grabbed it, hoping to find a gun to match it, and ran toward the nearest foxhole as he saw explosions of snow indicating advancing Germans. A sound zipped through the air that had the distinct mark of a grenade, and he saw it fall near some of his men reloading their rifles.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said to John and William.

He jumped on top of the grenade and all went black.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

January 1945

Happy New Year, dolls!” Gladys whirled into the women’s office wearing gold tinsel as a headband. She sprinkled some onto Margaret’s desk and tossed some into Dottie’s hair. Dottie was helping out for a few hours with filing. Her parents—having been won over by George’s devotion to their daughter and granddaughter—now took Joanna every Monday.

Margaret stood up. “Where have you been? It’s January fourth. We’ve been worried sick.”

Gladys held up her hand, on which sat a slender gold ring. “This might answer your question.”

“You didn’t.”

“We did.”

“Without us?”

Dottie sat in a chair across from Margaret, and Gladys leaned against the desk.

“Come on, ladies. When have you ever known me to do things the traditional way? I’ll have none of the white dress and church organ stuff. We went to the court, signed some papers, said some things, and here we are.”

“And Oliver was okay with this?” Dottie asked.

“It was Oliver’s idea,” Gladys gloated as she hung her coat and purse on the coatrack. “And if that doesn’t tell you how well he knows me, I don’t know what does.”

Margaret folded her arms. “Then where have you been all this time?”