The End of Innocence by Allegra Jordan Read Free Book Online

eyes softened.
    â€œWhen your purse fell open, it caught my eye. Sorry about the ink,” he said, handing it to her. “I must have placed it too close to one of these glasses. Do you have another copy?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, it’s still fairly legible. I do like poetry and, even though our countries would disagree about the war, you made a decent start of it,” he said, trying to cheer her up.
    â€œBut you thought this poem good?”
    Had he said it was good? He hoped not. “It has its moments,” was the best he could think to say. He winced as her ears reddened. “Really, Miss Brooks, it’s a good start. But death is a hard subject to do well. My professor says that death brings out the bad poet in us all. Perhaps you should have started with the moon over the water or some such.”
    â€œThe bad poet in us all?” She squared her shoulders. “I am not a bad poet.”
    â€œThat’s not what I said.”
    â€œWhat Germans say and what they do are quite different these days, I’ve found.”
    There was no hope of rational discussion with this young woman. He berated himself for even opening his mouth.
    â€œGood evening,” she said, abruptly turning on her heel, and heading toward an older, stocky man who was motioning to her that he was leaving.
    As she walked away, Wils felt a childish urge to flick some water on her matching silk skirt. How ridiculous this young lady was, insulting him and his country because of a comment on her poetry! How many times had he been told to use others’ poetry as a model—to reduce excess verbiage, or to consider a more subtle approach, and to avoid death in poetry completely? You didn’t see him become rude.
    He stood up and stalked outside. Good thing Harvard didn’t admit such cynical women. They were intolerable enough at a dance—their own territory.
    Wils picked up his pace along the gravel path to the gazebo, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He stood in the vast yard and looked up at the clear sky. The moon was large and bright, each star brilliant. It was hard to fathom that soldiers now abed in rubble halfway across the world saw the same sky.
    Wils walked slowly down the rest of the path to the river, where he found Peter Brooks alone in the gazebo, his tall, spare frame resting uncomfortably against one of the wrought iron supports. He stood in shirtsleeves, smoking an Egyptian cigarette. Its scent mixed with the fragrant blossoms of a white alder bush.
    Wils greeted him amusedly, “I met your sister, Peter. I don’t think she’s that fond of Germans.” The wooden swing creaked loudly as he sat down on it.
    â€œBut the British are a different story apparently,” said Peter in a brisk tone. “Her friend Ann said she danced exclusively with Riley tonight.” He skipped a small rock in the river. “Wils, your cousin is irresponsible, a philanderer, and, as far as I can tell, completely incapable of being serious about anything except rowing.”
    â€œCome now, Peter. That’s unfair even by my standards. Riley was just dancing. No harm in that.”
    â€œI’m sure that’s what Lily thought. And Isobel and Grace too.”
    â€œI’ll give you Lily and Isobel, but Grace, and Rose, and, well, Edith and Lucia—” Wils broke off awkwardly. “Those weren’t entirely Riley’s doing.”
    â€œIs he still engaged to Edith?”
    â€œNo,” Wils said quickly. He frowned. Was that right? “Actually, I’m not sure, come to think of it.”
    Peter looked at him intently. “Keep an eye on your cousin for me, Wils. Spencer needs to stay away from Helen.”
    â€œYou’re not her father, Peter.”
    â€œAnd she’s not your sister,” Peter said drily. He flicked his cigarette into the water, picked up his jacket, and walked away along the gravel path.
    Wils shrugged as he heard the