Enemies To Lovers 11: Artificial Leg

Jubilant, Jurgen grabbed the wheel on his right side and began to move the chair forward. His happiness soon turned to frustration when he found he could only go in circles.

"You're doing very well for the first time," the nurse encouraged him. "After a lot of practice, you'll be able to steer in a straight line."

Jurgen looked at Joanna. "I want to see the garden outside. Will you please take me there?"

Touched by his humility, Joanna eagerly grabbed the wheelchair's handles and began to push it toward the hospital's exit.

Outside, the sun was shining brightly. Enjoying its warmth on his face, Jurgen let out a deep sigh of contentment as Joanna pushed the wheelchair toward the garden, where roses of all different colors were in bloom. She picked a red one and held it to her nose, luxuriating in its fragrance. Jurgen reached for it, and she handed it to him. He took a deep whiff as well.

"Funny how you never miss something until it's taken from you," he remarked. "And then you never realize how much you missed it until you have it again."

Joanna looked into his eyes and saw tears in them. His face immediately grew hard and cold.

"Take me back inside right away," he ordered.

As the weeks passed, Jurgen grew stronger and more independent, and one day, he was presented with an artificial arm. The socket and forearm were made of metal, and the hand was made of rubber and could be replaced with a hook if needed.

Jurgen watched as the prosthetic was attached to his stump. The doctor showed him the various functions it could perform, and he smiled.

"I almost feel like a whole man again," he joked, but his smile disappeared as he glanced down at his leg stump. "Almost."

"That will come in a few days, when you're used to the arm," the doctor promised.

Joanna watched as he practiced with the arm for awhile, then grinned at her - a warm, genuine grin that made her feel tingly all over.

As she went to sleep in the tiny storeroom that now served as her sleeping quarters that night, she thought about how happy she was for the man she'd once hated - and for herself. The weeks of watching him lie helpless and vulnerable in bed had erased all the former resentment she'd held against him, and the new respect he'd shown her recently had touched her. There was a chance that, once restored to health and released from the hospital, he might return to his abusive ways, but she tried her best not to think about that.

The artificial leg arrived on schedule as promised. It was also made of wood, metal, and plastic, with a brace to hold it in place that went around his waist and a sock and shoe to cover the realistic-looking foot. Jurgen gasped in dismay at his first sight of it.

"How on earth am I supposed to get around with that?" he scoffed.

"You'd be amazed at how tough it really is," the physician replied. "Not as much as your real leg was, of course - nothing could ever replace that - but I think you'll be pleased with its performance."

"I doubt that," Jurgen grumbled.

The new leg was carefully attached to his stump, and he moved from his bed to his wheelchair and rolled into an adjoining room which contained rows of parallel bars. He rolled into position at the ends of the bars and, gripping the bar on his right with all his strength, slowly rose to a standing position.

Never before had he imagined how good it would feel just to stand again. Never mind that he was holding onto bars. Never mind that he was surrounded by medical personnel. All that mattered was that he, Jurgen Paul Schiller, was standing on two feet again. On two feet.

"Is there any pain?" asked the physician.

Jurgen shook his head. In truth, his stump was sore, but he wasn't about to admit it. After he'd taken a few steps, the artificial leg began to feel very heavy but, undaunted, he pressed on.

He was almost to the end of the bars when he lost his balance and began to fall. Two assistants were there right away to steady him, and a third brought his wheelchair over. All three helped him back into it.

"So am I always to require the assistance of others for the simplest of tasks?" he asked.

"You actually did remarkably well for a first attempt," the physician told him.

He gave no reply.

At last the day arrived for Jurgen to be released from the hospital. By now, he was walking on crutches but still kept the wheelchair close at hand in case he needed it.

"But where shall you go?" asked Joanna, knowing he would never return to the fighting line.

"Schonungen," he replied. "That's where my family lives. I've been in touch with them, and they've assured me I am welcome to return. You shall accompany me, of course. It's the only way you'll be safe."

With the war still raging and Jews still being rounded up, Joanna knew he was right. As Johanna Fischer, her identity was secure only as long as no one learned her secret.

"I will go with you wherever you go, Master Sergeant Schiller."

"Please, call me Jurgen," he told her. "There's no longer any need for formalities between us, is there?"

"I don't suppose there is." She smiled. "I've always wondered what your first name was."

He smiled back. "Well, now you know."

They sat side by side on the long train ride, chatting as if they were old friends. "Our day always began at four in the morning," Jurgen told Joanna. "All five of us boys had to be dressed and ready to work in the fields. My three sisters had to gather the eggs and help our mother with the cooking, canning, and cleaning the house from top to bottom. You could never find a speck of dust in our home. It was always immaculate. My mother and sisters made sure of that, while my brothers and I harvested the barley. Our father was a harsh taskmaster, but a superb farmer. He died shortly after the war started. Only my youngest brother, Reinhart, is left to toil the fields and care for our mother. He was too young to go to war."

Joanna thought of her own mother so far away and wondered whether she would ever see her again.