Season of My Enemy, page 10
“I’ll get the clothes off the line,” Fannie said.
“Would you do that? Thank you. I’ll iron them tonight when it’s cool.”
“I don’t know if it’s going to cool down much.” Fannie pushed her still-damp hair off her collar.
“Hopefully, the humidity will at least lift a bit.”
Fannie plucked up the laundry basket and headed out the door. She took each garment off the line and folded it carefully before setting it in the basket, hoping to minimize the wrinkles. About halfway through, she unpinned a clean shirt of Jerry’s to see the PWs strolling back across the field toward the yard. The guards flanked them, their weapons shouldered casually. Even from the distance, she could hear them talking amiably, clearly refreshed.
Her movements slowed down as she eyed them making their way closer. Some of them were still shirtless. Others had slipped their shirts on once again but left them open at the front. Some of their clothing was soaked through as it clung to wet skin.
They did a little laundry too.
A warm breeze lifted her drying hair and wrapped it in front of her eyes. She raised a hand to draw it back, and her gaze connected with Hauptmann Kloninger’s. He said something to Corporal Taft, and she could hear Taft answer, “Ja.”
Kloninger’s head tilted as if in tentative question as he approached her. The corporal followed but stopped about fifteen feet away as the German approached. Fannie lowered her hands, clutching Patsy’s clean gingham dress as the prisoner spoke to her. The only word she understood was danke. Thanks.
“You’re welcome.” She glanced at the corporal.
“He says he appreciates the chance to swim and rest. Thank you for allowing them the many privileges of working here on your farm.”
“We appreciate the prisoners’ hard work.” She was drawn to his eyes, watching her response. She’d not liked their intrusion at the creek, but the fact that they understood it had been a privilege she could easily remove in the future pleased her. “They are welcome to avail themselves of the creek anytime. Under your watchful eye, of course, Corporal.”
He gave her reply to the German, presumably without the addendum. The man smiled at her. He had a very genial smile that tilted his eyes at the corners and created fine lines. It seemed that each time they passed one another in a glance or a smile, his became less suspicious. And why should he be suspicious of her?
She looked at the corporal again. Would he allow her to ask a question? “Tell me, Mr. Kloninger, what do you and your men do when you return to camp at the end of such a day?”
The corporal considered a moment, then looked to the man and translated haltingly.
Captain Kloninger rattled off a long but rapid response, his face more animated than she had ever seen.
“The men eat their dinner, rest, write letters, and read books if they are lucky enough to have any in German.” The corporal cleared his throat. “Mr. Kloninger is studying English.”
“English? Why—” She clamped her lips shut for a moment then went on. “I am surprised Captain Kloninger would be interested in learning English. He will surely have little use for it once he returns to Germany.”
The German captain spoke again.
“He would like his men to learn the language too. He believes it is important. He is a teacher.”
A teacher. She straightened her posture, lowering her tight hold on Patsy’s garment. “What kind of teacher?”
As the two men conversed back and forth, Fannie watched Wolfgang Kloninger with new interest. Why should she care if he was a teacher, and why did it matter to him that she knew it? And what concern was it to Fannie that his men enjoyed their use of a swim in her creek? Was it just because he suddenly appeared a little more human in her eyes?
Corporal Taft squared himself. “He says that some of these men were his students in the secondary school where he taught. Their education was cut short by the war, although some of them, Hermann Claus in particular, are quite intelligent and should have had the chance to study at university. Rudolf Ebner has missed most of his secondary schooling, and Captain Kloninger tries to help him as much as he can so that he’ll not be so far behind when he returns. He’s trying to learn English because he wants to be an example to the men, and he hopes that they’ll learn it as well. It’ll help them, for no one knows how long it will be before the war ends.”
“It will end soon, I hope.”
Taft repeated her words.
She looked directly at the German. “It’s admirable that you wish to help your men. I hope you are successful. Do you know much English now?”
“Little.” He held up his fingers in a narrow-gapped pinch, surprising her that he had understood at least some of her words.
She licked her lips and adjusted her stance. “I see. Well then, you are making headway.” That last word brought a wrinkle to his forehead, but Corporal Taft explained.
The captain gave another smile.
“What resources do you use to study English with your men?”
The corporal answered for him. “They have use of a German-English translation book. Materials are limited. We allow them to read newspapers, though I don’t think there are many men in the camp who are able.”
Perhaps she could help. Yet the moment she thought of it, she also reprimanded herself for considering the notion. She should not get involved in even the most minor way. Besides, weren’t there inherent dangers in the Germans learning English? They might use it to spy or … or something.
Get a hold of yourself, Fannie. They aren’t your students.
The prisoners were here to work. That was all. She was fairly certain that it was against regulations for Mr. Kloninger to even speak with her like this. The corporal must know that. The memory of the water-tainted gasoline in their tractor flashed back. What were this man’s true motives? He might only be saying he was a teacher as a ruse to harm them in some way.
“Well …” She laid the dress across the basket and hiked it to her hip. “Thank you again for your hard work today, Captain. And good luck on your studies.”
The corporal translated, and she took a sideways step as if to go, but the German lifted a hand, palm up. She thought he was going to say something else, but instead he lowered his hand again and dipped his head. Then he turned and strode back to his men.
The other man, Leo, caught her gaze. His eyes remained on her, and when she turned her back and walked away, she felt them following her still.
CHAPTER 9
On Sunday morning, Wolf moved through the breakfast line and carried his full tray to a nearby table in the mess tent. The mess was a larger version of the several dozen tents pitched at the work camp surrounded by fence and barbed wire and located on the east side of a village called Barron.
Throwing his long legs over a bench, he sat down and tried the biscuits and gravy flavored with pork sausage. Their situation could have been far worse. In fact, he’d already gained fifteen pounds since becoming a prisoner, weight he’d lost during his time in service. Last night he’d taken time to write a letter to his parents, wishing them well and assuring them that he and the boys with him were all healthy and safe. He used only spare words to speak of his work, careful not to name their location, as such information was certain to be censored. He imagined getting such a letter himself, full of spaces replaced with the word CENSORED in thick, black letters. His mother was not young, and seeing a page of such menacing dark words would only cause her undue worry.
He’d warned some of the others to avoid stating the obvious phrases that would be cut from their letters for the very same reasons, but he was sure some fellows paid no attention. Several men took ridiculous pleasure in making the job of the translator more difficult, and some simply wouldn’t remember. Fritz Von Hecker would only be thinking about telling his girl how much he missed her, and Horst Albrecht would be asking after his sister’s health. Leo Friedrickson was the only one who didn’t use his evening to write a letter home. He’d lain back on his cot with his arms tucked beneath his dark head, staring at the ceiling and smoking in silence.
Wolf tilted his head once to see what Leo might be looking at. He smiled down at the fellow who was nearest his age, but Leo’s gaze didn’t falter, nor did he offer any notice of his captain. Wolf seldom recalled Leo ever writing to anyone, even when they were on the field in Africa. He was mostly a quiet sort, but when action came, he was as ready and explosive as a grenade. In all the months they’d served together, that was all Wolf really knew about him.
Wolf’s glass of milk this morning was fresh and cold. The sun striking the roof didn’t take long to heat up the inside of the packed structure like a kettle, so he enjoyed the long, chill draught.
Hermann Claus approached with his full tray. “Mind if I sit with you, Hauptmann?”
“Not at all.” He indicated the empty seat beside him. Soft-spoken Hermann had dreams of becoming an architect. When he had been Wolf’s student, his mathematical abilities had surpassed his teacher’s, and he could grasp concepts faster than any of his classmates.
The two ate in companionable silence for a couple of minutes as the rest of the seats around the table quickly filled.
They’d been working at the O’Brien farm for two weeks now. Six months ago, Wolf and his men would have clamored for just one handful of peas or a single potato to satisfy their hunger. In North Africa, supplies had to travel hundreds of dangerous miles to reach them from Italy, and many never arrived. They’d surely not expected that their provisions would be improved as prisoners of war. Now, however, with their bellies full and warm, a safe place to lay their heads at night, and work to do to keep their hands busy, they didn’t need to dig and pocket for later consumption the tubers they’d hilled, and they’d snacked on enough peas to grow tired of them. They were no longer desperate soldiers, dreaming of capturing an enemy convoy of tinned fruit and meat. Instead, while they plucked voracious aphids from beneath the leaves and built dirt around the stems of each potato plant, then went on to harvest mountains of peas, they knew that an adequate meal awaited them when they returned to the camp—and if they were lucky, Frau O’Brien would offer them some treat for which she’d scrounged enough flour to bake for them, even if it was only an oatmeal cookie to supplement their sack lunches. Slices of her fresh bread alone were like cake.
Wolf grinned at Hermann. “Did you work harder than the rest of us yesterday, Private Claus? You seem to have built your appetite while you slept.”
The private devoured another bite. “The work was not so difficult. I am just glad to get outside this fence every day.”
Leo swung his leg over a seat between Hermann and Otto and set down his tray. “There are better reasons to get outside the fence,” he said, picking up a fork.
“It can’t be for beer, since they give it to us here,” Otto remarked. “It must be the women.”
There was a murmur of assent across the table.
Wolf swept a quick glance over the room for the whereabouts of the guard. “Let us not talk of escaping fences,” he said conversationally, not changing his tone.
Leo shrugged. “Why not speak of it? No one can hear us. There’s not much better chance to consider the possibilities.”
“There will be no such possibility.” Wolf raised his glass to his lips to hide his irritation. Was this the sort of nonsense Leo dreamed up while he lay staring at the ceiling in his bunk? Could he not see how Otto hung on his words? Wolf did not want any of his men hurt or given stricter confinement because they developed some injudicious notion of escaping the compound for the momentary pleasure of meeting women. He tilted the glass back until it emptied. Then he set it down and wiped a napkin across his mouth. “Foolish behavior will only lead to loss of privilege. If one soldier among us gives the guards cause for distrust, we will all pay the price and be sent back to the main camp without any opportunities to work outside the gates, such as we now enjoy.” He glanced around the table, lingering his glance a split-second longer on Otto. “We must count on one another to guard our privilege. There is little we can do for our country if we are locked in isolation for the duration of the war.” He changed his tone as he picked up his tray and rose. “The harvest season is only beginning. From what I am told, we have many weeks ahead of us.”
“Do you think the war will continue so long?” Rudolf Ebner asked. One so young as he must feel like his youth was completely stolen.
Not to mention the prisoners were uncertain what to make of American reports, whether they were propaganda or not. “We should all pray it ends soon,” Wolf said. He gave them a departing nod and turned.
“Heil Hitler.” The declaration behind him was soft but firm.
Wolf swung back around. “Who said that?” His gaze raked over them, demanding an answer.
Leo’s chin rose, his expression resolute. “I did, Hauptmann.”
Tension hardened Wolf’s jaw. “You will not say it again.”
Leo’s chin lifted farther. “Why are you so compliant, Hauptmann Kloninger? Is it really because you enjoy the luxury of a full plate of food and a bed for your head? I thought it was our duty to”—he cast a surreptitious glance across the hall—“do more than bend over backward to serve these Americans as though they are our masters.”
Wolf darted a glance to the left and right, then narrowed his gaze on Leo. “I am a German, Obergefreiter Friedrickson.” His voice was low with intensity. “My allegiance is to my country. If you doubt it, perhaps you would like to examine my record compared to yours.”
Leo flinched. Everyone speculated in whispers as to why Leo had not achieved a higher rank, having been in service for almost as long as their captain. Whenever Wolf heard their conjectures, he squelched the gossip. It was surely nonsense. Leo gave the merest shake of his head, returning his attention to his breakfast. “Nein, Hauptmann. I believe your word.”
Wolf squared his shoulders and gave a sharp nod. “Then see to it you do not question my motives again.” He didn’t wait for Leo’s affirmation but assumed it as he spun on his heel.
Leo was normally a quiet man. Though he was clearly intelligent, he kept most of his opinions to himself. Lately, however, he seemed more restive. Or had Wolf only imagined it? Today’s rebellious talk certainly sounded like a man tired and bored with his circumstances. While they all had their own way of showing their allegiance to the fatherland, there were some ways that led only to trouble. It would prove disastrous for those who simply wanted to do their work and get safely home again, should one troublemaker stir the pot and cause them all to suffer.
Wolf left the mess tent and strolled across the commons toward a group of other officers and men. One of them was a chaplain. He had shared briefly, from memory, some of God’s Word to them this morning. He spoke about patience born of suffering. Apparently, his message had fallen on some deaf ears. Then again, Wolf hadn’t noticed Leo in the crowd of listeners. He never did attend services.
What about the O’Briens? Did they worship on this Sunday morning? Did Frau O’Brien take them to a house of God to pray for their neighbors and loved ones overseas? Did Fannie O’Brien plead with God for someone special to come safely home? A fiancé perhaps? He wished he could ask her.
And why was that? Why did it matter if he knew the answer? Was it just his own boredom that made him want to acquaint himself with her? If he could step outside this fence, would he head to town to find a woman too, or would he walk the miles to the O’Brien farm with the hope that he could sit down with Fannie O’Brien over a cup of coffee and learn about her life? What did she do when she wasn’t working on her farm?
This was why he mustn’t let Leo or anyone else get ideas about what lay outside the compound. It stirred a man’s blood in discontenting ways. They had only to wait out the war, and then they could go home to their families and the women who waited for them. In most of their cases, their mothers, but some of his boys had girls they’d met waiting, and a number of others had wives and sweethearts.
Unbidden, Fannie’s face and figure lingered in his thoughts. Her smile, soft and understated at times, curved generously when she thought no one was looking. Satisfaction smoothed her brow over a job completed. Wisps of brown hair lifted in a breeze. His fingers tickled with the urge to tuck them back over her ear, even if only in his imagination. Her brown eyes swept into his gaze, and her mouth seemed waiting for—
“Hauptmann!” The shout jarred him, dissolving Fannie’s image. Horst jogged up beside him. “Come join our crew in a soccer game against some of the cannery men.”
Wolf grinned, forcing away the chimera aroused in his imagination. He nodded. “All right. I’ll play.”
More than two hundred men occupied the camp, and as the soccer game commenced, the majority of them gathered to watch and cheer for one team or the other. Bets were placed on the sidelines in the form of scrip and beer rations. The afternoon sun beat down on their heads, and sweat streamed over their bodies as the teams pounded up and down the field.
Leo waved them into a huddle before the next play. “Fritz, you bring the ball down. Horst, you take the left wing. Otto, you go right, and I’ll follow rear striker. Everyone else, fan out like before. If you get a shot, take it. Otherwise, I’ll come in from behind on the left. Knock it back to me.”
There was no denying that Leo was the strongest player among them. The younger men were faster, but Leo informed them he’d once played in a league. He acted as coach now. Wolf was happy to see him enjoying the sport. Wolf wasn’t a bad player himself, but he hadn’t the deft footwork the younger men had. Especially Leo.
“Look. There are more observers.” Rudy nodded at the roadside fence where a few vehicles had pulled over and civilians had gotten out to watch the game.
