Season of My Enemy, page 11
Leo clapped his hands together. “Let’s go.”
Wolf glanced toward the fence again. Some unreasonable idea that the O’Briens might be among the onlookers crept into his head. Fannie didn’t seem the type of woman to enjoy such a spectacle. Her brother might perhaps. He probably played soccer or American football in school. Wolf pulled his thoughts back to the game and took his place on the field as the play was called.
They worked the ball according to Leo’s plan, and ultimately Horst sent it backward, giving Leo the kick and the score. The crowd of fellow prisoners cheered, and scrip was exchanged. Leo grinned and accepted his teammates’ rousing pats on the back. Then his gaze went to the outer fence where the civilian spectators had multiplied. Some of the observers clapped. Others jeered, and one of the Americans sent a wad of spit over the fence.
“Never mind them,” Fritz murmured. “Let them think they are accomplishing something.”
Wolf gave him a nod. “They wouldn’t watch if they didn’t enjoy the game, eh?”
Leo’s earlier joviality settled into a grim mask before he suddenly turned toward the fence and shouted at the people standing there. “Dir gefällt, wie wir spielen? Weil wir wild sind! Und deshalb wirst du den Krieg verlieren!” He spat on the ground too, but as he turned away, a satisfied sneer stretched across his lips.
Using their game to tell these gawking Americans that the players’ fierceness was what would win Germany the war made the rest of his team laugh and nod as they jogged back into their positions on the field. Even the opposing team laughed at the remark. But the abrasive talk through the fence set Wolf’s shoulders in a stiff line.
“Easy,” he said casually to the men nearest him. “It is fun to rattle the opponents’ mental composure, but they”—he gave a slight tip of the head to the Americans—“are not on the field.”
“Then we should take our complaint outside.” Otto looked at Leo for support.
Suddenly, a rock thudded the ground a few yards away. Two more quickly followed. Shouting went up, and the prisoners yelled back and moved as a body toward the fence.
“Get back!” a guard called out, and one of them fired a shot into the air.
“Zurückkehren! Back!” Wolf echoed the same command to his boys as the storm to the fence stopped, yet one of the guards fired again, this time sending a few men scattering toward their tents and others to skulk toward the field. Some remained standing and staring, as even most of the American spectators backed away from the fence.
Wolf clenched his fist to slow the sudden pounding of his heart as he caught the eyes of each of his teammates in turn. “They are not who we are playing against, ja?” He spoke through gritted teeth. “We are only having fun today. It is the Lord’s Day. The war is no longer ours to win or lose.”
Leo spat, nearly at the captain’s feet but not close enough to make it look like the insult it almost was. He drew his arm across his mouth. “Right. We are not in that war any longer.” He repeated Wolf’s words, but the glare he carried with them was full of resentment. “Let’s play soccer. It is our only battlefield.”
“The game is over.” Wolf glanced toward the guards who shouted at the prisoners to clear the field. The spectators were the first to leave. As if in a last-minute thumbing of their noses, a few car horns beeped while they pulled off down the road, stirring up dust that settled on the players’ sweaty skin.
They shuffled off the field with guards walking close behind, their guns in hand. Tonight the prisoners would all suffer the punishment of those who wanted to respond to the American taunts. Wolf wished the day could end in another swim—or at least a camp shower. Not in a forced retreat to their hot tents. Nevertheless, if they didn’t watch themselves, there would be no more summer swims—nor freedom of any kind.
CHAPTER 10
Fannie closed the shed door and brushed her hands on her overalls—or more specifically—on Dale’s overalls. She’d learned all about greasing tractor parts and oiling or sharpening tools of late. She soon discovered it was one thing to dirty an old work dress or her one and only pair of overalls with mud and manure, and quite another to entirely ruin them with gear grease. Therefore, she’d succumbed to Mom’s suggestion that she put on a pair of her brother’s worn overalls already broken in for such work.
She’d hesitated at first, fighting the notion that she was treating Dale’s things as if he’d never come back for them. He would come back. He’d wear them again, and he’d want her to use them in the meantime if she needed to. She couldn’t leave all the dirtiest work up to Jerry. He was busy enough chopping wood for next winter and replacing the broken tines on the hay rake. This morning he’d taken the truck into town to get more fuel. They decided to make sure both spare cans were properly filled with good fuel, and they’d keep an extra close eye on the truck from here on out.
It still bothered Fannie that someone could have tampered with the gas in the truck without their noticing. What had Corporal Taft been doing when that happened? How had they all been distracted? Each of them had been nearby, she and Jerry and sometimes even Mom and Patsy. However such sabotage might have occurred—if indeed it really was sabotage—Fannie would make sure it couldn’t happen again.
Cal would soon be home, and when he got here, she wanted him to be proud of the way they’d kept things running smoothly. Not just for Dad’s sake, but for him and Dale, just as the family was so proud of them.
Fannie peered over the bean field growing thick with green beans. The work crew would help pick as soon as they took in the crop of hay. Might Cal get here before then? It could happen, couldn’t it?
As it was, Fannie was going to have to miss her Friday workday at the library to help with the hay. They’d intended to have cut it yesterday, but it rained all day, and they needed a day of warm sunshine and a nice breeze to dry up the ground in order to start cutting. Then they needed that weather to hold until the fresh cutting dried and could be brought into the loft.
She headed around the side of the house and to the pump where she could wash the grease off her hands without soiling Mom’s sink. She hadn’t gone far when her mother raised her head from where she knelt on the cobbled walk, wrestling with a fieldstone.
“Want some help?”
“If you wouldn’t mind digging that edge a little wider while I hold this up.”
Fannie picked up the shovel and sliced it into the soil along the edge of the hole. “What’s this one about?”
“I’ll let you guess.” Her mom’s voice sounded cheery.
“Must be for Cal.”
Mom settled the stone in the hole so that only the very top of it cleared the edge. “That’s right.” She sounded a little breathless as she moved the earth around the stone, fixing it solidly into the cobbled path. Then she pushed herself to her feet and brushed her hands together. “For Cal coming home.”
“He isn’t home yet.” Fannie felt sorry for her words the moment they left her mouth. “I don’t mean to sound doubtful. I know he’s coming. Maybe any day now.”
A tiny crease formed between her mother’s brows and disappeared again just as quickly. She brushed Fannie’s arm with a quick caress and stepped down on the rock to settle it. “The next thing you know, we’ll be putting in a stone for Dale.”
“I pray you’re right. Sooner rather than later.”
Fannie’s mom had been laying cobblestones on a growing path between the house and barn since Fannie was a little girl. Every time a big prayer was answered or a blessing or strength was poured upon them, her mother laid another stone. A good thirty yards stretched between the two buildings, so the path had lots of room to grow and widen, despite all the stonework over the years. Mom called it her “Cobblestones of Confidence” pathway. She said it gave her a solid reminder—no pun intended—of all the times God had shown His loving-kindness and care.
Fannie noticed a second soft spot of ground where a new rock had been added. “What’s that one there? I don’t recall seeing it before.”
“That’s for the PWs.”
Fannie froze. “You’re thanking God for them? You really want to remember them forever after they’re gone? The men who are responsible for Calvin and Dale—”
“Fannie. Honey.” Mom held up a hand. “It’s not the men in particular. It’s knowing this farm is going to survive the war and your father’s death.”
A breeze cooled the sweat on Fannie’s neck, but it made her shudder even in the heat. Her mom hadn’t ever referred to her dad’s loss so bluntly before. She used softer words, not death. Fannie made to head toward the pump, moving past her mother. “I guess I know that. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
“That’s all right. I understand.” Mom touched her shoulder with a pat, and then Fannie stepped away.
“I don’t hate them.”
“I’m glad to hear it. We aren’t to hate anyone. Even during war.” “I just … I don’t know that I want to remember them later on when all this is over.”
“You don’t have to remember them, Fannie. Just remember that God took care of what we needed at this time. ‘Give thanks in all circumstances,’ remember? That’s the important thing.”
“Is it?” She turned and looked at her mother, but Mom didn’t reply, only sighed. In truth, Fannie wasn’t sure she expected an answer. Was that what God expected? To thank Him for getting by, or did He expect more? Fannie worried that maybe He did.
The next day, Fannie and Jerry took turns running the tractor, getting all the hay cut so it could lie in the sun and dry. The raking was done on Thursday, which meant the men would return on Friday to handle the long, hot chore of pitching it into a wagon and bringing it into the barn in the scorching heat. Fannie’s mother insisted she go to work anyway.
“Jerry and I will handle things, Fannie.” Mom set a bowl of potatoes on the table beside a platter of fried chicken. “You need to go to your job at the library. I won’t have you giving that up entirely.”
“I don’t feel right leaving you and Jerry to do all the work.”
“I work!” Patsy said, smashing her potato with a fork.
“And Patsy.” Fannie gave her sister a wink.
Jerry pulled apart a chicken leg from its thigh. “It’s just forking hay, Fan. The men will be here to do it. I’ll drive tractor.”
“And make sure they get it in the barn like they should.” Fannie met his glance with a meaningful look. Don’t take your eyes off them for a second, is what she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to alarm Mom or Patsy.
“I can manage, and Corporal Taft will be here.” Jerry returned her look with equal intimation.
Her chest relaxed with a tiny sigh. “All right then. If you insist. Patsy, you mind yourself if you have to go out there.”
“She can help me at the house, just like usual.” Mom smiled at Patsy.
Patsy shrugged as she picked apart her piece of chicken. “I don’t know what the big deal is. They don’t care about me, and that guard has a gun with him all the time.”
“Speaking of which, did you hear about the big stir at the prison camp the other day? The guards had to fire shots in the air to get everyone settled down. Dorothy Jean told me all about it. Her brothers were there.” Patsy dished out the information with as much excitement as a bland potato.
“What?” Fannie and her mother asked together.
“It wasn’t anything,” Jerry said. “Just some people watching them play soccer by the fence got a little out of hand, and then some of the prisoners got bothered and headed for the fence, so the guards fired a shot or two to stop anything from happening. Ruined the game.”
“How do you know?” Mom raised a brow at him.
“Frank and me were watching them play.”
“I want you to stay away from that camp.” Mom’s voice became firm. “Dorothy Jean’s brothers ought to stay away from there too,” she added with a sharp eye on Patsy.
Jerry wiped a napkin over his lips and raised his chin. “Say, Fannie, you know that fellow with the curly hair? Leo, I think he’s called? He’s a really good player. You should see how he moves the ball with his feet. He kind of coached the other guys. They were some of the workers who came here. They’re all pretty good.”
“Did you hear me, Son?”
“Yeah, Mom, sure. We just pulled over and watched for a little bit. We didn’t holler anything or throw rocks or any of that. It was fun to watch.”
“Just stay away, like I said.”
Jerry’s nod was barely a twitch, and Fannie doubted he meant to stay away. He reached for the chicken again, but Mom stopped him.
“Eat some more bread. I’ll use the rest of the chicken in a casserole tomorrow. It’ll go further, and you’ll be hungry as a bear after you get that hay in the mow.”
He sighed and reached for another slab of bread. He swathed it in an extra-thick layer of butter. “Can I have some jam?”
“Go ahead. Don’t go overboard.”
He pushed back from the table and headed to a late 1930s model refrigerator that they still referred to as the icebox.
Mom rose and peeled off her apron. “Patsy, clear the table when you’re done. I’ve got to go check on Gertie. She was off her feed a little bit this morning. It might just be the heat.”
Patsy’s shoulders slumped, but she knew better than to grouse about being left with dishes. “I’ll help you, Pats,” Fannie said when Mom went out the back door.
“Thanks. I’m getting dishpan hands washing dishes morning, noon, and night.”
Fannie chuckled. “We all have a price to pay with the extra work around here.”
“I wish I could go to the library with you again tomorrow.”
“I wish you could too, but I want you to help Mom. Jerry’s going to have his hands full watching those prisoners.”
“What for? Isn’t that why they have a guard?”
Fannie caught herself. “I didn’t mean he had to guard them. I only meant he has to make sure they know what to do.”
“Right. I believe you. That’s why the two of you keep that gun of Daddy’s under the truck seat.”
Fannie stopped dead with a platter in each hand and stared at her little sister. “I don’t know how you know that, but don’t touch it, and don’t you breathe a word to Mama about that gun, you hear?”
“As if I would. I think it’s a good idea.” Patsy went about pouring hot water into the dishpan as if such a discussion were completely normal and not at all like they were talking about protecting themselves and their home from the enemy in the middle of a war.
Fannie stared a moment longer, then carried the leftovers to the icebox. “All right then. What were you doing snooping in the truck anyway?”
“I wasn’t snooping. I couldn’t find one of my library books, and I thought maybe I left it in the truck and it got under the seat somehow.”
“Don’t lose those books. You’ll get a fine.”
“Blah, blah, blah. I know, I know. You think I just started checking out library books yesterday? Honestly, Fan. You’re worse than Mom sometimes.”
For that, Fannie reached around her and splashed her with the dishwater.
“Hey!” Patsy tried to reciprocate, but Fannie dodged out of the way.
“Better stop now if you want me to help dry.”
“You started it.”
Fannie chuckled and picked up the sack towel and a clean, wet plate. They fell into routine then, but Fannie thought about tomorrow. She’d be worrying all day that something could go wrong.
The hours at the library dragged by the next day. She had looked forward to being there, away from the sweat and grime of putting up hay, but knowing that the prisoners were at home with Mom, Patsy, and Jerry kept her watching the clock. She told herself it would be fine. With so many hands, they would have the hay up in no time. She was almost surprised to see them still there when she came home at five o’clock. Four men and Jerry rested in a patch of shade beneath the eaves of the barn. The guard stood over by the porch talking with Mom.
Fannie hadn’t even shut off the car’s motor before she was searching the area for the others. Where were they? Were they inside the barn without either Jerry or Corporal Taft? She turned off the ignition and left the stack of books on the seat beside her as she hurried out of the car. Forcing calm she didn’t feel into her gait, she walked toward them.
Four sets of eyes followed her every step, and she realized then how they saw her in her town clothes. Not like a farmworker today, but more like a woman. Her skin felt scorched. They’d never seen her looking so—so tidied up before, in her nice dress and shoes, her hair curled and pinned back at the sides, and she was wearing lipstick besides. She fought down the urge to run her tongue over her lips. Had it worn off? Maybe. Hopefully. Fannie lifted her chin, ignoring their too-interested stares. “How did everything go today?”
Jerry leaned away from the side of the barn and took a few steps toward her. “Went real good. Just got the last load in a bit ago.”
“Really? All of it?”
“We worked pretty steadily all day. Barely took time to eat lunch. Wanted to beat the evening dew.”
“Looks like you did that pretty handily.” She glanced toward the men again. They all still watched her, but Wolf was not among them. “Where are the rest?”
“Oh. They didn’t come. We only got these four today.”
“I see.” Her breath eased out. “I wondered.”
“Here you go.” Patsy came toward them with a tray of sliced buttered bread. The men moved in unison, muttering their thanks as they lifted slices from the plate and shoved them in their mouths. One of them, the young strawberry blond with green eyes that turned shy at times, was last in line. He lingered at the plate that still held two slices of bread, as if he couldn’t decide.
“Well just take them both then,” Patsy said with an exasperated sigh. She waggled the plate in front of him.
With both hands reaching for the offering, he took a piece in each, and a smile broke out over his freckled face. “Danke, Fraülein O’Brien.”
Patsy’s eyes widened, then she stuck out her tongue and spun on her heel back toward the house. The other three Germans laughed, and the young man blushed, but his shoulders jiggled in a chuckle.
Wolf glanced toward the fence again. Some unreasonable idea that the O’Briens might be among the onlookers crept into his head. Fannie didn’t seem the type of woman to enjoy such a spectacle. Her brother might perhaps. He probably played soccer or American football in school. Wolf pulled his thoughts back to the game and took his place on the field as the play was called.
They worked the ball according to Leo’s plan, and ultimately Horst sent it backward, giving Leo the kick and the score. The crowd of fellow prisoners cheered, and scrip was exchanged. Leo grinned and accepted his teammates’ rousing pats on the back. Then his gaze went to the outer fence where the civilian spectators had multiplied. Some of the observers clapped. Others jeered, and one of the Americans sent a wad of spit over the fence.
“Never mind them,” Fritz murmured. “Let them think they are accomplishing something.”
Wolf gave him a nod. “They wouldn’t watch if they didn’t enjoy the game, eh?”
Leo’s earlier joviality settled into a grim mask before he suddenly turned toward the fence and shouted at the people standing there. “Dir gefällt, wie wir spielen? Weil wir wild sind! Und deshalb wirst du den Krieg verlieren!” He spat on the ground too, but as he turned away, a satisfied sneer stretched across his lips.
Using their game to tell these gawking Americans that the players’ fierceness was what would win Germany the war made the rest of his team laugh and nod as they jogged back into their positions on the field. Even the opposing team laughed at the remark. But the abrasive talk through the fence set Wolf’s shoulders in a stiff line.
“Easy,” he said casually to the men nearest him. “It is fun to rattle the opponents’ mental composure, but they”—he gave a slight tip of the head to the Americans—“are not on the field.”
“Then we should take our complaint outside.” Otto looked at Leo for support.
Suddenly, a rock thudded the ground a few yards away. Two more quickly followed. Shouting went up, and the prisoners yelled back and moved as a body toward the fence.
“Get back!” a guard called out, and one of them fired a shot into the air.
“Zurückkehren! Back!” Wolf echoed the same command to his boys as the storm to the fence stopped, yet one of the guards fired again, this time sending a few men scattering toward their tents and others to skulk toward the field. Some remained standing and staring, as even most of the American spectators backed away from the fence.
Wolf clenched his fist to slow the sudden pounding of his heart as he caught the eyes of each of his teammates in turn. “They are not who we are playing against, ja?” He spoke through gritted teeth. “We are only having fun today. It is the Lord’s Day. The war is no longer ours to win or lose.”
Leo spat, nearly at the captain’s feet but not close enough to make it look like the insult it almost was. He drew his arm across his mouth. “Right. We are not in that war any longer.” He repeated Wolf’s words, but the glare he carried with them was full of resentment. “Let’s play soccer. It is our only battlefield.”
“The game is over.” Wolf glanced toward the guards who shouted at the prisoners to clear the field. The spectators were the first to leave. As if in a last-minute thumbing of their noses, a few car horns beeped while they pulled off down the road, stirring up dust that settled on the players’ sweaty skin.
They shuffled off the field with guards walking close behind, their guns in hand. Tonight the prisoners would all suffer the punishment of those who wanted to respond to the American taunts. Wolf wished the day could end in another swim—or at least a camp shower. Not in a forced retreat to their hot tents. Nevertheless, if they didn’t watch themselves, there would be no more summer swims—nor freedom of any kind.
CHAPTER 10
Fannie closed the shed door and brushed her hands on her overalls—or more specifically—on Dale’s overalls. She’d learned all about greasing tractor parts and oiling or sharpening tools of late. She soon discovered it was one thing to dirty an old work dress or her one and only pair of overalls with mud and manure, and quite another to entirely ruin them with gear grease. Therefore, she’d succumbed to Mom’s suggestion that she put on a pair of her brother’s worn overalls already broken in for such work.
She’d hesitated at first, fighting the notion that she was treating Dale’s things as if he’d never come back for them. He would come back. He’d wear them again, and he’d want her to use them in the meantime if she needed to. She couldn’t leave all the dirtiest work up to Jerry. He was busy enough chopping wood for next winter and replacing the broken tines on the hay rake. This morning he’d taken the truck into town to get more fuel. They decided to make sure both spare cans were properly filled with good fuel, and they’d keep an extra close eye on the truck from here on out.
It still bothered Fannie that someone could have tampered with the gas in the truck without their noticing. What had Corporal Taft been doing when that happened? How had they all been distracted? Each of them had been nearby, she and Jerry and sometimes even Mom and Patsy. However such sabotage might have occurred—if indeed it really was sabotage—Fannie would make sure it couldn’t happen again.
Cal would soon be home, and when he got here, she wanted him to be proud of the way they’d kept things running smoothly. Not just for Dad’s sake, but for him and Dale, just as the family was so proud of them.
Fannie peered over the bean field growing thick with green beans. The work crew would help pick as soon as they took in the crop of hay. Might Cal get here before then? It could happen, couldn’t it?
As it was, Fannie was going to have to miss her Friday workday at the library to help with the hay. They’d intended to have cut it yesterday, but it rained all day, and they needed a day of warm sunshine and a nice breeze to dry up the ground in order to start cutting. Then they needed that weather to hold until the fresh cutting dried and could be brought into the loft.
She headed around the side of the house and to the pump where she could wash the grease off her hands without soiling Mom’s sink. She hadn’t gone far when her mother raised her head from where she knelt on the cobbled walk, wrestling with a fieldstone.
“Want some help?”
“If you wouldn’t mind digging that edge a little wider while I hold this up.”
Fannie picked up the shovel and sliced it into the soil along the edge of the hole. “What’s this one about?”
“I’ll let you guess.” Her mom’s voice sounded cheery.
“Must be for Cal.”
Mom settled the stone in the hole so that only the very top of it cleared the edge. “That’s right.” She sounded a little breathless as she moved the earth around the stone, fixing it solidly into the cobbled path. Then she pushed herself to her feet and brushed her hands together. “For Cal coming home.”
“He isn’t home yet.” Fannie felt sorry for her words the moment they left her mouth. “I don’t mean to sound doubtful. I know he’s coming. Maybe any day now.”
A tiny crease formed between her mother’s brows and disappeared again just as quickly. She brushed Fannie’s arm with a quick caress and stepped down on the rock to settle it. “The next thing you know, we’ll be putting in a stone for Dale.”
“I pray you’re right. Sooner rather than later.”
Fannie’s mom had been laying cobblestones on a growing path between the house and barn since Fannie was a little girl. Every time a big prayer was answered or a blessing or strength was poured upon them, her mother laid another stone. A good thirty yards stretched between the two buildings, so the path had lots of room to grow and widen, despite all the stonework over the years. Mom called it her “Cobblestones of Confidence” pathway. She said it gave her a solid reminder—no pun intended—of all the times God had shown His loving-kindness and care.
Fannie noticed a second soft spot of ground where a new rock had been added. “What’s that one there? I don’t recall seeing it before.”
“That’s for the PWs.”
Fannie froze. “You’re thanking God for them? You really want to remember them forever after they’re gone? The men who are responsible for Calvin and Dale—”
“Fannie. Honey.” Mom held up a hand. “It’s not the men in particular. It’s knowing this farm is going to survive the war and your father’s death.”
A breeze cooled the sweat on Fannie’s neck, but it made her shudder even in the heat. Her mom hadn’t ever referred to her dad’s loss so bluntly before. She used softer words, not death. Fannie made to head toward the pump, moving past her mother. “I guess I know that. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
“That’s all right. I understand.” Mom touched her shoulder with a pat, and then Fannie stepped away.
“I don’t hate them.”
“I’m glad to hear it. We aren’t to hate anyone. Even during war.” “I just … I don’t know that I want to remember them later on when all this is over.”
“You don’t have to remember them, Fannie. Just remember that God took care of what we needed at this time. ‘Give thanks in all circumstances,’ remember? That’s the important thing.”
“Is it?” She turned and looked at her mother, but Mom didn’t reply, only sighed. In truth, Fannie wasn’t sure she expected an answer. Was that what God expected? To thank Him for getting by, or did He expect more? Fannie worried that maybe He did.
The next day, Fannie and Jerry took turns running the tractor, getting all the hay cut so it could lie in the sun and dry. The raking was done on Thursday, which meant the men would return on Friday to handle the long, hot chore of pitching it into a wagon and bringing it into the barn in the scorching heat. Fannie’s mother insisted she go to work anyway.
“Jerry and I will handle things, Fannie.” Mom set a bowl of potatoes on the table beside a platter of fried chicken. “You need to go to your job at the library. I won’t have you giving that up entirely.”
“I don’t feel right leaving you and Jerry to do all the work.”
“I work!” Patsy said, smashing her potato with a fork.
“And Patsy.” Fannie gave her sister a wink.
Jerry pulled apart a chicken leg from its thigh. “It’s just forking hay, Fan. The men will be here to do it. I’ll drive tractor.”
“And make sure they get it in the barn like they should.” Fannie met his glance with a meaningful look. Don’t take your eyes off them for a second, is what she wanted to say, but she didn’t want to alarm Mom or Patsy.
“I can manage, and Corporal Taft will be here.” Jerry returned her look with equal intimation.
Her chest relaxed with a tiny sigh. “All right then. If you insist. Patsy, you mind yourself if you have to go out there.”
“She can help me at the house, just like usual.” Mom smiled at Patsy.
Patsy shrugged as she picked apart her piece of chicken. “I don’t know what the big deal is. They don’t care about me, and that guard has a gun with him all the time.”
“Speaking of which, did you hear about the big stir at the prison camp the other day? The guards had to fire shots in the air to get everyone settled down. Dorothy Jean told me all about it. Her brothers were there.” Patsy dished out the information with as much excitement as a bland potato.
“What?” Fannie and her mother asked together.
“It wasn’t anything,” Jerry said. “Just some people watching them play soccer by the fence got a little out of hand, and then some of the prisoners got bothered and headed for the fence, so the guards fired a shot or two to stop anything from happening. Ruined the game.”
“How do you know?” Mom raised a brow at him.
“Frank and me were watching them play.”
“I want you to stay away from that camp.” Mom’s voice became firm. “Dorothy Jean’s brothers ought to stay away from there too,” she added with a sharp eye on Patsy.
Jerry wiped a napkin over his lips and raised his chin. “Say, Fannie, you know that fellow with the curly hair? Leo, I think he’s called? He’s a really good player. You should see how he moves the ball with his feet. He kind of coached the other guys. They were some of the workers who came here. They’re all pretty good.”
“Did you hear me, Son?”
“Yeah, Mom, sure. We just pulled over and watched for a little bit. We didn’t holler anything or throw rocks or any of that. It was fun to watch.”
“Just stay away, like I said.”
Jerry’s nod was barely a twitch, and Fannie doubted he meant to stay away. He reached for the chicken again, but Mom stopped him.
“Eat some more bread. I’ll use the rest of the chicken in a casserole tomorrow. It’ll go further, and you’ll be hungry as a bear after you get that hay in the mow.”
He sighed and reached for another slab of bread. He swathed it in an extra-thick layer of butter. “Can I have some jam?”
“Go ahead. Don’t go overboard.”
He pushed back from the table and headed to a late 1930s model refrigerator that they still referred to as the icebox.
Mom rose and peeled off her apron. “Patsy, clear the table when you’re done. I’ve got to go check on Gertie. She was off her feed a little bit this morning. It might just be the heat.”
Patsy’s shoulders slumped, but she knew better than to grouse about being left with dishes. “I’ll help you, Pats,” Fannie said when Mom went out the back door.
“Thanks. I’m getting dishpan hands washing dishes morning, noon, and night.”
Fannie chuckled. “We all have a price to pay with the extra work around here.”
“I wish I could go to the library with you again tomorrow.”
“I wish you could too, but I want you to help Mom. Jerry’s going to have his hands full watching those prisoners.”
“What for? Isn’t that why they have a guard?”
Fannie caught herself. “I didn’t mean he had to guard them. I only meant he has to make sure they know what to do.”
“Right. I believe you. That’s why the two of you keep that gun of Daddy’s under the truck seat.”
Fannie stopped dead with a platter in each hand and stared at her little sister. “I don’t know how you know that, but don’t touch it, and don’t you breathe a word to Mama about that gun, you hear?”
“As if I would. I think it’s a good idea.” Patsy went about pouring hot water into the dishpan as if such a discussion were completely normal and not at all like they were talking about protecting themselves and their home from the enemy in the middle of a war.
Fannie stared a moment longer, then carried the leftovers to the icebox. “All right then. What were you doing snooping in the truck anyway?”
“I wasn’t snooping. I couldn’t find one of my library books, and I thought maybe I left it in the truck and it got under the seat somehow.”
“Don’t lose those books. You’ll get a fine.”
“Blah, blah, blah. I know, I know. You think I just started checking out library books yesterday? Honestly, Fan. You’re worse than Mom sometimes.”
For that, Fannie reached around her and splashed her with the dishwater.
“Hey!” Patsy tried to reciprocate, but Fannie dodged out of the way.
“Better stop now if you want me to help dry.”
“You started it.”
Fannie chuckled and picked up the sack towel and a clean, wet plate. They fell into routine then, but Fannie thought about tomorrow. She’d be worrying all day that something could go wrong.
The hours at the library dragged by the next day. She had looked forward to being there, away from the sweat and grime of putting up hay, but knowing that the prisoners were at home with Mom, Patsy, and Jerry kept her watching the clock. She told herself it would be fine. With so many hands, they would have the hay up in no time. She was almost surprised to see them still there when she came home at five o’clock. Four men and Jerry rested in a patch of shade beneath the eaves of the barn. The guard stood over by the porch talking with Mom.
Fannie hadn’t even shut off the car’s motor before she was searching the area for the others. Where were they? Were they inside the barn without either Jerry or Corporal Taft? She turned off the ignition and left the stack of books on the seat beside her as she hurried out of the car. Forcing calm she didn’t feel into her gait, she walked toward them.
Four sets of eyes followed her every step, and she realized then how they saw her in her town clothes. Not like a farmworker today, but more like a woman. Her skin felt scorched. They’d never seen her looking so—so tidied up before, in her nice dress and shoes, her hair curled and pinned back at the sides, and she was wearing lipstick besides. She fought down the urge to run her tongue over her lips. Had it worn off? Maybe. Hopefully. Fannie lifted her chin, ignoring their too-interested stares. “How did everything go today?”
Jerry leaned away from the side of the barn and took a few steps toward her. “Went real good. Just got the last load in a bit ago.”
“Really? All of it?”
“We worked pretty steadily all day. Barely took time to eat lunch. Wanted to beat the evening dew.”
“Looks like you did that pretty handily.” She glanced toward the men again. They all still watched her, but Wolf was not among them. “Where are the rest?”
“Oh. They didn’t come. We only got these four today.”
“I see.” Her breath eased out. “I wondered.”
“Here you go.” Patsy came toward them with a tray of sliced buttered bread. The men moved in unison, muttering their thanks as they lifted slices from the plate and shoved them in their mouths. One of them, the young strawberry blond with green eyes that turned shy at times, was last in line. He lingered at the plate that still held two slices of bread, as if he couldn’t decide.
“Well just take them both then,” Patsy said with an exasperated sigh. She waggled the plate in front of him.
With both hands reaching for the offering, he took a piece in each, and a smile broke out over his freckled face. “Danke, Fraülein O’Brien.”
Patsy’s eyes widened, then she stuck out her tongue and spun on her heel back toward the house. The other three Germans laughed, and the young man blushed, but his shoulders jiggled in a chuckle.
