Season of My Enemy, page 12
“What on earth?” Jerry mumbled.
Fannie rolled her eyes. “I’ll talk to her later.” Her gaze turned and caught the oldest man present. Leo. He’d come but not his captain. Was he in charge here?
“What’s going on?” Corporal Taft came up from behind. “Did one of you say something to Miss O’Brien?”
Leo stepped forward and explained in German.
The corporal chuckled. He turned to Fannie. “I’m sure your sister didn’t understand.”
“Yes, I heard—and saw.”
Leo spoke again, and this time he seemed to be speaking directly to her.
“He apologizes for Rudy’s offensive freckles,” the corporal said, grinning as he said it.
“I’m sure it’s quite all right. She’s very young,” she said pointedly, and the corporal’s smile fell away. He turned to the prisoners and issued a command for them to head to the truck.
Fannie remembered the books. Today she’d scrounged some discarded copies at the library, a few worn-out volumes of English literature—including a book of grammar—some old magazines, and one book written in German that appeared to be a collection of short stories. She wasn’t sure what type of stories they were, but maybe some of the prisoners would enjoy them. She’d had to explain to Mrs. Calloway, finally confessing that her family had hired the PWs to work at their farm, but the older woman smiled without judgment and gave her permission to take them all as a donation to the camp.
“If you will wait just a moment, Corporal, I have some books for the prisoners. Something for the camp library. They’re in my car.”
He gave a sharp whistle, and the men who’d started walking toward the camp truck halted. “Friedrickson!” He jerked his head to urge the man back.
The dusky, curly-headed Leo started toward them. Fannie shifted her weight evenly and straightened her shoulders.
“Go with Miss O’Brien. She has some books to send with you.”
Leo held out his hand, palm up, in a gesture for her to lead the way. With a nod, she turned and strode purposefully the thirty or so paces to the automobile, sensing him only a step or two behind.
She didn’t know why it rankled her to have to deal with this man. He’d done nothing wrong. What else had she expected? Was it that there was something enigmatic about him that she couldn’t explain? Or was it simply that she had imagined passing the books to his captain, Wolf Kloninger, and seeing his appreciative smile? The very entertainment of such foolishness irritated her. She jerked the car door open and scooped up the armful of books. She ladled them into his waiting arms, and her fingers brushed against the taut muscles of his forearms. She stepped back quickly. “There you are. Please enjoy them. You do not have to return them.” Did he even understand a single word she said? Likely not. She waved him toward the truck. “You can go now.”
Leo’s gaze met hers once again, and even though he dipped his head slightly, there was something almost insolent in his posture as he did so. Or in her peevishness did she imagine it? The fact that she wasn’t sure annoyed her further. Then that same gaze roved over her, from the top of her head to her ankles in their pumps, and she knew it was more than her imagination. She rested her hand on the top of the car door, but she didn’t move to close it. She kept it between them like a shield as she stared him down, anger simmering through her veins as he studied her with a long, slow smile before he slowly backed away with the books. Then he turned and carried them toward the truck at a pace demanding everyone await his leisure.
CHAPTER 11
Leo peeled off his shirt and slung it around his neck, but the sting of the fabric scraping his skin reminded him of the sunburn on his shoulders. He ignored the pain and hefted a gunnysack stuffed with green beans to the truck waiting at the end of the field.
Days of farm work broken intermittently with soccer games at the camp had left his skin burned and peeling. Part of him hated the mundaneness of the days, while the other part recognized that it was better than the days of heat, fighting, and exhaustion they’d left behind in Africa. He was in better shape than he’d been in since the start of the war. Still, shouldn’t he desire to be back there on the front now, driving out the Allies?
Rather than fight with his conflicting thoughts, he played soccer whenever he wasn’t working. Soccer helped burn memories away with the freedom of running himself to exhaustion. Some of the other men spent their time in books. A few even took courses from American universities, receiving course work in the mail.
Leo huffed for breath as he carried the stuffed bean sack. What did those studious boys think they were going to do? Transfer their college credits to a university in Germany once the Americans were defeated? The idea almost made him chuckle. Waste of time. That’s what it was. Hauptmann Kloninger acted as though those men were accomplishing some noble task by studying English. English. Leo spat as he finally reached the end of the long row. He flung the tied sack, flipping it onto the truck bed with the others that would get sent to the cannery today.
He turned back to the field and peered over the knee-deep ocean of leafy plants. Here on the farm, while bent over rows of beans for hours on end, he could do nothing but think. That was both a problem and a good thing. If he didn’t let his thoughts become filled with boredom but turned them toward the useful task of winning the war, it wasn’t so bad.
Leo stretched away the pain in his lower back. At that moment, the guard blew a whistle signaling a break.
“Bring your canteens. We will fill them at the pump.” The corporal made drinking motions and waved them toward the farmyard a few hundred meters away. “The camp is sending your lunch. The truck should be here soon.”
Leo, along with the rest, picked a slow pace as they walked back in the intense heat. When they finally reached the barnyard, they formed a queue at the pump. Leo got in line behind Horst. “Any news about your sister?”
Horst shook his head. “Nothing.”
“What illness does she suffer from?”
“She has weak lungs. Ever since a bad case of pneumonia when she was small.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“She tries not to let it hold her back.” He smiled. “She can’t run fast, but her tongue is not slow.”
“How old is she now?”
“Fifteen.” His smile drifted away. “I imagine she is about like that one now.”
Leo followed Horst’s gaze to the shade of the oak tree where the youngest O’Brien sat on the ground with an open book in her lap. He took a step forward in the line as Rudy left the pump. Rudy took a long drink and wiped water from his lips as he lowered his canteen. His gaze too went to the girl beneath the bower of branches. He strolled in her direction.
Leo watched with interest as the two struck up some form of conversation, Rudy pointing to the book in her lap, and she holding it up for him to read the cover—or pretending to read it. Leo doubted he’d learned much working English yet.
By the time Leo made it to the front of the line, filled his canteen, and quenched his thirst, the young soldier was still standing by the tree, making friends with the girl. Rudy stood at a safe distance from her. At least the corporal hadn’t gone over there to stop the conversation, though the rules demanded that he should.
Leo strode over to them. “She is a bit young for your lovemaking, isn’t she, Ebner?”
Rudy turned his head sharply at Leo’s intrusion, and his freckled face reddened. “I am not—”
Leo laughed, silencing him. “Aren’t you?” He glanced between them pointedly. “Perhaps you both need instruction from someone with experience.”
He doubted the girl understood a single word of German, but she must have been old enough to understand the tone of his jeer, for she blushed to the roots of her light brown hair, just like Rudy. She veered her eyes away. Maybe it was Leo’s shirtless torso that made her redden.
“Do not embarrass her.” Rudy gathered control in his voice. “She is just a child.”
“Not too much of a child anymore.” Leo took another swig from his canteen and grabbed his shirt from his shoulders, wiping it over his mouth. He stared hard at her, waiting for her to glance again, relishing the chance to humiliate her.
“Friedrickson!” Hauptmann Kloninger’s voice called to him.
Leo turned. “Ja, what is it?”
“Put your shirt on.”
He sneered. With jerking movements, he tugged the soiled garment over his head.
Wolf approached. “Get back with the others.” He gave a friendly nod to the girl who got to her feet, smoothing her dress down around her legs. “Guten Tag, Fraülein.” He spun on his heels, expecting his men to follow.
Leo jerked his head at Rudy to lead the way while he cast another grin at the girl. She was a pretty thing and growing into womanhood sooner than was good for girls to do. He winked at her, then turned away before he could watch her blush or scowl or both. He would enjoy harassing Rudy over the incident in the days to come.
He clapped a hand on the fellow’s shoulder as the lunch truck rumbled up the drive. “You have to expect a little teasing. If you had an older brother here, that’s what he’d do.”
Rudy shrugged away his hand. “You are not my brother. You’re—” He cut himself short and stared ahead, jaw set.
Leo halted in his tracks, fury crawling up his insides at what he expected Rudy to say, but Rudy just kept marching. “What, Ebner? What were you going to say?”
Rudy marched away. “Leave me alone, Friedrickson.”
Leo slowed his pace, letting Rudy charge ahead. He would find no camaraderie with that one.
They ate their liverwurst and cheese sandwiches and munched on apples, and some of them refilled their canteens before it was time to head back to the field. Every time Leo looked Rudy’s way the rest of the afternoon, the private didn’t bother hiding his scorn. What had his intention been? To cast the despicable word that Leo knew all too well? Mischlinge. No. Rudy wouldn’t know he’d been called that before. None of these men knew, he hoped.
“We’ll need more gunnysacks,” Wolf was saying to the O’Brien youth Jerry. “More sacks,” he repeated in English, gesturing to the boy.
Leo was standing in the shade of the barn shed’s eaves. He straightened and waved. “I will find them.”
The boy nodded, and Wolf said, “Ja. Go ahead.”
On several occasions now, they’d been in and out of the front of the barn where the shed attached, usually hauling tools. They’d been in the loft of the barn itself, storing hay. Trust had grown, and with it, leniency. The PWs never lingered long but went in for what they needed to do and hurried back out. Usually, the guard stood at the door anyway, watching.
This time he didn’t. Leo swung open the door and entered the dim interior. The building smelled of the dust and oil typical of a farmer’s workplace. A workbench stretched across the opposite wall, and tools hung neatly in their places. The grindstone that Leo sometimes saw Jerry working at outdoors was housed in the corner and beyond it some of the larger pieces of equipment. A doorway into a back room hinted at a small forge and more storage.
Leo turned his attention to the stack of gunnysacks piled neatly to the left of the workbench, but not before sweeping the room with a scrutinizing search such as he could manage in a few moments, familiarizing himself with anything that he might use for a purpose. He had seen Jerry carry a gas can inside more than once, but they weren’t left sitting in the open. They must be in that back room.
With a quick glance over his shoulder, he hustled to the doorway in the back and peered inside. Yes, there was a forge as well as more heavy tools. Sledgehammers, a splitting maul, and the gas cans. Bags and cans of who knew what. A barrel of old oil.
It was enough to know. Hastily, he hurried back to the sacks and slung a stack of them over his shoulder.
When he stepped back into the sunlight, Wolf looked his way. “Do you want help?”
“No. I have them.”
Leo was sweating harder by the time they got back to the field. Even empty, the woven bags weren’t light. He dropped them onto the ground where the men were to continue working. This field would need picking again in two or three days. The full flush of the summer growth season was upon them, and they’d be hard-pressed to keep up. Between pickings, they’d probably get sent to another farm. Some men from other crews were working full-time hours in the local cannery.
It was well into the afternoon by the time they finished. They’d filled all but three of the bags. Leo scooped them up. “Should I take these back to the shed?” He directed his question at the guard.
“Put them in the truck. Just lay them on the seat or the floor.”
Leo had hoped for one more look in the shed. He wanted to see if those gas cans still contained fuel. He’d also noticed a few pipes lying around. He might be able to do something with those. Next time he came, he’d find a way to get inside again.
He walked around the side of the truck and opened the passenger door to stow the bags inside. One fell on the floor and hung out the door, so he leaned over and pushed it back in. As he did so, his glance caught something out of the norm. He bent a little farther and squinted at what he must only be imagining. It couldn’t be, could it? Leo peered over the window ledge at the men on the other side of the truck, talking and loading their beans. Then he stretched his body across the shifting rod and reached his fingers under the driver’s seat. The contact of hard, gun-shaped metal sent adrenaline shrieking through Leo’s body, accelerating the pounding of his heart.
CHAPTER 12
When would Cal be home? It had been a month since they were told he was convalescing and would return to them soon. What did they mean by soon? When the war ended?
Fannie rustled through the clothes lying across her bed, clean but wrinkled. She’d have to give them extra attention with the iron for letting them lie. For now, she just needed her cotton slip. Her yellow dress was thin and comfortable but too thin to wear without the much-needed slip. There it was. She yanked it from the pile and shimmied into it.
They were going to church today, though Fannie could think of a million things they ought to be doing instead. Mom insisted, however. Maybe she hoped Cal would get home sooner if she went to God’s house to pray in person.
Fannie tugged her dress on. “Ooh …” she growled when she heard a thread snap under her arm. She pulled the garment back off to have a look. Sure enough, she’d ripped it. The hole was tiny enough. She’d have to hurry to get it stitched up and still leave for church on time. She might have believed God was reprimanding her for her wayward thoughts a moment ago, but He didn’t need to. She could reprimand herself well enough.
She didn’t even know what Cal was recuperating from. Had he suffered a war injury, or was it just rest he needed? She’d heard of men suffering everything from amputations to burning mutilation from mustard gas. It wasn’t any of those things, was it?
Worry threaded through her. No. It was just the army taking its time. “Stop fretting and just get ready for church.”
“Who are you talking to in there?” Patsy hollered through the door.
“Never mind. Maybe I’m praying and you’re interrupting.”
“Humph. Right. And you think I’m Patsy, but I’m really Gabriel.” Her sister’s voice trailed away down the hall.
Fannie had to giggle. That Patsy.
By the time their family reached the church, the heat and humidity had climbed, and Fannie’s cotton slip clung to her skin. Too many days had passed since that dip in the creek. As they bustled into a pew near the front, Fannie’s mind wandered over the possibilities of repeating such enjoyment later in the day. Patsy fanned herself with her hand, and Jerry did the same with his hat, while both Fannie and her mother did their best to sit still and simply endure. She wished she could catch just a slight stirring of the breeze from her sister’s hand. Across the room, papers fluttered. One young boy even waved a hymnal. The pastor seemed unfazed as he preached an especially lengthy sermon. The preaching was hard and fiery this morning too.
It wasn’t until dismissal that Fannie realized why. When she rose and turned, she saw the PWs seated in the back row. Their PWs, along with a few others. Richard, Hermann, Rudy, Horst … and Wolf. Leo, Otto, and Fritz were not among them. Wolf caught her eye with a nearly imperceptible nod before filing out with the rest.
Was he a Christian then? Part of her wanted to believe he was not a murderer. The other part told her heart that he had been in Africa killing Americans. Perhaps even shooting at someone they knew. There was no lack of young men from the area like her brothers fighting and dying overseas.
Patsy and Jerry wasted no time in breaking free into the fresh air, while Fannie and her mother visited with friends and neighbors before finally leaving the church.
Jerry met them at the bottom of the church steps. His pal Frank said goodbye and strolled toward his car parked down the block. “Are you ready to go yet? I’m starving.”
Fannie scanned the churchyard. “Your stomach can wait a few more minutes. I want to speak to Faith if I can catch her.”
“She already left with her sister.”
“She did?” Fannie was a little let down. She and Faith used to be close, but lately, with Fannie’s many obligations and Faith working at the canning factory, they’d hardly seen each other. She’d heard that Faith intended to switch schools and was planning on being a nurse now. Fannie wanted to ask her why, even though she thought she already knew. Posters in town talked about free education to women who wanted to join the U.S. Cadet Nurse Corps. It was a noble pursuit but not for Fannie. She was a little surprised that Faith would go that route. Faith’s family was able to afford her education, and Fannie never would have guessed that her friend was cut out for nursing. Then again, they’d all grown up since the war began. Fannie’s future had changed, at least for now. Faith might be taking life more seriously too. “I suppose we can get going then. Where’s Patsy gone off to?”
