Season of My Enemy, page 16
CHAPTER 15
August 1944
Wolf rubbed the knuckles of his right hand as he fought to tamp down his restlessness. They were in the transport, heading to the O’Brien farm, and he was glad because he needed to work. The camp had gone on strike several days ago because prisoners hadn’t gotten their scrip pay. The guards hadn’t been paid either, and they sympathized. But a “no work, no eat” policy had halted the strike quickly enough. To Wolf, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t send scrip home to his parents, and he wasn’t a smoker. He did like to purchase paper and extra pencils, however.
Hermann Claus had acquired a correspondence course from a college somewhere in the state, and Wolf had offered his guidance. He’d also been using some free time to school Rudy, Richard, and Fritz in higher mathematics. Despite his satisfaction on both fronts, he was anxious to return to some physical labor.
Or maybe he was anxious to see Fannie again.
Last Sunday, he’d attended church with some of the other men, but her family wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have been concerned if only one of them was missing, but none of the family was present. Had something happened at the farm? Was there work to be done that could not wait for the crew? Worse yet, was there sickness or had an accident of some sort occurred? As he bounced along in the bed of the truck, Wolf sat sedately, but his thumbs worked harder over his fingers laced in his lap. Fritz appeared antsy too. He tapped his knee.
“You are looking forward to working?” Wolf asked.
Fritz shrugged. “I am anxious but not for work. I want to go home.”
Wolf frowned. The others looked at Fritz. “You have not heard from Emma lately?”
He shook his head and shifted his long legs. “Nein. It is unlike her.”
“Perhaps she has been occupied with demands. She has brothers who are fighting?”
“Ja. Three brothers. Her mother is occasionally unwell. Her papa is fighting too.”
“Then she is very busy.”
“I am afraid they have been forced from their home.”
“Ach!” Leo looked their way. “You have nothing to worry about. The Reich is winning.”
“That is not what I have read,” Hermann said in his soft voice.
“What you have read,” Leo muttered. “I see you trying to read the American newspaper. It is propaganda.”
Hermann lowered his head.
The conversation ended there as they turned into the O’Briens’ long drive. Wolf was relieved to see things looking just the same as ever. The house still standing. The tasseled corn stirring in the breeze. Jerry stepped from the shed with gunnysacks slung over his shoulder.
The men jumped down from the truck and filed toward the bean field. Routine had set in over the days. Leo passed him, but like Wolf, he glanced toward the house when they heard the front door open, the squawk of the hinge carrying on the morning air.
Fannie stood on the porch, watching them without expression. Wolf wanted to wave, but not with Leo standing by. Then the door opened again and a man stepped out. The door slapped shut against the frame. What was more, the man carried a rifle. He stood it on its stock and stared at them.
Now Wolf did give a nod. A guarded sensation he recognized well skittered down his spine. It was like the first days of his capture, when he didn’t know what would happen next and at every turn he expected the worst. That they might be lined up before a firing squad. Yet that’s not what happened. While some of the Germans were shoved and threatened, not a finger of serious harm touched them. He and his men were ordered about, ja, natürlich. The American soldiers demanded obeisance, certainly. He had seen other men shot who were suspected of being S.S., even if they weren’t, but Wolf’s own troops had been spared such treatment. They were fed, howbeit reluctantly at times and with scraps. The Americans allowed them to pause and rest during the march toward their incarceration, though they’d been spit upon more than once. Then they were sent to England, and from England here, where their fortunes were vastly improved. It had been months since the last time he felt this unnerving unease slither through him.
He turned abruptly toward the field with the others. Leo moved behind him.
“I wonder who he is,” Leo said. “Her man, perhaps.”
Wolf didn’t feel compelled to speculate aloud. Was the stranger her man? Had Fannie someone special? She was a beautiful girl, with her brunette waves and enticing figure. Eyes dark and sweet as chocolate. Hands slim and strong and made for holding. Surely she was admired by many men she’d known. Had this one always been nearby, or had he returned from war? He had the look of a soldier, with his short-cropped hair and that gun.
If he had recently come home, who was he? A close friend or another family member perhaps? Someone Fannie had been waiting for, just as Emma waited for Fritz and her brothers and father?
When they reached the end of the field, Wolf picked a waiting pail from a stack and moved to a place to begin. He kept to the left of the other pickers, where he could glimpse the house discreetly. Fannie stood speaking to the man on the porch. Finally, she marched down the steps and toward the truck. Yes, marched. The set of her shoulders and frown on her brow told him she was upset about something—or maybe only anxious to get to work.
Jerry stepped out the door then. Wolf tossed a handful of beans into his pail and spied him speaking to the gun-toting man. The fellow had taken a seat in the rocking chair with the rifle lying across his lap.
Jerry strode down from the porch. His attitude was unreadable. Wolf pushed thick, bushy plants gently to the side and reached for long, green clusters of beans, plopping them into his pail. The rumble of the truck reached the edge of the field behind him. With only half his attention on his task, Wolf kept a watchful eye on the O’Briens. Jerry followed the truck on foot. When it stopped, he tugged a stack of gunnysacks off the back. Fannie didn’t get out of the truck right away. Wolf glimpsed her staring ahead at the woods, her arm resting on the window ledge. She was biting her thumbnail. He’d never seen her do that before.
As Jerry took a pail from the truck, Wolf lifted his own half-filled pail. He carried it to the end of the row and approached Jerry. “You have guest, ja?” He gave a curt nod toward the house.
“A guest?” Jerry shook his head. “That’s our brother Calvin. Home from war.”
Wolf picked up an empty gunnysack and focused on emptying his beans in order to hide the ocean of relief that swept through him. Not Fannie’s man but her brother. “He is going hunting?”
Jerry’s brow jerked up and he snorted. He turned to the truck. “Fannie, you going to sit in there until you cook?”
She jerked the door open and slid out. “I’ll pick.”
“You don’t have to, you know. You can go sit with Cal.”
“Cal ought to be joining us.” The words sounded angry, and Wolf wondered what had happened to send their brother home from war. He appeared uninjured.
Even now a glance showed that he’d risen from the chair and stood watching them much the way Corporal Taft had done at first. These days the corporal usually rested off in the shade if any was near enough where he could keep a casual watch on the crew. He sometimes sat on the back of the truck talking with whoever drew closest, his rifle resting on his lap. Right now, the corporal stood amid the rows of beans, speaking with Leo and Horst.
Wolf shook the long gunnysack, settling his meager picking into the bottom. He turned his back to the house so he could comment to Fannie without her brother on the porch seeing. He searched for all the correct English words. “I am glad your brother has come home.”
She didn’t turn her head to look at him either, and her small “Thanks” made him wonder even more about the man.
Wolf moved on. Now was not the time to press for information, for that’s what it would seem to her that he was doing. Pressing. She might become suspicious of his curiosity, and certainly her elder brother would.
He bent to fill his pail full this time. Rudy did the same only a few yards away. “Remember my warning, Rudy. Should the girl come out, you must not speak to her.”
“Ja, I know.”
“Have you noticed we have another guard today? Do not look his way.”
“Ja. I saw him too.”
“He is their brother Calvin, home from war.”
“He reminds me of the guards at first.”
Wolf gave a nod, though Rudy wasn’t looking at him. “It is good you remember. We are not involved in a war of ideals. It is a war of hatred. We must mind ourselves to stay out of the path of strong feelings.”
Rudy’s hands worked quickly, beans plunk-plunk-plunking into his pail. Obviously, the boy suffered with his own kind of strong feelings. Still, he was young. When the war ended, he would stop thinking of Patsy O’Brien—if that’s truly where his attentions lay. Wolf rubbed his thumb down the length of a long, slim green bean. And will I no longer think of her sister? He flipped the bean into the pail. Clearly, he should mind his own advice.
Rudy stood when the produce heaped the top of his pail.
Wolf straightened too. He laid a hand on Rudy’s shoulder, pausing him as he was about to pass. “It would be wise if you guarded your eyes as well as you guard your tongue. Should Patsy come outside, keep them to the ground or elsewhere. Especially now.”
He shifted his weight. “I will.”
Wolf gave him a pat and let him move on.
“Back to work!” Wolf glanced at Corporal Taft who was directing his command at him. “Enough talking this morning.”
Things had changed. The corporal had never spoken to Wolf in such a way since their first arrival at Camp Barron. Horst and Richard hitched eyebrows in surprise, but Wolf jerked his head in acquiescence and returned to picking. He would do best to set an example for them to follow.
Nevertheless, from time to time throughout the rest of the morning, he stole glances. Fannie remained aloof. She and Jerry picked in rows away from Wolf and the others.
And their brother Cal never left his post.
At noon, Taft blew a whistle for them to take a rest. “Kid’s bringing the water to refill your canteens.”
Wolf shifted his glance toward the farmyard again. Jerry made his way toward the field, hefting two sloshing pails of water. From a crate Taft had sent one of the men to haul off the back of the transport truck earlier, he handed them each a thin sandwich wrapped in brown butcher paper along with an apple.
“Eat as many beans as you want,” Fannie shouted.
Wolf turned at her voice from where she stood in front of the truck. He collected his foodstuffs and wandered closer. “I think our stomachs will ache from all the beans we’ve already eaten.” He charged his voice with humor.
She leaned back against the truck’s hood and raised the heel of her foot to the bumper. The sun’s rays touched her forehead, giving it a bronze sheen. “Well, it’s the best I can offer today. Mom’s busy cooking up a big dinner for Cal. She’s so happy he’s home, she’s treating him like a king.”
“Killing the—” He squinted in search of the English phrase.
“Fatted calf?”
“Ja. That is it. As she should. It is a good thing that he has returned to you safely.” He unwrapped the sandwich, but he watched for her reaction. “Whole and sound,” he added, as though it was an afterthought, though he sought to find out more about Cal.
“Whole. Not so sure about sound.” She looked at him then but just as quickly turned her gaze as though she’d said more than she meant to.
Wolf bit off a third of his meager sandwich and wiped a forearm across his brow.
“He lost some of his hearing over there.” She spoke quietly so that only Wolf heard.
“I am sorry.”
She gave a quick glance, her eyes sheepish. “I probably shouldn’t tell you that, but it might come back.”
Wolf’s own ears suffered ringing from time to time from the noise of continuous shelling and gunfire. It was a common ailment, so he’d discovered. He didn’t know of anyone who’d been cured of it, much less after losing a lot of hearing. By her tone, he didn’t think she really thought the chances were good either.
“But he has all his limbs.” Her tone brightened forcedly. “He’s well enough to pick the darn beans or drive the truck.” She pushed away from the bumper and glanced toward the house. “Looks like he’s finally taking a break too.”
Wolf followed her gaze to where Cal was marching toward the outhouse, gun in hand.
A couple of the men headed toward the edge of the field for the same reason but with empty hands.
Wolf checked his posture as Jerry strode toward them. “Mom says to tell you to come and grab some lunch so she can get the kitchen cleaned up. She wants me to take Patsy to the store for a few things this afternoon.”
“Did she ask Cal to do it?”
Jerry gave Wolf a wary glance. “You know she won’t, Fan. Come on. Time to eat.” He turned to leave the field, but Fannie shifted back to Wolf.
“Did you have that talk with Rudy that you promised me?”
“Ja. You have no cause for worry.”
Fannie sighed and started away. “I’ve got more cause than you know,” she muttered.
He let her pass by, and he strode to the water pail to fill his canteen, but he kept stealing glances at her as she slumped toward the house. He wasn’t worried anymore about Rudy misbehaving. It was his own inability to keep his eyes on the ground that troubled him.
Minutes later, Taft blew his whistle again, and the men retrieved their empty pails.
“Twelve more rows today,” Taft said. “Shouldn’t take you more than a couple of hours longer.”
Wolf scanned the waving green field, and he made an almost unconscious accounting of each of the men. He glanced across them again. “Where is Leo?” he asked Richard, who shuffled down the row beside him.
Richard swept a glance across the field. “He went to the woods a few minutes ago. He must not have finished his business and come back yet.”
Wolf scanned again. “Perhaps not.” He squatted into the greenery where he’d left off picking earlier, but he remained on the lookout for Leo. It wasn’t good to be gone longer than the whistle. Taft must realize he hadn’t returned. Wolf looked again over his shoulder, but the corporal was swigging on a canteen.
His sweat turned cold with relief when Leo’s white shirt emerged from the edge of the tree line where the grassy lane ran between the beans and the cornfield.
Richard’s glance went to Leo too, and he jerked his chin up. “Must have been the beans.” He cast Wolf a grin and crunched down on a long, slender pod.
Wolf chuckled. “You’re probably right. It’s likely we’ll all be taking advantage of the bushes or the privy for the next twenty-four hours.”
Leo hiked toward them with purpose in his stride, like he couldn’t wait to get back to work—or more like he didn’t want to get into trouble for returning late after the whistle blew. Last week it might not have mattered so much. Corporal Taft was an understanding man, and he’d not been overly strict with them as long as they worked hard. But that had changed too. An air of soldierly purpose in Taft had emerged since Fannie’s brother decided to take command of the front porch. He sat there now once again, like a general inspecting his ranks.
CHAPTER 16
Leo had to rein in his elation. Adrenaline screamed through his body as he climbed into the back of the transport and endured the jolting drive back to camp. All the other men looked beat. Leo had worked just as hard as they had, maybe harder to prove himself. Yet his blood spiked euphorically at his secret accomplishment, pushing fatigue away.
He had taken great risk in his spontaneous decision, yet no one had spied him lifting the gas can from the shade along the side of the truck that faced away from the bean field. Not even the man on the porch, who Rudy whispered was Fannie’s brother Calvin. Nor had they spotted him as he quickly hid it behind some shady stalks on the edge of the cornfield on the other side of the lane, just a few feet away. Later on, when they were excused to relieve themselves, he’d moved it farther into the dense corn. There he spread splashes of fuel, then left the cap loose and tipped the can on its side, allowing a faint trickle into the patch of weeds growing around the thickening stalks. Should it be inadvertently discovered, it would look like an accidental spill of a can left out since the corn was last tilled. Then he’d hastened out the back of the field to return to the place he should appear from.
Tomorrow the patch should light easily enough. The green stalks might smoke first, but with the added fuel and no recent rain, they shouldn’t take long to curl and burn.
The crew wouldn’t pick beans again for a few days at least. Fannie informed them that they’d move on to harvesting the oats next and then storing the oat straw for animal fodder and bedding. With any luck, the field would become a raging inferno that would jump into the oats, destroying those too. Other than the beans that had already been harvested, Leo might single-handedly ruin the remaining crops of the O’Brien farm. It would be a small dent in this massive war his country engaged in, but a dent nonetheless. And it would be justified recompense for whatever destruction Fannie’s soldier brother had wreaked while he was in Europe.
Perhaps when Leo returned to the fatherland, he would earn a medal.
He covered a smile with his hand, pretending to yawn. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes like some of the others, letting his vision play out secretly in his imagination. Wouldn’t Fannie be shocked! How he would laugh then. They would try to stop the wreckage, but the water would be too far away. The brother on the porch would have to leave his gun behind to come out and help.
Leo would make a pretense of helping too. He would, perhaps, be the first to spy the fire. Wouldn’t he?
