Season of My Enemy, page 17
No. He must let it work as much destruction as possible before someone else saw it. Then he would join in the shouting for help. No one would suspect mischief. It would appear to be a freak accident. He would nudge their thoughts with the idea that Fannie or Jerry O’Brien must have left the can out there on another day. He’d seen for himself that they kept several such cans in the shed. They could easily lose count.
“What is that I see? A smile on your face?” Otto nudged Leo’s foot with his boot.
“I am resting contentedly.”
“Dreaming of winning another game on Sunday?”
Leo smirked. “I don’t have to dream about that. It’s already decided.”
Otto chuckled. Leo’s fast footwork on the soccer field had become legendary around camp and, according to rumors, in the nearby communities as well. “I am getting better. You’re lucky we almost always play on the same team.”
He opened his eyes. “Maybe next time we can switch the teams up. I could use a challenge. Time for some new lessons for you perhaps.” He winked.
“I am ready to throw down the gauntlet.”
Richard grunted. “How can you talk of running on the field at the end of a day like this? I can only think of taking a nap.”
“And of eating supper,” Rudy added.
Leo jerked his chin at them. “What’s the matter with you? I’m older than all of you except the captain. You don’t see me complaining of stiff joints and weary muscles. You’ve all grown soft and weak.” He glanced at Wolf, who grinned in complicity but didn’t add to the discussion.
Rudy scowled, his defenses ruffling. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t be up to a game. Just feed me with something more than those skinny sandwiches we had today.”
There was a murmur of agreement. They wouldn’t likely be treated to one of Frau O’Brien’s picnics now that her son had returned.
“Fair enough,” Leo said. “Tonight, after you’ve filled your gullet. Then you’ll have no excuse. We’ll go to the field for some training exercises. Will you join us, Fritz?” Leo looked down the line of men on his side of the truck to his friend who hadn’t responded in any way.
Fritz rubbed his neck. “Not tonight. I am going to write to Emma.”
“You’ve written already this week, haven’t you?” Wolf asked quietly.
Fritz nodded. “But if my letters reach her, surely it is better to hear more from me than less.”
Wolf nodded. “You must write to her as often as you are able. Tell us when you hear something.”
Not if but when, Leo noted. Wolf might be feeding Fritz false hope. Something must have happened to Emma, or Fritz would have heard back by now. It made Leo glad he had no one to write to. At least no one who mattered. His parents must clearly understand that they would never hear from him again.
If they were alive.
A moment of chagrin nibbled at his conscience. Leo leaned back, his energy finally subdued.
After their evening meal at camp, Leo bought a package of cigarettes at the canteen with his scrip. He would be generous and share a few with Fritz. His comrade needed encouragement. But he’d make sure he had plenty with him tomorrow so that he could put his plan into action.
Thursday dawned warm and deliciously dry. The humidity had lifted, and a light breeze stirred the air. Conditions couldn’t have been riper for Leo to carry out his plans.
When they marched on to the commons for roll call, Corporal Taft divided them out. “Only four of you for the O’Briens’ place this morning. The rest are going to the canning factory to unload beans.”
Leo momentarily panicked as Taft divided him over to the side of the factory workers. He scrambled for an idea. “Schorr, you trade.” He quickly slid over into Richard’s place, and the big fellow shrugged. He wouldn’t argue since Leo held rank over him. Besides, the boys heading to the factory would probably be happy for a change.
He walked to the transport with Wolf, Fritz, and Rudy. He clapped Fritz on the back and offered him a cheerful smile. It was good that Fritz was there today. If anything went wrong, Leo could most likely depend on him. He’d decided he would put his action into play while they were all taking a respite to cast less suspicion. It would be easier with fewer men there to see him but also more difficult, as Taft would have fewer to guard.
When they stepped off the back of the truck, the first thing Leo noted was the vacant front porch of the house. He doubted they’d have to wait more than moments for the American soldier to step out onto the porch, gun in hand. Leo was surprised he wasn’t already seated and waiting for them. But the door didn’t open, and no one stirred about.
A clanking drew his attention to the tractor parked outside the shed. Fannie stood behind it at the hitch, where she and her younger brother were hooking up a big contraption with a wheel of wooden sickle bars that looked more windmill than tractor machinery. It was mounted above a piece of boxy equipment about a dozen feet long. As their crew drew closer, he could see that a canvas belt would feed cut stalks into the machine.
Wolf strode forward and ran his hand along one of the wooden bars. “This is what will cut your oats?”
Fannie’s head came up, and she brushed her hands together. “Yes. It’s called a binder. The belt will feed them into the machine here, and they’ll come out in bundles over here.” She spoke slowly so the Hauptmann could follow and pointed again. “Your men will stack them in shocks on the field to cure. Jerry will show you.”
Leo paid attention too, watching as she described the action and discerning as many of the English words as he could catch—likely more than either she or the Hauptmann realized he grasped. Like the disk, there was a seat and handles for operating the machine.
Jerry climbed on. “Come on.” He waved them to follow.
Now Leo understood why only four men were sent. This was probably a task the family might have been able to perform with only a couple of extra workers if the older brother Cal and sister Patsy were sent out to join them. He glanced back to the house, but the man had yet to put in an appearance.
It was another twenty minutes, when they were already well into the first round of cutting and stacking sheaves of grain, before Leo spied the family car heading down the drive away from the house. Calvin O’Brien stared at them from the front passenger window, then turned his face away.
A thrill raced through Leo. With luck, the rest of Fannie and Jerry’s family would remain away from home until he could put his plan into action.
With one eye on the driveway and one on the task at hand, the morning passed slowly. It felt like midday before they reached a time to break, but it wasn’t lunchtime yet. The other O’Briens had not returned.
The workers were near the far end of the field, close to the woods’ edge, and not too far from the corn when given leave to take a latrine break. Rudy led the way. Leo nonchalantly pulled his smokes from his pocket and stretched out an arm, giving the pack a shake to offer one to Fritz. Fritz accepted. Wolf walked past.
Leo took his time smoking, letting his captain and Rudy finish their business and head back to the field. Even Fritz started back, but Leo gave him a soft whistle. “Walk slowly. Here.”
Fritz didn’t question, just accepted another cigarette and turned away. Leo smiled with satisfaction at Fritz’s slow steps. Good ol’ Fritz. He didn’t need an explanation. He just followed Leo’s orders. His head was probably so lost in worry about his girl that he didn’t give Leo’s remark a second thought.
Leo moved along the edge of the trees toward the stand of corn only a few yards off, then hustled up the row. He’d bent a stalk over at the end of the row where he’d put the can of gasoline so that he could find the place quickly, drop his smoke, and be on his way before the fire plumed.
He only had to go about ten yards in to find the can drained empty and a patch of stained ground around it. Those cornstalks had already yellowed two-thirds up the stalk, poisoned by the gas. They would catch fairly quickly, if he didn’t miss his guess. He took care not to rub against those that were contaminated with fuel while he took his half-smoked cigarette and nestled the butt into the dry patch of weeds. They immediately burst into a small flame. He dared not wait around to see if they caught further.
“Come on, now. Burn.”
He rubbed his hands in clean soil and wiped them on his pants as he hurried back to the tree line and the lane that led back to the oat field. Up ahead he could see that Fritz had reached the others. Leo took long strides, eating up the distance between them. A quick look over his shoulder told him nothing looked changed so far. There was not even a hint of smoke lifting above the corn.
He was torn between dismay that his plan might have failed and relief that he’d gotten back before a flame leapt into the sky.
He retrieved his canteen and dropped casually onto the ground, then unscrewed the cap for a long swig of tepid water. The day had warmed. Despite the drop in humidity, it was going to be another hot one. He gazed toward the oats they’d already shocked. If not for the fact that he was at war and this was his enemy’s field, he could have appreciated the pretty sight of the golden oats with their fat heads. He’d even nibbled a few while he worked.
The hammering of his heart began to slow as he rested, and the feeling ebbed away that his plan was going to succeed. He’d nearly given it up when Rudy said, “What’s that?”
He rose up slowly, like the others, and the throbbing in his chest started up again. “It looks like smoke,” Jerry said.
Now. Now is the time. “Brand! Fire!” he shouted. “Quickly! Feuerwehr!” To be the one urging a fire brigade would look well for him. He hid a smile as he jumped into the lane and waved them to come along with him to fetch water. Others shouted and started running, but the most satisfactory sound was Fannie’s cry and the rush of Jerry’s feet pounding the earth to pass him. The boy would show promise on a soccer field.
Leo sped up. He would arrive at the pump first and fumble with the pails. He reached it steps ahead of the others and clattered the handle, but Jerry and Fannie had disappeared. Wolf was not there either.
Rudy and Fritz arrived a moment later and reached for the other two pails waiting there.
Two pails. Leo had to laugh inside. Yet where were Fannie and the others? Why hadn’t they followed?
“Take them,” Leo ordered. “I will search for more pails.”
He headed toward the truck first. That’s where they’d kept some water buckets before. But he slowed his steps as the other men rushed off. No sense being in too much of a hurry.
He looked back toward the corn where a dark plume billowed into the blue sky. The gas would be all burned up, leaving no trace. If they found the empty can later, negligence could still be blamed on the O’Briens.
He finally saw Fannie burst from the cornfield, run to the end of the field, and dip back in again. She and Wolf emerged a moment later carrying a long tube. The irrigation tubes! Of course! How long had it been since he’d last stepped over a pipe in the bean field? He’d not been deep enough into the patch yesterday to step over them.
He cursed under his breath. The fire would eat up a swath of corn, but it would never do the damage he’d hoped for once it touched the water’s reach. Angrily, he glanced at Rudy and Fritz, bustling away with full water pails. He must do more.
He thought of the gun he’d stolen from under the truck seat and hidden. Had the O’Briens even realized it was gone? He didn’t think so. He’d hidden the gun inside his pants and then stuffed it into a bush behind the outhouse. Perhaps he should take it with him now. He would take the gun back to camp and kill as many American soldiers as he could, beginning with their guards.
No. His thoughts were becoming erratic. Too nervous. Leo rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth as his gaze flitted between the buildings. Far away in the corn he could hear an occasional shout still. He must stick to the plan and bring the gun out only when necessary. If the fire was not successful, then he would perhaps use the pistol to kill the soldier brother or to shoot the O’Briens’ livestock and escape. Fritz might come along.
Once again, he considered the place in which he’d frantically hidden the pistol. It was not a good hiding place. If the O’Briens searched, they would look where the prisoners had easy access. His gaze darted about at the house and barn and then to the unused silo and windmill, even as he moved to the barn shed in search of more pails. It wouldn’t do to return to the field without trying. He nearly tripped on a loose cobblestone in Frau O’Brien’s pathway just outside the barn.
A sneer lifted one side of his mouth as the answer made itself clear beneath his feet. Yes, he would put the gun beneath this rock. It would be easy to retrieve but difficult for anyone else to find. Within minutes he’d retrieved the gun, nestled it into the earth, and tucked it safely beneath the stone.
With another sharp glance toward the smoking field where he saw not a soul, he rose and brushed his hands together. Then he walked boldly into the barn where he found a spigot and two shiny new pails, which he filled promptly and hefted toward the now smoldering cornfield.
CHAPTER 17
Fannie tore through the cornstalks, heedless of the leafy blades whipping her arms, now and then cutting her skin. Jerry along with Taft, and she with Wolf, grabbed the pipes and moved them closer to the fire’s torch. So far, only a patch the size of their front yard looked ruined, and they could save the major portion if they could get the irrigation moved closer. Wolf’s hands and feet worked with as much haste as her own. For the briefest moment, she glimpsed concern on his face that looked genuine. Was it?
How had the fire started? She could think of no way other than by human touch. The weather was too perfect, the crop too green, and the earth too rich. Other than the lack of any recent rains, there was no reason a fire would just erupt. Each of them had to be thinking—or knowing—the same thing. But who? When? The only reasonable cause was the men being allowed to smoke on their breaks. But was it by carelessness or intention? And if by intention, then how had it been managed? The entire crew had appeared shocked at the sight of the smoke. Just as shocked and concerned as Wolf did now.
She lugged her end of the heavy pipe with Wolf holding the other. On their break, he’d gone to the woods with the others. He was the first to return. Did that make him guilty? Who was last? She scrambled to recall. Fritz. No, Leo. Leo was last. But he was the first to shout fire and the first to rush to help.
It simply must have been an accident.
Her legs and shoulders burned from carrying the heavy pipe on the run. Except for Wolf, the prisoners had hurried off for pails of water, probably not realizing she and Jerry had moved the irrigation system into the corn last week. At least they’d been able to slow the fire’s spread with a small gully of water while the rest of them moved the pipes closer.
Jerry was adjusting the tubes that would siphon the water up from the creek. Before long, water and mud soaked her feet as it trickled down between the rows. With the cooling effect, she let out a long pant of relief.
Wolf moved up to stand beside her. His men had begun refilling their pails in the creek a short way off, and they were adding to the irrigation by tossing their water directly onto the flames. She didn’t see Leo among them, but when she looked back down the lane, she could see him hurrying toward them with two more pails he must have found somewhere. Right now, she didn’t care where he’d gone in search of them, only that he’d made himself useful. When he reached them, Wolf took one of the pails and they hurried toward the blaze together.
In only another ten minutes, the fire fizzled out.
The workers, Taft, and Jerry all emerged into the lane with her. Her legs shook, and suddenly she couldn’t deny the sob tightening her throat, making her long to gasp, so she turned away and trudged toward home. Jerry would know what to do. Taft would probably send them all back to work, or maybe he’d bring them up to the house for a well-deserved rest and something to eat. Yes, an early lunch maybe.
Her body quaked, and tears oozed out of her eyes. When she was far enough away to not be heard, the sobs left her, and her shoulders shook. Her anguish lasted only a few minutes, however; then she was angry. She sucked in air and rubbed her eyes. Why hadn’t Cal been out there to help? With him, Mom, and Patsy, they could’ve cut the oats without any of the workers. They wouldn’t need their help now if they all put their best effort into it. But Cal showed no compunction to see it her way, and lately he refused to even listen to her when she tried talking to him about it. He would literally turn a deaf ear to her when she stood in front of him, pleading and writing notes.
She sniffled and wiped her nose on her arm, then brushed her arm across her shirt. She was already covered with mud and smoke, so one more streak of filth didn’t matter.
She tamed her thoughts. Even if Cal agreed to help, he wasn’t here now, and for good reason. He had to see a doctor today, and Mom drove him so that she and Patsy could go to the grocery store. He would not have been able to help them even if he’d wanted to. At least they had saved the corn, and the fire had had no chance to damage the other crops.
Cal would be furious about the workers, for it was clearly a human act that had started the blaze, even if unintentionally. Later when they left, she and Jerry could have another look.
Fannie trudged into the house and to the bathroom where she looked into the mirror with disgust. Turning on the spigot, she scrubbed her face, hands, and arms. She’d lost her scarf somewhere, so after brushing out smoky mats and snarls and knotting up her hair, she went upstairs for another. All this busywork gave her time to clear her thoughts. Once she clomped downstairs again, she’d decided that the men needed something for her thanks in helping to put out the fire.
Mom was planning leftover pork for their supper, but she went into the kitchen and pulled it from the icebox for sandwiches. She’d seen the thin offerings they’d brought with them yesterday. Hardly enough to keep her little sister satisfied much less grown working men. She cut up all the bread they had along with the sliced pork and piled it on. She brought the offering outdoors where she found them waiting in the yard, taking turns at the pump for fresh draughts of water to quench their smoke-parched throats.
“What is that I see? A smile on your face?” Otto nudged Leo’s foot with his boot.
“I am resting contentedly.”
“Dreaming of winning another game on Sunday?”
Leo smirked. “I don’t have to dream about that. It’s already decided.”
Otto chuckled. Leo’s fast footwork on the soccer field had become legendary around camp and, according to rumors, in the nearby communities as well. “I am getting better. You’re lucky we almost always play on the same team.”
He opened his eyes. “Maybe next time we can switch the teams up. I could use a challenge. Time for some new lessons for you perhaps.” He winked.
“I am ready to throw down the gauntlet.”
Richard grunted. “How can you talk of running on the field at the end of a day like this? I can only think of taking a nap.”
“And of eating supper,” Rudy added.
Leo jerked his chin at them. “What’s the matter with you? I’m older than all of you except the captain. You don’t see me complaining of stiff joints and weary muscles. You’ve all grown soft and weak.” He glanced at Wolf, who grinned in complicity but didn’t add to the discussion.
Rudy scowled, his defenses ruffling. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t be up to a game. Just feed me with something more than those skinny sandwiches we had today.”
There was a murmur of agreement. They wouldn’t likely be treated to one of Frau O’Brien’s picnics now that her son had returned.
“Fair enough,” Leo said. “Tonight, after you’ve filled your gullet. Then you’ll have no excuse. We’ll go to the field for some training exercises. Will you join us, Fritz?” Leo looked down the line of men on his side of the truck to his friend who hadn’t responded in any way.
Fritz rubbed his neck. “Not tonight. I am going to write to Emma.”
“You’ve written already this week, haven’t you?” Wolf asked quietly.
Fritz nodded. “But if my letters reach her, surely it is better to hear more from me than less.”
Wolf nodded. “You must write to her as often as you are able. Tell us when you hear something.”
Not if but when, Leo noted. Wolf might be feeding Fritz false hope. Something must have happened to Emma, or Fritz would have heard back by now. It made Leo glad he had no one to write to. At least no one who mattered. His parents must clearly understand that they would never hear from him again.
If they were alive.
A moment of chagrin nibbled at his conscience. Leo leaned back, his energy finally subdued.
After their evening meal at camp, Leo bought a package of cigarettes at the canteen with his scrip. He would be generous and share a few with Fritz. His comrade needed encouragement. But he’d make sure he had plenty with him tomorrow so that he could put his plan into action.
Thursday dawned warm and deliciously dry. The humidity had lifted, and a light breeze stirred the air. Conditions couldn’t have been riper for Leo to carry out his plans.
When they marched on to the commons for roll call, Corporal Taft divided them out. “Only four of you for the O’Briens’ place this morning. The rest are going to the canning factory to unload beans.”
Leo momentarily panicked as Taft divided him over to the side of the factory workers. He scrambled for an idea. “Schorr, you trade.” He quickly slid over into Richard’s place, and the big fellow shrugged. He wouldn’t argue since Leo held rank over him. Besides, the boys heading to the factory would probably be happy for a change.
He walked to the transport with Wolf, Fritz, and Rudy. He clapped Fritz on the back and offered him a cheerful smile. It was good that Fritz was there today. If anything went wrong, Leo could most likely depend on him. He’d decided he would put his action into play while they were all taking a respite to cast less suspicion. It would be easier with fewer men there to see him but also more difficult, as Taft would have fewer to guard.
When they stepped off the back of the truck, the first thing Leo noted was the vacant front porch of the house. He doubted they’d have to wait more than moments for the American soldier to step out onto the porch, gun in hand. Leo was surprised he wasn’t already seated and waiting for them. But the door didn’t open, and no one stirred about.
A clanking drew his attention to the tractor parked outside the shed. Fannie stood behind it at the hitch, where she and her younger brother were hooking up a big contraption with a wheel of wooden sickle bars that looked more windmill than tractor machinery. It was mounted above a piece of boxy equipment about a dozen feet long. As their crew drew closer, he could see that a canvas belt would feed cut stalks into the machine.
Wolf strode forward and ran his hand along one of the wooden bars. “This is what will cut your oats?”
Fannie’s head came up, and she brushed her hands together. “Yes. It’s called a binder. The belt will feed them into the machine here, and they’ll come out in bundles over here.” She spoke slowly so the Hauptmann could follow and pointed again. “Your men will stack them in shocks on the field to cure. Jerry will show you.”
Leo paid attention too, watching as she described the action and discerning as many of the English words as he could catch—likely more than either she or the Hauptmann realized he grasped. Like the disk, there was a seat and handles for operating the machine.
Jerry climbed on. “Come on.” He waved them to follow.
Now Leo understood why only four men were sent. This was probably a task the family might have been able to perform with only a couple of extra workers if the older brother Cal and sister Patsy were sent out to join them. He glanced back to the house, but the man had yet to put in an appearance.
It was another twenty minutes, when they were already well into the first round of cutting and stacking sheaves of grain, before Leo spied the family car heading down the drive away from the house. Calvin O’Brien stared at them from the front passenger window, then turned his face away.
A thrill raced through Leo. With luck, the rest of Fannie and Jerry’s family would remain away from home until he could put his plan into action.
With one eye on the driveway and one on the task at hand, the morning passed slowly. It felt like midday before they reached a time to break, but it wasn’t lunchtime yet. The other O’Briens had not returned.
The workers were near the far end of the field, close to the woods’ edge, and not too far from the corn when given leave to take a latrine break. Rudy led the way. Leo nonchalantly pulled his smokes from his pocket and stretched out an arm, giving the pack a shake to offer one to Fritz. Fritz accepted. Wolf walked past.
Leo took his time smoking, letting his captain and Rudy finish their business and head back to the field. Even Fritz started back, but Leo gave him a soft whistle. “Walk slowly. Here.”
Fritz didn’t question, just accepted another cigarette and turned away. Leo smiled with satisfaction at Fritz’s slow steps. Good ol’ Fritz. He didn’t need an explanation. He just followed Leo’s orders. His head was probably so lost in worry about his girl that he didn’t give Leo’s remark a second thought.
Leo moved along the edge of the trees toward the stand of corn only a few yards off, then hustled up the row. He’d bent a stalk over at the end of the row where he’d put the can of gasoline so that he could find the place quickly, drop his smoke, and be on his way before the fire plumed.
He only had to go about ten yards in to find the can drained empty and a patch of stained ground around it. Those cornstalks had already yellowed two-thirds up the stalk, poisoned by the gas. They would catch fairly quickly, if he didn’t miss his guess. He took care not to rub against those that were contaminated with fuel while he took his half-smoked cigarette and nestled the butt into the dry patch of weeds. They immediately burst into a small flame. He dared not wait around to see if they caught further.
“Come on, now. Burn.”
He rubbed his hands in clean soil and wiped them on his pants as he hurried back to the tree line and the lane that led back to the oat field. Up ahead he could see that Fritz had reached the others. Leo took long strides, eating up the distance between them. A quick look over his shoulder told him nothing looked changed so far. There was not even a hint of smoke lifting above the corn.
He was torn between dismay that his plan might have failed and relief that he’d gotten back before a flame leapt into the sky.
He retrieved his canteen and dropped casually onto the ground, then unscrewed the cap for a long swig of tepid water. The day had warmed. Despite the drop in humidity, it was going to be another hot one. He gazed toward the oats they’d already shocked. If not for the fact that he was at war and this was his enemy’s field, he could have appreciated the pretty sight of the golden oats with their fat heads. He’d even nibbled a few while he worked.
The hammering of his heart began to slow as he rested, and the feeling ebbed away that his plan was going to succeed. He’d nearly given it up when Rudy said, “What’s that?”
He rose up slowly, like the others, and the throbbing in his chest started up again. “It looks like smoke,” Jerry said.
Now. Now is the time. “Brand! Fire!” he shouted. “Quickly! Feuerwehr!” To be the one urging a fire brigade would look well for him. He hid a smile as he jumped into the lane and waved them to come along with him to fetch water. Others shouted and started running, but the most satisfactory sound was Fannie’s cry and the rush of Jerry’s feet pounding the earth to pass him. The boy would show promise on a soccer field.
Leo sped up. He would arrive at the pump first and fumble with the pails. He reached it steps ahead of the others and clattered the handle, but Jerry and Fannie had disappeared. Wolf was not there either.
Rudy and Fritz arrived a moment later and reached for the other two pails waiting there.
Two pails. Leo had to laugh inside. Yet where were Fannie and the others? Why hadn’t they followed?
“Take them,” Leo ordered. “I will search for more pails.”
He headed toward the truck first. That’s where they’d kept some water buckets before. But he slowed his steps as the other men rushed off. No sense being in too much of a hurry.
He looked back toward the corn where a dark plume billowed into the blue sky. The gas would be all burned up, leaving no trace. If they found the empty can later, negligence could still be blamed on the O’Briens.
He finally saw Fannie burst from the cornfield, run to the end of the field, and dip back in again. She and Wolf emerged a moment later carrying a long tube. The irrigation tubes! Of course! How long had it been since he’d last stepped over a pipe in the bean field? He’d not been deep enough into the patch yesterday to step over them.
He cursed under his breath. The fire would eat up a swath of corn, but it would never do the damage he’d hoped for once it touched the water’s reach. Angrily, he glanced at Rudy and Fritz, bustling away with full water pails. He must do more.
He thought of the gun he’d stolen from under the truck seat and hidden. Had the O’Briens even realized it was gone? He didn’t think so. He’d hidden the gun inside his pants and then stuffed it into a bush behind the outhouse. Perhaps he should take it with him now. He would take the gun back to camp and kill as many American soldiers as he could, beginning with their guards.
No. His thoughts were becoming erratic. Too nervous. Leo rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth as his gaze flitted between the buildings. Far away in the corn he could hear an occasional shout still. He must stick to the plan and bring the gun out only when necessary. If the fire was not successful, then he would perhaps use the pistol to kill the soldier brother or to shoot the O’Briens’ livestock and escape. Fritz might come along.
Once again, he considered the place in which he’d frantically hidden the pistol. It was not a good hiding place. If the O’Briens searched, they would look where the prisoners had easy access. His gaze darted about at the house and barn and then to the unused silo and windmill, even as he moved to the barn shed in search of more pails. It wouldn’t do to return to the field without trying. He nearly tripped on a loose cobblestone in Frau O’Brien’s pathway just outside the barn.
A sneer lifted one side of his mouth as the answer made itself clear beneath his feet. Yes, he would put the gun beneath this rock. It would be easy to retrieve but difficult for anyone else to find. Within minutes he’d retrieved the gun, nestled it into the earth, and tucked it safely beneath the stone.
With another sharp glance toward the smoking field where he saw not a soul, he rose and brushed his hands together. Then he walked boldly into the barn where he found a spigot and two shiny new pails, which he filled promptly and hefted toward the now smoldering cornfield.
CHAPTER 17
Fannie tore through the cornstalks, heedless of the leafy blades whipping her arms, now and then cutting her skin. Jerry along with Taft, and she with Wolf, grabbed the pipes and moved them closer to the fire’s torch. So far, only a patch the size of their front yard looked ruined, and they could save the major portion if they could get the irrigation moved closer. Wolf’s hands and feet worked with as much haste as her own. For the briefest moment, she glimpsed concern on his face that looked genuine. Was it?
How had the fire started? She could think of no way other than by human touch. The weather was too perfect, the crop too green, and the earth too rich. Other than the lack of any recent rains, there was no reason a fire would just erupt. Each of them had to be thinking—or knowing—the same thing. But who? When? The only reasonable cause was the men being allowed to smoke on their breaks. But was it by carelessness or intention? And if by intention, then how had it been managed? The entire crew had appeared shocked at the sight of the smoke. Just as shocked and concerned as Wolf did now.
She lugged her end of the heavy pipe with Wolf holding the other. On their break, he’d gone to the woods with the others. He was the first to return. Did that make him guilty? Who was last? She scrambled to recall. Fritz. No, Leo. Leo was last. But he was the first to shout fire and the first to rush to help.
It simply must have been an accident.
Her legs and shoulders burned from carrying the heavy pipe on the run. Except for Wolf, the prisoners had hurried off for pails of water, probably not realizing she and Jerry had moved the irrigation system into the corn last week. At least they’d been able to slow the fire’s spread with a small gully of water while the rest of them moved the pipes closer.
Jerry was adjusting the tubes that would siphon the water up from the creek. Before long, water and mud soaked her feet as it trickled down between the rows. With the cooling effect, she let out a long pant of relief.
Wolf moved up to stand beside her. His men had begun refilling their pails in the creek a short way off, and they were adding to the irrigation by tossing their water directly onto the flames. She didn’t see Leo among them, but when she looked back down the lane, she could see him hurrying toward them with two more pails he must have found somewhere. Right now, she didn’t care where he’d gone in search of them, only that he’d made himself useful. When he reached them, Wolf took one of the pails and they hurried toward the blaze together.
In only another ten minutes, the fire fizzled out.
The workers, Taft, and Jerry all emerged into the lane with her. Her legs shook, and suddenly she couldn’t deny the sob tightening her throat, making her long to gasp, so she turned away and trudged toward home. Jerry would know what to do. Taft would probably send them all back to work, or maybe he’d bring them up to the house for a well-deserved rest and something to eat. Yes, an early lunch maybe.
Her body quaked, and tears oozed out of her eyes. When she was far enough away to not be heard, the sobs left her, and her shoulders shook. Her anguish lasted only a few minutes, however; then she was angry. She sucked in air and rubbed her eyes. Why hadn’t Cal been out there to help? With him, Mom, and Patsy, they could’ve cut the oats without any of the workers. They wouldn’t need their help now if they all put their best effort into it. But Cal showed no compunction to see it her way, and lately he refused to even listen to her when she tried talking to him about it. He would literally turn a deaf ear to her when she stood in front of him, pleading and writing notes.
She sniffled and wiped her nose on her arm, then brushed her arm across her shirt. She was already covered with mud and smoke, so one more streak of filth didn’t matter.
She tamed her thoughts. Even if Cal agreed to help, he wasn’t here now, and for good reason. He had to see a doctor today, and Mom drove him so that she and Patsy could go to the grocery store. He would not have been able to help them even if he’d wanted to. At least they had saved the corn, and the fire had had no chance to damage the other crops.
Cal would be furious about the workers, for it was clearly a human act that had started the blaze, even if unintentionally. Later when they left, she and Jerry could have another look.
Fannie trudged into the house and to the bathroom where she looked into the mirror with disgust. Turning on the spigot, she scrubbed her face, hands, and arms. She’d lost her scarf somewhere, so after brushing out smoky mats and snarls and knotting up her hair, she went upstairs for another. All this busywork gave her time to clear her thoughts. Once she clomped downstairs again, she’d decided that the men needed something for her thanks in helping to put out the fire.
Mom was planning leftover pork for their supper, but she went into the kitchen and pulled it from the icebox for sandwiches. She’d seen the thin offerings they’d brought with them yesterday. Hardly enough to keep her little sister satisfied much less grown working men. She cut up all the bread they had along with the sliced pork and piled it on. She brought the offering outdoors where she found them waiting in the yard, taking turns at the pump for fresh draughts of water to quench their smoke-parched throats.
