Season of My Enemy, page 18
She held out the plate. “Thank you for helping us put out the fire.” She didn’t plan to say more than that. They’d understand.
The men accepted her offering with nods of thanks, then Wolf approached. “I am very sorry, Fannie,” he said, his voice as regretful as if she’d lost her brother.
Her chest tightened. Fannie. Whether it was because of the gentle and natural way he’d spoken her given name or the fact that in the next instant she thought of Dale, tears threatened again. She cleared her throat, fighting them back. “Thank you.”
She turned and handed the last sandwich to Corporal Taft. “Thank you for your quick help too, Corporal.”
“Excuse?” Leo came forward. He’d already downed his sandwich. He glanced guilty eyes at both her and the corporal. He made a bit of a speech in German, looking mostly at Taft, but now and then at her. She caught the word fire, and he patted his pocket where a half-empty package of cigarettes poked out. It didn’t take much to figure what he was getting at.
Corporal Taft was upset. His rebuke shot out in German along with a wave of his hand. He turned to her. “He’s afraid the fire was his fault. He smoked a cigarette somewhere over there when he used the toilet.” His words were curt and angry, and Fannie wondered if he even blamed himself. “I’ll look into it further.”
“There’s no need, Corporal.” She checked her anger. “He’s apologized. It was an accident.” She forced out the word. Was it? Get hold of yourself, Fannie. Of course it was. She stiffened her back. “In the future, we won’t allow smoking here. They can smoke when they’re back at camp.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
In this she had to agree with Cal. They’d been far too lenient with the prisoners. They were much too free here. Even the good ones.
The thought surprised her, assailing her with one of Wolf’s smiles as he neared them. She needed to stop presuming he was a good one too.
“We are ready to go back to work if you wish.” His blue eyes regarded her with that unnerving concern she’d seen earlier, and she only nodded, striding past him toward the oat field where the tractor stood waiting.
Another rush of relief washed over her. Thank God the fire hadn’t gone farther. They might have lost everything. Their crops. The tractor. Perhaps even their home. She swallowed against the dangerous, frightening thought.
Mom and Cal came home an hour later. They hadn’t seen any of the damage and couldn’t without coming out to the field. Mom only wondered where her leftover pork went, and Fannie acknowledged that she fed it to the men without saying why except that they’d worked hard. Cal spent the afternoon in his usual chair on the front porch, a bottle of beer beside him—another habit he’d brought home that fueled his dark moods.
When the oats were cut and standing in neat tepees and the men had gone for the day, Fannie and Jerry headed for the field with a singleness of mind.
Jerry strode close beside her. “Are you going to tell Cal?”
“Eventually. I’ll tell Mom. Maybe she can tell him. Not that he’ll care.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I don’t know if he gives two ounces for the farm anymore.”
“He cares, Fan.”
They turned the corner of the lane by the trees and moved along the edge of the scorched and ruined corn. She stopped and faced him, now far enough out of sight of the house. “You think so? I think Cal only cares about his hatred of the Germans. He just wants to sit there all day nurturing it.”
“Because this is his home though, right?”
She shrugged. “I suppose. Come on. Let’s see how it looks in there.”
The muddy field sucked at her shoes. Jerry had disconnected the siphon earlier, but the corn had taken a good drenching to make sure the fire couldn’t start again. It had needed watering at any rate.
They hadn’t gone in far when a reddish-black lump caught her eye and she paused. It looked like … She slogged over to the can with most of the paint burned off it. Jerry followed her and pulled up short to see what she saw.
“Did you leave it out here?”
He shook his head. “Not that I remember.”
“Neither did I.”
“Are you sure?”
Was she? Had she left it behind weeks ago when they’d needed to fuel up? “Pretty sure.”
“Pretty sure?” She looked up to see his brow arched at her. “Since when do you bring a can into the field? We always fuel up in the lane or at the shed. Dad’s rules, remember?”
She nodded. Even so, she said, “I don’t know, Jer.”
“Now what’ll you tell Mom?”
“We can’t let Calvin know. He’ll go off his head with hate. He’ll shoot somebody. Remember what he said when he first found out about the workers? ‘If even one of them steps out of line …’ I’m afraid he’ll make good on his threats.”
“We can’t have someone out here sabotaging the farm.”
“I know.”
“Who do you think did it?”
She picked up the scorched can and gave it a shake. It was completely empty. What would have happened if it had been full? Would it have blown sky high? Had there been gasoline inside? Was that what made the fire spread? She shrugged. “I have no idea. Could have been any of them. Maybe they’re all involved.”
Jerry shoved his hands in his pockets. “They were all fast to help out today. Maybe it was one of the other PWs who put it out here. One of the ones not here today.”
Fannie shook her head. “Sounds too coincidental. You’re suggesting that someone in the crew who didn’t even come today slipped the gas into the field, then Leo dropped his cigarette that not only caught fire on the weeds but also just happened to land near this gas can that might or might not have spilled a good seventy yards from the woods where they do their business.”
“Something like that.”
“Seems a stretch.”
“Not if they planned it that way.” Jerry shrugged. “Maybe someone intended to use the gas to make a bomb or something.”
Fannie felt her blood drain at that idea.
“Or maybe it was that Fritz fellow who put the can in the field today,” Jerry went on. “He’s been pretty owlish lately.”
“We would have seen him. Besides, we didn’t even bring gas out of the shed today.”
They stared at the scorched container in silence. Was it the work of a single saboteur, or could several be involved? Could the whole crew be planning to burn down their farm—or worse? The questions raced through Fannie’s brain without answers.
Jerry reached for the can. “I’ll carry that for you. I can take it out to the dump so Cal doesn’t see it.”
“I’ll have to tell Mom.” She relinquished the can. “She needs to know.”
“You think it’ll be the straw that sends them packing?”
“I don’t know. She’s very insistent that we can’t do the work alone. But maybe she’ll tell Cal that she’s been worried about them, like he is, and that if Cal will put his boots on and help, she can send them away.”
“Sounds like a good way to look at it to me.”
They started toward home. The idea grew on Fannie. “Don’t say anything about the fire tonight. Let’s wait until tomorrow. We’ll talk to Mom then.”
“We smell.”
He was right. They did smell. “You’d better clean off outside. I’ll slip in the back and get upstairs without walking through the kitchen.”
“Don’t let Patsy catch you. She’s got a nose like bird dog.”
Fannie smiled for the first time that day. “I won’t.”
CHAPTER 18
The following morning, Fannie followed Mom out to the chicken run. Mom had set Patsy to straining the fresh milk and had gone herself to feed the chickens. Fannie stepped on a cobblestone she knew to be loose, at the same moment noticing that it didn’t wobble. Mom must’ve finally fixed that.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Fannie, what are you doing out here? Don’t you need to go to work today?”
“I’m just about ready to go. Mrs. Calloway won’t mind my being a few minutes late. I wanted to grab a word with you.” She stood on the outside of the fence, awaiting her mother’s full attention. It wasn’t long in coming.
“What is it? You look troubled.”
“Do I?” Fannie touched a hand to her cheek. “I … I’m not troubled exactly.”
A slight furrow dipped Mom’s brow. She pushed open the wire door of the pen and stepped out, her apron drawn up to hold five eggs. Fannie stood near to not be overheard. She wasn’t sure where Cal was off to this morning or if he was still in bed. “Something happened yesterday.”
“What kind of something?”
“There was an accident.”
“No one was hurt?” Mom didn’t sound urgent. She saw herself that everyone was working and no one appeared injured.
“Nothing like that. There was a—a small fire.”
“A fire!”
“Shh.” Fannie glanced quickly toward the house. “I don’t want Cal to hear. It’ll make him mad.”
Mom looked at her with a twist in her lips, as though she were a peculiar girl, and then Fannie realized what she’d said. “I forgot.”
“What do you mean, a fire?” Mom bunched her apron tighter.
“The corn caught fire on the south end. It didn’t burn much,” Fannie hastened to add. “But there was some damage.”
Mom gasped. “I don’t understand how—”
“We think a cigarette.” Fannie’s voice dropped to a whisper regardless that Cal wouldn’t hear her. “It looks like it was an accident, but maybe not.” Should she tell her about the gas can?
“A cigarette? Burning green corn and dirt?”
“It might have had some help.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone left a gas can in the field. I don’t know if had any gas in it. It seemed to have been an empty can to begin with.” She’d taken mental note of the loose cap, and her doubts that the can had been empty spurred on, but Mom didn’t need to know that. “If there was any fuel involved, that might have contributed to the fire getting a start.”
“Who on earth left a gas can in the field? Did Jerry—”
Fannie shook her head. “I don’t think so. He knows the rules. I didn’t either, that I recall. Still, someone put it out there.”
“We don’t know for sure.” Her mother seemed as though she was about to defend the PWs but really couldn’t. There was no proof one way or another. Fannie had puzzled all night long about how one of them could have managed it, but she couldn’t see how. And yet …
“We keep a pretty tight accounting of the fuel.” They all did. Her mom didn’t really need reminding that they were rationed an amount for farm vehicles each week on their “R” card. They had to use it wisely. Why, just the loss of a can of fuel alone was a problem. Mom had to see that there was more to it than simple carelessness. “I’ll take the blame though,” Fannie said. “You can tell Cal it was my fault.”
Mom turned toward the house, but she didn’t hurry. “I know it wasn’t your fault, Fannie, but I do see your point.” She sighed. “No telling what Cal would do. He might march out there to the workers and—”
Fannie was glad she didn’t finish her thought. She had her own worries about what Cal would do. She’d never known her brother to be so angry … so volatile. “What about the workers? What should we do?”
Mom shrugged a shoulder, while one hand supported the weight of the eggs in her apron. “I don’t know. We need them here.”
“Do you suppose we could suggest to Cal that his help might prevent us from needing so many of the workers? Would he see reason?”
“He might.” She raised her eyes to Fannie. “But how do we know which workers are safe to keep around? If any of them do mean us harm, how will we know which ones? Maybe they’d all like to see the farm burn down.”
Would they? Somehow, Fannie didn’t believe that. She didn’t want to think that someone like soft-spoken and intelligent Hermann or big but gracious Richard had nefarious motives. Surely not young Rudy. He couldn’t mean any harm. And Wolf. Wolf had worked shoulder to shoulder with her to fight the blaze. He seemed to want to befriend her. If she was completely honest, she wanted to befriend him.
No, Fannie. She shook such thoughts away. She had to think clearly. Their whole family might be in danger. He was a captain trained in warfare. He’d been prepared for what to do in case of capture. Was she really no better than those simple-minded girls who flirted at the camp fence? Was it that she just did not want to see the truth right in front of her? And if not Wolf or Hermann or the others, then who? Leo Friedrickson came to mind. So did Otto and Fritz. And maybe Wolf directed them all how to act.
She put an arm around her mom in a gentle side hug so as not to upset the eggs. “It’ll be all right, I’m sure. Corporal Taft was there and helped put out the fire. He’s sure to keep an especially close eye open now.”
“Yes, I’m sure he will. We won’t borrow trouble.” They reached the back step, and Mom paused with one foot on the stoop. “You just enjoy your day at the library. Maybe you can bring me home a magazine to look at. I could use something else to think about.”
“Sure, Mom.” She turned and, with a glance at Mom’s cobblestones of confidence path, felt a moment’s encouragement. “Before we know it, the season will end. We’re going to get through it. Then we’ll have another stone to lay, right, Mom?”
Mom’s chin rose. “We sure will.”
Fannie turned to leave. “I’m taking the truck today instead of the car. I’ll need to refill a couple of cans. I think we can start digging potatoes next week.”
“I’ll tell Jerry to sharpen the shovels. Maybe Cal can help.” Fannie wouldn’t hold her breath.
She had already carried the empty cans to the truck before getting into her good clothes for work. She brushed off the truck seat, hoping she wouldn’t soil her skirt. She never liked having to drive the truck to the library. It usually smelled of grease, dirt, and sweat. Dust hung over the console and smudged the windows. She would park a block away at least.
She was almost to Rice Lake when she remembered the gun beneath the seat. It wasn’t so unusual for anyone to keep a shotgun or other weapon in their vehicle, but she hadn’t thought about it in a while. She would make sure it was tucked under the seat safely out of sight while she did her job. At least she hadn’t needed it. Nevertheless, if there really was a saboteur among the PWs, would she need it in the future?
Traffic was nil downtown. Fannie drove up the main street, eyeing shop windows and noting what was playing at both the Majestic and the El Lago. Since You Went Away had Claudette Colbert, Jennifer Jones, Joseph Cotten, and Shirley Temple in a coming-of-age role. The Seventh Cross starred Spencer Tracy. War films. Probably very enthralling with such stars, but Fannie couldn’t bring herself to be interested in anything more to do with peril and subterfuge. The Adventures of Mark Twain. Ah. There was one that sounded relaxing. Maybe she’d take Patsy. Jerry too, if he wanted to tag along with his sisters. They deserved a break. Something nice to celebrate all their accomplishments so far this season. Something to make them forget that so much more lay ahead and that Dale and all the other soldiers depended on them to do their part.
A service station was just ahead. She had a little time to spare. Should she fuel up the gas cans now or after work? Hm … After would be best. She trusted the folks around town, but with fuel in such short supply due to the need for rubber, she really shouldn’t risk full cans of gasoline sitting in the back of the truck all day. She’d just pull in when her shift was over.
She sped on toward the library and soon arrived. She pulled to the curb a block away. As always, the feeling of calm descended over her. Here she was able to be the person she was meant to be, with thoughts of the farm tucked back into the recesses of her mind.
Yet not completely. Fannie killed the engine, but before climbing out of the truck, she bent and reached beneath the seat to assure herself that the pistol was still safely tucked away and wasn’t about to slide out in broad daylight on the floorboards. Her fingers found dirt and grit aplenty, and even a few dry and crunchy bean leaves, but no gun. It must’ve slid farther back, or else Jerry had purposely stowed it out of reach.
She opened the door and stepped out of the truck, then tucked her skirt behind her legs while she bent to search again. Her chest tightened as she peered beneath the seat and ran her hand under, prodding the area beneath the springs.
Nothing.
Blood rushed to her temples. The gun had to be there. She glanced up and down the street before hurrying around to the other side of the truck. Cranking open the door, she bent so that her eyes were level with the floorboards. She shoved an arm under the seat as far as she could cram it and wiggled her fingers about, desperate for the feel of hard steel, to no avail.
She leaned out with a gasp. There was nothing more to it. The gun wasn’t there. She glanced at her watch. It was time to start work.
A car drove by, and she used the moment to grasp her thoughts into order. The gun is stolen. Right? No. No, it can’t be. Jerry took the gun out. Or Cal. Cal might have found it and taken it. He prowls around at night. Who knows what he’s doing?
Her heart sagged with worry. She wanted to climb back behind the wheel and speed home, but to what end? To be told by Jerry that he removed the gun after the fire? That’s probably what happened. He’d simply forgotten to mention it. She leaned against the truck door and breathed slowly. That was better. There was nothing she could do about it now.
Her fingers were filthy. She dared not use them to brush her dress or tidy her hair. She might have dirt streaked across her face. She reached for her purse and pulled out a compact. Once she was certain that she looked presentable, she crossed the street and headed up the sidewalk for the library. She’d go straight to the ladies’ room and wash her hands. Then she’d sign in, and at the first spare moment she’d call home and speak to Jerry.
