Season of My Enemy, page 19
I can’t worry Mom about this too. Not without a reason.
“Good morning, Fannie.” Mrs. Calloway smiled from behind her desk as Fannie went to the stack of returned books waiting to be shelved.
“Good morning, Mrs. Calloway.”
“Is it finally Friday? I swear, some weeks just seem longer. How’s everything at the farm?”
Fannie turned her attention to the books for fear Mrs. Calloway could see how unnerved she felt. “All’s well. We finished the oats this week. We’ll start digging potatoes next.”
“I don’t know how you manage. How is Calvin? I heard he’s home now.”
Mrs. Calloway spoke naturally enough, but Fannie was sure there was an underlying curiosity in her tone that really wanted to know what injury sent him home. “He’s doing all right for the most part. Making adjustments, you could say. He lost some of his hearing over there.”
“I’m so sorry. That must be very hard for him.”
“Yes, very. He didn’t want to come home.”
“No, I’m sure he didn’t. Our boys want to stay in the fight and win this war.”
Now Fannie did look up. “He’s still in the fight, you could say. We all are. We’re happy to have him home on the farm.”
“I’m sure it’s a big relief and a lot of help.”
Fannie gave a wan smile rather than answer. She couldn’t lie. Thankfully, Mrs. Calloway seemed content to let the conversation drop as she returned to the work on her desk. Fannie pushed the cart of books off to return them to the shelves. She passed the magazine rack. She mustn’t forget to bring something home for Mom.
The morning dragged on, and Fannie was worried that if she called home during her first break, Jerry would be out somewhere and she’d miss him. She didn’t want to make more than one call, or Mom would start to wonder. She would force herself to wait until lunchtime, when she’d likely catch Jerry at the house.
When the noon hour finally struck, she hurried to ask Mrs. Calloway if she could use the telephone. After the woman excused herself from the office to give Fannie privacy, she placed the call.
“Hello,” Mom answered.
“Hi, Mom. Is Jerry around the house by chance?”
“Fannie. You never call from work. Is everything all right?”
“I just wanted to ask Jerry a question. It’s kind of a surprise for him and Patsy,” she said, grabbing at the excuse of mentioning the movies playing if necessary. “I don’t want to mention it to Patsy until I come home, but I thought I’d better check with Jerry right away.”
“He just came in for lunch. Let me get him for you.” Mom must’ve pressed a hand over the receiver, for her voice calling Jerry to the phone was muffled.
“Hullo?”
“Jerry, I have a question, but you mustn’t let on what I’m talking about.”
“What is it?” he said after a moment.
“If Mom asks, I’m talking to you about going to the movies—The Adventures of Mark Twain. A surprise for Patsy.”
“All right. Just spit it out.”
She had to pose her question carefully in case an operator or anyone else was on the line. “Remember that handy tool we left in the truck? It isn’t there. Did you put it away?”
A prolonged silence had her heart chugging its way down to the roots of her stomach. She heard Jerry exhale. “No. I didn’t,” he said at last. “I’ve never seen it.” Good boy. But not the answer she’d hoped for.
“You didn’t maybe put it back in the shed or even take it in the house?”
“No. Never did.”
“You know what this means?”
“Maybe Cal wants to go too.”
Was he suggesting that Cal took the gun? The idea had crossed Fannie’s mind, so naturally Jerry wondered too.
“Okay. Well, you look around and see if you can find it. Don’t mention it to anyone though. We’ll talk when I get home.”
“Of course, I won’t. Sounds good.”
She set the phone on its cradle and stood alone for a moment in the librarian’s office. If she didn’t take the gun, and Jerry hadn’t taken the gun … And if it turned out Cal hadn’t taken the gun either, then who had?
CHAPTER 19
A breeze puffed out Wolf’s shirt around his torso, but it was a heavy wind, hot and muggy with little cooling effect. There’d been a few distant rolls of thunder earlier, but nothing had come of the clouds scooting by north of them. Surely such oppressive heat portended rain, and with it, relief.
Wolf leaned against the barn shed and squinted at the sky as he awaited Private Vicks’s distribution of their lunches. Corporal Taft stood speaking to Jerry O’Brien near the truckload of beans piled high in burlap bags nearly bursting from their seams. The other men lounged around the yard, some in the narrow shade of the roof like him, others filling their canteens at the pump or making their way to the privy.
The beans were played out. These later ones were thicker-skinned than those of the early pickings. Fannie said this would be their last big picking and that the family would handle any cleanup pickings to keep and can for their own larder.
He considered her again with surreptitious glances. She had taken full charge over recent weeks. Early on, she’d remained aloof, preferring Jerry to carry out many of her directives, but now she stepped fully into the lead role here on her farm. It was almost as though her brother over there on the porch didn’t figure into things anymore.
“We’ll begin digging potatoes after lunch,” she announced, as Taft handed Wolf his sack of foodstuffs. She stood only a short way off, raising a metal cup to her lips after she’d spoken. He unwrapped another spam salad sandwich, just like they’d eaten every day this week, and watched her drink down the cup completely then wipe water from her lower lip with her fingertips. Her gaze caught his.
With a sidelong glance, she strolled over. A small smile slipped out. “Spam again, Captain?”
He pretended to give his sandwich a quick study, turning it sideways. “Mm. Good stuff.” He took a huge bite, stuffing his cheeks and reveling in her light laughter.
“Soon as it cools down a little, Mom intends to cook a pot roast and shred it up for buns. I’m sure she’s planning to share it.”
Wolf couldn’t help glancing toward Calvin in his usual place on the porch with both his gun and a bottle. Their gazes met. “And your brother? I suspect he would prefer our diets contain only this pink meat.”
Her smile turned into a smirk. “I think you’re right. But as Calvin isn’t doing anything to help around here, he has no say in the matter.” Her lips turned up again and her glance was coy, raising lightness in Wolf’s chest.
An engine sputtered then roared to life over near the side of the barn, capturing their attention. A cheer among the workers followed. Fannie’s brother Jerry clapped Horst on the shoulder where the two stood over the folded-back hood of a rusty Model A Ford that Wolf had never seen run. Both younger men were grinning and nodding as they congratulated one another in a mix of languages enough to make themselves understood.
“He finally did it,” Fannie said as she watched the pair lean over the engine again. But her brilliant smile captivated Wolf. “He’s been trying to get that thing running all year.”
He studied her profile. “Horst is good with engines. They make a good team.”
Her brow twitched, but there was a long pause before she acknowledged his remark. “They do at that,” she said softly. “Your men have many talents, I’m certain.” Then she glanced at him, and before he could respond, she shifted and walked away, leaving him to wonder at her cryptic reply.
An hour later, Wolf worked his way up a long row of potato plants. He pushed his booted foot against his shovel’s blade, crunching it into the loosely mounded soil around the vegetation, but careful not to slice into any of the white flesh of the potatoes beneath the surface. Gently, he pried the plant from the earth, then quickly scooped up a half dozen big potatoes and put them in his gunnysack. He used the shovel again to sift the dirt, then raked it with his fingers, just to make sure he hadn’t missed any stragglers. After collecting a few smaller potatoes, he moved on to the next plant. A few feet away, Leo worked through the same process.
Sweat streamed dirt streaks down the sides of Leo’s neck, which Wolf noted when Leo lifted his chin with a sneer on his lips. “All this work for money that is useless outside of a prison. Scrip. Not even real money.”
“At least it is something. More than what your family might have to see them through right now in Germany.”
Leo seared him with a narrow look before tossing a potato into his sack with a thud. “Forgive me for not being grateful, Hauptmann. I find it ironic that we are here in a foreign country, prisoners forced to labor for our enemy, and you are content to do so. I do not know the condition of my family, but I do know that they are not eating from the hand of those who wish to destroy them.”
“And who is it seeking to destroy them?” Horst piped up from the other side of Wolf. “I doubt it is the Americans.”
Leo stopped digging and leaned on his shovel. He wiped a forearm across his jaw. “What are you talking about?”
Horst glanced toward Wolf and away, his eyes glinting with speculation that sent warning bells chiming in Wolf’s brain. “They say you are Mischlinge.” Horst jabbed his shovel into the dirt and spoke with a grunt.
Leo let go of his shovel and lunged, but he’d barely grasped Horst’s dirty T-shirt when Wolf shouldered between them and grabbed hold of Leo’s arm, straining to hold him back.
“You heard him,” Leo said, his words seething between clenched teeth. “It is a dirty word.”
“Shritt auseinander!” The distinct, heavy click of a rifle being bolted reached Wolf’s ears even before the American corporal’s command to step apart. Taft charged toward them, his gun at his shoulder. Wolf drew his hands back and stepped clear immediately, hoping that Leo had sense enough to respond in the same fashion. Leo lingered, his glare on Horst, who stared back, fists unfolding as he raised his hands at his side. “I said back! Now!” Corporal Taft centered the gun on Leo’s chest from only three paces away.
Leo raised his hands and took a backward step with a shrug. “I am not the one causing the trouble.”
“I’ll decide that. Now get your shovel and get back to work. Any more problems and you’ll all get sent back and put in lockdown. Understood? Verstanden?”
Leo rubbed his jaw with a half nod. “Verstanden.” He gave another scowl at Horst.
“Ja, Kapitän,” Horst said.
“I’ll be watching you.” Corporal Taft glanced at Wolf, and Wolf acquiesced with a nod, then bent to retrieve his shovel from where he’d let it fall. The corporal moved a dozen feet away, but his eyes remained narrowed on their activity.
“That was foolish,” Wolf said in a low tone as he dug another potato plant. “I expect better self-control from my men, Obergefreiter Friedrickson. And you, Horst, would be wise to keep colorful remarks to yourself.”
“When was I ever one of your men?”
Leo’s remark grazed over Wolf, bringing him a brief pause, but he chose to ignore it and continued. “While I am the ranking officer here, you will not question my authority unless you wish to be sent back to the main camp.”
“I do not wish it, Hauptmann, but if I am called by that name again, I will demand satisfaction.”
Wolf tossed another potato into his sack with a cursory glance toward Leo. “And you will be given it, but not here. Do you not think it pleases the Americans to see us fighting among ourselves?”
Leo hefted his full sack of potatoes. “In truth, I do not care what the Americans think.” He turned his back and moved down the long row toward the wagon parked at the end.
Wolf dug faster, bringing himself closer to Horst. “Why did you say such a thing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“You refer to rumors.”
Horst tossed a potato into his bag along with a glance at Wolf. “Not a rumor, Hauptmann. Obergefreiter Friedrickson is a Jew. Everyone knows.”
“Everyone? And how do you know?”
“Ask Otto. Fritz too. They will tell you. Leo claims that any Jewish blood ever to mingle in his veins was declared void by Hitler himself.”
Wolf had heard of such things happening. Of Germany’s need for soldiers forcing Hitler to accept Hebrews into the military and then declaring their Jewishness erased.
“Why would Leo do such a thing?”
“He abandoned his family when Germany declared war. He did not wish to be associated with them any longer.”
Wolf stopped digging. “For self-preservation, you mean.”
Horst dropped to his knees and rested in the black dirt. “He wished to fight for Germany. More than he wished to be a Jew.”
Wolf turned toward the western sun, turning his hand around the end of the shovel’s handle. More than he wished to be a Jew. Leo was willing to give up his own family? Wolf schooled his shock, though it took effort to do so. He scooped the dirt, this time shearing into a potato so that it stuck to the end of the blade. He pried it off. “Are you sure, Horst?”
“Ask him, Hauptmann. That is the only way to be certain.”
He nodded absently. His student was right.
Later that evening, after they’d returned to camp and everyone had supped; after some had settled down to read, sleep, or find other recreation, Wolf waved Leo over to him. “I want to speak to you. Walk with me across the compound.”
Leo sniffed. “If it is about today, Hauptmann Kloninger, I apologize for losing control.”
“Come. Walk.”
Wolf steered them toward the perimeter of the camp where they could stroll nonchalantly toward the soccer field. He didn’t speak right away but was content to wait until they were clear of any listeners. Leo lit a cigarette and shook out the match. “So, what else is it you wish to say to me?”
“I wish to ask you if the rumors about you are true.”
“You mean that I am what they say? A Jewish-German mongrel?” “I wouldn’t say that. But is there some part of your heritage you are ashamed of?”
Leo peered across the soccer field and flicked an ash. “I think Otto will become a very good player if he is given the opportunity to continue after the war.” He nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. Then he finally faced Wolf squarely. “My grandmother was a Jew. My father’s mother. It is a fact I’ve worked hard to keep concealed.” He took a drag of his cigarette and blew smoke out in a long stream. “Being of pure German blood yourself, you can understand why I would do that, can’t you, Hauptmann? And now you will treat me differently because of it, I am sure.”
Wolf shook his head. “No. You are wrong. I treat all the men under my command equally, unless they behave in such a way that forces me to act differently. Your lineage has no bearing on it whatsoever.”
Leo laughed derisively. “Be careful, Hauptmann. The SS would disagree with you on that.”
“How is it you have been able to serve in the army, Obergefreiter? Did you falsify your papers?”
He finished another long pull on the cigarette and ground it out beneath the toe of his shoe. “No. Our Führer declared my blood to be German, as he did for other Jews willing to fight for him.” He gave Wolf a challenging gaze. “He was desperate for fighters. As I was second-degree Mischlinge, I was a good candidate.”
Wolf considered Hitler’s decree, comparing it to what Horst told him earlier about Leo’s decision. The German ranks, once so full of proud, strong men, had depleted over the long years of fighting. Hitler had made many outlandish declarations, and few were brave enough to challenge him. So why not proclaim that he had power to wipe away the Jewish blood of a man and deem him Aryan, as long as such a decree fit with his designs?
“What of your family?”
A puff of air rushed out Leo’s nostrils. “I am dead to them.” His voice sounded as lifeless as the words he spoke. “My father refused to have anything to do with me after I enlisted. For all I know, they might all be dead.”
The callousness of his tone sounded real. Did he truly not care anything for the fate of his family? “You have brothers and sisters?”
His gaze drifted to the field again. “A brother. He is older, married. He has three children. I haven’t seen him in six years.”
“What did he think of your joining the fight? Did he join also?”
Leo chuckled without humor. “He raged at me. Now?” He shrugged. “I do not know, nor do I care.”
“I see.”
Leo looked at Wolf. “I doubt that you do, but you’ll say so.” He lingered for a moment then reached into his pocket for another cigarette. “Is that it, Hauptmann? Or is there more you wish to ask me?”
“What will you do when the war is over?”
Leo lit a match and held it until it burned down to his fingertips, then dropped it without lighting the cigarette. “I will bask in the glory of victory like all good Germans.” He lit another match, and this time his cigarette. He took a drag as he shook out his match, then let out a stream of smoke. “Truthfully, I don’t think about it. There’s no point. We don’t know what we will return to.” He swung a half smile at Wolf. “The war goes on and on. There is plenty of time to decide.”
“I hope you are not right about that.”
He flicked off an ash and smiled as though a wizened old man. “I am right, Hauptmann.”
CHAPTER 20
The gun was still missing. Fannie and Jerry had searched everywhere. Jerry had even sneaked into Cal’s room and looked for it there, and he’d watched for Cal to be carrying it, but there was no sign that their dad’s pistol existed. After exhausting searches in every possible hiding place they could think of around the house, in and near the barn, sheds—and even the outhouse—they decided it must have been secreted somewhere in one of the fields or perhaps along the edge of the woods. Maybe even buried. There were hundreds of places it could have been hidden.
