Season of My Enemy, page 2
Fannie pushed her plate away. How could they do it? Bring those Nazis here?
Jerry rose and carried his empty plate and glass to the sink. “What are the prisoners going to do with the money they earn, anyway? Not like they got someplace to spend it.”
“The army pays them in scrip.” The passion had gone out of Mom’s voice.
“What’s scrip?”
“It’s like coupons. They use them to buy things at the camp canteen. Razors and soap and such.”
Fannie glanced again at her dirt-encrusted fingernails and rose. Her lower back complained. “I think I’ll go take a bath.”
Mom faced Fannie, and as her brow crinkled, she gave Fannie a wan smile. “I’m proud of you, Fannie. Real proud.”
Fannie tried a smile, but her face felt stiff from sun and dirt.
“I’m proud of you too, Jerry.” Mom’s voice was tender. She laid a hand on Jerry’s bony shoulder. Fannie was proud of him too.
But right now, she was going to stop thinking about the hard work they’d accomplished along with everything still to be done. She would forget the German PWs and anything other than a long soak in the tub. It might do her good to feel like a girl again, even for only an hour or two before she went to sleep and then got up to get dirty all over again. She turned and trudged up the stairs to her room.
Fannie put the German prisoners out of her mind. Over the coming days, she and Jerry got the western field disked, harrowed, and seeded with oats, and their routines settled into normalcy. Green shoots of corn and peas climbed taller. Fannie spent most of her days out in the field with a hoe. Jerry too. Mom handled slopping the hogs, milking their two cows, and raising her chickens. Mom hadn’t mentioned the PW workers again, and after a couple more weeks, Fannie started wondering if she might have changed her mind.
On Friday morning, the last day of June, she donned a dress and left for her part-time job at the Rice Lake Public Library. Fannie had been working four days a week before her dad passed on. The job, which had been both an income and a sort of pleasant pastime for Fannie, was paying her way through normal school. Until quitting the program to take over the work of the farm. Maybe now she never would finish. Unless they really did get those PWs.
Sorting books and returning them to their correct locations on the shelves felt like coming home. She breathed in the scent of inked paper and binding and reveled in the quiet where the sounds of a chugging tractor and buzzing insects didn’t invade. Before she finished for the day, she checked out a new stack of books for Patsy. That girl devoured reading material.
The next morning, Fannie slid back into her newly washed overalls and tied a kerchief over her hair, ready to face another day of outdoor work. The reprieve of the library refreshed her, and tomorrow after church they’d enjoy a potluck picnic following the service.
The library job and church services—those two small breaks each week—might get her through the summer and fall. Maybe by then the war would be over and Cal and Dale would both be home again.
Lord, let it be so.
She stepped onto the landing outside her bedroom door and met Patsy on her way to breakfast. Her sister wore one of Jerry’s old checked shirts and rolled denim pants. Her hair was divided into pigtails only a shade lighter than Fannie’s rich brown. Patsy cast big, chocolaty eyes and a smile at her.
“Good morning, Fan.”
“Good morning.” They started down the stairs.
“Thanks again for bringing me the books. I started A Tree Grows in Brooklyn last night. It’s sooo good.” Her words dripped with dramatics.
“I might have to read it sometime.”
“You should.” Patsy trotted on down ahead of her.
When would Fannie have time for pleasure reading again? She had no idea. The very thought seemed ludicrous. Maybe someday when life returned to normal, when she was finished with her education, when she became a teacher and could come home at night to grade her students’ papers and tuck herself into bed with a good book.
Maybe not until I’m thirty.
Mom nodded at the table as Fannie strode into the kitchen. Pancakes and eggs waited. Fannie noted the maple syrup tin sitting on the table. Since the sugar rationing began, maple syrup was an even richer treasure for occasional use. Mom usually saved it for special days, but Fannie wasn’t about to question it today. A minute later, Jerry came in, pulling up his suspenders and joining Fannie at the table. Mom set a pitcher of milk between them. “You two had better eat up. They’ll be here soon.”
“They? Who—” Suddenly Fannie knew who Mom meant. “How many are coming?”
“Could be half a dozen men or so. Depends.” Mom shrugged without elaborating. “Patsy, when they come, you stay here at the house. I don’t want to see you wandering out there acting curious.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere near those Germans. They probably have spies. But do I have to stay inside?” Patsy scrunched her nose.
Fannie and Jerry glanced at each other, an unspoken acknowledgment that they agreed with Patsy about the spies.
“Not inside, but right in the yard where I can see you. I’ve got work for you in the garden today.”
Patsy nodded and turned to her breakfast.
Fortified with two eggs and a second pancake, Fannie dabbed the calico cloth napkin to her lips when the sound of a truck rumbling up the driveway captured all their attention. They rose and moved as a family toward the front door and stepped through to the porch.
The truck jerked to a halt, and an American soldier got out of the passenger door. He carried a rifle, and there was a pistol tucked into his belt holster besides. Another soldier stepped down from behind the wheel. Fannie’s heart jerked when one of them flipped back a canvas covering the back and ordered the prisoners off the truck. She took only tiny breaths as she counted eight men climbing down. The enemy! Here on their soil! One by one she took note of them, especially of their youth. Why, they looked hardly older than she or Jerry. They wore tan and brown uniforms with the giant letters PW stamped on their backs. Their hair was cropped short, and they squinted into the morning sun as they took in their surroundings.
Fannie raised her chin, and a sigh of relief sat on the edge of her lips. Then the last two prisoners emerged, and she pressed her mouth into a line. They were older than the others. Not old, but definitely more mature or even in their prime. Probably not more than twenty-eight or thirty, they both had the same cropped haircuts as the younger men, but they had the solid bearing of a few extra years and experiences. Only about an inch separated the two in height, and both appeared taller than any of the men in Fannie’s family. The face of the darker-haired man was narrower, and his eyes peered hawk-sharp toward them. The fair-haired man glanced toward her family and away with a set square jaw, taking in the barn, the sheds, and the fields. What was he doing? Calculating a way to escape or where to find a tool that would make a lethal weapon?
Fannie twitched when Jerry’s boot scraped on the floorboard. His voice brushed her ear. “Well, this should be interesting,” he said.
CHAPTER 2
“Well.” Mom might as well have grunted. It was as though her mind was so full, she couldn’t sort through it all, and just that single word leaked out to make space. Was that all she was going to say?
Jerry moved to the steps.
“Jerry.” Mom halted him.
“I’m just going down there. Somebody’s got to.”
He started down again, and this time Mom didn’t stop him. He was too young for this. They would smirk at him, disrespect him. The Germans would smirk at all of them. Kids and women ordering them around. With a huff, Fannie started after Jerry. “I’ll go too.”
“Thank you, Fannie.” Mom’s words brushed over her in an almost-whisper as Fannie walked by.
She would not look at the prisoners. Not directly. She wouldn’t give them an opportunity to catch her eye. She grazed them with only the most general glance as they lined up behind the truck. The guard called them to attention, and they straightened. Even so, with only that barest look, she could tell they stared. Not at Jerry but at her. Did one man lick his lips? Fannie’s stomach cinched in on itself.
The guard dipped a nod at her. “Ma’am. I’m Corporal Taft. Where would you like the prisoners to begin?”
She blinked and drew herself taller as she scrambled for an answer. Then she pointed in a general direction toward the field west of the house. “The potatoes need hilling. Back there.”
She turned to Jerry, who stood beside her, hands on his hips and feet braced apart. “Jerry, why don’t you go get the hoes out of the shed. All of them. Looks like we’ll be short. Bring the bug cans too.” She faced the guard again. “You can have a couple of your men pick potato bugs.” She glanced their way again.
One younger prisoner nudged the man next to him, and she tore her gaze away, berating herself for making eye contact as she turned to the field and shielded her eyes. She steeled her voice not to shake. “Follow me. I’ll show them where to begin.”
Corporal Taft shouted orders in English and then in German, and the men filed behind her. She forced a thick lump down her throat as they moved together like a hen leading her overgrown chicks to the field. There she stepped back as the American soldier told the prisoners what was expected. Jerry trotted up with hoes and handed them out. He gave her a grin, and she responded with a tiny shake of her head. She didn’t need the prisoners thinking they were thrilled about having them here.
“You’ll be right here then, Corporal Taft?” The thought of him turning his back on the prisoners unnerved her.
“Yes, ma’am. Right here. Or maybe in the shade over there by that tree.” He nodded toward a cottonwood that edged the corner of the field nearest them. “You don’t have to worry. These Germans are the safe ones. Most of them are glad their part in the war is over.”
She took a more normal breath. Was that so? If the corporal was telling her so to ease her mind, it worked, if only slightly. She hoped it was the truth. “Thank you, Corporal. I’m glad to hear it.”
“If they try anything, they’ll lose working privileges permanently. They don’t want that. They’re willing to work. Not like the Japanese. The Japs would rather stand before a firing squad, some of ‘em.”
“Oh?”
“That’s right. But not these Germans. They’d rather work than loaf around. And we’ve been careful not to let any of the real troublemakers out of Camp McCoy.”
“Troublemakers?” Then there were problem prisoners after all, as she first suspected. Just like that, she was on edge again.
“The true Nazis. Captured SS and the like. Most of the PWs who are let out to the fields and canneries had no choice but to fight over there.”
“These men?” She tucked a loose strand of hair into her scarf and glanced at the backs of the prisoners. Six of them were beginning to mound dirt along the rows of leafy green potato plants, while two others carried tin cans of old tractor oil, plucking voracious potato bug larvae from the leaves and stems and dropping them into the containers. She studied them for a prolonged moment, now that they had their backs to her.
“Must not be much of a country if your government has to force you to fight for it,” Jerry said.
Corporal Taft snickered. “Oh, they gave it their best shot all right. And there are plenty of them over there willing to sock it to our boys.”
Jerry sent a wad of spittle to the side. “Our brother Calvin will sock it right back. You can bet Dale is giving them what-for in that German prison camp too.”
Fannie shrank at the thought of her brothers somewhere over there taking who-knew-what from the Nazis. She hoped they really were giving them—in her brother’s words—what for.
“You’ve got kin who were captured?” the corporal asked.
“One of our brothers,” Fannie said. “We think he’s all right. Letters don’t say a whole lot.”
Corporal Taft looked solemn. He squinted out over the field of workers. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
Jerry folded his arms and continued studying the prisoners also. “Wonder where they caught these ones.”
“Most of them came from North Africa,” the corporal said. “Some of Rommel’s African Corp that our boys rooted out.”
Fannie took a shuddering breath. Better to stop this talk about how dangerous the workers could be, supposedly safe or not. “My brother and I will be on the tractor over in the cornfield should you need us.”
“I’m sure they’ll do just fine. Once they finish here, if you want me to bring them over there to help, just let me know.” Corporal Taft turned away. His attention fixed again on the men in the field.
Fannie nudged Jerry with an elbow and jerked her head for him to follow. “As if I want their help around the equipment,” she muttered, once they’d gotten beyond the corporal’s hearing.
Jerry’s stride was long, inching past hers. “They look pretty harmless to me. Be nice to see if any of them knows how to run a tractor. You could use a break, and I wouldn’t mind a swim.”
She gave him a glare. “A swim. And while you’re off swimming they’re left alone here with Mama and Patsy. What’ll you say next? That you’d like to invite them along for a dip?”
“Might be interesting.”
Her temples throbbed at his nonchalant attitude, but when she glared again, he gave her a cockeyed grin. “I’m only fooling. Does me good to see them out there working in the sun. Must be scorching in those PW uniforms.”
Fannie sniffed with a moment’s satisfaction. “Sure must.” Imagining them sweltering under those long-sleeved shirts was almost as satisfying as imagining them locked in a hole in the ground for what they’d done to the American soldiers. For all she knew, these very men might be responsible for Dale’s capture or the fact that Calvin was missing.
She and Jerry arrived at the barnyard, where the tractor waited outside a three-sided shed with the cultivator hooked onto the back. “You want to drive or take the back seat?” she asked.
“I’ll drive.” Jerry leapt up to the tractor’s seat. “Give the wheel a turn, will you, Fan?”
She brushed the wayward bangs that escaped her scarf and put her hands to the flywheel. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
Fannie gave it a turn once, then once more. The tractor fired on the second try. Jerry adjusted the gas. “I’ll walk alongside to the field,” Fannie called out over the chug of the engine.
Jerry put the tractor into gear. At the edge of the cornfield, with the front tires lined up evenly between two rows of dark green, knee-high cornstalks, he stopped while Fannie climbed onto the low seat of the cultivator hooked behind. On either side of her were long handles that operated the disks and shovels.
“Ready?”
It was her turn to nod. Jerry took them forward. Deftly, Fannie operated the levers, keeping the blades carefully aligned to cut through the soil, ripping up weeds without harming the young corn plants as Jerry guided them through the field. The tractor chugged along, making enough noise to make it impossible to converse. Fannie was fine with that. It gave her time to consider the upheaval on the farm and in their lives. In her life.
At midmorning, she and Jerry switched places, and by noon the field was nearly finished. As they tilled down the last row of corn, Fannie raised her glance toward the farmyard and beyond it to the field where the PW workers had gathered in relaxed postures at the edge. A couple of the men were stretched out on the ground, leaning back on their elbows. If she squinted a little, she could see one man raising a canteen to his mouth. They must be taking their lunch break. Corporal Taft stood nearby, his gun resting casually across his arms.
Fannie licked her own parched lips. What right did they have to take a break until she said so?
“Hey, Fan,” Jerry called from behind. “Slow up so I can jump off at the end.”
She nodded to show she’d heard him and slowed to a near stop when she reached the edge of the corn. She looked back over her shoulder at Jerry as he dismounted the cultivator.
“Race you to the house,” he said, egging her on with a jerk of his chin.
She gave him a weak smile then gunned the gas a little. He trotted off ahead. She let him lead the way, though she did give it a little push now and then, just to keep him running. A long, comfortable smile lifted her cheeks, making her feel for a moment like life wasn’t insane. Like her dad hadn’t died and she wasn’t missing him like crazy. Like she didn’t have to quit school and hours at the library to run the family farm. Like she didn’t have Germans standing in her potato field.
With a sudden urge to be free of it all, she gave the tractor more gas and careened past her brother.
“Hey!” he yelled, laughing. She pulled up near the tractor shed, and not until she killed the engine and glanced up did she notice all those enemy soldiers watching her from where they lounged sixty yards off. She heard the distant vocal tones of their conversation, words she couldn’t have understood even if they were closer, but their glances and gazes made her sure they were talking about her. She shouldn’t have drawn attention by racing past Jerry. Or was it just because she was a woman and they hadn’t seen many lately? Such a thought would make her flush if they weren’t Germans, enemies responsible for her brothers’ peril. The very kind who’d shot Alfie Swanson and Reginald Meyer, boys she’d grown up with. She thanked God Jerry wasn’t old enough to go to war.
She turned her back on the prisoners and climbed down off the tractor. She ached to stretch her limbs, to shake them out after spending all morning bumping along through the cornfield, but it could wait. Tonight, sometime after supper, after the workers had all gone, she’d work the kinks out and maybe even join Jerry in a swim down at the creek. She’d take Patsy along too. They’d forget about this upheaval to their lives for a little while before the evening’s mosquito crop came out looking for a feast.
