Season of My Enemy, page 20
Or more likely, someone had taken it back to the internment camp.
“We have to tell Corporal Taft, Jerry.” They were behind closed doors at the front of the barn in the toolshed. Fannie shook out a gunnysack and laid it neatly on the stack, then reached for another from the heap.
Jerry propped his hip against the workbench and folded his arms. “We don’t even know how long it’s been missing. Sure, it might have disappeared the day of the fire, but it could have been gone longer than that. I stopped thinking about Dad’s gun weeks ago.”
Fannie nodded. “I know.”
“What point is there in telling the corporal now? Wouldn’t the thief have done something with it already, especially if they’ve had it for weeks?”
“There’s no telling. What if they use it to harm someone at the camp like Corporal Taft or Private Vicks? I’d feel awful. It could end up with someone at one of the canning factories and cause serious violence and sabotage.”
“They’re probably planning an escape. I doubt they intend to actually use it. They only want it as a prop … a threat.” He peered past her out the dusty window, as though watching such a scene take place.
“A threat that could get somebody killed. What if it was Mom or Patsy? Jerry, we have to tell.”
“You know what will happen.” He turned from the window.
Yes, she knew. “We’ll lose our workers.” She thought of not seeing Wolf again. Maybe ever. Somehow, it had to come to that.
“We’re not finished digging potatoes, and we’ve got a lot of corn, even with what we lost.”
She shook out another bag. Dust clouded the already dim light in the room. “I guess we’ll just have to handle the picking ourselves.”
Jerry sighed. “That’s a lot of work, Fan. I’m about farmed out.”
She dropped the bag she held and stepped over the heap to place a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be sunup to sundown for a while, but we’ll get it done. Then school will start up again, and you can have a well-deserved rest. Play some football with your friends.”
“Sounds like a different life.” His brows drew together. “Fan, do you think we should tell Mom? About the gun, I mean? Before we talk to Taft? Seems like she ought to know. She can help decide what to do.”
“I don’t know.” Fannie shook her head. It felt heavy though she wasn’t physically tired. She was weary of making the decisions. Worn out from being in charge.
“I think we should,” Jerry said.
“I hate to load that kind of worry on her.”
“She’ll worry either way. It’s what moms do. You shouldn’t have to decide how to handle this alone.”
“I have you.” She gave him a weak grin.
“And we should tell Cal too. He still doesn’t know about the fire. I think it’s time to let the chips fall. Maybe he’ll wake up a little bit, and maybe Taft will want his help guarding the prisoners out in the field. Might be the safer thing.”
She shook her head. “No. If Mom decides to tell Cal about the fire, that’s one thing, but unless he volunteers to help pick, we’re keeping quiet about it. I don’t trust him not to go wild.”
“What about the Germans? Do you trust most of them? I mean, if they’re going to keep coming here to work?”
As if beckoned, the familiar sound of the transport truck rumbled up the drive. Jerry moved toward the door but waited on her answer.
“Pray for me, Jerry. I want to believe the best—concerning most of them anyway. They seem like us. Just men stuck in a bad situation.”
“I know what you mean. It’s not what I expected to think about them.”
“I want to do the right thing.”
He nodded and went out to meet the truck.
The workers headed straight to the potato field, but Fannie made herself scarce by checking the corn. A heavy rain a few nights ago and a lot of hot weather the past few days meant the sweet corn would ripen fast. There was a smaller crop of field corn for the pigs and chickens. They would cut that and get it in the crib themselves in October after it had a lower moisture content. But the sweet corn was war corn, heading straight to the canning factory where more German workers would see it canned and sent off to Europe—to their American boys.
She strode into the thickest of the crop, glad to be sheltered by the tall stalks and tassels that rustled in the heat above her head. The air was cooler here, and her thoughts drew close, protected. She examined the cobs, felt their plumpness or lack thereof, yet her hands moved over them with only half her attention. Her thoughts still lingered over what to do about the missing gun. About Calvin … again … and the crops that still needed tending. About Mom and how badly they all missed Dad. And then about Dale. Was he well? Was he safe? When would they see him again—or wouldn’t they?
“What should we do, God?” Fannie whispered. Then the gate of her heart broke open, and all her questions and needs poured out. She prayed for Dale first and then about all the rest. There was a good long time and a lot of pleading before she admitted her deepest longings. “I want to feel safe again, and I won’t if we don’t find Dad’s missing gun. Yet …” She let out a shuddering breath as she fingered a long blade of corn. “I don’t want the prisoners sent away. Not all of them. Just the bad ones. If there even are any bad ones, God.”
She reached the edge of the corn that came out to the large burned section. She could still smell the char. “But if there are … if someone is intending to hurt us … please, don’t let it be Rudy or …” She was about to go down a list of their names, all the boys who’d helped them this summer. But there was really only one she was thinking of, and she couldn’t hide that from God. “Please don’t let it be Wolf.”
Wolfgang Kloninger. She mulled over what she knew about him. He was a teacher. A leader. A man who cared about those under his charge. Someone who seemed to love peace and education—or so he’d said and acted as if he did. Was it the honest truth? She prayed so again.
To her surprise, she felt better by the time she’d circled through the rest of the field. She kept a lookout for signs of the gun, to no avail.
Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised at the new calm she felt. She’d been taught that prayer settled heart and mind, but she hadn’t expected to feel anything like that, especially without having any answers. Yet, as she mulled over the dilemma, she realized she’d come to at least one conclusion. She would tell Mom about the missing gun. Jerry was right. Mom wasn’t a flower. She’d buried a husband and watched her boys go off to war. One of them was in harm’s way even now. Still Mom soldiered on. She would want to know. What’s more, just like with the fire, she might know best how to handle the problem.
Fannie thanked God for the subtle direction and marched toward home. Cal was just stepping onto the porch with a cup of coffee in his hand. He leaned his gun against the side of the house and took a seat, then drew a slow sip from his cup.
Fannie waved and he raised a hand. She strode across the yard to the bottom step and faced him where he could see her and read her lips. “Nice out today. We’ll finish the potatoes.”
He shrugged. His gaze flicked toward the potato field. She wasn’t sure if he understood her or not.
She pointed back at the corn. “It’s almost ready. Soon.”
“Some of it is ripe now.”
Her pulse pricked. “You checked it?” Had he seen the site of the burn?
“Some.”
He must not have gone in far enough. “You going to help us pick it?”
He took another sip of coffee.
“Cal!”
He jerked his gaze at her.
“You gonna help?”
He stared back blandly and slurped his coffee. He understood her question. His lack of answer was answer enough.
“You can’t even see those PWs in the corn from here. What good will you do sitting here on the porch? They can’t see you either. You don’t even have the benefit of intimidation. You didn’t even see the fire.”
His features tightened. “What fire?” So, he’d understood that well enough.
She flipped a loose coil of hair off her cheek. “The fire that took out a section of the corn crop. But don’t worry yourself now.” She said it easily as a way to brush off the danger, then went on. “It was an accident, but the prisoners helped get it put out.”
“Slow down. Why am I just learning about this now? When did it happen?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t want to know. You never want to know. Why not make yourself truly useful? Don’t you care?” It was a mouthful, and she doubted he caught much—not that he was always even looking at her speak—but he couldn’t miss her aggravation. Especially when she spun on her heel and marched back toward the shed. “Some of us have to work.” He would never hear that.
“I’ll work when I need to. Right now, you have men at your beck and call to do that.” His voice hit her like a board across the backside.
She wheeled back. “We need you, Cal.” She pointed first toward the working men in the far field. “Yes, we need the PWs. We don’t have any choice.” Then she jabbed her finger at Cal. “But you’re the man of the family now. How do you think I feel having to order around all these men? Is that what you want, Cal, for me to run this place? Dad expected more of you, and so did the rest of us.”
He didn’t move, but by his searing gaze and grinding jaw, she could see she’d struck a chord. Then he leaned back in his chair and ignored her.
She slumped her shoulders and turned away. She was through catering to Calvin’s feelings about the prisoners. There might indeed be a saboteur among them. But just maybe they were only trying to make it through the roughest spot in their lives, just like she and her family were. She wasn’t going to treat them all like criminals. If any of them was culpable, she’d just have to leave it in God’s hands.
She took long strides down the cobbled path to the barn, grabbing up water pails by the hand pump and going to the water spigot inside. Cranking the knob, she filled the pails. It was going to be another cooker. The workers would need their canteens refilled well before a midday break. And another thing: she was going to ask Patsy to put together a tray of those biscuits she’d made yesterday to go with the sack lunches they’d brought, and to slather the biscuits with some fresh butter. Mom wouldn’t mind.
Showing kindness might be the best way to keep them all safe. Let Cal have something to say about that if he wanted to. Taking Jerry’s advice, she’d let the chips fall.
She plopped the water dipper into one of the buckets, her spent energy having burned away some of her anger at Cal. When she carried the pails past the front of the house toward the potato field—which suddenly looked a long way off—the barest glance informed her that Cal no longer sat on the porch. His rifle was gone too. When she was halfway to the field, the family car sped off down the drive, kicking up a wake of dust.
There went Cal, furious no doubt.
Otto was the first to come meet her, relieving her of the heavy pails. She’d lost only about an inch of water on the trek. “Danke,” she said, even though she knew he understood thank you in English.
He smiled. “Not trouble.”
If only you knew. She shaded her eyes to look over the field and almost immediately found Wolf plopping potatoes into his sack. He caught her gaze and offered her a nod and a smile.
She wanted to walk over to him and say hello, but she reined in the impulse. She went to Corporal Taft instead. “How is everything going today, Corporal?”
“Won’t be long until they finish.”
“My thoughts exactly. I checked the corn. Cal did too. We think some of it’s ready to pick. Maybe we’ll try a bit for supper tonight and get a go on it first thing Saturday.”
Fritz came over for a drink. His wavy hair was wet. It looked like he’d used some of his canteen water to cool down on the outside.
“Patsy and I’ll send out some biscuits at lunchtime,” Fannie said. “Maybe by then the men would like to cool down at the pump.”
“A good idea.” Wolf’s voice startled her from behind, but she recognized it before she saw him. She turned about with more pleasure than she meant to reveal. Yet she could not keep from smiling and being happy to speak to him.
“It’s going to be terribly hot out today, I’m afraid. A day more suited to reading in the shade than digging potatoes. I’m sure that’s what my sister will be doing.”
“There will be other days for taking such pleasures again. Today we must finish with your potatoes. It is a good crop, ja?”
“Yes. Very good.” She glanced at the bulging gunnysacks piled onto the wagon.
“And the corn will be next.”
“Some of it is ready now.” An idea sprang to mind. Something they’d done for the migrant workers in the past. “In fact, we’ll plan on a big corn boil for lunch on Saturday. I’m sure Corporal Taft, being from Iowa, would enjoy that.” She smiled at the corporal.
“That I would. Not sure your Wisconsin corn can measure up to corn from home, but I’m sure I wouldn’t complain.”
Fannie laughed. “We’ll see about that. You’ll be getting the first of the season. That’ll be some mighty tender eating.”
“With fresh butter?”
“The freshest.”
Even Fritz smiled as he reached for a drink, and Fannie noted what a nice smile it was. She hadn’t seen him smile since … Well, not in a very long time. She directed herself toward him. “You’ve been well? All of you?” she added.
He nodded, then dropped the dipper back into the pail and turned to go back to work. Wolf reached for the dipper. “He is … healthy.” She could tell he was thinking of the right word. “He is most worried for his girl, Emma. Afraid of hardship for her family.”
“I’m sorry. I guess we all have those we worry about.” Who suffered the most need right now? The people of Europe? The soldiers? Dale?
“Ja.” He drank down the dipperful and lowered it back into the pail without splashing. With another grateful nod, he took a step away, but Fannie wanted to stop him. To say … something.
“I’ll pray for his family. And yours. For all of you.”
He placed a hand on his chest. “Danke. Danke very much, Fannie.”
She tried not to blush beneath the corporal’s scrutiny but then decided she didn’t care what he thought. She raised her chin. “I have work back at the house, but I won’t forget to send out those biscuits later.”
She returned with lighter steps. Mom was sweeping off the porch when Fannie arrived. Maybe now was the time to tell her about the missing gun. “Where did Cal go? I saw him taking off in the car.”
“He didn’t say.”
“Maybe he’s going to call on Liza.” It was a stretch and just something to say. Since he returned, he hadn’t mentioned the girl he used to squire around. Chances were, he wouldn’t go to see her on a busy morning when she’d probably be at work.
“Something must’ve happened between them. Maybe with his injury …” Mom seemed to sweep away the rest of her thought with the dust.
“I wonder if he’s afraid to tell her. Maybe she doesn’t know.” Mom stalled with the broom and peered at Fannie. “I wonder if you’re right.”
Fannie shrugged. “Who knows what Cal thinks these days?”
“Be patient, Fannie. He’ll come around eventually. It’s a big change for him, and remember, he’s faced the Germans over trenches with guns firing all around. He has a hard time seeing them as anything but the enemy.”
“What about you, Mom? Do you still see them that way?”
She made slow, light sweeps. “In part. But in part, they’re just boys.”
“Men, you mean.”
“Yes, men. Men caught up in this terrible war.”
“Maybe they fought Cal and Dale. Maybe they’re responsible for Dale’s capture.”
“I doubt it. Not with the millions of men fighting all over this earth. But even if they were, they had no choice. Just like Cal and Dale didn’t have a choice. I pray for all of them. I pray for peace.”
“That’s how you manage, isn’t it?”
Mom smiled tenderly at Fannie. “You’ve learned.”
Fannie nodded. “Mom, I—”
The door swung open and Patsy stepped out. She plopped down in Cal’s regular place, book in hand. “Can I go to work with you on Friday, Fannie? I’m almost done with my books. I need some new ones.”
“Sure. If Mom doesn’t need you here.”
“It’ll be fine,” Mom said. “But don’t get comfortable now, young lady.
We’re going to go down in the root cellar and clean it out. We’ve got potatoes going in there today.”
Patsy groaned, but she perked up a moment later. “At least it’ll be cool in there.”
Mom chuckled. “That’s right. A silver lining.”
Fannie turned to go. “I’d take your chore any day, Patsy. I’m off to sort through bushel baskets. Oh—I promised the corporal and workers a corn boil on Saturday. Is that all right?”
“If the corn is ready, I’ll be ready,” Mom answered.
“Oh, yeah! Corn on the cob!” Patsy stood back up, apparently energized by the thought.
Fannie laughed as she strolled away. She would talk to Mom about the gun later. She slowed as she neared the end of the cobblestones, glancing for the hundredth time at the rock that Mom had resettled but skipping over it out of habit. Sometimes she forgot that it wasn’t wobbly anymore. It had settled into the earth just like God’s peace had settled into her heart while she prayed. Maybe she would lay a stone of her own in that path before long.
The stacks of bushel baskets were kept in the smaller storage room at the back of the barn shed. They’d need them to pick the corn, but they were full of dust and cobwebs from the previous year. Fannie drew them into the main room, then found a rag to wipe them out, making sure each one was sound for picking tomorrow. She’d only just finished when she heard Corporal Taft’s whistle. Lunchtime already.
Minutes later, Jerry’s voice sounded near the window. “I have to hit the privy. Wait for me here.”
