Season of My Enemy, page 23
“The temperature dropped like a rock.”
“Can we get going?” Patsy asked from the backseat. “I’m starving, freezing, and I have piles of homework.”
“I’m hurrying.” Fannie put the car into gear and pulled onto the snowy road. She slid when she came to the first intersection where she had to stop. “It’s getting slick.”
“Want me to drive?” Jerry sounded like he only half-jested. He was a good driver, and she was tempted to let him take over, but she was a good driver too. Her dad used to tell her so.
“I’ll be fine. How was your day?” She wanted him to talk, and Patsy too. Her thoughts were like squirrels storing nuts, jumping from branch to branch and burrowing here and there with nuggets of detail about Wolf’s letter and what she would write in reply.
They arrived home without incident ten minutes later, and after kissing her mom on the cheek with a hello, she went straight upstairs to begin.
Dear Wolf,
It was a pleasure to get your letter today.
She erased “today.” It gave away her anxiousness in replying.
I’m happy to hear that everyone is well and that Rudy is learning to cook.
Fannie couldn’t write fast enough.
Two weeks later, at the end of a busy week, another letter came. Wolf thanked her for her reply and wrote that he was learning quite a bit about the lumber business from the men he’d spoken to who made it their livelihood. He told her they were friendly, even though some of them had loved ones in the war. Most of the other prisoners were younger than Wolf, not more than twenty-three years old. It was hard for these Michigan men to hate such youngsters, one of the older American workers had said. They reminded him of his boys gone off to war.
Fannie penned a reply after chores on Saturday morning, before setting off to help with the laundry.
Dear Wolf,
I am very happy you wrote. I was not simply being polite that day when I said I would be glad if you did. We were almost to Thanksgiving on the day your letter came and with it our first big snowfall of the season. I suppose you’re not very familiar with an American Thanksgiving.
She proceeded to explain it, trying not to sound too elementary. Then she went on.
We’re only two weeks out from Christmas now, though we don’t plan to do much this year, just go to church and enjoy a family meal. Patsy and Mom and I have been busy knitting socks and putting together packages with some of the other church ladies for the boys. That’s the only Christmas gifts we’re concerning ourselves with. Jerry brought up a Christmas tree from the woods, and Patsy pulled out the box of ornaments and decorated it last night. I only watched. I miss my dad. I feel I can tell you so and that you will understand. It felt different without him here, though Cal was kind enough to put the star on top in his place.
What about you? I’d love to hear about your Christmas traditions. Will you be allowed any celebrations at the camp?
Your friend,
Fannie
Wolf’s reply came sooner than she expected it might.
December 27, 1944
Dear Friend Fannie,
I am very sorry that you did not have your father with you as you remembered the holy season. You may always tell me how you feel, Fannie. I am grateful you are comfortable in doing so. If I may, allow me to wish you greater joy in the New Year. It is strange, is it not, to think that there might be a chance of happiness in the New Year, even as our two nations are caught in this terrible clash of wills, seeming to come to no end? Will it? Will the world rage until it tears itself apart, or can we hope that the New Year will bring peace and hope for all of us once again?
Forgive me if this thought discourages you. I do not mean for it to do so. Just the opposite, in fact. I pray you have heard from your brother. I pray he is well and that your family is also well. But for the absence of loved ones, your Christmas holiday sounds most pleasant. We too enjoyed a day of worship and song. It was good to hear the men singing “Stille Nacht” and “O Tannenbaum,” although we had no tree to gather round but those we see outside our camp every day.
In Heidelberg, I went to worship with my parents. I have no siblings, as I was born late in my parents’ life. After worship and singing, we would sometimes go to the home of my aunt and uncle and my cousin Elisa. We would share a meal and sing more carols, my mother and her sister taking turns on the piano. Elisa and I would cut out decorations for the tree when we were younger. When we grew older, we would sit and talk about our hopes and dreams and discouragements, as young people do. I have not seen Elisa since her graduation from secondary school a year after mine. She was engaged to be married before the war. Now, I do not know. My mother has written that Elisa’s fiancé has not been heard from in some time. We all hope he is all right.
Heidelberg is a lovely city. One of the loveliest in all of Germany, if I do say so. I hope much has not changed during the war. The city is nestled along the Neckar River in a wooded gorge. The ruins of a grand castle are perched above. Some call it a romantic city. I wonder what you would think if you saw it.
Fannie sat on the edge of her bed and lowered the letter as she tried to envision the magnificent old city. She’d already looked it up in a library encyclopedia and knew about the ancient castle, how it had been built as a refuge and place of worship by the Celts on the Heilegenberg, or “Mountain of Saints.” The city’s famous Heidelberg University had also played a role during the Reformation in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. She couldn’t remember why it had been left to ruin. Something about the French and lightning, if she recalled. She would ask Wolf more about it.
She couldn’t imagine being away from home as long as Wolf had been and wondering what shape things would be in when she returned. Had Cal nursed those kinds of questions after learning about their father’s passing? At least he hadn’t had to worry that their home might be blown apart by war.
Though it might have been if Leo had had his way.
That was another sad story. So many sad stories would wait to be told in the wake of this war. That was one thing she was sure of.
This time Fannie would wait a few days to write back to Wolf. There was so much to think about and ask him, and she didn’t want to forget a thing.
By due course, their letters slowed down as winter settled in tightly around them. About once a month their letters passed each way. Yet Fannie was just as excited each time she found one waiting for her in the mailbox. Once, Wolf’s letter included a note from Rudy for Jerry and Patsy. Wolf had asked her to seek her mother’s permission before giving it to them. It was harmless though. Just a message “from a friend.” The English was poor but understandable. Not nearly as clear as Wolf’s, though he admitted that he had been friendly with a guard who helped him correct some of his grammar.
It wasn’t until late March that Calvin discovered the exchanges. He’d trudged down to the mailbox himself. Upon his return to the house, an unsealed letter went skidding across the kitchen table in front of Fannie, where she was wiping the surface with a cloth.
“What’s tha—” Her word died on her lips when she saw the handwriting and realized that Calvin had looked at the contents. “You opened my letter.” She didn’t shout, yet the shock of her tone couldn’t be contained. That he would do such a thing galled and stunned her.
“I hoped maybe it was from Dale.”
“You opened my letter.” She said it more strongly this time, and she narrowed her eyes as she picked it up and spun on him.
“Your letter from your German, you mean? I had a right! I deserve to know what my own sister is doing under my roof.”
“Your roof? This isn’t just your roof. This is our home, and I have as much right to my privacy as anyone in it.” She smoothed the envelope and pressed the seal in place, even though it wouldn’t stick again.
“What do you think you’re doing, Fannie, writing to him? Nurturing some kind of romance? Dearest Fannie,” he mimicked.
Had Wolf written that, called her dearest? “No! It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it? Aren’t you just like those women in town who meet up with the prisoners at the fence to—”
“Stop it! Don’t you dare.” She glared equally hard back at him and stepped nearly toe-to-toe. “How dare you accuse me of something so vulgar!” Her chest heaved with anger that wouldn’t be tamped down. She slapped Cal hard across the cheek.
His head jerked, and he said nothing for a long moment, only stared at her. Finally, he sneered. “I guess it doesn’t matter since my ears were ringing anyway.”
She turned her back and looked down at the letter. Should she feel ashamed? She didn’t, in any case. “It’s my life, Cal, and this war won’t last forever.”
“What?”
She turned to him, realizing he genuinely couldn’t hear her. “I said, it’s my life. Leave me alone.”
He coughed out a derisive laugh. “You’re acting like a fool, Fannie.”
“I’m not a fool for wanting peace. I’m not a fool for seeing that these men didn’t hurt us. This man saved me!” She held up the letter.
Cal put his hands on his hips and pursed his lips. He gave his head a shake.
“You know I’m right. They did nothing wrong. It was only Leo.”
“He’ll be going back to Germany when this is all over.” His voice was controlled now, gentler. “And no matter what it says in there”—he jabbed his finger toward the letter in her grip—“they’re not coming back here to work this summer.”
“I know he’ll leave. I’m not stupid. But we are going to need workers again, Cal. You know it as well as I do. Mom probably already made up her mind to hire the Germans back. There’s still not enough of our own men home.”
A little snort escaped him, but Fannie pretended not to care. He started to turn, and Fannie shouted so he’d hear, “You know I’m right!”
Calvin marched back onto the snowy porch, slamming the door and leaving a trail of snow melting in his wake.
Fannie pushed the letter into her apron pocket and went for the mop, glad that Jerry and Patsy were at school and Mom had gone to her quilting group that was busy finishing another quilt to raffle for the war effort. After swiping the mop over the puddles on the floor, she hung it back on the hook by the kitchen door and pulled the letter out of her pocket. With a glance toward the window to be sure Calvin wasn’t on his way back in, she drew out the pages.
Dearest Fannie,
How good it is to have gotten another letter from you. The dark winter days would seem long indeed if not for the bright light you shine into them.
Fannie crept fingers to the back of her neck then along her jaw, warming at Wolf’s words but also seeing them through Calvin’s eyes.
Yet this time will not last forever. Already the boys are talking about the spring to come. There are rumors we will return to Fort McCoy, and once again we will be sent to work on the farms and in the factories. There is a shortage of guards here, so I am given charge of my own men and ordered to supervise. I urge them to do their work well, for I am optimistic that the acts of one man last summer will not be held against us. I do not know if there is any chance we will be brought to Barron again. I harbor a hope that we will be.
She placed a hand over her mouth, and tears blurred the rest of the letter. Did he hope—really hope, as she did—that they would see each other again? That if the war dragged on, he would work again in their fields? Was such a thing too impossible to wish for?
Calvin’s boots scraped on the porch once again, and Fannie hastily swiped at her tears and tucked the letter into her pocket. Springtime seemed both very near and very far away all at once..
CHAPTER 24
April 1945
Thanks to Calvin and Jerry, Fannie’s family had plenty of firewood to heat their house during the long Wisconsin winter, and her brothers had managed to keep the ice out of the cow tank. Fannie felt almost as if she’d been allowed to return to those unburdened days before her dad died and before Calvin and Dale went away. Now, across soggy fields, the sun warmed the earth, and little evidence of winter remained in the northwestern part of the state beyond the remnant of dirty snowbanks along the roadside and beneath the trees shadowing the creek bank. Would the arrival of spring mean better days ahead? The season had always made Fannie feel like everything could begin anew. But would they ever hear from Dale again?
Oh, how she wished this war would end! Any day now … she told herself as she stood frying potatoes in a cast-iron skillet on the stove. Any day! The news had been pouring in of late. U.S. forces had crossed the Rhine, and hundreds of B-29s firebombed Japan. Every country in the Western Hemisphere had joined the war. Millions of Axis prisoners had been captured on the western front and in Italy, and General Eisenhower demanded Germany’s surrender, even while war in the Pacific raged on. And most importantly to those at home, it was said that prison camps were discovered, yet there’d still been no word of Dale.
Fannie salted the potatoes and thought of Jerry, just a boy, but he’d proven himself man enough to step into Dale’s shoes and do the work required of him. He’d more than just grown up. He’d grown older in other ways beyond his years. Was it because of losing Dad? Or was it the struggle over all the unknowns about Dale just like those Fannie wrestled with? Sometimes, instead of going out with his friends, Jerry would come home and sit with Cal. They’d play checkers and talk about the farm or reminisce about a fishing or hunting trip or other such occasion from years past. They sounded like a pair of old farmers down at the feed mill.
She turned the burner lower as the scorching scent of potatoes wafted past her nose. At least winter was over, and with those prison camps uncovered in Germany, they must learn something of Dale eventually. In the meantime, they distracted themselves with life’s simpler things.
The family talked at dinner last night about seeding and how many acres to put into corn this year. If this war did go on, the demand for supply would only increase. More than ever, her family wanted to do their part to support the boys on the battlefields. To bring home their husbands and sons.
Fannie dropped a handful of onion skins into the scrap bucket and glanced out the front window next to the dining table at the sound of an automobile drawing up into the yard. She didn’t recognize it at first. Then, as the motor quit, Cal’s girl—or the one who’d once been his girl—stepped out. Liza Brachman … Oh my goodness. She looked prettier than ever, wearing red lipstick and with her dark hair drawn up. She had on a bright blue coat over her dress and carefully skirted mud on the path in her black leather pumps.
Fannie turned the burner off and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she met Liza at the door. She opened it wide before Liza could knock. “Why hi, Liza. It’s been forever.”
Liza stood demurely. “Hello, Fannie. Is—is Calvin home?”
“Come on inside. He’s not here at the moment, but he should be home soon. He went to drop Mom off at the ladies’ aid and run to the post office and to do—oh, whatever it is he does when he goes to town. You’re welcome to wait for him.”
She fidgeted. “I … well, yes, maybe I will.” She glanced toward the living room as she followed Fannie inside.
“Grab a seat. I just made a pot of tea.”
“I’d love some, thanks.” Liza pulled off her gloves and unbuttoned her coat. Fannie noted that she wore a pretty dress, red-and-white striped. This was a good sign—she hoped. It must matter to Liza how Cal found her.
Fannie poured her a cup of tea and set it on the table alongside a pitcher of cream. “We have honey. Want some?”
“Oh, that sounds lovely. I used up my sugar card a little early this month.”
Fannie had forgotten that Liza lived on her own—or with another young woman. She was Calvin’s age, and she’d gone to secretarial school. She supported herself these days. Fannie vaguely remembered that Liza had talked about joining the war effort in some way, but she’d ended up keeping her job.
Fannie set the honey crock on the table and laid a spoon out for Liza. “Help yourself. Mr. Peters keeps bees and raises apple trees, so we usually trade him a couple bushels of corn every year for some honeycomb. Mom separates it and uses the wax to seal jars.”
“Oh yes. I remember him and his bees. I didn’t know he was still doing that since his wife passed.”
“I think it keeps him busy and less lonely.”
“How sad. That he’s alone, I mean.”
Fannie nodded. Many people were alone now, since the war. There’d be widows aplenty and bereaved mothers and fathers, just like her own. She went for a cup next to the stove and poured her own tea. Then she pulled out a chair at the table by Liza. “I’ll join you. I’ve only had one cup.” Fannie smiled and added a dollop of honey to her tea. She stirred it slowly until it dissolved. “It’s nice you’ve come to see Calvin. We haven’t seen you here since he’s gotten back,” she said pointedly.
Liza rested her cup on the table. “Yes … I know.”
“You broke up.”
Liza’s blue eyes widened at Fannie. “Is that what you think? I never broke up with Cal.”
“You didn’t?” Fannie’s suspicions aroused. “I guess Cal didn’t say you had. Not precisely. But he—I mean, you and he haven’t been seeing each other, have you?”
Liza sighed. “No. We sure haven’t. I’ve tried. Oh, Fannie, how I’ve tried. I didn’t want to call your house and upset your mother, and of course Cal can’t hear well on the telephone. I’ve sent him notes and letters. I wrote to him often when he was overseas. I was so excited to hear he had come home.” She bowed her head. “And so devastated when he didn’t contact me.” She lifted sad eyes to Fannie. “I’ve tried talking to him the few times I’ve seen him out. He says I should forget him and move on.”
“Cal said that?” That Cal had broken up with Liza and not the other way around shocked her. What in the world was wrong with him anyway?
