Season of My Enemy, page 7
Mom and the second guard headed off minutes later, the heavy load rumbling and bumping down the drive, and the army truck with four of their workers following. The remaining four included Captain Kloninger, Leo Friedrickson, the ox-like young man, and another young man with eyes almost as blue as the captain’s but not quite. Jerry stood with them, trying to communicate as she and the corporal approached.
Jerry turned to them. “Fan, you’ve met Leo. This is Hermann and Richard,” he said. Hermann reminded her of a young man from church. Light brown hair, smooth skin, an intelligent, straightforward look about him. Richard was the fellow with the thick arms and shoulders. “And this is Wolf, their captain. Wolfgang Kloninger.”
She faced him yet again. “I have met their captain.”
He said something, and the corporal translated. “Another good load.”
With a nod at the other two men, she fidgeted and moved toward the tractor. “Let’s get to work.”
Wolf. How appropriate, she thought as she climbed aboard the tractor and waited for Jerry to crank it. She couldn’t think of a more perfectly suited name for the leader of these enemy soldiers. They are my enemies, no matter how many courtesies we share or how hard they work. I must never forget it.
“Jump on the mower, Jerry.”
“I think Leo was hoping to give it another go.”
“I’d rather you cut this time.”
“Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”
Her nerves sizzled at his smart-aleck tone. Yes, she was the boss. She put the tractor into gear and kept her eyes on the rows ahead. The boss, indeed.
They kept on cutting until the wagon was heaped as high as it could be, and even then they’d cut an extra row. As soon as Mom got back, they’d have enough ready for another load.
Patsy waved to them from the porch. Fannie waved back. Their midmorning snack must be ready. The sun was already heating up the day to a low roast. She felt a softening toward the crew. They’d probably not had anything as nice as fresh-baked bread in months. Maybe even years.
Jerry leapt off the mower before she climbed down from the tractor seat. The men were still flipping peas but getting close to finishing as she left the field. Patsy held a tray heaped in still-warm, freshly baked bread slices slathered in melting, fresh butter. Another tray covered in sweating canning jars of cold lemonade sat on the edge of the porch. Jerry grabbed one up and slugged it down. He smacked his lips with a sigh and set the empty jar on the porch. “Fill that again for me, will you, Pats? I’ll take the rest out to the workers.”
“Thank you, Patsy. The bread looks and smells wonderful.” Fannie gave her little sister an encouraging smile. “I’ll take that for you.”
Patsy gave up the bread tray. “There’s more. I’ll bring it out.”
Fannie glanced at the men moving toward the shade of a big oak near the edge of the lawn. The guard was already standing there with a shoulder against the tree. “All right. You can join us.”
“Thanks, Fannie.” Patsy’s eyes brightened.
Fannie’s stomach growled at the aroma of the warm bread and butter. As she came near the group, the men’s eyes lit up just like Patsy’s. “My mother insists that you need some refreshment.” She looked to Corporal Taft as she said it.
He must have smelled the bread too and didn’t bother telling her they weren’t allowed to feed the prisoners. He shifted toward the men. They all clamored together for a slice off the tray. Only their captain hung back. When they’d all begun gobbling down their snack, he finally approached.
She wished she knew what was going on behind his sky-blue eyes when he unhurriedly took a piece of bread and said, “Danke.” Then he turned to Jerry for a jar of lemonade.
Patsy came out a minute later with the second tray, and she virtually glowed from the men’s oohs and aahs at having another piece. They rubbed their stomachs, smiled, and nodded to show their appreciation. A couple of them took turns getting permission to go to the outhouse.
Jerry elbowed Fannie. “I suppose there isn’t any trouble they can cause in there.” He chuckled at his joke, and that dragged a grin out of her.
The rumble of the truck returning brought them to their feet. Fannie sent Patsy back to the house, and they all thanked her sister again. At least they didn’t take the special treat for granted. Some of the younger of them might not be such bad men at heart.
The trailer bounced over the drive, and Mom jerked the truck to a halt. What was she in such a hurry for? Fannie frowned, and unease lurched through her when Mom burst out of the vehicle.
“Fannie! Jerry!” She waved a small paper. “A telegram!”
Fannie’s pulse jumped. She and Jerry exchanged looks and jogged to meet her.
As they closed the distance, Mom cried out, “Cal’s coming home!”
Fannie nearly tripped. She and Jerry exchanged glances. Her heart thundered so that she felt out of breath when they reached her mom. “Tell us what it says.”
Mom’s hands trembled as she opened the page. “Here, you read it, Fannie. I’m still shaking.”
Fannie skimmed the page then read aloud. “Your son Calvin O’Brien recuperating in hospital in London. Will return to States as soon as able. Honorable discharge forthcoming.” It was signed by a Captain Enger.
Fannie quivered and tears welled into her eyes. Patsy hollered from the porch. “What’s going on?”
“Cal’s coming home!” Jerry shouted. He whooped and hugged Mom. Then Fannie hugged her, and their sobs flowed. Patsy rushed into the fray.
They laughed and cried and hugged a few moments longer until reality came floating back. What a sight they looked. Fannie sniffed and smiled at Mom. “It doesn’t say anything about his injury.”
“No. But it does say he’s recuperating. That’s good news.”
“They don’t make it sound like it’ll be long,” Jerry said.
“‘As soon as able …’ That could mean anything.” Fannie looked for a hospital address where they could write, but none was given. “Maybe Cal will write soon.”
“Yes. Maybe.” Mom clasped her hands together. She’d stopped shaking, and now pure joy radiated from her face.
Fannie handed her the telegram. “I suppose we’d better not quit work today to celebrate.”
“Tonight we will.” Mom tucked the paper into her apron pocket.
Fannie glanced over her shoulder toward the waiting PWs. “They probably think the war ended.”
Jerry shook his head. “Naw. They still think they’re gonna win. They wouldn’t expect us to be cheering.”
“Let’s go.” Fannie pulled the askew blue handkerchief scarf off her head and used it to dab her eyes. Her bun hung loose. She must look an emotional mess, but it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. Not how she looked. Not how much work still had to be finished today. Not what the PWs thought of them. All that mattered was that Cal was alive and coming home.
CHAPTER 6
Leo Friedrickson knew right off it was a telegram in Frau O’Brien’s hand. She’d received news of someone still in the war. Why else would they be cheering and bawling at once? Was it her husband? A son perhaps? Someone important to them, no doubt; someone who’d left these women and youngsters to run their farm alone, just as had happened with so many women, children, and old men in Germany. Except that in Germany they did not have the aid of Allied prisoners bringing in their crops for them. They should have forced them to work instead of locking them behind barbed-wire fences. Leo didn’t believe the rumors that many prisoners, especially the Jews, were being executed. Though such tales of Nazi atrocities had reached them in North Africa, he gave them little credence.
He sipped slowly on his beverage, watching over the rim of his fruit jar as the family sauntered toward them. The eldest Fraülein had taken off her scarf. Loose strands of hair blew in the wind, free from the pins meant to hold it in place. Her face glowed with some news, even though her eyes were red with weeping.
Naturally, his glance shifted over the rest of her. She was a beauty, dark-eyed and tanned from the sun. Her body was meant for other things besides grubbing in the dirt. His mind drifted to feral thoughts momentarily, then he sloshed back the remainder of his lemonade. He puckered. Sugar was in short supply, he knew, so the flavor was tarter than he might like. Yet he detected a mild sweetener of some kind, honey possibly, and the beverage quenched his thirst.
She gave no explanation for what had taken place as she strode past, nor did Leo expect one. He turned along with the other workers to follow her and her brother into the field. She immediately headed for the pickup parked in front of the loaded wagon and bent to loosen the hitch. He hurried up to her.
“Lass mich dir helfen.” He waved her hand away from the hitch to indicate his offer to help. She stepped back, and Richard Schorr came alongside to assist him. The others gathered around the front of the loaded wagon and muscled it into position to be hitched to the truck. Meanwhile, the boy called Jerry fired up the tractor and drove over to hook the empty wagon to that. As the crew strolled toward the task, Leo watched the woman and her mother converse until the mother headed back toward the house and Fraülein O’Brien strode toward them. With two fingers in the corners of her mouth, she gave a loud, sharp whistle. Her brother cranked his body around on the tractor. She waved him down and spoke to him.
The next thing Leo knew, the boy scampered into the truck and drove away with the extra guard and four of their crew.
Leo stepped forward. This presented an opportunity. The Fraülein was going to need help with the mowing. Just then, however, Wolf strode across in front of him, and the next thing Leo knew, his Hauptmann was the one climbing onto the mower’s seat. Leo narrowed his gaze. Of course their Hauptmann would want to try such a job instead of laboring with the backbreaking work of pitching peas.
By all rights, Leo should have achieved a higher rank too, not merely have remained an Obergefreiter. The reminder tasted sourer than the lemon in his throat. He curled a lip. Let Hauptmann Kloninger have his ride on the pea mower. Next time Leo would plead a reason to run the tractor. He wanted a closer look at its operation from the seat above.
Leo came alongside his captain on the mower. The woman was pointing out levers and giving directions, just as her brother had done for Leo yesterday. Corporal Taft was explaining the process to Wolf in German.
Wolf nodded his understanding.
“So, you are going to give it a go,” Leo said.
Wolf didn’t acknowledge him. He was busily trying out the levers per Fraülein O’Brien’s instructions. When she seemed satisfied, she marched back to the tractor, climbed up, and gave it gas.
Leo wished it were him on the mower, but he decided not to say anything about it. He took his place pitching peas onto the wagon alongside Hermann, the Hauptmann’s former math student. Those who knew him said Hermann was brilliant—and only twenty-one years old. They said if he’d been able to graduate, he would have gone on to university and made something important of his life.
As they moved up one row of felled peavines and down the next, Leo and Hermann spoke only occasionally. Leo cast glances at the Hauptmann, who seemed to have gotten almost immediately used to handling the mower. More often than not, his glance toward the captain moved to the woman seated on the tractor, bouncing along on the spring seat, her hair coming more and more undone.
They had the load nearly full when she shut off the tractor and slid down again. With her forearm, she pushed her hair back, and after a quick remark to Wolf—a thanks or compliment perhaps—strode past them like a queen. Was Leo imagining it, or had her color heightened in the brief moment she’d addressed his Hauptmann? For just a flash, she’d seemed almost shy. She stopped and said something to the guard with much less diffidence than she had with Wolf, then walked toward the farmyard. The men all rested on the handles of their pitchforks as she disappeared inside the barn shed and came out a moment later lugging a gas can, clearly heavy for her.
Leo stabbed his pitchfork into the earth and called to the guard. “I’ll help her.”
He jogged across the end of the field and reached her before she’d gotten far. Her eyes refused to meet his as he said the same thing he’d said when he helped her with the hitch. “Let me help you.”
She answered, “Ja. Danke.”
He smiled, even though she didn’t look at him to notice. That she would thank him in German was interesting. He tried something else to test her. “I am glad that you and your family received some happy news today.”
Now her frown and the shrug of her shoulders showed she didn’t understand. It didn’t matter. He had discovered the depth of her knowledge. He forced a small laugh and smiled anyway. Was that the hint of upturned lips returned to him? He lingered over the possibility a second longer, and then he lugged the heavy can to the field, keeping one step ahead of her.
At the tractor, Richard helped Leo lift and pour the can of fuel into the tank. Fraülein O’Brien stood nearby, waiting to screw the cap back on. When the last drops emptied, Leo removed the can, shifting his stance suddenly so that his shoulder brushed hers. She took a hasty step away, but a satisfying sensation of touch lingered. She was flustered, and that pleased Leo too.
He lowered the can to the ground as she climbed back onto the tractor. Richard hustled to crank the flywheel for her. She didn’t bother to thank him but turned her face to the rows of uncut peas.
After another hour’s work, the boy returned with the empty wagon, and about the same time, an army truck brought their afternoon meal. The two guards stood their rifles against the shade tree in the yard and enjoyed a meal brought out by Frau O’Brien, while the shapely woman and her brother disappeared inside.
The guard gave the men further permission to refill their water at the pump, and Wolf dropped onto the grass beside Leo with his chicken sandwich and a potato boiled in its skin. “Sorry to take your job from you today, but I was intrigued to try the machine too.”
Leo shrugged and swallowed a bite of cool potato. “It’s of no consequence. You are the Hauptmann. I am only an Obergefreiter.”
“You are experienced and have the respect of the younger men.”
Leo gave a nod, accepting the compliment. “Perhaps I’ll get some other opportunity later.”
Wolf peered at him while breaking his sandwich in two.
“Opportunity?”
Leo shrugged. “For some other interesting work, the same as you. Who knows where our service might lead?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing more than has been suggested since we began our training. The opportunity for advancement.”
“Ah.”
“It is a shame that our countrymen go with so little, while all this”—he spread his hand in a display of the crops before them—“will go to feed the enemy. They will send it to their armies in Europe and the Pacific.”
“I am sure you are right, yet we are in a position to do little about it.”
Leo looked at him steadily. Was the Hauptmann being serious? Or did he have ideas of his own that he would not speak aloud? They all had a directive, even if captured. He broached another topic. “Did you ever learn the Fraülein’s first name?”
Hauptmann Kloninger glanced at the woman on the tractor and back to Leo. “I have heard her brother call her Fannie.”
Fannie. Leo took a long sip of water, then lowered the canteen and wiped his mouth. Her name settled deep into his thoughts, giving her personality. Later, he would say it aloud. Practice it for when it might be useful to use. With a long, slow glance across the farm, the Hauptmann’s remark followed into his thinking. We are in a position to do little about it. Leo capped his canteen. He could not agree with his Hauptmann.
The final load was ready to leave the farm late in the afternoon. The men would all go along in the transport lorry, and from there they’d return to Camp Barron. The young girl in braids stood outside with a jug, offering them each a refill of their canteens to drink on the way back. The two guards stood talking by the truck, and the rest of them waited wearily for a turn to get some fresh water. Fannie had just pulled the tractor and mower up to the shed and turned off the engine. She appeared as worn out as the men. Leo couldn’t deny a sense of respect for her dedication. Corporal Taft walked over to speak to her. He was grinning like he’d accomplished their work for them. He probably had a thing for the woman, and being American, he could easily try to charm her with conversation. He didn’t have to use his wits, if he had any.
Their conversation was brief. The corporal nodded and turned away. “Time to load up! Let’s get this load going, and you can all get some rest.”
Fannie O’Brien walked wearily toward them, passing them as they filed for the lorry. The boy climbed into the driver’s seat of the farm truck. This final load was piled almost precariously high to finish off what remained of the crop. The boy had better drive slowly over those ruts, or he’d be bound to lose half the peas.
He turned over his truck’s engine. The men found their seats in the back of the lorry. The farm truck whined. The boy turned the motor again.
Leo hiked himself into the lorry, watching the boy in the truck as he tried a third time. The truck sputtered and quit.
“The engine will not start,” Horst murmured.
They all watched now. Even the two guards didn’t get in but stood waiting for the pea truck to get going first.
After a fourth try, the boy got out of the truck and slammed the door. His sister had walked as far as the porch. Now she started back down the steps toward her brother. Her voice rose on a question.
He offered explanation, but the frustration in his voice, the shrug of his shoulders, and the lift of his hands said that he didn’t know what was wrong. Leo didn’t need to know much English to understand their trouble.
