Season of My Enemy, page 8
“Perhaps it is overheated,” Richard said.
“The plugs could be fouled,” Horst answered.
“Horst, do you know about engines?” Hauptmann Kloninger asked. Leo wanted to say that he could help, but the others knew it was right to ask Horst. Horst worked on their trucks often enough in the desert.
“Go and talk to the corporal. See if you can help.”
Horst nodded at Wolf and got down off the truck. Wolf followed. He spoke to Corporal Taft, and Taft took Horst over to the O’Briens with Wolf following.
Jerry and Horst soon had their heads bent together under the hood while Wolf stood beside the corporal and Fraülein O’Brien talking things over. She planted her hands on her hips and waited.
Leo and the rest sat waiting, wishing to be out of there.
“If they don’t get it started, they will lose the rest of the crop. It’ll only be good for pigs.” Otto said aloud what they were all coming to realize.
There were a couple of sighs, most for the waste of all their hard work, no doubt.
Leo spoke softly. “It is not the worst thing.” At the blank looks, he added, “Every pea that leaves this farm goes to feed their soldiers or to sustain someone fighting against our countrymen.”
Fritz’s head moved slowly in the smallest nod of understanding.
Otto grinned. “Then we should be happy.”
“Quiet.”
Otto’s grin fell away. “I was only joking. There is far too much to be serious about. It is not our problem. It is a malfunction of the truck and no concern.”
Rudy nodded. “I agree with Otto. It’s not our problem.”
Leo turned his face from them to watch the goings-on at the pea truck again. Frau O’Brien had come out, and the youngest daughter stood on the porch watching too. Then Fannie O’Brien stormed off toward the barnyard. Wolf went with her.
A prickling sensation skittered up Leo’s spine, and he narrowed his eyes. They disappeared into the shed together and came back a moment later with another can of fuel, only this one swung in Wolf’s hand like it was light, more empty than full. Horst took it and disappeared beneath the hood. Jerry came around the side of the truck and got back in the cab again. He turned the engine. It fired, but after running only a few moments it sputtered.
Now Fannie O’Brien called to her brother, then went to the tractor by the shed.
Leo’s stomach rumbled. It had been a long time since lunch, and they were all getting restless and hungry. He’d gone hours longer than this on less food in Africa, but that didn’t mean it didn’t pain him now to have to wait for a meal. Besides, he looked forward to a shower. Nevertheless, he was curious about what the O’Briens were going to do about their peas.
The tractor roared to life again, and in another minute, Fannie drove it over. Jerry was getting Wolf’s help to unhitch the trailer. Leo studied them with a growing restlessness. Was she planning to pull the load all the way to the vinery with the tractor? It would take at least an hour to get there with that conveyance. Besides that, there was the load on the truck bed itself to deal with.
The corporal called Richard’s name, and the brawny younger man climbed down to help Wolf and Jerry. In a few minutes, they had the loaded wagon switched to the tractor.
Sighs went up around the lorry as the crew realized the work they were in for. They’d have to follow the tractor slowly to the vinery, unload the trailer, and then in all likelihood, return to the farm—another hour’s drive—and transfer the rest of the peas from the back of the dead truck to the trailer, and finally go back to the vinery behind the tractor again. They wouldn’t be finished until well past dark. The corporal had made it very clear that this job must be completed today. The O’Briens’ crops were scheduled at the vinery to take no longer.
Leo tamped down a groan. There was nothing to be done about it. He and the others got off the truck and retrieved pitchforks yet again. Over the next twenty minutes, they transferred the load.
Two hours later, covered in another layer of sweat and filth, they were on their way back to the farm, following the tractor and now-empty trailer that bobbed along behind. A few of the lads had fallen asleep, and their heads jerked about on their necks like the trailer on its hitch. They revived as the lorry turned into the O’Briens’ drive.
To the welcome surprise of all, Frau O’Brien stood next to a picnic table loaded down with food. She waved them over. Plates were piled with beef sandwiches and mashed potatoes, all covered in thick gravy. She handed them each a plate and a fork. The youngest O’Brien, whom Leo heard the Frau call Patsy, set down a tray full of coffee in those small canning jars they’d used earlier along with a pitcher of cream. The hungry men nodded gratefully for the unexpected supper. They would have missed their meal at the camp by now and would likely only get bread and water or maybe a smear of peanut butter. Leo couldn’t help noticing the generous portion of meat between the thick slices of bread as he cut into his dripping sandwich with his fork and crammed the bite into his mouth.
Pork. His jaw paused working only a moment. Not the beef he craved after all. He’d only assumed. Still, it didn’t really matter. It was tender and went down willingly enough.
After the meal, Wolf turned to the men. “Head to the truck. We will leave momentarily.”
“What about the load?”
“Herr O’Brien solved the problem. Fraülein O’Brien can now drive the truck. We will follow as before.”
Leo turned away to set his empty plate on the picnic table. How had Jerry solved the problem? Was it really solved, or would the woman break down on the way to the vinery? He frowned into the dimming light of the distance. They might not lay their heads down for hours yet.
But the truck did not break down. Half an hour later, Fritz, Rudolf, and Hermann were shoving peas onto the conveyor while the rest of them waited in the lorry. Wolf spoke to the corporal, who again spoke to the woman, and she shook the corporal’s hand. She turned to Wolf and said something to him, this time with much less hesitation than earlier in the day. Wolf bowed his head, his face genial.
Leo scowled, and he didn’t care if it showed.
CHAPTER 7
“Fannie, you all right?” Mama sat forward in her rocker, creases of the day’s weariness lining her eyes.
Fannie halted at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m all right. Why are you still up?”
“I cleaned up the kitchen and sent Patsy out to do the milking after dinner. She’s been so housebound these days.”
“It won’t hurt her any.”
“I know. Something else bothering you?” Mom frowned.
Fannie wasn’t very good at hiding her concerns. “Jerry says he thinks it’s funny, the truck not starting before.”
“The condensation in the lines you mean?”
Fannie let her head rest against the living room doorframe and folded her arms. She had asked Jerry how there could be condensation. They’d filled the tank with fuel during their lunch break, and it had been hot out all day. He’d shrugged and said they must’ve gotten some bad gasoline or something. Some kind of nonsense that didn’t make sense to her. Then he said it was kind of funny, but he wouldn’t elaborate.
Fannie didn’t want to worry Mom. The main thing was that the peas were all harvested. “It’s nothing, Mama. I just need to get some sleep.
Patsy upstairs now?”
“She headed off to bed early too. Probably to read her book.”
That brought a warmth to Fannie’s heart. “I think I’ll go on up and let her read me to sleep.”
“I’ll be right along behind you soon as Jerry comes in.”
“He’s just cleaning up outside.”
“I’ll wait.”
Mom always waited. She’d probably be sitting in that rocker or standing by the cookstove waiting on the day Cal came home. Dale too. Just like she’d been waiting for Dad to come in from the barn on that day. He never did.
Lord, let Cal be home soon so maybe we won’t have to bring those men back for any more work. Even if we do, God, let Cal be home to handle them. Fannie just wanted to go back to being a girl again, but it didn’t seem fair to the rest of them to tell God that. It made her feel selfish and spoiled—which she wasn’t. Fannie went into the bathroom and pulled the light chain, then looked at the back of her hand. She looked at the other one too. Dirt was part of her pores, showing every crease and line in hands she’d always thought would look smooth and young for many more years. At this rate they wouldn’t.
She turned on the squeaky faucet handle and filled the basin with tepid water. It turned brown as soon as she began swishing her hands in it. She was too tired for a whole bath, bad as she needed one. She’d just have to wash her sheets extra well tomorrow if the weather was nice. They had missed their regular Monday washday except for laundering a few towels Mom had asked Patsy to do to keep her busy while the prisoners were here.
It felt good to scrub her arms and the back of her neck and face. In fact, Fannie had accomplished a pretty good sponge bath by the time she was ready to slip into her nightgown and poke her head into Patsy’s bedroom to say good night.
As Mom predicted, Patsy was reading by the light of the pull-string lamp secured with flexible hooks to her metal headboard. Patsy waved her in. “Close the door and come here.”
Fannie fought her desire to sigh and tell her “Not tonight,” and crawled across her little sister’s bed to sit beside her. “What’s up?”
“This book is so good.” Patsy widened her eyes with exaggerated wonderment. “I couldn’t wait to finish chores so I could get back to it.”
“What’s it called?”
Patsy held it up to show Fannie the spine.
“You’re reading Rebecca?”
“It’s so creepy.” Patsy shuddered with delight.
“Aren’t you a little young for that story?”
Patsy gasped. “What do you want me to read—Rabbit Hill? I read that when I was ten.” She dropped back onto her pillow. Fannie was about to tell her good night and happy reading when Patsy said, “Tell me about the prisoners.”
Fannie expelled a breath. “It’s late, Pats.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s not even ten o’clock.”
“It feels like midnight.”
Patsy left her book lying on the nightgown draping her legs and clutched Fannie’s arm. “Just tell me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“They aren’t very old, except for that one who sort of takes charge.”
“Are you confusing Corporal Taft with one of the Germans?” Fannie knew she wasn’t, but why would her thirteen-year-old sister notice such things?
Patsy shook her head. “No, not him. The German. He’s handsome for somebody as old as he is.”
“You mean just a few years older than I am?” Fannie raised her brow wryly.
“That other one isn’t much younger. Just think. We have real Nazis right here on our farm.”
“They’re human beings, Patsy. You know that, don’t you? And Corporal Taft says they aren’t all Nazis. Some of them were just forced into service.”
“I know.” She plunged down into her pillow. “I think they both like you. The two older ones, I mean.”
“Patsy, really.” Fannie started to push off the bed, but Patsy sat up again and pulled her back.
“Don’t go. Did you find out any of their names?”
Fannie pinched her lips, prepared to not let Patsy’s inquisition go any further, but then she sighed. Her sister would just hound her later on. “I suppose you won’t let it go. We aren’t going to get to know them, so if I tell you their names, will you leave it be? And for heaven’s sake, don’t tell any of your friends about them. There are a lot of people who don’t like some of the farmers and factories hiring the PWs.”
“I won’t tell.” Her eyes shone.
“The old one is Wolfgang Kloninger, and the other one is Leo Friedrickson.” She took a quick breath to continue, even while she was momentarily surprised at herself for remembering their names so easily. Their faces popped instantly to mind also. “And there’s Richard and Hermann, and … oh, I forget the others. Jerry probably knows.”
“Some of them are cute.”
Fannie eyeballed her sister. “Like I said, I think you’re a little young for Rebecca.”
“Phooey.” Patsy lay back on the pillow. She propped the book open on her chest.
“You know they made a movie about it just a couple years back.”
The book fell flat. “They did?”
Fannie nodded as she rose and moved toward the door. “I saw it.” She turned back and winked at her sister. “Sooo good.” Then she slipped out, closing the door on Patsy’s groan, and chuckled. Her little sister might turn into a writer someday. She had such an imagination. She might need a little reminding, however, that those PWs were the enemy.
The next couple of days felt almost normal, although stiff joints reminded Fannie of those long days of hard work earlier in the week. On Friday, gray skies blew in and it rained softly. Fannie offered Patsy a day at the library while she worked. She could hardly wait to return to her job. How she missed it!
She donned a tan, pleated skirt and a cream-colored blouse with a bow tie collar. She slipped on beige pumps that were practically like new, since she’d worn them so little in the past year. She crimped her hair and pulled it back to the side in a barrette, reminding herself to take along an umbrella since she didn’t want to wear a hat. With a pinch to her cheeks and a couple of strokes of rose lipstick, Fannie almost felt like a woman again. She’d rubbed a little lanolin into her skin after a bath on Wednesday, so her hands didn’t look quite so dry, even though she’d had to trim her nails to the quick, and she could do nothing about how brown her skin was.
Patsy was already downstairs finishing her breakfast and looking pretty in a checked skirt, light blue blouse, and saddle shoes. Her hair was parted neatly and woven into her usual pairing of braids.
“You clean up pretty well,” Patsy said.
Fannie laughed. “Do I? So do you, my little milkmaid.”
Patsy wrinkled her nose but smiled. “I’m ready when you are.” She lifted a pile of books off the table.
“Let me sip my coffee and we’ll go.”
Mom handed them two sack lunches. “You might get caught in the rain, so drive carefully.”
Only light sprinkles fell as the two dashed out of the house to the family car, a 1936 sedan Dad purchased when Fannie enrolled in the county teacher’s college. It had served the family well for three years now, and Fannie never got behind the wheel without thinking of her dad and the many ways he’d unknowingly left them prepared for his homegoing. Jerry had high hopes for getting the old Model A Ford parked beside the barn running too.
“At least it’s a warm rain.” As usual, Patsy sounded older than her thirteen years, as she shut the passenger door and settled her books in her lap.
“We need it.” Fannie started the engine and headed down the drive. There was always a delicate dance that nature played for the farmers. The rain and sun to nurture and grow, bright weather to harvest, and times for the ground to dry up so they wouldn’t get their equipment stuck in the fields. Sometimes the dance went out of step, and it became nearly impossible to till a field or bring in the hay. Then there were the occasional ravages of disease or insects to contend with. It had always been a concern, but now without Dad or Calvin to take charge, and the weight of the farm falling on her and her mother’s shoulders, that dance became more nerve-racking. Nevertheless, for today at least, she would only have to think about sorting books and smiling at library patrons.
They arrived at the library and turned the corner to park alongside the stately brownstone building. After she opened the umbrella, she and Patsy scurried around the front of the building and up the wide concrete stairs, ducking under the columned portico as the pattering raindrops turned to a downpour.
“Made it just in time.” Patsy followed Fannie inside, then disappeared in the aisles of books.
Fannie took their lunches to the staff break room and signed in on her time card.
“You’re back.” Mrs. Calloway, the head librarian, greeted Fannie with a smile. “And just in time. We have a stack of returned books to be processed.”
“A number of them are my sister’s, no doubt. She’s reading Rebecca already.” Fannie shook her head.
“At least she has good taste. I suppose it’ll be Gone with the Wind next.”
“I think I’ll steer her to something else. Maybe The Sword in the Stone.”
“I think that one just came back a few days ago.”
“I’ll check and see. Then again, she’ll probably have ten others picked out before we go home today.” Fannie moved to the return stack where books, magazines, and newspapers stood in small piles. She picked up the pile of papers first.
IVASION! one headline screamed. ALLIES LAND IN NORTHERN FRANCE! Headlines on other papers were similar, all echoing the news from earlier in the month that Operation Overlord—D-Day—had been carried out and deemed a turning point in the war effort, even at the cost of nearly eleven thousand lives. It might have been Cal’s among them, but thank heaven that wasn’t the case. No one in the family spoke that fear aloud, but over the many passing days before they’d finally heard that he was coming home, the possibility taunted Fannie and no doubt her mother and Jerry too. They still didn’t know which part of the world he was returning from.
She glanced at Patsy, who was intent behind the pages of a book in a chair across the room. Maybe Patsy was the exception in their family. She might never believe anything bad could happen to her stalwart eldest brother.
“And now we’ve been invaded too,” Fannie murmured as she straightened the broadsheets. She’d read the articles and heard the daily radio reports. Yes, they were making strides in the war, but at such a cost. And now with having to pay for the help of Germans on their farm, it felt like their borders had been breached.
