Season of My Enemy, page 9
“Did you see the letters to the editor in the Chronotype?” Mrs. Calloway spoke over her shoulder, nearly startling her.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Folks are getting wind of the prisoner of war camp in Barron.”
“And?” She set the papers aside and pulled out the file drawer of lending cards to begin checking in the returned books.
“Some are pretty upset. They claim that if we aren’t careful, we’ll be inviting Nazis to murder us in our beds.” Her tone sounded dubious. “But there are some voices of reason out there, reminding everyone that the prisoners are human.”
Fannie slid a book to the right and picked up another, moving slowly as she focused on Mrs. Calloway’s remark. “What do you think?”
“I think caution is good, but they have to keep the prisoners someplace. And why not require their labor? We’re missing too many of our own men. I hear they’ve been begging for workers at the canneries. Remember Faith Winkleman?”
Fannie nodded. Faith used to work summers at the library.
“She’s working full-time at the cannery this summer, right along with both of her sisters.”
“But Maryann is only sixteen.” Faith’s younger sister was in Jerry’s class at school.
Mrs. Calloway took a chair behind her desk and settled her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “The girls are helping in every way they can while Mr. Winkleman does his part.”
All three Winkleman girls working in the canning factory—Fannie could hardly imagine it, yet she already knew that the girls had all been hard workers long before the war. They must be working right alongside PWs too.
She turned to Mrs. Calloway. She kept her voice low in case there were any patrons besides Patsy somewhere amid the bookcases. “Have you heard what it’s really like working with them? The PWs, I mean? Have you spoken to Faith or anyone else about it?”
Mrs. Calloway raised her head from her work and removed her glasses once more. “No, I haven’t.” She tented her fingers. “I’ve only heard what I’ve read. Oh, they worry about sabotage and things like that. But they’re watched so closely I doubt there’s anything to be afraid of. They seem more concerned about fraternization than anything else. I don’t see the Winkleman girls as the kind to get caught in a flirtation with an enemy prisoner of war. Do you?”
“A flirtation? Oh … oh no. Certainly not.” She turned back to her books and finished checking them in. Should she tell Mrs. Calloway about the PWs on their farm? She wanted to. Fannie had the highest regard for the head librarian. She was levelheaded and always kind. But would it be wise? Maybe later. Or maybe she should hold her tongue. After all, Cal would be home before they knew it. Then if they did need to hire the PWs back again, there’d be a man in the family to handle them. Fannie wouldn’t even have to go near them again.
“We have good news.” She scooped up the books and set them on a wooden cart. “My brother Calvin is coming home.”
Mrs. Calloway gasped. “That’s wonderful news, Fannie. I’m surprised you didn’t say so right away. When do you expect him?”
“We don’t know exactly. The army took their good-natured time locating him. Now we just have to pray that the war will end and Dale will be released too.”
“Have you heard from Dale?”
“Only a couple of cards. There isn’t much room on them to write, and he can’t tell much or they blacken it out. We only know he’s being held in a camp in Germany. We don’t know much about his condition. He just says he’s well enough. He tries to joke, but it doesn’t read very funny.”
“I’m so sorry, Fannie. Now that the Allies have invaded France, the war is sure to end soon.”
“I hope so.” Fannie pushed the cart away. She hoped so on so many counts.
By the end of the day, Patsy had finished reading Rebecca and returned it in exchange for three more novels. Fannie suggested she expand her reading to something factual or biographical, but Patsy wrinkled her nose and said she got enough of that kind of reading at school.
“When will the PWs be back?” Patsy asked abruptly as they reached the road leading home.
“In a few days, probably. Beans need cultivation and irrigating.”
Her sister seemed satisfied with that answer, but now Fannie was curious. “Why do you ask?”
“Dorothy Jean came into the library today too. We were talking about them. She said her brothers drove over to that camp and spied on the prisoners.”
Fannie flung her a look. “They what? Don’t they know somebody could get hurt? People have been warned to stay away from the camps.”
“The soldiers will shoot if a prisoner was to get out or come after them or something.” The nonchalance of Patsy’s response was even more shocking than her initial comment. Had they grown so used to the killing of their enemies that even a thirteen-year-old girl could become calloused?
“They are men. Young men like Jerry and Dale. They have families who want them to come home, Patsy. To talk about taking lives so casually is—is unbecoming. It’s crass. Vulgar. Imm—”
“I get it.” Patsy let out a deep sigh. “I didn’t say I was going to go over there to spy on them. Jeepers.”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk about them in any way. It’s no one’s business that they come to the farm.” Fannie pinched her lips and breathed out her nose. Patsy was only telling about her friend’s foolish brothers. They were all young. Too young for war. Why weren’t they busy working for the summer? “What’s Dorothy Jean doing with her summer?” she asked to redirect the conversation as they turned into their drive.
“She doesn’t have to do anything. Her dad’s rich.”
“Mr. Milton isn’t rich.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Fannie glanced at Patsy again. “When did you become so aware of social standing?”
“I’m not so dumb. I can see that they live in a nicer house than ours, and they have two cars, and Dorothy Jean always has some new dress or other. She says her dad is going to buy her a car when she turns sixteen. The war will be over by then, and his stocks will be soaring. That’s what she said. What are stocks anyway? They talk about them in books, but they never tell you what they are.”
Fannie barely heard Patsy’s question. She couldn’t get past the notion that her little sister was already comparing them to other families. “Their house isn’t that much nicer than ours, and they live on a city block. They don’t have acres and acres to roam and call their own. Or a creek to swim in whenever they want. And besides, we have two cars too, and a truck and tractor besides.” Fannie shut off the engine and got out.
“You can’t count that old heap of Jerry’s,” Patsy said as she clambered out with her armload of books. “But speaking of swimming, I hope it’s hot out on Sunday. I want a nice long swim before those PWs are back here ruining my week.”
Fannie rolled her eyes, then caught Jerry coming out of the barn shed. His hands were black with grease that seemed also to have made its way onto his ripped T-shirt and his nose. “What are you working on?”
“Just been making sure the truck and tractor are tuned up for the next time we need them.”
“Good idea.”
“Got a minute?” He jerked his head and beckoned her toward the barn.
With a glance at Patsy disappearing into the house, Fannie followed, skirting a mud puddle from the half-day’s rain. “What is it?”
“Remember I said that maybe we got some bad fuel?”
Fannie followed him inside, careful not to bump into anything with her good clothes on. “Yes, I remember.”
“Have a look.”
A glass jar sat on the workbench in front of the dusty window where light poured through the container, illuminating the contents. Clearly there was gasoline in there, but it sat on a half inch of something clear. “Is it water?”
“Yeah.”
“So you were right. Which station did you buy the fuel from? I’ve heard some places will water it down.”
“Fannie, I filled two cans at the same place, and the other is fine.”
“Then there was condensation?”
“We haven’t had enough temperature change from day to night to cause that much condensation. Besides, we filled up first thing, remember?”
“What are you saying, Jer?” Her head buzzed with the answer.
He folded his arms, and his brown eyes settled on her. “What do you think I’m saying?”
“Just tell me.” She did know. She just couldn’t say it.
“I’m saying there have been shenanigans.”
“You mean somebody put that water in the truck?”
“You’re pretty smart for a girl.” Sarcasm laced his tone.
“Who would come along and do such a thing? And with the way things are? And how would they have done it?”
“Fannie, you’re avoiding the obvious.”
Yes, she was. She chewed on a hangnail and spat it out with a puff. “So, you really believe that somehow one or more of the PWs tried to sabotage the truck while we were all right there watching, and with a gun on them to boot.”
“Thanks for not making me spell it out.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it? They wandered to the pails to fill their canteens often enough. The guard couldn’t walk on both sides of the truck at once. The tank is on the opposite side of the driver. They might have had another man watching or ready to distract Mom or whichever one of us was driving.”
Fannie thought of the short time she drove the truck and that prisoner Wolf pitching peavines alongside, glancing up at her in her side mirror, nodding. Distracting her.
“You think it’s really possible?”
“Think about it, Fan. And keep a close eye when they’re back here next week.” He slid the jar against the wall. “I think I can strain the gas off the top and make it usable again.”
“Don’t tell Mom.”
“‘Course not. We’ll handle it.”
Fannie placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Jerry.” She smiled encouragement. “Cal will be home soon.”
CHAPTER 8
VICTORY BEGINS ON THE FARM! OVERALLS ARE YOUR UNIFORM! Fannie recalled the words splashed across the posters meant to encourage the men and women who remained behind as the backbone of their war effort. Then she considered the Germans in her bean field. Sunlight blazed the sky, while across the ocean of green men in gray uniforms crouched, the giant letters PW stamped across their backs aimed at the heavens as if in silent supplication for their freedom. They too wore overalls instead of a soldier’s uniform. Did they still long for Germany’s triumph? Or would the assured well-being of their families offer victory enough?
Radio announcements told of the bombings and desecration of towns, villages, and even the major cities of Germany. Would the PWs have homes to return to?
Had Fannie only days ago told Patsy that they were simply men wanting to go home to their families?
Hurry home, Calvin.
She bent again alongside Patsy and Jerry. They hoed between the rows of beans on the east end of the field, while the PWs moved irrigation lines used to siphon water from the creek on the west. Far enough apart not to have to mingle. Corporal Taft and Private Vicks had bared their heads and rolled up their sleeves as they stood watch over the crew. Now and then, when their weeding got them close enough to the woods, one of the men would step away to do personal business, never far from sight of the guards.
“I’m so hot,” Patsy groaned.
“We’ve only got another couple of rows. You’ll have time for a swim before supper if you want.”
“I don’t know if I’ll even have the energy.”
“I’m sure you’ll find some.” Fannie chuckled, but she too wished for a long cool swim. “Maybe we’ll go together.”
“I think the swinging rope is getting ready to break.” Jerry straightened and, with a hand to his lower back, bent backward in a stretch. “Me and my buddy Frank will have to fix it before you try swinging off it.” He rolled his shoulders and bent to chop along the roots of encroaching weeds with his hoe.
“It won’t break for me.” Patsy stood and flung a handful of weeds into a wilting pile. “Maybe for Fannie.”
Fannie threw a root ball at her back, hitting it square.
“Hey!”
“You just wait until we’re in the creek.”
“Speaking of water … Tonight I’d better check out the pipes they’re moving. See to it they’re laid out correctly.”
“I’ll go with you,” Fannie said between short breaths as she chopped with her hoe.
Near the end of the day, the siblings finally walked to Meadows Creek. The PWs were only a few rows over from them, and they could finish hoeing the rest. They’d be gone by the time the O’Brien siblings emerged from the wooded ditch.
“My legs are so itchy from beans I can hardly wait to jump in.” Patsy was already yanking off her shoes.
“I’ll help you wash off.” Jerry hoisted her over his shoulder and scuffled down the embankment while Patsy kicked and squealed. Her arguments were cut off the moment she went under the water with a splash. Jerry dove in beside her.
The creek wasn’t deep. It only came waist high in the deepest places, except for one hole where the rope swing hung. But it ran clear and cool, and Fannie breathed a sigh of contentment as she waded in and sank down into the stream. A shiver ran through her, luscious and welcome. She faced the lazy current, pulled off her scarf, and held it while she dipped completely under. She came out with her face tilted to the sun, and when she stood again, she gave the scarf a good swishing.
Her work dress swam up around her thighs. That was getting a good rinsing too.
Patsy plunged out of the stream and up the bank to the rope swing, just as she said she would. With a holler, she pitched her body outward over the water and landed in the deepest hole, popping up like a cork an instant later.
Jerry shook his head. “You’re lucky it didn’t break before you jumped.
No telling when it’s going to give way.”
“You’re just chicken.”
“I ain’t chicken.”
“Prove it.”
“I don’t have to.”
Their banter continued, but Fannie stopped listening as she waded upstream, laid back in the water, and drifted down. She repeated the process again and again. After thirty minutes, feeling more refreshed than she had in a week, she stood up. “We’d better get going. Mom will be wondering where we are, and she’ll probably need help with supper. Come on.”
Patsy splashed past her and scrambled up the bank, pausing long enough to pop some wild blueberries into her mouth from the bushes scattered about.
Fannie pushed through the flow and leaned forward to find a foothold in the grassy overhang when movement atop the bank above drew her attention. She jerked back with an intake of breath at the sight of one of the Germans. Patsy lowered a blueberry-stained hand from her mouth as another man appeared and then another. Jerry stood silent in the water behind her. Soon the whole rank and file of German prisoners stood above them, spread out along the embankment. Fannie almost shrank back into the creek, but she held fast, her hands clinging to tufts of grass.
Then the guards appeared on either side of the line of prisoners, and Fannie nearly collapsed with relief. Yet all of their gazes were trained on the O’Briens, and not a few of them on Fannie in her wet, clinging work dress. She climbed over the bank with as much decorum as she could muster, then self-consciously reached for her wet hair at her back and pulled it forward to squeeze out the water, her elbows tight to her body as she did so. She spoke to her brother and sister. “Let’s go.”
The corporal gave her a nod. “Sorry, ma’am. We thought you’d gone to the house. We just wanted to give these men a chance to cool off. Save shower time back at camp.”
Fannie raised her chin, ignoring their stares. “It’s no trouble, Corporal. You go right ahead. I hope you get to cool off also.”
His smile broadened. “We’ll try.”
One of the prisoners—Fritz, she thought his name was—had his shirt unbuttoned and couldn’t struggle out of it fast enough. Other men followed suit.
Patsy gasped and Fannie frowned. “Hurry up, Patsy.” She needed to get them out of here before the men were disrobed. She had the feeling they cared more about getting wet and cool than being modest right now. She marched along the edge of the creek bank with as much dignity as she could scavenge in her wet dress and bare feet, but she had to pass within two feet of Hauptmann Kloninger. He spoke a word, causing her to wheel.
“What?” She tossed a beseeching glance at the corporal, but he wasn’t looking their way.
The handsome man spoke again, and his smile was … what? Apologetic?
She didn’t know how to respond, so she turned away and waved her siblings along. They hurried down the short path back into the field, while behind them rose the shouts and splashes of the prisoners enjoying a reprieve in the O’Briens’ swimming hole.
Fannie heated right back up again. The gall of them! Prisoners! Her enemies! Enjoying our creek. Fannie fumed silently the entire walk home, while Jerry and Patsy jabbered over the very thing between themselves.
They made it to the house just as Mom was setting their dinner on the table. Fannie apologized for not getting back sooner, but her mother waved off her explanations. “You children deserved some relaxation. I hope you do it often. Don’t let these summer days get away from you completely. When you work hard, you should take some time to play hard too. Your dad always said so.”
Fannie could almost hear her father telling them that. “That he did.” She kissed her mom’s cheek and hurried upstairs to get out of her wet clothes. She paused at the bedroom mirror, flushing again at what kind of coarse thoughts might’ve gone through those PWs’ wicked minds. But now her anger quickly cooled. Was it really so bad that they had gone to swim in the creek, or was it merely her pride suffering humiliation at being caught unprepared and ogled so? Chagrined, she turned away from the mirror and hurriedly changed into a dry dress and brushed out her wet tangles. By the time she came back downstairs, her plate of chicken and rice was cool enough to dig into. Afterward Mom asked Patsy to help wash the dishes while Jerry went out to check the cow tank and throw scraps to the pigs.
