by Andy Andrews
“Hullo, lady! Odd time of the day for you to be home.”
Helen stuck her head out the truck window and looked up. Josef had come out of the cottage and was leaning jauntily against the deck rail, his British persona on full display.
“Hello, Josef,” Helen said as she exited the vehicle.
“Might I deduct, from what I confess is your not totally unexpected arrival, that you have recently experienced a conversation with the local constable?”
“You are very perceptive.”
“Yes then, well, I would be now, wouldn’t I?” Josef grinned down at Helen and spread his arms. “Genuine fear, it seems, conjures forth a level of consciousness to which I have previously been unaccustomed.”
“I’ll bet,” Helen remarked. “Are you all right?”
Josef exhaled loudly as if to rid himself of his alter ego—the happy Brit—and in his normal voice, he replied, “Yes, I am fine. What about you?”
As Helen began to relate the details of her encounter with Wan at the café, Josef descended the stairs and arranged some old beach furniture under the cottage in the shade. Sitting patiently while she told the story, Josef was relieved (and amazed) to hear that Helen had not really needed to provide any information. They were now free to collaborate on any details it might become necessary to reveal. When she was finished, however, Helen was surprised to see Josef frowning. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“The deputy . . . what was his name? Wan?” Helen nodded. “Wan thought . . . he thought you and I were . . . ahhhh . . . you know?”
“Apparently,” she said with an amused smirk.
“Oh, my,” Josef said, leaning back hard. “Maybe that is why he shot at me.”
Helen’s head jerked around. “He shot at you!” she asked, half standing from her chair, plainly astonished.
“Yes,” Josef said, chuckling at her reaction, “and not with a peashooter like the one that got me here.” He indicated his shoulder. “The man had a cannon in his hands. It’s probably why he missed.”
Josef told her the entire tale and asked a few questions of his own. He was particularly interested in Danny and was sorry he’d been frightened. He had only been joking when he intimated the possibility of Wan having shot at him out of jealousy, but insisted to Helen that the idea contained a kernel of truth.
“Wan? And me?” she scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“To you, maybe yes. To him? Perhaps not so ridiculous.”
“But I never . . . I mean, I haven’t led him to believe anything of the sort.”
Josef made a calming motion with his hands. “I believe you. Sometimes we—by ‘we,’ I am referring to men in general—sometimes we allow our hopes to obscure reality.” Josef was quiet as Helen contemplated that thought. Then he said, “In any case, I believe your deputy to be a good man. Although, luckily for me, a bad shot.”
Helen squirmed nervously in the beach chair, trying to take it all in. The day’s events so far had proven almost overwhelming. “
Whatever your feelings for the deputy,” Josef continued, “it is now clear that I must leave. I would have no one think of you what they obviously will when word spreads about a man living at your house—innocent though it may be. Not to mention,” he added, “the personal risk you continue to take as you harbor a . . . well, whatever it is that I am.” He paused. “I certainly don’t feel like an enemy of your country . . . though technically, I suppose—”
“Josef,” Helen interrupted, “you are not our enemy. At least, you are not my enemy.”
Helen was somewhat surprised to hear the words coming from her mouth, but her spirit told her they were true. “Listen,” she said, the beginnings of an idea formulating in her mind, “maybe you do need to leave here . . .” She gestured with her hands, indicating the cottage. “. . . but it would be crazy—dangerous even—to leave the area.”
Josef frowned, not following her reasoning, but she didn’t pause or even slow down. Helen spoke with intensity, leaning toward him, convinced that she was accurate in her assessment of the situation. “Josef . . . the thing with Wan and Danny today was the best thing that could have happened! Look at it this way—number one . . .” She smiled slyly. “. . . Wan will be nice to you. Not in a million years does he want it to become common knowledge that he had a shoot-out with a guy and his rake.” Josef laughed. “So,” Helen continued, “he’ll be subconsciously protecting you. I will guarantee, at this very moment, he is scared to death you might say something. Therefore, he’ll be buddy-buddy in public. And so to everyone else . . . ‘Hey, he’s the deputy’s friend.’ And that will avert any suspicions anyone might have ordinarily had.” Josef began to nod.
“Number two is the fact that someone besides me knows you now. And you are the person they met. To Wan and Danny, you are the funny English guy, and that word will spread . . . which brings me to number three.
“We are not living in New York or Washington. Heck, Josef, this isn’t even Mobile! This is a small town. And believe me, I know how these people are. They are sweet and kind and proud and protective . . . and before too long, they will be protective of you. You will be their funny English guy.
“So, yes, you have to leave here. But, no, you don’t have to leave the area. We just have to find another place for you to stay.”
And that is how Josef Bartels Landermann, formerly an officer of the Kriegsmarine, came to live in a squatter’s cabin tucked quietly away in a pine forest bordering the wild, windswept sand dunes of the Alabama Gulf coast.
Certainly the story could have ended there as well.
Josef’s tiny one-room “home” was a bit less than a mile’s walk from Helen’s cottage. As the summer turned into fall, they visited nearly every evening and talked endlessly about their lives, God, politics, Danny, the war, and whatever else came to mind. They discussed what was important, argued about what was not, and laughed and teased each other about both. They were quiet together and often just sat on the beach, watching the waves, until one or the other of them yawned and said good night.
While Josef still missed Tatiana and Rosa, he no longer dwelled in dark thoughts and was able to look cautiously toward the future. It was, to be sure, a future fraught with uncertainty, but one he no longer faced with fear. Josef had decided to build a new life here in America. After all, wasn’t this the country that encouraged new beginnings? A new beginning. A new life. And perhaps . . . he sometimes dared think . . . with a new woman?
AS THANKSGIVING CAME AND WENT AND CHRISTMAS approached, it was apparent that Helen had been correct. After the initial curiosity about the “squatter from England,” most of the local community seemed to accept Josef as part of the melting pot America had become. To them, he was just one more fellow, temporarily down on his luck, working his way toward better times.
Josef had discarded his old voice and, with Helen’s encouragement, spoke only using his British accent. It seemed safer not to switch back and forth—German to English and vice versa—the odds of being overheard were too great.
Apprehensively at first, Josef had gone into town with Helen as she ran various errands and was introduced to many of the people there. He became familiar to Billy and Margaret and even did some odd jobs for them at their home and at the café. Mostly electrical work with a bit of carpentry thrown in, it allowed Josef to earn a wage and demonstrate a visible means of support. Undeterred by Helen’s protests, he insisted upon paying her back for the expenses she incurred while helping him. Obviously neither of them really knew how much that was, but Helen often found small amounts of cash on her kitchen table that he left during a visit.
Helen was amazed at the relationship developing between Josef and Danny. Somehow, despite their frightening introduction that day at Helen’s cottage, the two were becoming fast friends. In addition, when it became apparent that Danny had evidently blocked the most noteworthy part of that day from his memory, Wan also relaxed around Josef.
As far as the deputy wa
s concerned, neither Josef nor Helen had mentioned his mistake, Danny, it seemed, had forgotten it, and he certainly wasn’t going to bring it up, so . . .
Just as Helen predicted, Wan became Josef’s friend and advocate. Though it made her nervous at first, she was gradually getting used to seeing Wan and Josef together.
To Helen’s amazement, it was Wan who loaned an old car to Josef—never thinking that his new friend might not have a license to drive. It was also Wan who introduced Josef to the Nelsons and the Callaways—local families with long traditions in fishing and shrimping. Josef learned the trade from them, worked on their boats, and soon was a welcome presence with the other men as they labored together. Most afternoons would find Josef, in line at the fish house with his day’s catch, jabbering away in the accent that so amused the crews or listening to the stories of the boat captains as they dumped thousands of pounds of seafood on the conveyors and complained about the scarcity of shrimp and fish. It certainly was better, they assured Josef, in the “old days.”
Just as Josef had hoped, his new life was taking shape. Helen was happier, calmer, and beginning to suspect there might be more to her friendship with Josef than she’d allowed herself to imagine. It could have gone on forever. And they had every reason to suspect that it might.
As so often happens, however, even those who do not expect the worst find themselves unable to fend it off. And so it was on the morning of Christmas Eve, 1942, during what should have been the most hopeful time of their lives, that Josef and Helen looked up and saw their safe corner of the world altered in the blink of an eye.
CHAPTER 14
WHEN HELEN CAME OUT OF THE COTTAGE, SHE WAS surprised to see Josef standing beside the truck. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “I thought I was supposed to meet you by the road.”
As Helen descended the stairs, Josef gallantly opened the door of the truck for her. “I was up,” he said. “I decided to walk. Last chance for a while. Rain is coming.” He helped her in, shut the door, and ran around to the other side. Though Josef had Wan’s old car, it didn’t run well, and he used it only to transport him to the docks and back. Almost every time he went into town, Josef rode with Helen.
“Really?” Helen asked, leaning out the truck’s open window and scanning the sky for clouds. “It doesn’t look like rain.”
“On its way, I assure you. Drop in temperature . . . wind shift. Bad weather on its way.”
“Gee,” Helen said as she slipped the clutch and gunned the old truck down the driveway, “I hope Santa has his rain jacket!”
The evening before, meeting as usual on the beach, the two had made plans to come into town together for Christmas Eve. Helen had to work only the lunch shift, but wanted to spend some time shopping in Foley before going to work. Shrimping had been slow most of December so Josef had no problem taking a day off—and besides, he was looking forward to spending an entire day with Helen.
They stopped at the café to ask Billy if there was anything he needed from town, and as they parked in front of the small building, Danny came out to say hello. “Merry Christmas, Josef! Merry Christmas, Helen!”
“Merry Christmas to you, Danny,” they said in unison.
“My mama has a present for you, Helen, but I don’t. I have one for Josef. Here,” Danny said as he pulled a small package from his pocket and gave it to Josef. “I made it for you. Open it.”
When the paper was torn away, Josef was speechless. He held the item up for Helen to see. “Oh, Danny,” she gasped. “You made this?” He nodded proudly.
It was an intricate carving, about the size of a man’s finger, of a speckled trout. Its proportion was flawless, the detail incredible. Josef was stunned. “Danny . . . I don’t know what to say. Thank you. It’s beautiful. I didn’t know you could do this.”
“I didn’t know I could do it, either,” Danny said. “It’s my first one. I did it with my daddy’s pocketknife. Are you coming inside? My mama saw you drive up and said if you are going to town, could you get a sack of flour and a tin of lard from the store? She said you would know what kind to get. Are you coming inside?”
“Well, Danny,” Helen said as Josef waved at Margaret through the front window, “I don’t have to come inside now. You’ve taken care of all the details for me. But I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Then she wiggled her eyebrows at Danny and added, “We have some errands to run for Santa Claus!”
“Okay! Okay!” Danny rubbed his hands together excitedly. “I’m gonna tell my daddy!” Before he went back into the café, however, Danny wrapped Josef in a big bear hug. “I love you, Josef. Merry Christmas again. Merry Christmas again to you, too, Helen. I will make a present for you next year.”
As they watched the young man make his way back inside, Helen shook her head in wonder and took the carved trout from Josef, examining it again. “I love you, Josef,” she murmured softly, repeating the words that had come from Danny, surprising them both only moments before. She handed the carving back. Looking carefully at the man before her, Helen asked, “Why does he love you, Josef?”
Josef didn’t know how to answer the question and stood silently, a bit uncomfortable, unsure about that himself. Helen answered for him. “Because you possess a good and true spirit,” she explained. “Danny senses that you are not concerned about what he is . . . only about what he can become. Danny does not process shades of gray. He sees life only in black and white. In a way he could never define, he perceives you to be worthy of his love. I believe that too.”
Josef was still, held prisoner by Helen’s gaze. After her words had been spoken, the silent seconds that followed seemed to last an eternity. Neither moved. Josef wanted to take her in his arms, to hold this woman, to kiss her. Helen thought he might. Instead, the words that came out of his mouth were, “I think I’ll get him a pocketknife.”
Helen’s eyebrows raised. “What?” she said.
“I . . . Ahhh . . . I would like to get Danny a pocketknife. He said he used Billy’s to carve the fish. And it is beautiful, certainly, just like it is, but he should have his own. Knife. He should have his own knife. And I can get one for him.” Josef was babbling and knew it, but he couldn’t find an exit line. Helen found it for him.
“Josef,” she said, placing her hand on his arm, “let’s go get one.”
Her touch flustered Josef, and it showed. He looked at Helen as if he had no idea what she was talking about, and she struggled to keep from smiling. “Josef. Get in the truck. Let’s go get a knife for Danny.”
Josef blinked. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, let’s do.”
Crosby’s Drugs on Laurel Avenue was decorated with large multicolored lights. Reds, blues, greens—it was the only business in Foley that had been able to obtain these modern bulbs, and the effect was startling. It was as beautiful as anything in New York, everyone agreed. Roy Musso, the pharmacist who wore a Santa hat, added to the atmosphere. Crosby’s Drugs epitomized Christmas to the local people, and the threat of rain or the fact that there had never, ever been the slightest possibility of snow—even though the temperature had dropped all the way to fifty-six degrees—dampened their enthusiasm not one bit.
On the second shelf next to the Little Orphan Annie Official Decoder Rings, there were several pocketknives from which to choose. Josef settled on a dark bone-handled Schrade that had two blades. At sixty cents, it was expensive, but Josef had the money and was determined that Danny should have a knife equal to his obvious talent.
As they waited for the gift to be wrapped, Josef smiled mysteriously and asked, “Would it be possible to separate for a bit? I have some shopping I would like to accomplish on my own, if you don’t mind.”
Helen feigned a display of innocent confusion. “Why can’t I go with you?” she teased. “Aren’t we having fun?”
Josef lifted his chin and looked away to demonstrate the fact that he was unmoved by her plea. “Sorry,” he said. “What did you tell Danny? I am on an errand for Santa Claus!”
/> Helen laughed, but as she noticed a sudden change in Josef’s expression, her laughter died away. Josef had turned his head toward the drugstore’s big picture window while talking with Helen, but was now staring intently through it at something that had captured his undivided attention. “Josef,” she said, suddenly concerned, “what is it? What’s wrong?” She tried to follow his gaze.
“Who is that man?” he asked. Josef had an uneasy feeling, but could not place the figure huddled inside the cab of a heavily loaded flatbed truck. He was familiar somehow. Too familiar.
“What man?” Helen asked, straining to see. “Where?”
“The black truck with the cargo boxes . . . across the street.”
Helen focused now and saw an old man. He was dirty—she could see that from where she was standing. He wore a baseball cap, had a long gray beard, and apparently was parked, just sitting there, doing nothing. “I know who that is,” Helen said, involuntarily curling her lip. “He’s only been in the café a couple of times, and Billy waits on him. He won’t let any of us do it. Billy can’t stand him.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Kramer. It’s ‘something’ Kramer. I’ve heard Wan and the others talk about him too. They don’t like him at all.”
Josef had not moved. “What does he do?”
Helen shrugged. “Ahhhh . . . fishing? I think?”
“Does he have a boat with a red top?”
“Josef, I don’t know. You’re scaring me,” Helen said. “What is this about? Why do you recognize him?”
Josef exhaled. His mind was already working furiously when he answered. “Because,” he said, “he has a boat with a red top.”
Moving quickly, Josef swept the gift-wrapped package from the counter and took Helen’s arm. “We must leave now,” he said. “Hurry. This man must not see me.”
