Friends & Enemies (Promise for Tomorrow Book 1)

by Terri Wangard

  He’d stared a long time at a picture of the two girls laughing at the camera. They had been such opposites. Rachel had been timid, whereas Heidi had a ready wit. Rachel could sit for hours with a book, but Heidi fidgeted after a half hour of inactivity. They even looked like opposites. Petite Rachel had brown eyes and hair while Heidi was what Rachel’s mother called a willowy blue-eyed blonde. Graceful, Rachel had explained, like a dancer.

  Leafing through the letters, he’d recalled Heidi had married a submariner. He wouldn’t be caught in a submarine. Not even a surface vessel, thanks anyway. The bottom of the ocean was a dark, spooky place, and too many sailors ended up down there.

  Heidi had beamed up at him from her wedding photo. Her groom looked proud in his naval regalia. During the three years she lived in Milwaukee, Heidi had attended church with them. Stood to reason she’d married a man who shared her faith.

  Paul had studied the image. The enemy. Did he support Hitler? Highly unlikely they’d ever cross paths. Those German U-boats were sinking right and left these days. Living in Germany couldn’t be too healthy now either, with all the bombing missions the Allies carried out. Heidi might not be so happy any more.

  He resumed walking, but came to a sudden stop in the fading light. How far had he traveled? It’d be dark soon, and the coast was blacked out to avoid silhouetting ships. Heidi Steinhorst’s husband might be out there in a U-boat full of torpedoes, lying in wait, hoping for a vulnerable merchant ship to sink.

  A quick glance around revealed no one else on the beach. Paul shivered and hastened back to the hotel.

  Chapter Four

  Hagen, Germany

  Wednesday, August 25, 1943

  Heidi eased the seam of the bodice and gently pressed the foot pedal. The sewing machine whirred its familiar tune as it stitched through the silky blue fabric. Where had Frau Lemke found such beautiful material? If their neighbor had it packed away in her attic, she could be arrested for hoarding. It seemed every time an Allied bombing raid flattened another German city, a collection drive demanded more donations for the newly homeless. Pretty soon they wouldn’t have enough clothes left to wear themselves.

  She leaned back and stretched before snipping the thread. This dress would be finished by noon tomorrow, and it would be gorgeous. She ran a hand over the fabric. Too bad it wasn’t for her.

  The front door clicked shut and Mama bustled into the parlor, dropping a pile of clothes on the settee. Each item had a note pinned to it. “Here are the alterations Frau Schmitz desires.” Mama turned toward the kitchen. “I feel like a postal worker. Every time I go out, someone gives me more sewing to deliver to you.”

  Heidi blew out her breath and smiled. Returning home to Mama and Papa made sense since Erich wasn’t coming back. She’d rather live with her parents than some homeless strangers assigned to share her apartment.

  Papa had set up her sewing machine in the parlor so she could carry on her sewing business. In anticipation of bombing raids destroying their buildings, businesses parceled out assignments for workers at home. What a relief to work out of the home and not in a crowded factory where Gestapo informants listened for subversive comments. Heidi had finished a dozen shirts for the Jungvolk organization that morning. Since the uniforms for the young people weren’t due for two days, she could work on private commissions.

  Of course, there were disadvantages to being home again. Sharing a bedroom with her younger sister, Gretchen, topped the list. Gretchen could be so careless with her clothing. Then she had the gall to whine, “What’s the use of being a master dressmaker if you can’t mend my clothes?”

  And Mama meant well, but her tendency toward tactlessness bruised Heidi’s already battered spirit. When she needed a shoulder to cry on, she got, “Keep busy and it won’t hurt so much.”

  She kept Papa’s shoulders well watered. He came in the door now after another difficult day at the factory. In the five years since they’d returned from their American sojourn, he’d aged twenty years. His shoulders stooped. His hair featured more gray than brown. Not a talkative man, he always had a hug for her or a warm hand on her shoulder.

  His eyes brightened. “Looks like another masterpiece is nearly complete, hmm, liebchen?”

  Heidi grinned. “Frau Lemke should be pleased.”

  She hung up the dress and headed for the kitchen, while he settled into a chair with a paper.

  A pile of carrots lay in the sink. Heidi located the scrub brush to clean them. “If only we had stayed in America, Papa wouldn’t have aged so. Managing Steinhorst & Company in ordinary times might not have been so bad, but in wartime? Under National Socialist oversight? It’s such a heavy burden for him.”

  “Well, it’s not like Willi asked to be killed in that accident.” Mama slid a pan into the oven. “He and Uncle Max had a lot of plans of their own.”

  “Hmm.” Except their car had run off the road in heavy rain and they’d crashed into an embankment. Grandpapa had summoned Papa from America to manage the company. Putting the family first was costing him his health. Heidi bit her lip. More than Papa’s health was in jeopardy these days.

  Before the war, the metal goods they fabricated had contributed to the heating and ventilation systems of buildings and homes. Now they had to supply the navy with parts for ships and U-boats. They’d employed over a hundred workers, but conscription by the armed forces cut deeply into the workforce. The increased demands of war productivity left them unable to fulfill quotas without forced laborers. Papa had been appalled when the Gestapo first brought a group of prisoners from conquered territories. Most of the workers now at Steinhorst & Company were Polish and spoke no German.

  “The laborers at the factory don’t appear to get enough to eat. And they seem to be perpetually exhausted. How can they do good work in such conditions? And what about sabotage?”

  Mama didn’t look up from thumbing through her recipe file. “I’m sure the Gestapo is minding them. We need to mind our own business.”

  But the factory was their business. Heidi chomped down on a carrot before she uttered a sassy remark.

  Gretchen came home as they sat down to supper. She bowed her head while Papa said grace, but her eyes sparkled with excitement. Something was up with her. One of Papa’s primary desires in moving to America was to get them away from the influence of the National Socialists. Brainwashing, he called it.

  The local leader of the League of German Girls had signed Gretchen up the day after they’d returned from America. At thirteen, Gretchen had loved rejoining her old friends and taking part in the sports and crafts. How could it hurt? If the activities curbed her excessive energy, so much the better. Still, Papa’s brows had risen when Gretchen came home singing, “Today Germany belongs to us, tomorrow the whole world.”

  Now as they ate, Gretchen worked a mouthful of food into her cheek. “We learned today that Clara’s and Renate’s cousins and Anna’s brother have all been killed in Russia. When we’re ready to get married, we’re not going to be able to because there won’t be any boys left.” Her mouth twisted as she looked at Heidi. “We’ll end up being old spinsters.”

  Heidi eyed her sister over her water glass. Distinguishing between widow and spinster would be futile with Gretchen. Neither did it pay to point out she didn’t want another husband. She’d had the best, and lost him. Maybe in ten years she’d change her mind, but for now, Erich still preoccupied her soul. The now-familiar burning stung her throat. She blinked hard to turn back the tears pressing to escape.

  “Eat up, Heidi. Don’t let your food get cold.”

  Heidi suppressed a sigh and forked up another bite of potatoes. Erich could have been sitting beside her, and his parents too, but Mama would still prod her to eat up. Mama treated her like she was three instead of twenty-three. She didn’t comprehend how grief could kill an appetite.

  Papa cleared his throat. “I have some distressing news.” He waited until they all looked at him. “Konrad is back in Germany. He was wound
ed in the fighting in Sicily.”

  Mama’s spoon clattered to her plate.

  “How, how badly wounded is, is he?” Mama struggled with her words, unusual for her.

  Papa’s shoulders rose and fell. “He’s lost part of his left foot. And he lost his vision in one eye.”

  Heidi choked on her mouthful of potatoes, and grabbed her water glass. A shiver convulsed her. Part of a foot missing! An eye! Oh, Konrad. But he still had the other eye. And the rest of his foot. He was alive. Lieselotte would get him back. “He’ll be able to walk again, won’t he?”

  “Yes, yes, he will.” A glint of fire kindled in Papa’s eyes. “He’s in therapy already. I believe it’s mostly a matter of balance. Konrad lost the outside of the foot. He still has the big toe. With time and practice, I imagine he will not even limp. And his eye was hit by low velocity shrapnel, not a bullet that would have penetrated his brain and killed him. We are most fortunate.” His voice grew hoarse, and he sipped his water. After composing himself, he smiled and added, “I saved the best for last. He has been discharged from the army, and he and Lieselotte will be joining us here.”

  Color returned to Mama’s face. “That is good news.” She picked up her spoon and set it back down. “Had you told us after we’d eaten, Walter, I probably would have lost my supper. However, I do seem to have lost my appetite.”

  “Come now, Elsa, we have much to be grateful for. Konrad is alive, he is out of the army, and coming home to the family firm. And tonight we have this delicious Wiener Schnitzel. The butcher must have saved you a prime cut. You have outdone yourself, my dear.”

  Heidi exchanged smirks with Gretchen. Their parents weren’t effusive with terms of endearment. When Papa called Mama “my dear,” he wanted to distract her from some unpleasantness or woo her into acceptance.

  Gretchen tapped her fork on her plate. “Are they going to live here, in this house, with us? We don’t have room for them.”

  Papa nodded and took his time chewing and swallowing. “I have been giving this a great deal of thought, ever since Heidi moved back in.” He turned to her. “How would you feel about returning to Bickenbach?”

  Heidi caught her breath. “Why? Is Frau Ziemer ailing again?”

  “She’s fine, but very busy. The Ziemers have opened their home to young children evacuated from the cities. The farm is safe for them.”

  Papa paused to look her in the eye. “It would also be safe for you. And for your sewing machine. Most cities here in the Ruhr Valley have been bombed. Hagen’s been fortunate so far. The British must be aware of the AFA Battery Works here and will want to destroy the production of U-boat and torpedo batteries. I’m surprised they haven’t already.”

  Heidi pressed a hand to her stomach. Bickenbach would never be bombed. It had nothing worth bombing.

  Papa paused for a bite of Wiener Schnitzel. “With enough warning, we can run to the cellar where we should be safe from anything but a direct hit. But carrying your sewing machine down would be difficult. You could set up shop at the farm, and in your spare time, you could help with the children. And Gretchen would go with you.”

  Gretchen’s head jerked up. “Me? What would I do there?”

  “Play with the children, of course.” Heidi’s mind spun. She’d play games with the children, read to them, cuddle babies. And no bombs. Papa had a great idea.

  Gretchen displayed no enthusiasm. “What about my job at the factory?”

  “Lieselotte will take over for you in the office. She’ll need the work. Everyone must work now.” Papa smiled at Mama. “Even you, my dear. How would you like to work in the factory office? My secretary wants to move to Neuss to be near her parents, but she can’t go until she finds a replacement.”

  “I could do that.” Mama pointed her knife at him. “But I better not hear any complaints about my typing. I’m sure to be rusty at that skill.”

  “How about if Lieselotte does the typing and you do the filing?” Gretchen still wore a scowl over going to Bickenbach, but at least she wasn’t complaining.

  Papa laughed. “We’ll mind the shop, you mind the children. I’ve already spoken to someone at city hall. We’ll have no problem getting the necessary moving permits for you girls.”

  That night, as Heidi prepared for bed, Gretchen lay staring at the ceiling. She rolled toward Heidi. “Do you want to go to Bickenbach?”

  Heidi glanced at Gretchen in the mirror while she brushed her hair. “Yes, the more I think about it, I do. I’ll miss my friends here, Cristl and Adele especially, but I love Bickenbach.”

  “I’d rather go somewhere else.”

  Laying down her hairbrush, Heidi turned to her. “Where?”

  Gretchen bounced onto her knees. “A lady from the Women’s Union came to our League of German Girls meeting this afternoon. She talked about giving a child to the Führer. Renate and Liesl and I thought we might do that.”

  Heidi sank down on the bed before her knees gave out. “Do you realize what you’re talking about?”

  “Sure. We’ll meet lots of gorgeous men and have babies with them.” Gretchen’s eyes narrowed and her chin came up when Heidi failed to hide her horror. “Racially pure SS members are encouraged to get pure women pregnant for the Fatherland. I’m pure.”

  Papa was right to take them to America. They’d come back too early though, and now Gretchen had succumbed to one of the National Socialists’ twisted lies abounding in Germany. Heidi prayed for calm. “Do you understand exactly what happens with the lebensborn program? First you’ll undergo a most thorough examination by a doctor. After sleeping with your gorgeous man for a couple nights, he’ll be off to do his duty with another girl. Once you’re pregnant, you’ll have to go to a Lebensborn camp, have the baby and give it up for a married SS couple to adopt and raise.”

  Gretchen’s eyes slid away from Heidi’s, but her lips pressed together in a stubborn line.

  “You’ll never see your gorgeous guy again. All you’ll represent to him is a couple nights of illicit fun. Don’t you see, Gretchen? It’s immoral. Your baby will be taken away from you and you’ll never know what becomes of him or her.”

  “The war requires sacrifices.”

  “Listen to yourself.” Heidi shoved her fingers through her hair. “Didn’t you learn in the League to value clean living, to be a virtuous mother? Now you’re supposed to have a baby outside of marriage? Think of the child. What kind of life can it possibly have?”

  Gretchen’s mouth twisted and Heidi took hope.

  “Think of Papa. Doesn’t he have enough weighing on him now? And Mama?” One last argument came to mind. “When you face God in the afterlife, will He say, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant?’”

  A tremulous sigh escaped Gretchen.

  “Right now, a bunch of children are in Bickenbach. They’re the future of Germany. And they need someone to love them, to cuddle them, to show them the world isn’t entirely frightful. I know you love children, Gretchen. Those children need you.”

  With a nod, Gretchen crawled under the sheet and lay with her back to Heidi.

  Heidi turned off the light. She’d said all she could, but didn’t lie down. She sat for a long time, arms around her legs with her head on her knees. What a day this had been.

  One hundred and four days since Erich’s U-boat had disappeared. Was he really dead? The message said they couldn’t stop their dive, but maybe they had. Maybe they’d been captured. It would take a while for the news to reach them. Or maybe the Allies were keeping their capture a secret. Erich said the U-boats carried secret communication codes. The Allies wouldn’t want the Kriegsmarine to know the codes had been compromised. Erich could be alive.

  She propped her chin on a knee and sniffed. Her tears were cascading again. Or, as Papa like to say, her water works were rampaging.

  How likely would a U-boat in an uncontrollable dive pop up on the surface?

  She scrubbed her eyes with her fists.

  Erich wasn’t coming home.
Konrad had been wounded, but he was coming home. She would return to Bickenbach. And Gretchen. Oh, Lord God, help my sister. Keep her from harm, body and soul.

  Chapter Five

  Coral Gables, Florida

  Friday, September 3, 1943

  The plane’s airspeed indicator didn’t accurately measure how fast the plane flew. Or maybe the compass didn’t reveal the exact direction the plane was traveling, and the altimeter didn’t mark the aircraft’s actual altitude. As the plane traveled over the Caribbean Sea, Paul had to correct for such things as temperature, atmospheric pressure, magnetic variation, deviation, precession, and refraction. His mind spun through all the possibilities for error.

  Pan American Airways had turned twin-engine Sikorsky flying boats into flying classrooms. Paul worked at one of the ten large tables in his assigned aircraft. His map of the Caribbean area was littered with an altimeter, a compass, and an airspeed indicator. He calculated their drift to get their true heading.

  “Tortola of the British Virgin Islands should be appearing on the horizon about two degrees to the left,” he announced.

  A dark mound materialized and grew in size, right where he expected it to be.

  “Very good, Braedel.” Instructor Lunn clapped him on the back before turning to another student. “Vogel, plot our course back to the Pan Am seaplane base.”

  Paul grabbed his divider and hunched over the map. No one plotted courses faster than Chet Vogel but, one of these days, Paul was going to best him.

  From the table behind him, Mitch Walton muttered, “Nobody likes a show-off.”

  Paul pursed his lips. He would not let the remark bother him. Walton could pick a fight with a toadstool. Consistently scoring at the bottom of the class, he took out his frustration on the rest of them.