That got both eyes open. “Ah, right. Whatever you said, Doc.”
The doctor laughed outright. “That means you have a minor cut, bruising, and a headache. We’ll keep you here a few days to make sure you have adequate rest and a speedy recovery.”
Paul sighed as the doctor moved on to another patient. If he had a minor cut, why did it hurt so bad?
Ah, Rachel. Guess I won’t be seeing you anytime soon.
He frowned. He had been mad at her. And now? He rubbed his chin. No, not mad. Just… empty. Resigned, maybe. Sad.
The medic switched off the light near his bed. Paul pushed away the image of Rachel trying to form in his mind. Right now, he needed to sleep.
Bickenbach, Germany
Same Day
Heidi had barely fallen asleep when a nightmare gripped her. Erich’s submarine had surfaced and entered the harbor at Brest. The rejoicing of those on shore faded away when the sub drifted into its pier but no one appeared on deck. They clambered aboard and raised the hatch. The crewmen were all at their posts, silent, slumped. Heidi found Erich. She turned him around. His face was missing, eaten away by fish. She screamed.
“Wake up, Heidi. You’ll disturb the children.”
She jerked awake. Gretchen and Karla leaned over her. “Erich is dead.”
“You were dreaming, Heidi.”
“Erich is dead.”
“Yes.” Karla massaged her hand. “Erich died. But it’s been nearly a year, Heidi. That refugee woman must have upset your subconscious and triggered a nightmare. But you’re a survivor, Heidi. You’re doing fine.”
Heidi tried to reassure them with the expected smile, but as they returned to their beds, her tears soaked her pillow.
Chapter Thirty
Bickenbach, Germany
Friday, April 21, 1944
The idea of eating dandelions, figworts, sorrel, or yarrow revolted Heidi. They were edible, according to Household Welfare. The Nazi agency encouraged everyone to harvest these consumables. Wash and dry the tender greens, discarding the woody stem. Imagine. A spinach substitute made of stinging nettle, goat’s rue, and plantain. Eew! Heidi pressed a hand to her stomach. Anything requiring gloves to be picked couldn’t be healthy to eat.
Still, until the garden produced, they needed to conserve their canned vegetables. All the canning they had done last summer had seemed like such a bountiful supply, but now the shelves were alarmingly bare. And dandelions sounded better than stinging nettles. She plucked the last dandelion in her patch and looked across the meadow to see how Karla was doing.
Thank goodness her cousin had joined them on the farm. Karla’s irrepressible happy-go-lucky attitude buoyed them all. She made the children believe weeding the garden was a game.
Karla strode toward her with her basket swinging. “Look what I found.” She held up a fistful of wildflowers. “Daisies. They should make the dandelion soup more appealing.”
“Do they work the same as dandelions?”
“Why wouldn’t they? And with the petals floating on top, the soup will at least look pretty.”
The women started back to the farm, cutting through the woods that separated the meadow from the farmland.
“Have you considered the possibility of poisoning us all with your pretty soup?” Heidi’s laughter broke off as she jerked to a stop. Her basket dropped to the ground as her hands flew to her mouth and her heart skipped a beat.
Karla looked back at her with raised brows before turning in the direction Heidi was staring. She jumped back to Heidi’s side with a gasp.
A man hung by a rope from the limb of a tree.
Karla swallowed audibly and eased forward, glancing around. “Look at this. He was a suicide. You can see where he used this log to jump off and tighten the rope. And there’s his rucksack.”
She fell to her knees and opened the dead man’s belongings.
Heidi approached, tensed to dash away as the body swayed. “Are you sure you should be doing that?”
“Why not? He has no more need of this. Oh, just look at these treasures. A clothing ration card and a complete assortment of food ration cards, almost full. Two shirts ― they look brand new ― and socks! Have you ever seen such fluffy socks?”
Heidi smiled in spite of the situation. All of their clothes were well worn and repeatedly mended. Their socks were so threadbare, they were impossible to darn any more. She glanced again at the body. “We should notify Herr Grote.”
“No.” Karla jumped up and studied the man’s face. She poked at his side, making the body swing. “Hmm. I’m no doctor, of course, but I’d guess he’s fairly fresh. He’s probably been dead no longer than last evening. Here, take my knife. Good thing I brought it along. Didn’t use it to cut any weeds, but now we need it. Stand on that log. Can you cut through the rope?”
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Heidi’s fingers closed around the knife Karla pressed into her hand, but she didn’t step up next to the corpse. “He needs to be reported.”
“Absolutely not. First rule of survival, don’t call the Gestapo’s attention to yourself. We don’t know why this man came here or why he killed himself, but we don’t want any association with him. Suppose he’s a deserter? He must have been in some kind of trouble. Come on now.” Karla grasped the man’s belt and held him still.
Heidi drew her lips between her teeth. With much effort, she sawed on the rope until it gave way. The body dropped onto Karla, taking her to the ground with it. She squealed and scrambled away. “When I said he was fresh, I had an entirely different meaning in mind.”
A giggle burst out of Heidi. Karla pointed a finger at her. “No hysterics.”
Heidi pressed a finger across her lips and shook her head.
Karla patted his legs. “Come on. Help me search him.”
Heidi had never been so close to a dead body. With the rope slackened, the welt around his neck was visible. His facial color was deathly. At least he had no bloody wounds. Another giggle begged for release, and she coughed to cover it.
Dropping to her knees, she poked a finger at the man’s jacket. Something crinkled. Holding her breath, she opened the jacket and pulled out identification papers from an inside pocket. She expelled her breath and sat back.
“Karla, he was SS.” She kept her voice low even though no one else was around. Unfolding another paper, she paused. “He’s from Hamburg. This must be a picture of his family. He had a wife and two young children.” She flipped the picture over. “It’s dated May of last year. When was Hamburg bombed so badly? July, wasn’t it? I wonder if he lost his family in the fires. Maybe he couldn’t cope, so ended his life.”
“That’s a possibility. Or maybe he’s a deserter and realized he’ll be executed for cowardice. Decided to save them the bother.” Karla pulled a slim wallet from his pants pocket. “He had a little money.” Folding the wallet, she tucked it into her basket and looked at the ID papers. “Maximilian Stauffen.” She patted the dead man’s arm. “Well, Max, we’ll make sure your worldly goods go to a worthy cause. Us.” She grinned at Heidi as she stood and looked around.
Heidi shivered despite the spring day’s warmth. “Now what are you planning?”
“We need to bury Max. What looks like an easy place where we can cover him up?” Karla paused when Heidi gasped. “No one knows he’s dead. I’ll wager no one knows he was in this area. He has no need of all these things, and we can put them to good use. It may seem wrong to hide his body, but lots of good men are ending up in unmarked graves these days. We’ll stuff him in that little washout gulley over there.”
“No, absolutely not.” Heidi stood and wrapped her arms around her waist.
Her scandalized tone prompted a laugh from her cousin. “What did I tell you, Heidi? Don’t attract attention. Do you want the Gestapo nosing around?”
“How deep do you think you can bury him? Not very deep. Not using your hands. Suppose an animal digs him up? Imagine what would happen if someone’s dog brings home
a human arm bone. That’s the kind of attention we don’t want. We’d be suspected of killing him.” Heidi tightened her arms around her middle. Her breakfast threatened to reappear. “We shouldn’t have even cut him down.”
Karla’s mouth twisted to one side with, what, disgust in her eyes? With a growl she scooped up the rucksack. “Fine. Have it your way. But we’re keeping this. You can’t consider it stealing since Max here threw it away, in effect, when he departed this life without his stuff. We need these things more than Herr Grote, and that’s who would end up with this.” She tossed the rucksack to Heidi. “Here, take this to the house with the flowers. I’ll go notify the parson. He can report our discovery. He’ll understand we want to protect the children from this mess.”
Heidi gathered up Max’s belongings and their edible gleanings and hurried for home. After a detour into the barn to hide the rucksack, she continued on to the house. She dropped her basket on the kitchen counter and scooped up little Lina Rittgarn. She buried her face in the toddler’s curls as a tremor passed through her. After pressing a kiss to the tot’s cheek, she smiled at Gretel. “Look what we found for dinner. The makings of Dandy Daisy Soup.”
She pushed the basket toward Frau Ziemer. What she really wanted was a bath to wash body and soul.
The farm wife’s mouth pulled down as she picked through their gleanings. “Dandelions and daisies. Tsk, tsk.” She sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. “We must be grateful. With a little grated potato added, at least we will not go to bed hungry.”
Gretchen wasn’t so easy to appease. With a dramatic sigh of her own, she moaned, “Imagine being reduced to eating weeds. I wish I could say I’ll pass, but I’m so hungry, I’ll eat them and even give thanks.”
Heidi forced a smile. She had no appetite at all.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ridgewell Air Base, England
Saturday, April 22, 1944
The sustained roar of an airplane taking off reverberated in the room. Paul rubbed a hand across his face and tried to get back to sleep. Why was the plane taking so long to get off the ground? He rolled to his side. A stab of pain stopped him and his eyes snapped open. His gaze strayed around the room. How could he have forgotten? He was in the hospital, his head was pounding, and it wasn’t just one airplane taking off. Today’s mission was getting underway. Without him.
He lay back and groaned, reaching up to feel his head. Still there and in one piece. Amazing. It felt like it had shattered.
An army nurse came to his bedside. “How are you feeling, Lieutenant?”
“Like a mouse the cat played with.” He tried to focus on her. Even that hurt. Where had he seen her before? A whiff of her perfume suggested maybe he’d smelled her. Maybe she’d been the person who kept interrupting his sleep during the night. “You smell like something.”
His mother would be shocked at his rudeness. So what? The nurse had been rude to him all night, waking him every hour.
The nurse didn’t seem offended. She laughed. “Maybe you smell roses?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged, and that hurt too. “Rachel likes daffodils best. We were just talking about them the other day.”
Whoops, stop right there! He hadn’t been with Rachel yesterday. Rachel was dead. He’d been dreaming yesterday. Or was it the day before? What day was this? Maybe his head injury was worse than they were telling him. “Can I have some aspirin today? Please?”
He sounded pathetic.
The nurse smiled. “How about if you try sitting up? A change of position may help. You’ve been flat on your back for a long time.”
She got an arm behind him and, grasping his opposite arm, raised him up.
He swayed as a wave of nausea overwhelmed him, and he groaned. Had anything been in his stomach, it would be all over the bed now. The nurse pulled him against her. “Lean on me,” she murmured. “Relax and let me hold you up. Think pleasant thoughts. Imagine a blue sky with fluffy white clouds floating along.”
“Your fluffy white clouds are hiding a bunch of fighters waiting to kill me.” Maybe they would put him out of his misery.
The nurse shook as though she was trying not to laugh. “All right, picture waves lapping on the shore with sea gulls soaring overhead. Oh, no, wait! Are they going to start dive-bombing you? Let’s forget that.” She was enjoying this. “Picture a meadow filled with wildflowers extending as far as the eye can see.”
“Can a Fortress land on it?” Might as well play along.
“Definitely. You get out and gather a huge bouquet of wildflowers to present to your girl. What did you say her name is?”
“My wife, Rachel. The most beautiful girl in the world.” Drowsiness swept over him. She was right. He did feel better.
“Lieutenant? Lieutenant, how about if we get you scooted back to lean against the wall? I can’t stay here holding you up all day.” The nurse signaled an orderly, and together they repositioned Paul, propping him with pillows.
Paul’s eyes slid shut and refused to open. Much better to stay in the scene the nurse had painted. With Rachel. She stood right there in front of him. She wove the flowers into a crown and wore them. A breeze picked up. They decided to fly a kite. A blue kite. Yes, it was the summer after their senior year, and they’d gone to the Lake Michigan shore.
Something cold pressed against his lips and he swallowed some water. A cool hand touched his cheek. Must be Rachel. He tried to open his eyes and talk to her, but his eyes were too heavy. So tired.
A delectable scent wove around him, causing his nose to twitch. Chicken noodle soup? It had never smelled more tantalizing. Heat radiated from it. Prying open an eye, he glimpsed a steaming bowl weave back and forth in front of his face. Beyond it, Chet Vogel grinned.
“Just like in the funny papers! You even leaned forward to get a better whiff.” Chet returned the bowl to a tray held by Kyle Hogan and offered a spoon.
Paul plucked the spoon from Chet’s hand. “Well, what do you expect? I think they’re trying to starve me here.”
“That’s not so,” called an orderly who served lunch to another patient. “You simply haven’t stayed awake long enough for us to get any food into you, sir.”
“I’m awake now.” Paul accepted the tray Kyle set before him and wasted no time in getting a spoonful into his mouth. Mmm. Either this was better than his mom’s or it merely indicated how hungry he was. “Where’d everyone go today?”
Kyle hesitated as he sat on the empty bed next to Paul. “The mission is to Hamm in Germany, but your crew didn’t go.”
“No?”
“They weren’t on the roster for today.”
A day off and he couldn’t enjoy it. “Did Ben really lose his leg?”
At Kyle’s nod, his eating slowed. Art’s comments about Ben’s injury threatened to kill his appetite. “How about the others?”
“One of them… Arnie? He was nicked by a ricochet. He’s hoping that will be his only injury in the war.”
A smile flitted across Paul’s lips. He dunked a slice of bread in the soup, stirred it around, and grimaced when it disintegrated.
He couldn’t forget his friend’s angry words. “How’s Art?”
Kyle and Chet exchanged looks of surprise. “Art wasn’t injured.” Chet paused. “Was he?”
Staring at his soup, Paul explained Art’s rage the night before. “He wasn’t hurt. Ben and I were. So what gives?”
“Battle fatigue?” Kyle guessed. “You’ve flown how many missions?”
“Yesterday was number thirteen for me.”
“Nearly halfway through your tour. I can’t imagine the stress you men live with, flying in combat day after day. One mission was more than enough for me.” Kyle began counting on his fingers. “You’re dealing with flak, fighters, sub-zero temperatures, the threat of anoxia, mid-air collisions, serious injury or death, being shot down and dealing with the Nazi SS or enraged civilians. What have I missed?”
“Back up a minute,” Chet demanded. “You fl
ew a mission?”
“Amazing, isn’t it? It’s against the international rules of warfare for chaplains to fly on a combat mission. Unless I experienced combat, though, how can I relate to you warriors? The first commanding officer here said a flat ‘No’ to my request. So did the Head Chaplain in England. Then Colonel Leber took over as CO and he agreed.” Kyle shook his head. “I must have been out of my mind to make that appeal. I nearly bought the farm.”
“What happened?”
“When we got to German territory, I tried to make myself as small as possible and hide where no German would see me.” He chuckled when Paul smirked. “Yeah, like I could. Anyway, one of the gunners tells me to come up to the window and have a look. I didn’t want to, but felt I had no choice if I wanted to earn these guys’ respect. No sooner had I gotten up than a piece of flak the size of my fist slammed into the wall, right where my head had just been. After that, I fearlessly roamed all over the plane, visiting each crewmember at his station. If God had called me home that day, it wouldn’t have mattered where I tried to hide.”
Grinning from ear to ear, he folded his hands around one knee. Then he straightened up, sobering. “I don’t know how you guys do it. Even without German flak or fighters, I was constantly banging my knees, barking my shins, and bumping my hips while trying to maneuver in that cramped space. I still had bruises two weeks later.”
Paul smiled and started to shake his head but the pain stopped his movement. “I don’t roam around the plane. I rarely leave the nose.”
Chet snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. You were wounded on Thursday, right?” Without waiting for Paul to try to nod, he rushed on. “A few promotions were announced that day, and a couple of flight officers made lieutenant. Not Art, though. The way he was miffed with us in Tennessee, I’d say his rank has him riled again.”
Paul massaged his aching skull. Chet must be right. Poor Art. He could never share in someone else’s good fortune.
Friends & Enemies (Promise for Tomorrow Book 1) Page 17
