Chapter Thirty-Six
Western Germany
Sunday, May 28, 1944
A rustling sound woke him with a start at dawn. Opening his eyes, he looked around without moving, and then sat up. Seeing no one, he started to lie back down. Something swished in the bush beside him. He looked down into the bright brown eyes of a tiny dachshund puppy. The little dog quivered as it gazed up at him.
“Silly pup,” Paul croaked. “Don’t you know I’m the enemy?”
The dog cocked his head as though considering his words. Then, tail swishing madly, it hopped up with a happy bark.
“Shh!” Paul scooped up the puppy and stared into the dog’s soulful eyes. The Germans wouldn’t expect a downed Allied airman to have a dog, would they? He stroked the soft fur. Yesterday he’d longed for a companion. “Okay, Fritz, you can come with me.” The dog stretched up to lick his face. “Just keep your tongue to yourself, will ya?”
While they shared the last of the stale crackers, he pulled out the papers he’d appropriated―two booklets actually―and reviewed them. One was an identification book. He flipped it open. “Horst Brummel.” He repeated the name several times to get used to it. Then he read the birth date. “You’ve got to be kidding! 1897?” He looked at Fritz. “That guy was old enough to be my father. Do I look like I’m forty-seven?”
Fritz’s tail wagged his entire body. What did he know?
The guy hadn’t looked that old. Had he relieved a fellow evader of his hard-earned trophy? No, an evader wouldn’t have been so careless.
Horst’s attached photo bore no resemblance to him. It wouldn’t fool anybody. All airmen had their photos taken to keep in their escape kits for the express purpose of enabling the underground to forge identity papers. Paul studied the seals stamped over two corners of Horst’s photo. No way could he switch photos. Not without access to that seal.
Horst hailed from Remagen. That helped. Remagen was in the right direction, just further north than his destination.
The other book proclaimed Soldbuch. This one contained a summarized personnel file on Horst Brummel. The Germans had forty-seven-year-old enlisted men in their army? Numerous entries filled the pages. Paul skipped to the end and scanned the final comments. He’d hit the jackpot. Horst was on leave after medical treatment. He couldn’t be arrested for desertion.
A loose card fluttered from the Soldbuch’s pages. Paul picked it up. A one-day ration card! “Look at this, Fritzie.” He waved it in front of the puppy’s nose. “We get to eat today. Bread, and a bit of meat, and a whole lot of butter.”
His mother wouldn’t be impressed by his diet, but evaders took what they could get.
“Okay, Fritz, time to go. We need to get as far from here as possible in case the real Horst doesn’t think his papers fell into the river and he notifies the police.” He arranged a cozy nest in the bicycle’s basket, plopped his new friend inside, and pedaled north. They would attempt to cross the Rhine in Sankt Goarhausen.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bickenbach, Germany
Monday, May 29, 1944
Heidi twirled on the tree swing with Lina Rittgarn. Another change in their lives. Having Konrad and Lieselotte here could be good. Her brother seemed more like his old self again. They would be good allies to have around the Grotes and the Gestapo, especially if Rudy came back. Her skin crawled just to think about him. If he ever trapped her alone…
A hand landed on her shoulder and she shot off the swing, nearly dropping Lina. Regaining her balance, she spun around. “Konrad.”
Her brother stared at her, his good eye wide. If not for the patch he wore, she’d never guess he’d been badly wounded. The patch had frightened some of the little ones, but the older boys thought it was great. Willi horrified Frau Ziemer by requesting one of his own. The dear woman saw no reason to tempt fate, but Willi wanted to play pirates.
“If I’d known you would be so jumpy, I’d have brought along a cow bell.”
“Ha ha ha, very funny.” Heidi slumped back down on the plank seat, her heart racing. “I thought you were Rudy.”
Konrad frowned. “Herr Ziemer mentioned him. How often is he around?”
“Not much, fortunately. He’s based in Boppard, I think, and comes around to visit with his pal Otto, who apparently has this district. But now I wonder if he’ll come on his own. Every time I leave the house, I feel I have to be looking over my shoulder.”
The concern etched on Konrad’s forehead didn’t diminish. “Don’t leave the house without at least a child or two. He can’t risk anything with small witnesses. Children are notoriously lacking in guile and might blurt out his indiscretions at a most inopportune time.”
Heidi smiled. Her heart settled back in its normal rhythm. “Like Cristobel.” She adjusted Lina in her arms. “Did Herr Ziemer tell you about the Grotes? I’m surprised Ursula hasn’t been here already. They must know you’ve arrived.”
“I look forward to making their acquaintance.” Konrad’s tone was droll, but his eye turned to steel.
Boys’ voices rose and Konrad surveyed the yard. Herr Ziemer had plowed up a large section of lawn, giving the children a sand playground where they presently worked on molding a village. Most of their buildings looked like the sand heaps they were. Willi and Reinhard had gotten into a dispute over who constructed the better dwelling. Fists clenched, Willi stepped back, right onto Lili’s effort. She wailed. Konrad sighed.
“Time to referee. If Willi were a pirate, I’d make him walk the plank.” He hesitated. “Tomorrow, you and I will take the wagon to Sankt Goar and see if supplies are available to divide the attic into two rooms for the older children. It won’t be anything fancy, but at least they won’t be packed in as tight as they are now.”
Heidi watched him stride off without the slightest limp. They’d been good friends before the Steinhorsts had moved to America. He hadn’t accompanied them, having just started at university. Then he’d been enamored by the Nazis. After being drafted in 1937, he’d thought the army was a grand adventure. That hadn’t lasted long.
A shiver convulsed her. His tales of the invasions of Poland in 1939, and Holland in 1940, should have been told by kids trying to outdo one another with horror stories. Not the record of a nation like Germany. Good thing he hadn’t been sent to the Russian front.
If only Erich had come home, too. Oh, Erich…
“Sad.” Lina patted her cheek. Her hand came away wet.
Heidi whisked away her tears, and gave Lina a squeeze. “Want to swing some more?”
“Swing.” Lina lunged for the rope.
“Careful, sweetie.” Heidi shifted the toddler and, with a push of her foot, set the swing in motion. She dropped a kiss on Lina’s curls.
Maybe tomorrow’s change of scenery would do her good. Erich had been gone for a year, yet her heart still ached so badly. When would his absence start getting easier?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sankt Goarhausen, Germany
Tuesday, May 30, 1944
Paul found a spot in a small park where he could unobtrusively watch the river ferry. Someone checked papers before allowing passengers on, but it seemed to be a cursory glance. He studied the passengers. Everyone dressed neatly, but their clothing was obviously not new. His borrowed outfit didn’t look any different. He wore clean clothes. His hair was combed, although he hadn’t shaved since the day he’d been shot down. Maybe his stubble made him look closer to forty-seven than his own twenty-four years.
Three days since he’d been shot down. Seemed more like three years. And he’d heard the still, small voice of God. Kyle was right. God hadn’t abandoned him. He might never understand why Rachel had to die, but God still cared about him, and wanted him to find Heidi Steinhorst. That meant he would find her, because God wouldn’t tell him to do something that wouldn’t happen, right? Exactly how he’d find her was a mystery. Wandering up and down the streets of Bickenbach asking anyone he met if they knew Heidi, maiden name Steinh
orst, married to a submariner, didn’t seem logical. He’d likely be directed to the police. No point in worrying. God already had their meeting in mind.
Fritz whined and Paul absently scratched his ears. The puppy was as hungry as he was. Yesterday he’d stopped in Kaub, using Horst Brummel’s ration card and a deutschmark from his escape kit for a small loaf of bread. His Pomeranian accent hadn’t aroused suspicion. He imitated the Germans around him and didn’t look anyone in the eye or smile. The woman at the bakery appeared beaten down by the war and hadn’t spared him a second glance. He had acted like he belonged there and it had worked.
Crossing on the ferry would be trickier. Watching it pull up, he squared his shoulders. Might as well go for the return trip. He tweaked Fritz’s tail. “Provide a distraction when we reach the ferry attendant so he doesn’t take time asking questions, okay?”
Fritz performed like a professionally trained dog. When Paul leaned his bicycle against his leg to fish coins from his pants pocket, Fritz jumped up in the basket and barked, tail wagging. Paul pulled Horst Brummel’s identity papers from his shirt pocket and patted Fritz while trying to keep the bike from falling over.
“Quiet, Fritz. Easy, boy.” Keeping one hand on his dog and the papers, he offered the coins from his escape kit.
The attendant barely looked at Paul’s papers as he accepted his coins. He ruffled Fritz’s ears. “Aren’t you a splendid little fellow?” He laughed when Fritz’s tongue swiped at his fingers. “That’s a fine dog.”
“Danke.” Paul nodded and pushed his bike onto the ferry. Finding a quiet spot along the railing, he sat on a bench and lifted Fritz to his lap. Another hurdle passed.
He gazed about. Most buildings appeared to be three stories high, with another story or two under steeply pitched roofs. Few sported the half-timbered style he’d always associated with German architecture. Ahead, a massive castle stood on the bluff overlooking Sankt Goar. As the ferry crossed the Rhine, he looked back at the eastern shoreline. High on the bluffs flanking the smaller town of Sankt Goarhausen were two smaller, ancient castles. What an amazing view to have every day.
He ran a hand down Fritz’s silky fur. “For all the evil in this country, God’s presence is here. ‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.’ I’ve come home, Fritzie. Home to God.”
Leaving the ferry at the Sankt Goar shore, he looked around. Somewhere, there had to be a road heading west. Another small park offered him a place to sit while he got his bearings. He tossed a stick for Fritz to chase. What could be more natural than giving his puppy a little exercise?
On his periphery, an elderly woman approached him. He slipped his German book of Psalms and Proverbs from a pocket. Randomly opening it, he squinted at the words. The Fraktur type rendered them nearly indecipherable. He muttered the words aloud as the woman joined him on the bench, openly scrutinizing him. Was she a stooge for the Gestapo? Better take the initiative.
“‘A p-prudent man f-foresees evil and h-hides himself.’” He looked up at the woman and massaged his forehead. “This type is so small, it makes my headache worse. The doctor said the pain will ease, but trying to read doesn’t help.”
The woman’s eyebrows bunched. Was she suspicious?
“I was wounded a month ago. Head injuries take a long time to heal.” He pulled up his shirt. “This wound is better already.”
Sympathy flooded the woman’s face upon seeing his scar. Exactly the response he needed.
“Where were you wounded, young man?”
No doubt she wanted to know which battle he’d been wounded in, but he pretended to misunderstand. “Just on my head and my ribs. While I heal, I’m looking for my Louisa. Her house was bombed, but I’m sure she’s in Cochem. I have to find her before the middle of June, when I have to return to the army.”
“You’ll be returning to the fighting?”
“The captain said I’ll do battle with potatoes. Someone has to peel them.” He needed to get the conversation off him and onto her. “Do you live here, ma’am? That’s quite a view. We don’t have castles like that in Gross Tychow.”
Oh, that was dumb. Give her something else to question. And how did he know if they didn’t have castles in Gross Tychow? Gramps never said.
Fritz chose that moment to squat. Paul jumped up and shoved the pup’s hindquarters under a bush. A glance over his shoulder showed the woman’s continued interest. “Don’t want to leave any surprises for someone to step on.”
Her smile resembled a grimace. Time to get moving. No sooner had Fritz finished his business than Paul plopped him back in the bike basket. He nodded to the woman. “It was nice speaking with you, gnadige frau.”
He cycled off. If he had a mirror, he’d know if she watched him, or hurried off to the police. He wouldn’t look back. That would be suspicious.
The massive castle must have guarded both the river and the western approach to the town. He’d head in that direction.
Buildings crowded a narrow cobblestone street with enough activity to suggest a main artery. Heerstrasse. The street name meant nothing. He wanted to look around, but a wounded soldier probably wouldn’t engage in sightseeing.
Up ahead, a young couple stood by their horse and farm wagon. The man wore an eye patch and used a cane. The war was over for him. He entered a store with a barely noticeable limp. The woman wore a faded black and beige dress. Narrow stripes covered the sleeves and wider stripes circled her body. Heidi Steinhorst had worn a dress like that in high school, only it had been black and yellow. Rachel had called it her bumblebee dress. The woman brushed back her hair. Paul’s heart picked up speed. The way she held her hand, slightly cupped, her fingertips just grazing her hair. That gestured screamed, “Heidi!” It had to be her.
Paul dismounted and pushed his bike forward, hardly daring to breathe. Can it be this easy, Lord? Of course, it can. All things are possible.
He drew even. The woman was looking the other way, watching the window of the store her husband had gone into. A wounded submariner. That’s odd. Didn’t submariners either stay healthy or die? How often did damaged subs make it back to port with wounded crew?
He paused. “Heidi?”
She turned, curious, expectant. Her eyes widened. Did she recognize him after six years?
Maybe his accent would clue her in. “Wie geht es Ihnen?”
Her hand came up to her mouth. Her breath caught. Her hand slid past her chin, over her heart. It took effort for her to speak one word. “P-Paul?”
She wavered. He reached out to take her arm.
“Heidi?” Her husband.
Her head turned in jerky motions. “This is Paul, a school friend.”
The man’s good eye narrowed on him. “You’re from Hagen?”
“No.” Heidi’s voice, barely audible, sounded strained. “Paul’s from Milwaukee.”
A pregnant moment elapsed. “I see.”
Part 2
Be still, my soul: the hour is hastening on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
Katharina von Schlegel
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sankt Goarhausen, Germany
Tuesday, May 30, 1944
Paul! No, he couldn’t be. But those eyes. Paul Braedel had the bluest eyes. Spots danced before her own eyes. Rachel’s not a widow. Heidi had so many questions, but where to start?
He’d filled out since high school. His shoulders strained his worn chambray shirt. His trousers were too short and too loose at his waist. His often-tousled hair was cut short in a military style and his lean cheeks were darkened by stubble.
In fact, Paul was a lot like Erich. Self-assured, but not arrogant. Good-humored, but with a serious side. The two men even resembled each other with their blue eyes, firm chins, and sandy brown hair. Had they met, they would have been good friends. Unable to attend each other’
s weddings, they married the same day, Heidi and Erich in Germany, and Rachel and Paul in America. Tears welled in her eyes. Now they would never meet.
Konrad joined them. His “I see” was laden with understanding of the significance of Milwaukee. Paul was a downed American airman. Contact with the enemy was forbidden. Their duty was to turn him over to the police or the Luftwaffe. No, they couldn’t. This was Paul, Rachel’s husband.
A whimper emerged from the bike he held. Nestled in the basket was a darling Dachshund puppy with a busy tail. Her eyes rose back up to Paul’s.
The left side of his mouth quirked. “My little buddy, Fritz.”
She petted the puppy’s head, causing him to squirm with pleasure and lick her hand. She reached up to touch Paul’s hand. He was real. He was here. Finally, she could verbalize a thought. “Paul, what are you doing here?”
His answer was barely audible. “I need help.”
“You sure do.”
She’d almost forgotten Konrad’s presence. “This is my brother, Konrad.”
Paul’s brows shot up. “Your brother?”
He looked at Konrad with new interest.
He had thought Konrad was Erich. “My husband died last year.”
He flinched. “I’m so sorry, Heidi.”
She rushed on. “I’ve been wondering if Rachel was a widow, too. I, I’m glad she’s not. How is she doing? Does…”
Something was wrong. Paul looked away, his lips pulled in, his eyes blinking rapidly.
“Rachel died last year, too.”
Heidi couldn’t hold back the gasp that burst from her. This time both hands covered her mouth. Rachel, safe in Wisconsin, could not be dead. “Why? How?”
Paul shrugged. “She got sick one day,” he inhaled sharply, “and died. I was away in training. If I had been home and gotten her to a doctor, she’d probably still be alive. You know how she hated going to doctors. Left on her own, I’m sure she probably waited too long.”
Friends & Enemies (Promise for Tomorrow Book 1) Page 20
