Friends & Enemies (Promise for Tomorrow Book 1)

by Terri Wangard

Chapter Fourty-One

  Bickenbach, Germany

  Same Day

  Most of the children were in bed for the night. Konrad stood outside talking to Paul, no, Horst. Heidi must remember to think of him as Horst, or she’d give him away. She jerked her brush through her hair. If only she could spend some time with him. She had so many questions. But he was supposed to be Konrad’s friend, not hers. In a few days, as they gradually became acquainted, they could spend more time together without raising questions. Until then, they needed to be careful.

  Gretchen burst through the door, swung it shut, and advanced on her. “I know who your Horst is. He’s your friend Rachel’s husband.”

  Heidi laid down her hairbrush. The very act of breathing required effort. This was Gretchen, her beloved baby sister, not Gestapo Otto. Or Rudy. Gretchen wouldn’t betray Paul. Would she?

  She turned. “What are you talking about?”

  She’d delayed too long. Gretchen’s eyes narrowed to slits. Her finger jabbed the air in front of her.

  “Don’t patronize me, Heidi. I’d know Rachel’s husband anywhere. What was his name?” Her fingers snapped in a tattoo that drilled Heidi’s heart. “Paul.” Gretchen’s voice rose in triumph. “That’s it. Paul and Rachel Baesler. No, that doesn’t sound right.”

  Heidi threw up her hands. “Keep your voice down.” She drew a deep breath. If she couldn’t handle her sister’s discovery, how would she react if an official confronted her? “Why do you think he’s Paul?”

  Gretchen danced closer and poked her in the shoulder. “I was madly in love with Paul Baesler or Brader or Braedel.” Her voice rose again and her fingers snapped as loud as a gunshot. “That’s it.”

  “Shh!”

  Gretchen waved away her concern, but lowered her voice. “He didn’t even know I was alive. But I’d know him anywhere. He’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  Those trademark eyes would land them all in trouble.

  “And now?”

  Her sister drew herself up and crossed her arms. “I won’t say anything.” Her posture wilted and she sat on the bed. “You’re doing this for Rachel, aren’t you? You’d never be able to face her if Paul came to harm in Germany.”

  The memory of their first meeting rose in Heidi’s mind. She’d felt so out of place as she entered the domestic science classroom.

  The first week of September, 1935. Her first day of school in America.

  A girl with a poufy blonde hair-do followed her into the room and eyed her. Heidi attempted a smile until the girl spoke. “Going to a party?”

  The girl’s derisive tone, and a snicker from behind her, chilled Heidi. Her smile died. She smoothed a hand across her royal blue skirt dotted with tiny white flowers. She’d worn her best dress because she’d wanted to look her finest. She noted the simple skirts and blouses worn by most of the girls. She’d made a huge mistake.

  Rows of tables for two filled the center of the room. One girl, looking a bit lost, offered a timid smile. Heidi took a deep breath and approached her table.

  The girl sat taller. “Hi, I’m Rachel. You may sit here if you like.”

  Heidi slid into the chair with a sigh. “Thank you. I am Heidi. I am new to the city and do not know anyone.”

  Another girl, about to sit at the table alongside them, froze and stared at her. Her mouth turned down. “Are you a Hun?”

  Heidi stilled as Rachel caught her breath. A redhead in front of them turned in her chair. “Ignore her.” She cut a glance to the offender. “She’s mad about being harassed as a Mick, and would love someone else to suffer in her place.”

  The other girl raised her nose and flounced across the room.

  “I’m Betty.” The red-haired girl cocked her head. “I’ve never met a foreigner before.”

  Heidi forced a smile, and Betty turned back around. Rachel expelled her breath and clapped a hand over her mouth to stop a giggle. Heidi sagged against her chair back.

  Rachel laid a cautious hand on Heidi’s arm. The twinkle in her eyes belied her awe-filled tone. “You’re a rarity.”

  Heidi snickered. Some people might begrudge her nationality, even sixteen years after the Great War, but others defended and welcomed her, even treated her as a curiosity. She leaned close to Rachel. “What’s a Mick?”

  “Irish people.” Rachel leaned closer and whispered, “My grandparents came from Ireland.”

  The teacher called the class to attention as the two girls giggled behind their hands.

  Sweet, gentle Rachel. How did Paul bear the loss? She’d known Erich for less than three years, and his loss was agony. But Paul had known Rachel his whole life. What emptiness he must feel.

  “Rachel died last year.”

  Gretchen sat up like a jack-in-the-box. “She’s dead? But how? The war’s not in America.”

  “She got sick.” Paul was right. If he’d been there, she might not have died. Rachel abhorred doctor visits worse than anyone Heidi had ever known.

  Gretchen’s eyes gleamed.

  “Don’t get any ideas, Gretchen. He’s not here for romance.”

  An ear-to-ear grin split the teenager’s face. “Hmm.” She hopped up and headed for the door. “Maybe you should remember that, Heidi.” She flung open the door and nearly collided with Karla. Her laughter spilled over. “Don’t you think Heidi and, um, Horst would make a cute couple?”

  Their cousin’s speculative look brought a groan from Heidi. The sooner Konrad found a way out for Paul, the better off they would be.

  Paul settled into a small alcove in the Ziemers’ barn loft. The rude accommodation held a cot wedged in among empty bushel baskets, garden covers for frosty weather, and unfamiliar farming paraphernalia. A heavy layer of dust coated everything, but at least no mice tracks were apparent.

  Frau Ziemer had fussed over him. “You should stay in the house. We can fix a comfortable bed for you in the room off the kitchen. You’ll be warmer there.”

  “No, no. You need that space. You might step on me early in the dark morning.” He offered the grin that Rachel had called his lady-killer. “Besides, I’m used to roughing it in the outdoors. I would feel trapped in the house.”

  Konrad had known better. He’d observed Paul’s close inspection of the trap door in the loft and guessed he was concerned about escape routes. “In the morning I’ll show you a hiding place where I keep an emergency stash. A bit of money and safe addresses. You’ll have to memorize the addresses so they’re not found on you if you’re caught. No weapons, but I’m not sure if a gun would help or hurt you.”

  Paul reviewed everything now in the deepening evening. Standing in the yard, he turned in a full circle, studying the stars as they appeared overhead. There hung Polaris, the northern star at the tip of Ursa Minor, the Little Dipper. And there to its side was Ursa Major.

  Sudden tears stung his eyes. The Big Dipper had been the only constellation Rachel could locate. She could pick out Orion’s belt, but never figure out where Orion was. Being with Heidi must be rousing all his suppressed memories. He drew in a ragged breath. Too bad he’d let Fritz stay in the house with the children. He could use a little company.

  Resigned to a lonely night, he turned for the barn, but a crunch of gravel froze him in place. Only his eyes moved. There, heading for the house. The quarter moon’s light revealed a figure unconcerned about watching eyes. And unobservant. Paul must be as easy to spot. He dropped to a crouch to offer the least discernible silhouette.

  The intruder finally practiced a bit of stealth, easing unto the porch and creeping up to a window. The windows were all blacked out to avoid providing a target for enemy planes. Spying couldn’t be the person’s intent. Eavesdropping was more likely.

  Exercising care to avoid alerting the intruder to his presence, Paul moved across the gravel. On firm ground, he dashed for the back kitchen door. The handle turned easily and he slipped inside.

  His sudden appearance in the archway to the living room caused seven heads to je
rk up. Before anyone could speak, Paul raised both hands to point to the offending windows. He whispered, “Someone’s out there listening.”

  Herr Ziemer rose and headed for the door, motioning to blow out the candles while he turned off the lone light bulb. Heidi and Frau Ziemer extinguished two flames, leaving one on the hearth.

  Lieselotte, taking a deep breath, filled the sudden silence. “Did anyone read this magazine before the girls got to it? They’ve been cutting out all the pictures of people to use for paper dolls, and I’d like to know the conclusion to this debate about fatless cooking.”

  His eyes sufficiently adjusted to darkness, Herr Ziemer flung open the door and stepped out. “What are you doing there?”

  With long strides, he disappeared from view.

  Konrad joined him. Heidi, Lieselotte, and Frau Ziemer clustered near the door. Karla also stood, but kept an eye on Paul as she moved toward the other women. Gretchen remained seated, arms crossed, watching Paul with a smile playing across her mouth.

  He backed into the kitchen to stay out of sight. Gretchen hopped up to follow him as Herr Ziemer and Konrad pulled in a strident-voiced woman. Gretchen nodded back toward the other room. “Ursula Grote, the mayor’s daughter, town snoop, and Gestapo informant, trying to cause trouble.” Her arms folded again. “You don’t recognize me, do you, Paul?”

  He read his name on her lips, for she didn’t say it out loud. A tingle raced down to his toes. Would Heidi’s little sister betray him? How did she know? Heidi hadn’t planned on telling her. He crossed his own arms, but an inner prompting kept him from acknowledging his identity.

  Ursula’s protests of innocence grew. Lieselotte’s voice drifted back. “Dressed like that? Like a burglar?”

  “It’s time I paid your father a visit.” Herr Ziemer strode into view to snatch up his hat. “Come along, Fraulein Grote.”

  Amid much protesting and whining, the men escorted the neighbor away. The strain of living under a totalitarian government had to be appalling.

  Karla glided into the kitchen with a relit candle. “Have you been to Wisconsin?”

  More tingles ran rampant through Paul, this time raising the hairs at the back of his neck. Gretchen he was inclined to trust, but her cousin’s eyes held no hint of friendliness. “Wisconsin? Is that the state in northern America where many Germans emigrated to in the last century?”

  Gretchen eased around beside him. “Karla’s husband, Wolfgang, is in a prisoner of war camp in Wisconsin.”

  Paul held Karla’s eyes. “Then he’s lucky.” Her brows rose. “I’ve heard many prison camps are in the southern states, where the weather gets very hot and humid. Many men from the Afrika Korps experienced hot days and cold nights in the desert, but the American south is said to be miserably hot the whole time. In the north, they should have some relief.”

  She might not appreciate the geography lesson, but he refused to answer her question. From now on, he would be on high alert in her presence.

  Heidi entered the kitchen, pausing with an uncertain look. Her lips firmed and she advanced, leading him to the door. “It’s a good thing you saw Ursula. We might have revealed where the family gold is hidden.”

  “Oh, I want to know that secret.” Gretchen laughed and headed for the living room, blocking Karla’s path from following them.

  Once safely outside, Paul voiced his immediate concerns. “Can Karla be trusted? Gretchen knows who I am.”

  Heidi shrugged in the moonlight. “I don’t know about Karla. Konrad remembered that her husband’s father was an early member of the National Socialist Party. Wolfgang, and maybe Karla too, has Nazi sympathies.” She emphasized Nazi like a swear word. “And, yes, Gretchen recognized your bright blue eyes. In high school, you were voted to have the prettiest eyes. I’d forgotten.”

  She laughed before slapping a hand over her mouth with a guilty look around.

  Paul groaned. “Don’t remind me. That was annoying. I would have preferred ‘Most Likely to Succeed’.”

  Heidi offered a distracted nod. “Ursula must have been snooping around here before. The children were frightened once, thinking spooks were outside. I hope tonight’s escapade and confrontation with Ursula’s father stops her spying.” Her gaze swung upward. “Were you out here stargazing?”

  He turned to her and smiled. “Remember when we stargazed at home? Who would have guessed celestial navigation would be required of me in a few years? England’s that way and France is that way, and home is far, far beyond.”

  “Rachel was in awe of your ability to recognize stars.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, she was.” The familiar ache stung his throat.

  Heidi changed the subject. “You’re safe for now. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day of swinging a hammer and hitting nails, not thumbs.”

  Paul nodded, unable to speak. Heidi ran lightly back to the house. The sound of Heidi and Rachel giggling together echoed down through the years. Ah, Rachel, whoever would have thought one day Heidi would hold my life in her hands?

  Chapter Fourty-Two

  Bickenbach, Germany

  Saturday, June 3, 1944

  “You have construction experience.” Paul eased down on the windowsill and admired their work. In three days, they’d built a mighty respectable dividing wall in the attic, and even plastered it. He may not be knowledgeable about building practices, but plastering probably required special training.

  Konrad stood with hands on hips. “I did work with a remodeler one summer. Unfortunately, I didn’t learn anything about wiring.” He scratched his neck as he looked up at the lone light bulb in the ceiling. “We’re fortunate there was a light at either end. At least both rooms have a light, even if one switch controls them both.”

  “Who gets the room with the switch? The boys or the girls?”

  A chuckle rumbled in Konrad’s chest. “I’m not going to touch that one. Frau Ziemer can be the decision maker.” He tested the plaster with a light touch. “We’ll give it a few days to dry or cure or whatever it does, before we paint it. That’ll do. It might not match the work of a professional builder, but for these days, we did good.” He nodded before quirking a brow at Paul. “Bickenbach won’t be a target for a bombing raid, will it?”

  Paul bit back the immediate assurance that the village was too small to be noticed. It probably would never be an intended target, but could end up as a target of opportunity. And, while bombing the village would make no military sense, someone determined to get rid of his bombs might not care. Bickenbach was in Germany. Therefore, it was enemy territory.

  “A spare bomb or two may fall, but what are the chances?” He read the question in Konrad’s eye. “Sometimes a bomb gets hung up in the bomb bay. We can’t return to base with a bomb that may suddenly let loose at any time, and we can’t close the bay doors with it still there. So someone has to work it loose, and by the time it drops, we could be anywhere over Germany.”

  “Or France or Belgium?”

  “No.” Paul might sound callous, but Konrad deserved the truth. He wasn’t a Nazi supporter. He was helping him evade capture and get back to England. “We’re forbidden from jettisoning bombs over occupied countries. We don’t want to risk hurting friends.”

  The expression that crossed Konrad’s face wasn’t anger or bitterness. More like resignation. His lips pressed firm as he stared out a window. “Germany’s making itself into the world’s pariah. Being seriously wounded was almost worth it, to get away from the things that are happening.”

  Reports circulated among the air bases about goings-on, mostly on the eastern front, but also in the west. Unbelievable reports of genocide, torture, and disappearances. Pressing for details, though, would be rude. Konrad was ashamed of his country.

  The opportunity was lost anyway. Konrad slapped his hands on his legs, wiping away dust. Or guilt. “Nothing more to do here until next week. How would you like to play with the children now?”

  No sooner had Paul stepped into the kitchen th
an Karla thrust an unhappy little girl into his arms. “This one’s ripe.”

  His nose wrinkled as the stench hit him. No kidding. Just what was he supposed to do about it? Playing with the children was one thing. Dealing with messy drawers was quite another. Karla vanished out the door with three little ones clamoring for attention. No one else was around. The miserable little face before him crumpled. Wailing would soon start. He headed to the bathroom.

  “For such a little tyke, you sure make a big stink,” he teased the child, rubbing noses with her. A plaintive cry escaped the bow-shaped mouth. Blue eyes swam in tears. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you fixed up.”

  Maybe. The bathroom contained a sink and a toilet. Nothing remotely resembled a changing table. Alongside the toilet sat a stack of papers. He stepped in for a closer look. They were propaganda leaflets dropped from Allied aircraft. A glance around revealed no other possible source of toilet paper.

  He headed back to the kitchen. At the far end of the counter stood a stack of diapers. Okay. But where to lay her down? On the table? His mother would shake her head in despair. The floor? He grabbed two diapers, one to cushion her head and one to put on her.

  Getting the dirty diaper unpinned presented no problem. “Oh, man, kid, what have they been feeding you?” And what was he supposed to clean her with? The dishrag? “Don’t move.”

  He yanked open the cabinet door under the sink. Bingo. A rack with rags. Hopefully, clean rags. He couldn’t remember seeing a garden hose outside, or he’d take her out and hose her.

  By the time the chore was done, Paul nursed a bloody finger from stabbing it three times with the safety pins. How did mothers survive their kids’ infancy? Navigating combat missions was easier.

  At least the little one had cheered up. She played with her fingers and watched him with curious eyes.

  “Considering what we’ve been through together, you think you can tell me your name?”