Helen glanced at her patient, whose gaze never left her. “Maybe later, if he falls asleep.” But she knew she couldn’t leave the ward, not with so many others who needed her help.
Peggy and Sally brought in broth for the survivors, but most of them couldn’t keep it down. All across the ward, nurses were starting IVs, some assisted by other patients. Pugh and Sutherland were setting up blood transfusions for some of the feeblest patients.
Sally walked up so quietly that Helen didn’t see her until she was placing something beside the bed—a small bouquet of tiny purple flowers. “I picked them today.” She smiled down at Helen’s patient. “I’ll bet it’s been a long time since they’ve seen flowers . . . or purple.”
For the next few hours Helen talked to her patient, in English. She doubted he understood a single word, but she kept it up. Story after story. “So I made it to Marseille,” she continued. “And this time my husband showed up in the right station.” She skipped the part about their German driver. “I admit Frank did get us lost on our way to the barn.” She remembered how tired and cranky she’d felt as they wandered around lost and cold. And at the same time, all of these people were suffering under unimaginable terror.
Several times when her patient appeared to have fallen asleep, Helen tried to break free from him to help with other patients, but his skeletal arms found strength enough to cling to her. She could have gotten away, but she didn’t have the heart.
Bill stopped by, sweat drenching his uniform. “Might as well give up, Nurse. Lem’s not gonna let you go.”
“Lem?”
“Reminds me of a feller I knew back in Texas. Used to date my little sister.”
Helen sat back down and held “Lem’s” hand. As far as she could tell, none of the nurses had left after coming onto the ward. Some held hands with their patients. Others dozed off in chairs beside beds long after their shifts ended. Even Victoria pitched in, working an extra shift to put up meds for their regular patients.
Helen jerked awake to a dimly lit ward. She couldn’t stop coughing. Bill was kneeling beside her, and for a second she couldn’t remember where she was and why she was there.
Bill frowned at her. “Nurse, you need to get some sleep. We can handle things.”
Then it hit her. The ward. The camp survivors. “I can’t sleep!” But had she? The last thing she remembered was struggling to stay in the chair and keep her head from falling on her patient.
Her patient. Helen stared at the empty bed, stripped of bedding. “No. Bill, no!”
Helen burst into tears that led into a coughing fit. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep. She hadn’t been there for her patient when he needed her most. She hadn’t helped him one bit, and he’d died on her watch.
“Bill, will you please take this nurse back to the barracks?” Colonel Pugh said. He and Bill were talking behind her. Was she the nurse they were talking about?
Bill took her arm and lifted her out of the chair. “Come on, Nurse. I’ll help you to your bunk.”
She tried to jerk her arm away. “I’m not going anywhere! I have patients here!”
Pugh stepped in. “Nurse, I order you off this ward right now. And you’re not to return until Captain Sutherland or I determine that you’re well enough.”
Bill put his arm around her waist and moved her toward the door. “It’ll be all right.”
“It won’t! I have to—”
“You’ve done enough, Helen,” Pugh said.
But she hadn’t done enough. That poor man had survived his slave labor camp, only to die here. Helen stopped struggling. Her arms and legs felt as though they’d been filled with gelatin. She was no match for Bill. She was no match for anybody.
SOMEWHERE IN GERMANY
Frank’s British unit moved deeper into Germany, one day in thick woods, the next in open, muddy fields. Everyone said the war would end any day now, but it was getting hard to believe. So far, Frank had pegged two German soldiers trying to impersonate GIs as they limped into the battalion aid station. Not much of a challenge since neither could speak a word of English beyond “I am American GI.” Still, he wondered how many infiltrators had slipped past him.
Tomorrow would be Good Friday, but it didn’t feel like Easter without Helen. This year Easter fell on April Fool’s Day. Had it really been only one year since he’d been awestruck in the chapel at Battle Creek?
“Captain Daley?”
“Here!” Frank answered without turning around. He was changing his last bandage and hoped this didn’t mean they’d found something else for him to do. He’d been on his feet for ten hours.
“You’re wanted outside.” Sergeant Whigham put a hand on his shoulder—a hand that nearly swallowed up Frank’s shoulder. They’d arrived at an unusual and unexpected friendship since the day Whigham shot “Daley’s Nazi,” as the company referred to him, though always in good humor. “Bring your kit, mate. I think you’re going off somewhere.”
“Great,” Frank muttered. He scrubbed his hands, grabbed his kit, and followed Whigham. “So where am I supposed to—?” He looked up the hill and spotted a jeep. Standing in the driver’s seat was his brother.
“Jack?” Frank jogged up to him. “How did you find me?”
Jack jumped from the jeep and slapped Frank on the back. “Look at you! They told me you were in a battalion aid. What did you do to deserve this?”
Frank was used to the question. “Nothing to get me here. But quite a lot since.”
“You mean that stuff about the St. Louis fan who happened to be SS?”
“You heard about that, huh? Not my finest hour, I’ll admit. But things turned out okay.” He hadn’t planned on telling Jack, but now that it was out in the open, he didn’t really mind. “So what about you, Jack? Dotty wrote that you were in Belgium at the right time. Mother and Daddy wrote that they haven’t heard from you in weeks. They’re worried sick.”
“Okay. I’ll get in touch. But I can never tell them the really fun parts of the war.”
Apart from his time with Helen, Frank couldn’t recall any “fun parts of the war.” He studied his brother. Jack’s uniform, a crisp lieutenant colonel’s, complete with the proper silver oak leaf, suited him. Frank wondered if the rank was really his, but knew it would do no good to ask. The jacket hung loose, as if he’d borrowed it from a bigger man. It was the kind of thing that would have put Frank on his guard if a soldier breezed into the aid station wearing it.
Jack slid back behind the wheel. “What are you waiting for?”
Frank hesitated. He glanced around for Whigham.
“Your papers are in order, if that’s what you’re worrying about.” Jack patted his front pocket. “Two-day pass, right here. You’re wasting time, little brother!”
What the heck? Frank had always given in to Jack. He tossed in his kit and jumped in.
Jack punched his shoulder. “I like the double bars, Captain.” Frank grinned. He kind of liked those silver bars too. “Hang on to your hat, Frank! I’m going to show you Germany.”
“This is Germany.”
The wind whipped so hard that they had to shout. “Ah, you haven’t seen Germany until you’ve smoked a cigar in Heidelberg!” Jack said.
“Heidelberg? But it hasn’t fallen yet, Jack!”
“It has.”
“We haven’t heard about it.”
“You will. We’ve taken Mannheim and Ludwigshafen, after bombing both to pieces. Heidelberg’s not an industrial or transport hub. Nothing worth bombing, but a lot worth seeing. The Nazis will gladly declare it an open city and hang on to all that lovely history. It’s been their pet stronghold, which may be why Patton plans to make it his post. Allied occupation begins at sunset today.” Jack glanced at his watch. “In twenty-seven minutes.”
Even the sun cooperated as their jeep tore through the countryside. They crossed the Rhine as the sun set, making the water sparkle like the diamonds Frank wanted to give Helen one day. From high cliffs, castles gazed down at them with
spirals and towers as extravagant as in a fairy tale. If Heidelberg turned out to be everything Jack claimed, Frank would bring Helen here.
It was pitch dark by the time they sped by the crooked signpost: Heidelberg. The first living thing to greet them was a giraffe. “Look at that!” Frank exclaimed.
Jack seemed unimpressed, as if giraffes always roamed the hills of Germany. “Yeah, that’s a problem. Zoos haven’t been much of a priority.” He swerved to avoid a crater in the middle of the road.
“Was that—?” Frank began.
“Bomb. Probably one of ours.” Jack slowed, then stopped, idling the engine as they looked down on the city that lay before them in near-total darkness.
“Guess we haven’t restored electricity yet?” Frank ventured. He’d imagined people dancing in the streets like the French after liberation. But that was crazy. The Germans weren’t liberated; they were defeated. Maybe this was what defeat looked like.
Jack, uncharacteristic in his silence, eased the jeep onto a side road that wound around to a tiny bridge. Without warning, he steered off the road and parked under the stone bridge. “Let’s walk from here. I have a little job to finish before we celebrate.” He grabbed a leather satchel from under the seat.
“What job?”
“Papers. A certain German officer will have left papers for me. Not a big deal.”
Surrendered or not, it sounded like a big deal to Frank. He wished Jack had told him about it. He might not have come so readily. When they were kids, Frank had followed his big brother anywhere, no questions asked. But as Jack had said on his last visit, they weren’t kids anymore.
“Jack, tell me why we’re really here.”
“Not getting cold feet, are you? This’ll be fun.”
He followed Jack down a thistle-covered hill to the back of a two-story, fairly modern building. Jack handed the satchel to Frank, then dug around in the window box until he came up with a key. He pressed his ear to the door, then unlocked it. They went inside, shutting the door behind them.
“Jack?”
“Shhh.” Jack pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and shone the light down a short hallway. He motioned for Frank to follow, and they walked straight down the hall to a big office. The door was open, and the flashlight revealed a giant desk littered with papers. Papers crunched under their boots.
Jack began riffling through the stacks on the desk’s surface. Then he moved to the drawers, taking a paper here, a paper there. “Give me the satchel, Frank.”
Frank held the bag open while Jack stuck in files. “Can I ask what all this stuff is? And why, when the city’s already fallen, you have to—?”
Jack cut him off. “See if you find a calendar.”
“Tomorrow is Good Friday. March 30, 1945.”
“Find a calendar, Frank.” There was no teasing in his voice.
Something inside of Frank fluttered, as if his heart were a bird and wanted out. Jack wasn’t kidding around. That meant something serious must be going on. Frank’s thoughts went to Helen. He squinted at the far wall until he remembered the penlight Bradford gave him his first night in the aid station. He turned it on.
“Keep the beam low,” Jack said.
He wanted to ask why, but he lowered the flashlight. Frank’s eyes were already adjusting to the dark, and with the help of his flashlight aimed low on the near wall, he made out a dozen framed certificates. “This guy must have been a big deal, huh?”
“A German general,” Jack whispered. “Calendar?”
“I’m looking.” But there was nothing else on the walls. He joined Jack at the desk. That’s when he spotted a desk calendar. “Jack, will this work?”
Jack took it and flipped pages. “Hmmm.”
“Is that a good hmmm or a bad hmmm?”
“Both. Right calendar. Unfortunately, that surrender I was telling you about, the fall of Heidelberg? It hasn’t happened yet.”
“What?” Frank grabbed the calendar. There was nothing written for today or tomorrow, except a tiny squiggle. Then he got it. Jack was kidding. Even here, his brother would be king of practical jokes. “Sure. So the German general has it marked on his calendar for tomorrow?”
“He didn’t mark the calendar, and I can’t tell you who did or why. But it’s real.” Jack looked over at him. “I got it wrong, Frank. Heidelberg is still a German stronghold. They haven’t surrendered the city, and they’re not going to for another thirteen hours.”
HEIDELBERG, GERMANY
Jack wheeled around to the only window in the office. The glass was cracked, and the window had an iron grate over it. “Tank! Down! Get down, Frank!”
Jack didn’t have to tell him twice. Frank was flat on his stomach, scrambling under the desk before the German tank passed outside the window. On top of the monster tank, German soldiers were laughing as if in a victory parade.
Once Frank no longer heard the roar of the tank’s wheels, he reached across the desk and slugged Jack as hard as he could, catching him on the shoulder.
“I guess I had that coming.”
“How are we going to get out of here without getting captured? Or worse? There’s no way I’m spending the rest of the war as a German POW. I’ve seen what they do to their prisoners, Jack!”
“Hmmm. Now that’s a good idea.”
“What idea?”
As usual, Jack didn’t explain. “Come on!” He hopped up in boxing stance, then shuffled around, shadowboxing the stale air. “Admit it—don’t you feel your juices flowing? I always thought it was selfish of me not to share my best wartime adventures with you.”
“Are you being serious? Because you should be.” Frank had never really thought about why his brother hadn’t married. He’d had lots of opportunities. Maybe this was why. Being married was serious business. Frank wasn’t just scared for himself. He was even more worried about Helen, their marriage, their future family.
“Good thing I stole that jeep. It’s a Nazi jeep, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Yeah, that’s great, Jack. That ought to make them go easier on us.” What would Helen do if he didn’t make it out? He couldn’t stand the thought of her receiving the telegram. They’d promised each other they’d be okay, they’d get out of the war and . . . so many promises.
Jack moved to a closet he’d already searched.
“Are you thinking we could hide in the closet until Heidelberg surrenders?” Frank asked, slim hope trying to find a way in. “I mean, if it’s really going to happen when you say it is, I guess we could. But what if the general comes to work in the morning? Don’t you think—?”
“We’re not sticking around for the Allies to ride in.” With a flourish, Jack produced a black leather trench coat and a German military lid. “Sorry, Frank. Unless your German is better than I think it is, you’re my prisoner of war. So, no uniform for you. We’ll have to rough up the one you’re wearing.” He tried on the coat and frowned. “Generals can get so fat.” He took it off and turned it inside out before putting it back on. It didn’t help. He pulled the belt tight and turned up the collar. “Perfect. Now, ready to get down and dirty?”
“Down and dirty” wasn’t just an expression. Frank followed his brother through a maze of city sewers as they crept beneath the still-German stronghold. He had to bend in half, and still his hat got knocked off twice. Above them, dank, wet cement dripped thick drops, making him smell worse than his unit’s latrine. The tunnels grew so convoluted that he was sure Jack was lost and afraid to admit it. For all Frank knew, Jack may have led them straight to a German outpost by mistake.
Jack exited first, then waved for Frank to follow. “Jeep’s over there.”
Frank emerged and looked around until he spotted the jeep, a football field away, right where they’d stashed it. “Never doubted you, Jack,” he lied.
Jack took off the trench coat, turned it right-side out, and put it on, clean as a whistle. He wrinkled his nose at Frank. “Good. The way you stink, nobody would doubt that you
’ve been a POW for years.” He ripped the shoulder of Frank’s uniform, leaving the sleeve to hang down.
“I had to pay for this uniform.” He and Helen had put themselves on a strict budget, and there was no room in it for a new uniform.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” Jack asked.
“One of many things.” Frank was scared. Scared, but not alone. . . . Thou art with me.
“Here you go.” Jack handed him a gun, too small to be Army-issued. “Wear the sleeve like that, over your hand, and keep the gun in that hand.”
Frank started to protest, but took the gun and kept his mouth shut.
“I heard you were a good shot at Camp Ellis.” Was there anything his brother didn’t know about him? Jack took hold of Frank’s wrists and crossed them. “Keep your head down. I don’t have handcuffs, so hold your wrists together.”
They walked like that to the jeep in the light of a full moon, and nothing happened, not even the heart attack Frank feared he might be experiencing. Jack settled behind the wheel, and Frank slumped beside him.
“Tilt your head to the side.” Jack shoved Frank’s hair over his eyes. “Let me do the talking if we get stopped.”
“Don’t worry.”
Instead of trying to sneak out of Heidelberg, Frank’s costumed brother drove straight up the same street the tank had taken when it roared past the general’s office. After that, Frank kept his eyes shut, as if that could keep the enemy from seeing him. He flashed back to games of hide-and-seek when he’d closed his eyes and hoped Jack or Dot wouldn’t find him.
Suddenly he felt Jack stiffen. He heard the quick intake of breath.
“Heil Hitler!” Boot steps closed in on them from the road ahead.
“Keep still, no matter what,” Jack whispered. The jeep jerked to a halt.
Jack stood up behind the wheel, and Frank could see him extend his arm in the hateful salute. “Heil Hitler!”
It made him shudder, hearing Jack mouth those odious words. But he hoped the words sounded as convincing to the Nazis as they did to him.
A chorus of return heils sounded from an approaching jeep, only a few feet away. Frank didn’t dare look up to see how many of them there were. He’d lost all feeling in his hand from squeezing the gun so tight. Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. He prayed until he could sense God with him as never before.
With Love, Wherever You Are Page 33
