The Copper Series

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  He settled into a cautious smile. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, although I hadn’t said a word out loud. “You’re after information. I know these things. I’m married to a Resistance Worker.”

  “And one who is particularly skilled at overcoming Gordon Resistance.”

  He laughed. An encouraging sign! “Robert, why didn’t you ever tell me you had a sister? Is she buried in the cemetery? I’ve never seen another Gordon grave.” I had looked with great interest when I first arrived. Information about this family was always given in short supply, sparsely handed out on a need-to-know basis.

  Robert sighed. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just…don’t really think about her anymore.”

  “When did she die?”

  “Well, she…didn’t.”

  I stood straight up. “She’s alive? And you don’t keep in touch with her?”

  He spun around in his chair to face me. “Exactly why I didn’t tell you! I knew you would badger me to find her.”

  I crossed my arms and scowled at him. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

  “Alice chose to leave home as a teenager.” He peered at me. “A pregnant teenager. She ran off, married the father of her baby, and she’s never been back.”

  “And you haven’t tried to find her?”

  “Louisa, I’m the one who hasn’t moved. She’s the one who left.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  “The day she left home. I sent her a telegram when our parents died, hoping she would come to the funeral, but she never responded. So I gave up.”

  “Was she older or younger than you?”

  “Older. By a year or so.”

  Mentally, I quickly calculated their ages. It must have been nearly twenty years since they had seen each other. I leaned one hip against his desk. “Does Elisabeth remind you of her?”

  Robert gave me one of his straight-in-the-eyes looks. “Remarkably so. Argumentative, pugnacious, and combative.”

  And probably the very reason he was so fond of Elisabeth.

  I scooted up onto the desk. “Do you realize you’ve never really told me what your parents were like?”

  He leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head as he decided how to answer me. “My mother was kind, but shy as a deer. Completely intimidated by my father. He was very responsible, very proper and very, very sure he was right about everything.”

  I tilted my head but said nothing, hoping he would continue.

  “My father raised us up to fear the Lord, and for a long time, I did just that. I did only that. Truth be told, I think it was through meeting Dietrich that I first started to understand there was more to God than fear.”

  Then he grew quiet, as if he had said all that he wanted to say. He looked up at me. “About my sister, Louisa, please drop it. It was a long time ago, and some things are best left alone.”

  “It just surprises me.”

  “Well, I suppose I should have told you. Her behavior was just not something I was very proud of.”

  “Oh, I understand. People make mistakes. It’s you, though. You surprise me.”

  He looked puzzled. “Why? What have I done?”

  “You’ve always been a peacemaker, Robert. You build bridges between people. I’ve seen you do it again and again. Why wouldn’t you want to do it in your own family?”

  He stiffened his spine.

  “You can’t abandon your own family.”

  “I didn’t abandon anyone,” he said curtly. “Did it ever occur to you that she doesn’t want to be connected with her family? That this was her choice? Not everyone wants to be found, Louisa.”

  “You’re wrong, Robert. Everyone wants to belong to someone.”

  He looked down at his desk.

  “So her name is Alice?” I looked at him, waiting for him to fill in the blanks. “Alice…?”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “Alice O’Casey. She married a Catholic boy—one of my father’s chief objections. But that marriage didn’t last. And she has since remarried.”

  I hopped off his desk. “Your father would not have approved of me, would he?” I looked at him carefully to read his response.

  Robert’s face looked pained. “No. He wouldn’t have approved of you, being half-Jewish. Maybe even worse is the fact you’re German. He had fought in World War I and never forgave the Germans.”

  It just seemed so unfair. For a moment, I had a glimpse of Elisabeth’s life. Blamed by everyone.

  Robert took my hand and sought my eyes. “But if he would have been willing to get to know you, he would have loved you.”

  What he was really saying was that his father would never have been willing to get to know me.

  “My mother was softer.”

  I gave him a half-smile. “So what is Alice’s new name?”

  “I honestly don’t know her new married name.”

  I looked at him skeptically.

  He released my hand. “I really, truly don’t know, Louisa.”

  “What about her baby?”

  “A boy. I don’t know where he is now.”

  “Well, would you mind if I tried to find Alice?”

  He folded his arms on his desk and clunked his head down on his arms in despair.

  I turned and left, taking that for a “yes.”

  When I returned to the kitchen, Aunt Martha had already gone upstairs to bed. To avoid me, no doubt. She probably wasn’t going to divulge any information that Robert hadn’t told me. Even though I now shared the Gordon name, Aunt Martha did not view me as one of her clan. I knew she cared about me, in her own way, but I was still an outsider.

  I gathered my facts. Alice would be in her mid-thirties now. I assumed she had married a local boy, which meant that there might be a family in town who had a connection to Alice, her husband, and her baby. And there was only one person in this town with a network of connections. I would have to look for a moment alone with the judge.

  * * * *

  “Mail’s here,” Robert called as he came through the front door. “Elisabeth, there’s a letter for you!”

  Elisabeth flew down the stairs and grabbed the letter from him. “Von Danny!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. She flew back up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut.

  Robert’s eyebrows shot up when he heard the door slam. “Good thing you thought to give Danny our address,” he said, heading into the kitchen.

  But I hadn’t. Karl Schneider must have given it to him.

  Suddenly I heard a shout from the kitchen. Waving a letter, Robert had a broad smile on his face. “It’s been accepted! They want to publish my book!” He grabbed me for a hug, lifting me off of my feet, not even caring that William and Aunt Martha were watching.

  * * * *

  A few days later, school began for Elisabeth. Dog’s respite could finally begin. He would be allowed off of the line in the backyard and given his freedom, at least until three p.m. when she was due back home. Elisabeth was still terrified of Dog. The night before school started, she peered at him out the window and said, “Dat dog has yaws as big as eine krokodilklemme.” That dog has jaws as big as a crocodile.

  I had enrolled her in eighth grade a few days earlier. We walked around the school three times so she could find her classrooms. She laid out the clothes she wanted to wear, changing the outfit every few hours. On the first day of school, she woke me at dawn to help style her hair. There wasn’t much I could do, it was still so wispy and short, but I tried my best. She didn’t want me to go to school with her, so Esmeralda agreed to walk with her.

  As the girls went down the street together, my heart ached. The contrast between them was shocking. Esmeralda looked happy, relaxed, arms swinging at her side. Elisabeth looked unhappy, tense, arms clasped against her abdomen as if her stomach hurt. I prayed for her as I watched her head down the street. I prayed that the other children would be kind to her, that her teachers would be merciful. I prayed for her confidence, her
peace, her joy. Give her joy, Lord.

  As the girls turned the corner out of sight, I shifted my attention to William. His head was bent over the newspaper, much like Robert’s habit, reading every detail of the sports page. His mind was still a sponge, soaking up any and all information. I needed to keep his mind busy, but was starting to feel concerned about how to keep ahead of him.

  My curriculum came out of the library, where we were reading through books on any and all subjects. “William?” I asked, gently patting his elbow so he would look at me. “Today is your first day of school, too.”

  Aunt Martha was upstairs, changing bed sheets. An opportune time for a science experiment. “Science, first!” I pulled out the baking soda and vinegar, and found a plate. “We’re going to study chemistry. Cause and effect.” I piled up the baking soda and had William spoon drops of vinegar on top, eliciting a hiss and sizzle.

  His eyes were transfixed. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever done!” he said. “We have to show Elisabeth when she gets home.” We added more vinegar to the baking soda for added fizzles, then quickly cleaned up. I opened the kitchen door to air out the sour vinegar smell.

  “Time to get to the library,” I told him, hoping to leave before Aunt Martha came down the stairs. Dog’s ears perked up when I picked up his leash. He liked to stand sentry guard at the library door.

  On the way to the library, William said, “Did you know that Josiah was only eight-years-old when he became king?”

  I stopped and looked at him, amazed. “How did you know that?”

  “I was in Dad’s office yesterday when he was working on a sermon. He told me all about Josiah. Can you believe it? I’m almost eight!”

  Just nine months to go, I thought, grinning. “Josiah was a good king, too.”

  “I know. Dad told me. His father and his grandfather were bad, but Josiah was good.”

  I nodded.

  “I think that maybe I’ll be a minister someday. Like Dad.”

  I smiled.

  “Think I could?” he asked, searching my eyes for my response.

  “I think you could be whatever you want to be.”

  His eyes looked solemn. “But do you think I’d be a good minister?”

  “You’d be a wonderful minister, William.”

  He nodded earnestly. “But I might be a professional baseball player. Maybe for the Cubs.” The Chicago Cubs were his favorite team. He was counting on them to go to the World Series this year.

  It would snow in July in Copper Springs before that would ever happen, Robert told me.

  At the library, we quickly settled into our routine. After picking out a book, I sat in front of William and read it aloud as he watched my lips move. Then he would read the text aloud to me, as I corrected his pronunciation. Then I would read the text again, as he watched me, so he could practice. We had been doing this for months, instructed by William’s tutor in Bisbee.

  This morning, I noticed that he rarely interrupted me as I read aloud. Just six months ago, I was reading very slowly; he would stop me, every few words, to check the words in the book to see what I was saying. His lip reading had galloped along into a high level of proficiency this summer. Just last week, his tutor labeled him a champion lip reader.

  Afterwards, he searched through the shelves for interesting books. I gazed at him, amazed at how tall he had grown this summer. I wondered how long that irrepressible cowlick on his forehead would last. He hardly resembled the little four-year-old boy I met when I first arrived in Copper Springs, who peered at me with large, serious eyes and stole my heart the night he slipped his hand in mine as we watched the sun set. When we came home for lunch, I kept one eye peeled on the kitchen clock.

  “Watching that clock won’t make it turn any faster,” said Aunt Martha. “You’re fidgeting worse than a dog with fleas.”

  I sighed. “I know. I just keep wondering how she’s doing.”

  “She’ll do just fine. She needs school to keep her mind off of complaining.”

  True, but I had an odd, sinking feeling about whether the school needed her.

  Finally, three o’clock rolled around. Elisabeth burst into the door, stomped up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door. William, Aunt Martha and I watched helplessly.

  A few minutes later, Robert came in from the office. “Louisa, the principal called and wants to see you. Right now.” He gave me a concerned look. “Shall I come?”

  “No, I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just paperwork,” I said hopefully.

  I walked to school, grateful for a few quiet minutes in the day to collect my thoughts. There were, to be sure, a few concerns.

  Principal Olasky was a woman who looked perpetually worried, as if wild dogs were following her. She met me with a grim face. We sat facing each other in her office as I braced myself for the litany of complaints.

  “Mrs. Gordon, the day did not go well with Elisabeth.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Oh, where to begin?” she answered as her hands flew up in the air in despair. “First, she has a number of gaps in her knowledge, significant gaps, not to mention that her English is quite poor.”

  I relaxed. These were not unexpected problems. “She understands more than you might think. It’s just not easy for her to speak yet. But she’s made remarkable progress in just one month’s time,” I said.

  The principal ignored my defense. “And secondly, her behavior is a problem.”

  My eyebrows flickered up. “What kind of behavior problem?”

  “She’s extremely rude. In first period, she told Mrs. Graham she was fat! In second period, she told Mr. Koops, her history teacher, that he was incorrect in his knowledge of world politics. And in physical education class, she refused to change clothes with the other girls. Then, during lunch recess, she whacked a boy with her book pack.”

  Oh dear. This was worse than I feared. “Do you have any idea why she hit him?”

  “It doesn’t matter. We can’t tolerate violence.”

  I bit my lip, trying to listen patiently. “Anything else?”

  Mrs. Olasky frowned. “Isn’t that enough for one day?”

  “Well, it was only her first day. We need to anticipate an adjustment period. She’s not exactly a typical student from Copper Springs.”

  “Mrs. Gordon, I need to have some assurance that this kind of thing won’t be happening every day. Frankly, I’m not even sure she is ready for this grade level. Perhaps she should be at a lower grade. She might be more comfortable. She’s so small, too. It might be a better fit for her to be in grade six. Or maybe even grade five.”

  Obviously, Mrs. Olasky was not concerned about Elisabeth’s best interests. “Would you mind doing me a favor?” I asked, which immediately ratcheted Mrs. Olasky’s perpetually worried-look up a notch. “Tomorrow, after school, I’d like to speak to Elisabeth’s teachers.”

  She hesitated, which I took to be a yes and quickly made my exit, promising to return tomorrow afternoon.

  The next morning, I stood at the kitchen window, staring down the dawn of a new day. And still I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  At three o’clock that afternoon, I put on a neat navy skirt and crisp linen blouse. I brushed my hair smooth. I was armed and prepared for battle. Robert volunteered to come with me for moral support.

  At the school, I faced Elisabeth’s teachers, already seated. One man radiated disapproval, but there was a young woman—who was no more than twenty-one-years old—who watched me with interest. I took a deep breath, trying to sound braver than I felt. “I am Louisa Gordon. Most of you know my husband, Robert.” The faces turned to look at him. “Elisabeth is my cousin from Germany. I realize she is not a typical student for you.”

  “I’ll say,” said the disapproving man, whom I quickly surmised to be Mr. Koops. “Today she told me that I should change the boundaries on my map of the Middle East because Israel is going to become a nation.” He looked at the other teachers, shaking his head
, as if to say, “Can you imagine trying to teach a child with ideas like that?”

  Actually, I wanted to say, Elisabeth was correct. Just last month, the Zionist World Congress had approached the British government to discuss the founding of Israel. But Robert stepped next to me and flashed me a warning look, trying to convey that now was not the moment to point out Mr. Koops’ error. Robert was right; I had a more important task at hand. “Elisabeth has been rescued out of a concentration camp in Germany.” I paused. As expected, they looked at me blankly.

  “Don’t you mean a labor camp?” asked a rather generously proportioned woman, whom I quickly deduced to be Mrs. Graham. “Like the internment camps for the Japanese?”

  “No. Not like the internment camps for the Japanese-Americans,” I added for emphasis. “The Nazis created the concentration camps to imprison the population of Jewish people, as well as others, whom they wanted to annihilate. They killed millions of innocent men, women and children in these camps.”

  “Mrs. Gordon,” said Mr. Koops with an air of condescension. “Those news reports are greatly exaggerated. There are conflicting reports.”

  A surge of anger rose inside me toward this ill informed man. I deliberately avoided Robert’s eyes. “Mr. Koops,” I said, slowly and carefully, as if I was speaking to a dense child, “I traveled to Germany this last summer to get Elisabeth and went through the very camp where she had been imprisoned.”

  I opened the file in my lap and took out the pictures I had taken of Dachau, including those of stacks of corpses. One by one, I handed them to the teachers and let the pictures tell the story. The room was silent, punctuated by gasps now and then. Two teachers reached for a handkerchief. Mr. Koops barely glanced at the pictures, passing them quickly down the row.

  “I also have newspaper articles taken by first hand sources, if you would like to read them.” I put the file on the desk. “Somehow, Elisabeth survived in that camp. She survived. One of her jobs was to separate soles from used shoes. When I picked her up at the Red Cross Center, her hands were still raw from picking at stitching and pulling at the leather. On her left forearm is a tattoo. That was her identification at the camp. She wants to save up money to have it removed. She wants to forget everything about the camp. She won’t discuss it; I ask that you respect her wishes. In fact, I think it would upset her to know that I was here today. We are trying to help her gain back her health and her strength.”