The Copper Series

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  I paused for a moment to gauge their reaction. “Mrs. Rimer, the reason Elisabeth doesn’t want to change clothes in front of the girls is because she’s so self-conscious about her body. She weighed only sixty-seven pounds when I found her this summer. And Mrs. Graham, the reason she asked you about your…” Uh oh. How should I word this? “Well, she’s trying so hard to gain weight. She didn’t mean to insult you. Elisabeth’s feisty nature, what you’re seeing in your classes, is what helped her to survive the camp. If you will give her a chance, she will meet your expectations. But she needs time and patience.”

  The teachers nodded sympathetically. All but Mr. Koops. “Why was she in a camp?” he asked.

  “She is Jewish.” And then, in his eyes, I saw it. A flicker of hostility.

  Mr. Koops looked at the other teachers. “A child like Elisabeth will take an enormous amount of work for these teachers, not to mention the fact that she disrupts the rest of the classroom with her impudence. Personally, I think she has the kind of personality that asks for trouble.”

  “Meaning what?” I asked, frustration rising in my voice.

  “Meaning she’ll never fit in. She won’t make friends.”

  “There is nothing wrong with Elisabeth. She has been cruelly mistreated and needs time to recover.” My temper was teetering on the brink of explosion.

  He stood and narrowed his eyes. “That girl is Germany’s problem. Germany started this. Germany should finish it. It shouldn’t be up to the American government to try to educate her. If she even can be educated! You can’t shovel out a load of work for the rest of us by sending a child like her to school and expect us to fix her.”

  That did it! I took a deep breath and started to collect my thoughts to give Mr. Koops a full and complete understanding of what was wrong with him when Robert squeezed a warning on my arm.

  “Her immigration paperwork is in order, Erik,” Robert answered in a calm voice. “She’s in the United States legally on a student visa.”

  Mr. Koops was unimpressed. “Nonetheless—”

  “I believe your parents were immigrants, weren’t they, Erik? Wasn’t your father about Elisabeth’s age when he arrived in America from Holland?”

  Mr. Koops frowned.

  “I remember hearing stories about how your father struggled with the English language. Even came to school wearing wooden clogs. And look at him now. He owns his own hardware store. Best hardware store in the county.”

  Mr. Koops’s face lost that tight tension. “That’s beside the point.”

  “But that’s exactly his point, Mr. Koops,” said Miss Howard, the young teacher who smiled at me when I walked in. “Mrs. Gordon, I’ll do everything I can to help Elisabeth.”

  The other teachers took Miss Howard’s lead and offered to give me books to work with Elisabeth at home, to help fill in her gaps. They even thanked me for taking the time to tell the story about Elisabeth. Everyone except Mr. Koops.

  On the walk home, Robert took my hand.

  “Nice work, Reverend.” I squeezed his hand. “Your ability to calm troubled waters never ceases to amaze me.”

  “You’re the one who organized the meeting. All that I did was to save Mr. Koops from a fierce tongue lashing by an irate German hausfrau.” He shuddered at the thought.

  I tried to scowl at him but couldn’t hold back a grin. “Think it will help?”

  “You bought her some time. And she needs that right now.” He stopped for a moment. “You never told me that her job was to separate shoes.”

  “She told me about it once, on the ship, when she woke up from a nightmare.” Thankfully, the Icebox wasn’t in the room at the time. “Elisabeth said Danny used to make up stories about the former shoe owners. One pair used to belong to a jeweler. Another to a concert violinist. It was a creative way to distract her.”

  Robert lifted his face to the cloudless sky. “We owe a great deal to Danny.”

  I nodded solemnly, wondering if Karl Schneider had ever located a relative for Danny. And if not, what would happen to him? Where would he be sent? We started walking again, until I asked, “Robert, does Mr. Koops remind you of a Dutch version of Friedrich Mueller?”

  Robert shot me an aggrieved look, a warning to not get started on my theory of Friedrich Mueller. There were times that I would have liked to discuss Herr Mueller, and Ruth, Robert’s first wife, and the terrible crimes they had committed together. Crimes against Robert, against William, against this town. I didn’t like the way Robert pretended it was over and done with, never to be discussed again. Even William had taken his mother’s picture and put it away. That seemed to be the Gordon Way.

  Friedrich Mueller had a powerful and damaging affect on Robert’s family, but pretending he didn’t exist didn’t change anything. Ignoring terrible things in one’s life, bottling them up and pretending that they weren’t real, only allowed those damaging events to continue to cause pain. Yet I knew enough about the Gordon Way by now to realize that I couldn’t change them. At least not in one conversation.

  I squeezed his hand. “Well, anyway, thanks for putting Mr. Koops in his place.” The awkwardness lifted between us.

  Robert turned to me and asked, “Would you mind if I borrowed those newspapers clippings and pictures you brought back?”

  “Not at all. Any particular reason?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m wondering if it might give me some insights into Dietrich’s experience over the last few years.”

  “How is the book coming along?”

  “As slow as molasses on a January morning,” he said, quoting Aunt Martha, “but I am enjoying the process.”

  When we arrived home, I went upstairs to find Elisabeth. She lay on her side on her bed, legs curled up. She looked miserable. I lay down on the bed next to her. “Is your stomach hurting again?” On the ship, she had often experienced stomach cramps but I thought it had been because she was eating different food. More food, too.

  She nodded. “And deeze.” She pointed to her teeth. She suffered a great deal of pain from dental caries. We had appointments lined up with the dentist for months ahead to fill the cavities.

  I took her small hand and placed it on the small ball of my belly. “If you wait for a few minutes, you might be able to feel the baby kick. He’s kicking all of the time now.” After a moment, Elisabeth pulled her hand away, bored. “Is school that bad?” I asked her gently.

  “I hate der schule. I hate da kids. I hate dat Mr. Koops.”

  “Miss Howard?”

  “I do not hate dat Miss Hovard.”

  “Why do you hate the kids?”

  “No one vould sit vit me at lunch. Dey make fun of me. Da vay I look and da vay I talk. One bad girl told me to say someting and vhen I did, she laughed and told her friends. Den, dey laughed at me, too.”

  “What did she ask you to say?”

  “Vonderful wiolin.”

  I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle.

  “And one bad boy said I looked like a monkey.”

  Probably the boy whom she whacked. Sounded well-deserved! But she did look a little like a monkey. Large eyes that dominated her face, tiny ears that poked through her wispy hair. Still, I suffered a deep ache in my chest, climbing up to my throat. It was a sad truth of life that ranked people, especially children, primarily by looks. Tenderly, I patted her hair. Soon, I hoped her hair might shape into the bubble-cut that was popular among girls.

  “Vhen I got home, dat dog stayed outside of my door and breathed underneath it.” She made a loud rasping breathing sound to imitate Dog. “And he left a apfel vit his bite marks in it. He has done dat two times.”

  Worried that Aunt Martha would find them, I asked, “What did you do with the apples?”

  She gave me a look as if I was very dense. “Ate them.”

  I had forgotten to put Dog out on the tie-down line in my haste to get to the principal’s office. “I think Dog is trying to make friends with you, Elisabeth. Dogs are like
people. Some are bad, and some are good.”

  She rolled over and looked at me curiously. “Dat commandant vas bad. Dos guards vere bad.”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “But Danny vas good.”

  “Yes.”

  She rolled back on her side, deep in thought. “Sometimes, Danny vould give me half of his potato.”

  “Really? Even though he was hungry, too?”

  She nodded.

  “And he is only a fifteen-year-old boy?”

  “But Danny is a man,” she added thoughtfully.

  A wave of compassion swept over me. I knew she suffered still. Nothing could ever give her back what she lost, but I wished I could do more for her. Suddenly, I had an idea. Maybe there was one thing I could do to help. “William goes to a tutor in Bisbee for speech therapy. She helps him to speak clearly. Would you like her to help you, too?”

  Elisabeth rolled on her back. “Maybe.”

  A good sign.

  “But I don’t vant to sound like I got dat yunk in my nose like Vilhelm.”

  I reached over and smoothed the wisps of hair on her forehead. “Do you remember why I came and got you in Germany?”

  “So I vould know I vasn’t all alone.”

  I kissed her on her temple. For the first time, I felt like I was starting to love her. I stood up and walked to the door, remembering something. “What did Danny’s letter say?”

  She waved her hand as if shooing away the butler and said, “None of your beesvax.”

  I said I was starting to love her, not that I loved her.

  Chapter Eight

  As we were cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, Aunt Martha pointed out to Robert, “That Mattie Osgood has designs on the judge. It’s the third casserole she’s brought him in one week. She looks at him as if he hung the moon.”

  “Well, would that be so bad?” he asked reasonably. “I sort of hope the judge will find someone. He’s got a lot of living left to do.”

  “He wouldn’t be doing much living with that Mattie Osgood.”

  “Aunt Martha, don’t tell me you haven’t buried the hatchet from your tiff with Mattie Osgood over that bake sale for hymnals? That was years ago!”

  “Oh, I buried the hatchet all right. But I marked the spot.”

  I smiled at the two of them. Many conversations carried on like that between the two. Aunt Martha complained, while Robert patiently tried to point her to a better way.

  Elisabeth came stomping down the stairs to find Robert. “I need newspapers articles about dat Goddard man.”

  “About Robert Goddard? The rocket scientist?” he asked, surprised.

  “Danny vants me to send him everyting I can find about dat man.”

  Robert raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Not many people know about him.” Robert Goddard, the father of rocketry, had died on August 10th, just a few weeks ago. “Danny must really be interested in rockets.”

  “I told you dat. Someday, he is going to build a rocket to travel to da moon.”

  Watching this interchange, William said, “Dad, is that possible?”

  Aunt Martha gave a snort.

  Robert glanced in her direction and frowned. “Hard to imagine, but it might just happen someday.”

  “And cows will have five legs,” muttered Aunt Martha.

  He ignored her, stood up and walked over to the top of the icebox where today’s newspaper sat. “I think I even noticed something in today’s news about rockets, Elisabeth. There’s a group of German rocket scientists who surrendered to the Americans and were brought to Texas to work for the Army.” He opened the paper up and spread it on the counter, then pulled out a drawer to find scissors.

  “Dad, what makes a rocket fly?” asked William.

  Robert turned to him, a puzzled look on his face. “I honestly don’t know, son. We’ll have to do some reading on the subject.”

  I was relieved I wasn’t included in that assignment.

  On a sunny afternoon in late September, William and I came out of the library only to find that Dog had left his post. We hurried to the parsonage to see if he had gone home, but Aunt Martha hadn’t seen him. When I knocked on Robert’s office to see if he had seen Dog, he waved me in, talking on the phone to someone. “Uh, uh, well, thank you, Mrs. Olasky. Someone will be right down to get him. Again, my apologies for the interruption.”

  Oh no.

  As Robert replaced the receiver, he shook his head. “Dog,” he said. “Problem at school.”

  “I’ll go,” I volunteered and hurried out the door.

  In Mrs. Olasky’s office lay Dog, tethered to the leg of a heavy table with someone’s necktie. In a chair, Elisabeth sat tall and pleased. Mrs. Olasky, I noticed, did not look quite as pleased.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Olasky. I won’t let Dog wander again.” I grabbed Dog by the neck-tie and motioned to Elisabeth that we should leave. Fast.

  Later, as I was finishing up the dinner dishes, I looked out the kitchen window and saw Elisabeth throwing the ball for Dog. A miracle! I went outside to join her.

  “You and Dog seemed to have worked out an understanding,” I said, curious.

  “Maybe he is not such a bad dog after all,” she answered. After a while, Dog keyed in on a squirrel and, an evil thought in his head, took off to chase it.

  I watched Elisabeth watch Dog. “Did something happen to change your mind about him?”

  She gave me a wicked grin. “Dat Dog came to school at lunch, yust when dat bad boy stole my lunch and tossed it in da bushes. Dog went in da bushes and brought my lunch back to me. Everybody laughed at dat dumb boy.”

  I gazed at Dog with keen admiration. Such a noble canine! How could he have known that the key to Elisabeth’s heart would be food?

  “Would you sit with me a few minutes?” I asked her, patting the step next to me.

  Robert had encouraged me to tell Elisabeth about my father’s murder, about my work in the Resistance and fleeing the country. Now seemed like an opportune moment. Elisabeth was softer tonight. I told her everything, though I avoided the part about Karl Schneider’s involvement in my father’s death. And when I was done, all that she said was, “Still, you vere not in da camps.”

  “No. I wasn’t.”

  “You vere lucky. Your God smiled on you.”

  “Why do you think He smiled on me?”

  “Because you’re only half-Juden. God does not hear dem Juden’s prayers.”

  “He hears your prayers.”

  “Da time I vas in da camp, God did not hear me. And He didn’t hear da prayers of da people vhen dey cried to Him on da vay to da shower.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. The room that was called the shower was actually filled with sprinklers that sprayed toxic fumes on the prisoners, killing them within minutes.

  Elisabeth never mentioned her mother, but was it possible that she had seen her deathwalk to the shower? Oh God, I prayed silently and boldly, give me Your wisdom. Give me Your words. “Elisabeth, I believe everyone’s life has purpose and meaning. I believe that every one of those individuals, every single one, who was led to the showers, mattered to God. Their life mattered, and their death mattered. They were significant to God. There’s a verse in the book of Psalms that says ‘Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints’.”

  She listened, head bent low. “You sound yust like Danny. He said not to blame God for da camps. He said we must not blame God for man’s…man’s…” she struggled to find the right word.

  “Depravity?”

  “Ja! Dat’s da vord. Danny uses da big vords. Er ist sehr klug.” He is very smart.

  “I can tell. I think he’s right, too. One thing I know, Elisabeth. No one can hide from God; He’s there whether we like it or not, whether we know it or not. Everyone will have a day of accounting before God.”

  “Vill your God punish dat Hitler?”

  Dog came barreling up with a ball in his mouth, dropping it on my lap. I picked it up, threw
it, and wiped my hand on my skirt. “There’s another Bible verse that says people like Hitler are like wandering stars, and that the blackest darkness has been reserved forever. Someday I’ll read to you from the book of Jude. It’s only one chapter long. The entire chapter feels as if it was written with the Nazis in mind. For how God will punish those who give themselves over to evil.”

  “Dat blackest darkness is still too good for dat Hitler.”

  I heartily agreed. “I wish I had simple answers to give you. All I really know is how God has dealt with me. He has shown me mercy over and over. I know God loves me.”

  She looked at me accusingly. “How do you know dat?”

  “How do I know that God loves me? He brought you to me. Sometimes I think you’re a miracle, Elisabeth.”

  “Vhat do you mean?” she asked, interested. Skeptical, but interested.

  “I think God helped you survive in the camp. He brought Danny into your life to give you encouragement. And somehow He connected you to me even though I lived seven thousand miles away. I think, no, I know that God has a special plan for your life.”

  She kicked at a tree root sticking out of the ground, quiet for a moment. “I still don’t vant to be Juden no more.”

  “Do you not want to be Jewish or do you not want to believe in God?”

  She wouldn’t answer that question. But she did toss something at me. Enclosed in a recent letter from Danny was a sealed envelope from Karl Schneider, addressed to me.

  My dearest Annika,

  I am diligently working to find leads on Friedrich Mueller. Would you be so kind as to write to me about the information that you shared with me back in August? Include as many details as you can remember, especially any people and places he might have associated with. I will not fail you this time. I hold hope in my heart that you have forgiven me.