Copper Star

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Miss Gordon slipped upstairs, no doubt grateful to get away from my dramatic outpouring of sentiment. Her feelings were just like the bun in her hair—tightly wrapped up and pinned into place.

  Robert sat down next to me, waiting, stroking my hair a few times. Then, after I had no more tears to shed, all he said was, “God has His reasons, Louisa. There are many things we’ll never understand this side of eternity.”

  I looked at him through a blur of tears. “That’s just too simple an answer.”

  He went over to a kitchen cupboard and pulled out Miss Gordon’s Bible, opening it to the sixteenth chapter of the book of Proverbs as he sat back down next to me. “The Lord hath made all things for himself, yea, even the wicked for the day of evil.” Then, he said, “Even the day of evil, Louisa. Even that is under His control.”

  He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped my tear-stained face. ”There’s something I want you to think about. I don’t even want an answer right now. Just think about it. Pray about it.”

  I looked up at him, wondering what he was going to say.

  He cupped my face in his hands, looked me right in the eyes and asked in a voice of great tenderness, “what makes you so sure your life doesn’t count right here?” Then he left the kitchen.

  I stayed at the table for a while longer, completely spent. Finally, I stood up and gazed out the kitchen door window at the church. I felt a pull toward the church from deep inside. I knew the sanctuary would be empty.

  I loved to be in a church—any church—when it was empty. It felt sacred, and even though I knew it didn’t matter where I prayed, somehow I felt as if I had God’s ear when I knelt in prayer in church. I walked over to it, opened the door, and sank into a pew.

  I didn’t know how much time had passed when someone put a hand on my shoulder; I flinched in surprise. I had been so lost in my misery I hadn’t heard anyone come in. It was Herr Mueller.

  “May I join you, Fräulein?” he asked, blocking the pew.

  “I was just leaving.”

  “Nonsense. You just arrived.”

  How long had he been watching me?

  “A moment of your time, bitte. I have just learned something quite interesting. There was a young woman who disappeared in Berlin a while ago. Just like that. Vanished.” He snapped his fingers. “Just a few weeks before you arrived in Copper Springs.”

  He sat down next to me. “The German government would like to talk to this woman. It turns out she had a very influential circle of friends. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, for example. Hans von Dohnanyi, for another. You might not be aware of this unfortunate turn of events, but both of these men have been arrested under suspicion of conspiring to assassinate der Führer.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I felt the pounding of my portending heart. I stood up to leave. He grabbed my arm with his hand, forcing me to sit back down. He handed me a large envelope.

  In it were pictures of Dietrich, Hans and I, in Berlin. One was at a street corner, another in a car, another coming out of a building. I remembered each of those meetings; they occurred during that one week when the Gestapo agent was following me. That week before I left Germany.

  “Your secret is safe with me, Fräulein. I believe we can find an arrangement that will satisfy everyone. No one needs to know you are not Louisa Schmetterling, and I, in turn, will be able to help your friends.”

  “What do you mean?” My voice was shaky; I felt as if this were a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.

  He moved in closer to me so that I could feel his hot sour breath on my neck. “I would like to have more private discussions with you each Wednesday night while my wife is at choir practice. Come to my house at seven o’clock sharp.”

  “I’m leaving today to go live in Bisbee, Herr Mueller.”

  “Even better! Bisbee is not so far, Fraulein. It has a wonderful hotel—the Copper Queen. We’ll meet there.”

  I narrowed my eyes and snapped, “so you can do to me what you did to her?”

  His mouth gaped like a hooked fish. Finally, he spat out, “she came to me of her own free will.”

  Seeing him caught off guard gave me needed courage. With my free arm, I slapped his face as hard as I could. His hand went up to his cheek, and a drip of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He took out a handkerchief and wiped away the blood. In a tone of chilling anger he warned, “you do not want to make me an enemy, Fraulein. Your friends in Germany depend on you.”

  Suddenly, a door clicked open. “Louisa?” Robert’s voice filled the church from the narthex.

  Herr Mueller grabbed the envelope from me and slipped it inside of his coat jacket just as Robert entered the sanctuary and walked up to us, a concerned look on his face. “Mr. Mueller? What’s going on?”

  “Ah, good day, Reverend. The Fräulein and I were just chatting.” Like a chameleon, Herr Mueller’s voice and countenance resumed calm. All that betrayed him was my handprint, still red, on his cheek. “Well, I must be off. Bis später, Fräulein.” He got up and walked out of the church.

  “What happened?” Robert asked. Impatience rose in his voice. “Louisa, what just happened?”

  I remained in the pew, chin quivering, trying not to cry.

  He sat down next to me. “I came to tell you it’s time to take William to Mrs. Morgan’s. What did Mueller say to you? You’re as white as Aunt Martha’s sheets.” Then he leaned back against the pew. “Oh, no. Was it something about William? Did William do anything to Mueller while I was away?”

  “No, no. It’s nothing like that.”

  “Oh, Louisa, you didn’t tell him about the ring.”

  “No! I promised you I wouldn’t and I didn’t. Please, it was nothing. Let’s go. We need to get William to Mrs. Morgan’s on-time.” I stood up and started to walk past him, but he extended his arm to block me. Without looking at him, I said, “Robert, I can handle this myself.”

  “Why are you so determined to be the Lone Ranger?” he said with exasperation.

  I gave him an equally exasperated look.

  He shook his head. “Sorry. A radio program. What I meant to say is what is so wrong about asking for help?” He stood up, took my shoulders, and turned me to face him. “Louisa, I want to help. Tell me what Mueller said to upset you.”

  I was quiet for a moment. “He knows,” I said. “He knows everything. He knows I’m an illegal immigrant. He knows all about Dietrich and Hans. He even had photographs. He wants to use that information against them. Against me. ”

  Robert’s face revealed disbelief. “What? How? How could he have possibly found out?”

  I explained what he said and the Wednesday night “arrangement” he had suggested. Robert’s face changed from disbelief to anger. He clenched his jaw, and his hands tightened into fists. “I want to get the police involved,” he finally said.

  “And what would you tell them? That I have a false passport? Or that an upstanding church member made a proposition to me? No, Robert. There’s nothing to be gained.”

  “What do you suggest then? We can’t let him get away with trying to blackmail you. And you’re certainly not going near him.”

  “Let that be the least of your concerns,” I said with a weak smile.

  “Louisa, don’t joke about this. This is serious business.”

  “I’m only half-joking. But I know Nazis. I’ve seen their tactics. Herr Mueller is just using information as leverage; he has no intention to help anyone. Other than himself.”

  He looked as worried as I felt.

  “Do you remember I told you I recognized his surname? There is a Nazi in Berlin with the same name as Herr Mueller. I can almost guarantee they are related. They even look alike. And they certainly act alike.”

  “What are you thinking? That Mueller is a Nazi sympathizer? Living here in Copper Springs? Louisa, that seems outlandish.”

  “Outlandish? Outlandish?!” A flash of anger surged within me. “Robert, this is why I haven’t told
you my doubts about Herr Mueller! You say I’m too suspicious or that I’m acting as if I’m still doing Resistance Work. From the first moment I met Herr Mueller, I felt full of doubts about him. When Glenda was harmed, it only confirmed my suspicions.”

  Robert crossed his arms and paced back and forth a few steps. “Look, Louisa, stay here. At least for a few more days. I’ll call Mrs. Morgan and the diner and let them know not to expect you just now. I want to make sure Mueller isn’t up to something.”

  I nodded, relieved. Herr Mueller’s threat was not to be taken lightly. We were both pensive as we walked home.

  After dinner that night, I tucked William into bed and then went to get a book in my room. I could hear Robert and Miss Gordon talking downstairs. I went over to the radiator, reprimanding myself for listening to their conversation as I unscrewed the cap.

  “Oh, no!” I heard her say in a worried voice. “Robert, I think I told him. It was right after you had lunch at his house. He asked me where you had met Louisa, and I told him you had met a friend of hers while in seminary. He asked me all about your friend. It seemed a little odd, but I thought it was common knowledge. You’ve spoken of Dietrich Bonhoeffer often. You’ve even quoted him in your sermons. I just thought everyone knew.”

  Robert was silent.

  I went down the stairs and walked into the kitchen. “Tante Marta, you meant no harm.” I went over and hugged her. We had come a long way.

  “Louisa?” asked Robert, noticing for the first time. “What in the world happened to your hair?”

  Chapter Twelve

  I tried to put the conversation with Herr Mueller out of my mind, but I kept coming back to a single desperate conclusion. A feeling of nervous dread kept rising in my stomach; I knew in my heart Herr Mueller was planning something.

  Robert wanted to do something, but we didn’t know what to do next, or who to talk to, because we couldn’t prove anything. So we ended up waiting. And waiting. For what, we didn’t know. Miss Gordon called it “waiting for an axe to fall.”

  Just that morning, as I read from the Bible, I came across a verse in the Psalms: “Rescue me, O Lord, from evil men, protect me from men of violence, who devise evil plans in their hearts and stir up war every day.”

  Lord, rescue me from Herr Mueller, I prayed constantly. Wednesday night came and went, like any other night, except Robert stayed close to the house. When he didn’t think I noticed, he watched me with worried eyes.

  By Friday, the answer arrived in the form of a serious looking man dressed in a plain dark suit standing on our doorstep. Miss Gordon hurried to get Robert from his office.

  “Aunt Martha, would you mind taking William upstairs while Louisa and I talk to this gentleman?” Robert sounded calm but looked troubled.

  The man looked straight at me. “Are you Louisa Schmetterling?”

  I nodded.

  “Do-you-understand-English?” he asked, as if I had a hearing problem.

  “Yes,” I answered. My mouth felt dry.

  “I’m a field officer for the INS.”

  I glanced at Robert, puzzled.

  “Immigration and Naturalization Services,” he explained.

  The officer pulled out some papers from his briefcase. “Ma’am, it has been brought to our attention that you might be in this country under false pretenses. You have until Monday morning to prove that you are here legally. There’s a hearing scheduled on Monday for your internment at Crystal City, Texas. We will return for you at 10 a.m. on Monday for the hearing.”

  He handed me the papers. “And I’m compelled to warn you that if you flee, you will be classified as a fugitive and arrested when found. Also, the Reverend will be considered an accomplice and charged accordingly. Do you understand what we’re telling you?”

  I was stunned. Robert reached over and took my hand.

  “What kind of proof do you need?” asked Robert.

  “Legal documentation,” he answered.

  Of which I had none.

  The officer saw the panic in my eyes. “Don’t you fret, Ma’am. Crystal City isn’t a bad place. Think of it as a vacation paid for by the U.S. Government. It’s just until this war ends. That’ll be soon. It’s just government policy to not take any chances with possible domestic disloyalty.”

  “Why Texas? Why not the internment camp in Phoenix? Pagogo Park?” Robert asked.

  “Pagogo Park is only for male POWs. Crystal City has families living there. She’ll make lots of new friends,” he added.

  The absurdity of that comment gave me a moment to pull myself together. Robert walked the officer to the door. Then he returned and stood next to me. Still stunned, we watched his car disappear through the parlor window.

  Finally, Robert turned to me. “Mueller did this. I still can’t understand how he knew who you were, that your passport was false.” Then his eyes lit up. “Unless…unless he got into my lock box at the bank! Louisa, what time is it?”

  I thought back to the clock in the kitchen. I had looked at it, nervously, when I heard the officer knock on the door. “Around half past three.”

  “I’m going to run to the bank and check the contents of my lock box. I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I have to wait until Mueller is out of the bank. I don’t want to make him suspicious. Louisa, please try not to worry.” He brushed my cheek with his hand.

  Miss Gordon, who had been listening all along, raced out of the front door onto the porch as Robert bolted down the steps. “Robert! Do something! We can’t let her go.”

  Robert didn’t return for hours. I tried to not worry; I tried to pray until I could find peace. I prayed about it, left the matter entirely in God’s hand, trusted Him to control the outcome, then I grabbed it back to worry all over again. I felt the same fear that a siren elicits at night—a fear I had hoped to leave behind in Germany.

  It wasn’t that being interned troubled me. On my long and lonely train ride, zigzagging from New York to Arizona, I had passed internment camps of Japanese Americans in some of the western mountain states and asked the train conductor about them.

  He explained that President Roosevelt had signed Executive Order 9066, ordering all Japanese Americans, who had been living on the west or east coast, to relocate to these camps. It was obvious the conductor was pleased with the President’s decision.

  As I passed the camps, I didn’t think the camps looked very threatening. Still, it gave me a chill to see them. I knew they weren’t like prisons. Workers came and went through the day; the camps offered schools and activities. But I worried about Herr Mueller’s connections. I had met many Muellers in my Resistance Work. Upstanding citizens with a secret, evil life.

  I wondered what lay ahead of me. I felt desperate for a specific message from God as I thumbed through my Bible. “Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.” Reminded of those ancient words of King David from the book of Psalms gave me some consolation.

  Finally, Robert came in through the front door after Miss Gordon had gone upstairs to give William a bath. I was grateful for the timing; it gave us the opportunity to talk alone. “Your passport is gone. So is Ruth’s ring and some stock certificates. Mueller has emptied out my box.” He sank down on the davenport and motioned for me to sit down next to him.

  “I went to see Judge Pryor. I showed him the internment orders. He said they’re legitimate. He said we can appeal the papers, but it would take a long time. He said you could also seek political asylum, but again, in both cases, you would have to go to the internment camp and start the proceedings there.”

  I took a deep breath. I had expected something like that. Herr Mueller exacted reparation for rebuffing him. “I’m not afraid of going to the camp. It’s all right, Robert. I’m ready. Dietrich
often said that being safe and being at peace is not the same thing.”

  “Wait, Louisa. You need to hear this. Judge Pryor called his nephew in Washington. The one that works for the federal government.”

  I nodded.

  “Well, apparently, Crystal City is not just an internment camp. It’s a camp run by the Justice Department. It’s used for hostage exchange. With Germany. The United States agrees to exchange valuable individuals for American citizens held in Germany. If you’re right about Mueller, then it’s likely the German government will want you back. Probably to be used as evidence against Dietrich. And who knows what they’ll do with you when they’re done.”

  He paused. “Even the judge’s nephew couldn’t help us. He told the judge that when the Justice Department is involved with hostage exchange, there aren’t many loopholes.”

  Those icy fingers of fear reached into my heart again. Ironic that I should leave Germany to be safe, only to land in a town with an individual who had the power and connections to send me back. I knew Herr Mueller was shrewd, but I hadn’t anticipated such a clever trap.

  An entirely legal one.

  Robert stood up and walked to the fireplace. He took a deep breath, and turned to face me. “But there is one loophole. The judge told me there is still one ironclad way to keep you here. He called it the ‘old fashioned way’.”

  I looked up at him, not understanding.

  When our eyes met, he took another deep breath. “Marry me. Tonight. You could become an automatic citizen with proper documentation.”

  For a moment, I was speechless. I covered my cheeks with my hands. Recovering my powers of speech with difficulty, I finally sputtered out, “I can’t. I can’t do that to you. I can’t! No, Robert, the war will be over soon.”

  He shook his head. “Louisa, listen to me. And don’t interrupt me. For once in your life, woman, do not interrupt me.” He came over and sat down on the davenport beside me. He was quiet for a moment, his hands clasped together, gathering his words.