Copper Star

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  Rather fitting.

  As soon as I heard Herr Mueller walk down the hall, I ran back to the window. This time, I caught sight of William’s blond head behind the truck the servants were packing. He was letting the air out of each truck tire. I held my breath as I saw a guard walk back toward the truck. O Lord, protect him! Suddenly, the guard spun on his heels and went back toward the house, as if he’d forgotten something.

  William finished the last tire and then peeked around the truck, looking for guards, and ran under my window. I pulled him up and through the bars. “What were you doing?” I asked.

  “Look Girl. No see Girl. See Bad Man.” He shook his head with grave disappointment.

  What was he talking about? Why was he looking for a girl? Who was he looking for? “Who, William, who?”

  “Girl!” he said again, getting frustrated with me. “Look. No see Girl!”

  “What girl?” I said, equally frustrated.

  “Girl!” He responded, exasperated with my obtuseness.

  I put my hands up to cover my face. This line of questioning wasn’t getting us anywhere. I asked him if he saw many men guarding the house.

  He shook his head and held up the number four. Four guards. That was better news than I had expected. I was still determined to find a way to escape, and William’s espionage work was proving to be helpful.

  Just then, I heard a guard shout out. He had just discovered four flat tires on his truck. Soon I heard other guards loudly complain. Herr Mueller came outside and waved his arms up and down in anger. I could only understand a little bit of the Spanish/English/German ranting and ravings, but apparently someone had put soap in the fountain by the magnificent front entry, and bubbles were pouring forth.

  I went into the bathroom. Just as I suspected, the big bar of soap that had been there when I arrived yesterday was missing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  All day long, I watched the guards hurriedly pack the trucks with more boxes, furniture from the house, and paintings packed in wooden crates. William remained glued to the window. He kept saying he was looking for “girl.”

  I kept a close eye on him in case he had any other capers up his sleeve. I had to admit he would have been a wonderful worker in the Resistance; he did excellent reconnaissance work. And better still, one of the cardinal rules of Resistance Work was to confound the enemy by creating chaos and confusion with whatever weapons or supplies we could get our hands on. William had a genius’ flair for getting Herr Mueller wildly upset.

  Sometime in the late afternoon, I heard high heels clicks down the hall, accompanying Maria’s now familiar shuffling. I quickly got William under the bed, motioning for him to wait quietly. The key turned at my bedroom door lock. A tall, slender woman came through the door behind Maria, who was holding my dinner tray. Maria put the tray down on the desk.

  “Gracias, Maria,” the woman said dismissively.

  Maria shuffled away. The woman was dressed in a pale blue silk blouse and skirt, matching high heels; her sandy blonde hair was held back in an elegant French twist. She fixed her eyes on me; it was evident some kind of calculation was being made. Her steady gaze made me feel uncomfortable.

  Then my heart skipped a beat. Nearly stopped, actually. I recognized this woman. I knew her from the picture on William’s bureau.

  This woman was Ruth.

  “So. You are Louisa,” she said. “I can see you know who I am.”

  She seemed to enjoy the shock on my face. I was at a rare loss for words, stunned by her sudden appearance. The pictures I had seen in the shed and in the tree house barely conveyed her beauty.

  She was breathtaking, with alabaster skin and delicate features, like fine Dresden china. Her face was so lovely it almost hurt to look at her, the same way it hurt to listen to beautiful music. I think she was even more beautiful than when she was younger. Except…except for her eyes.

  I remembered that first picture I had seen of her, where I thought her eyes showed mystery. Not so now. They glittered coldly.

  “Friedrich has told me all about you.” She walked over to the window. “But you’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

  Afraid to trust my voice, I only nodded. I shot up a silent prayer. Lord, please keep William under the bed. Lord, keep him hidden! I wasn’t sure what worried me more: Ruth spotting William or William seeing Ruth.

  I cleared my throat. “Shall we sit down?” I asked her. Intentionally, I sat on the desk chair that William and I had positioned by the window to keep a lookout, and Ruth leaned against the bed, facing me. William was only inches away from her.

  She took a silver box of cigarettes and a lighter out of her skirt pocket and lit it. “You don’t mind if I smoke?” She didn’t wait for an answer.

  Why did everyone feel an inclination to smoke in this hot, stuffy little room?

  “Interesting, isn’t it? That you and I are from such different worlds, and yet seem to share a similar taste in men?”

  No doubt, my face betrayed my disgust. “I despise Herr Mueller.”

  Ruth’s lips tightened.

  “Ruth, Herr Mueller doesn’t love you. He doesn’t love anyone but himself, with the possible exception of Adolf Hitler. I don’t know what he’s promised you, I can only imagine, but in the end, he will destroy you.”

  “Actually,” she said haughtily, “I was referring to Robert.”

  That comment caught me off guard. I didn’t know how to respond, so I pressed on about Herr Mueller. “I lived in Germany under the Nazis. I know what these men are capable of doing. They’re merciless.”

  “You’ll soon find out even more about them. Because, darling, you’re on a one-way ticket right back to Berlin,” she said, smiling coldly.

  A chill ran down my spine. This woman was heartless. “Ruth, how could you leave?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare judge me. You of all people! We’re not so very different, you and I. We both know how to use men to get what we want. After all, you just married Robert to avoid deportation.”

  Without thinking, I blurted out, “I am not using Robert! I love him!” That pronouncement surprised even me. I was not even aware of when I had come to that realization.

  She smirked, as if I had just made a joke, and walked over to the window. She inhaled her cigarette and slowly blew the smoke upward, just like Aunt Martha’s movie starlets.

  “I am not like you,” I said, struggling to compose myself. “What I meant was how could a mother leave her own child?”

  Eyes fixed out the window, she said, “It was better that I left. I never wanted a baby. Robert did. He wanted a houseful. Not me. I never had the feelings for the boy that a mother should have. And then he wasn’t right. Something was never right about him. He cried and cried and cried. He was always crying. Robert was better with him.”

  She threw the cigarette down on the tiled floor and twisted her shoe on it to extinguish it. “It’s better for him to be with Robert,” she repeated, though her voice lacked conviction.

  I couldn’t quite decide if she was trying to convince herself of that or excuse herself. She walked over to the door, apparently finished with our conversation.

  Just as she reached her hand for the doorknob, I asked, “Wait! Aren’t you at all curious about William?”

  She paused.

  Finally. A crack in her armor.

  “He’s a wonderful boy, Ruth. He looks like you. He keeps a picture of you by his bedside.” I could tell I had found a hook; her shoulders softened, ever so slightly.

  She kept her head down. “Did Robert ever find out what’s wrong with him?”

  I rose to my feet and went closer to her, hoping to detain her a little. “Yes. William is deaf. But he’s learning how to communicate. He’s learning to lip read and to speak. To talk, Ruth! And be understood. He’s extremely intelligent.”

  I stopped for a moment to let her take that in. “The only thing wrong with William is that he has a damaged nerve in his e
ar. He can’t hear. That’s all. But if he were to have been born in Nazi Germany, he would have been sent to a concentration camp and eliminated. That’s the word the Nazis use for killing innocent people. Innocent children. Disposed of, like rubbish. William wouldn’t have been permitted to live, because he wasn’t perfect. That’s the Germany that Herr Mueller loves. That’s the Germany he wants to take you to.”

  She whipped around. “I know all about Germany. I’ve already been, two years ago when I first left Copper Springs. Friedrich has taken me all over the world on his business trips. Rome, Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro. Trust me, Louisa, I know exactly what I’m doing. I couldn’t be happier.”

  Just then, we heard a pitiful sound—a wail or a moan—it sounded like an animal caught in a trap. It came from William. He had poked his head out from under the bed and recognized his mother. His eyes were wide with shock.

  Ruth stepped back, clearly stunned. Then she opened the door and rushed out, slamming it shut behind her. I heard her walk, almost run, down the hall, her stiletto high heels echoing their staccato notes.

  It suddenly occurred to me that she hadn’t locked the door in her haste, but then I heard the guard walk over, lock it, and go back to his chair.

  I went over and hugged William. He buried his face in my shoulder. I didn’t know what else I could do or say. I just held him and rocked him in my arms. He didn’t cry. He just seemed to go deep within himself.

  My mind whirred with worries. What if Ruth told Mueller that he was here? I couldn’t come up with any reasonable plan of escape; I was guarded too carefully. Nor could I jeopardize William’s safety by trying to escape, either. Again, our only option was to wait.

  I just kept sensing that word from God. Wait. But for what?

  Obviously, Mueller was preparing to leave this villa, and it looked as if he didn’t intend to return. From what I could see at the window, he was emptying the house of all valuable assets. All afternoon, the servants hurriedly carried out cardboard boxes, oil paintings, in large gilded frames, and wooden crates to the truck. How much of it was stolen? I wondered, fairly certain of the answer.

  Later, when Maria came in to bring dinner, I watched her carefully but didn’t notice any sign of a change towards me. Could Ruth have some tiny flicker of maternal instinct left in her and not have told Herr Mueller that William was here, hidden in my room?

  I hoped so. I prayed so.

  I wondered if I was taken along with Herr Mueller, if Ruth would somehow get William back to Robert. But judging from her reaction when she saw him, I didn’t hold much confidence in that plan.

  In broken Spanish coupled with gestures, I tried to ask Maria when Herr Mueller planned to leave.

  “Mañana.”

  Tomorrow. Not much time left to hope for a rescue. I pondered uneasily what to do next. I wondered if Robert could find my paper trail. I decided Maria might be a better risk to hope for help than Ruth.

  I tried to prepare William for what I thought might happen, but I didn’t want to frighten him. I told him if I was taken away, he was to wait until he knew the trucks were gone, and knew for sure that Herr Mueller was gone, and then to find Maria. I was determined not to let Herr Mueller get near William. I found paper and a pencil and wrote Robert’s name, address and phone number on it. With a prayer, I put it in William’s pocket.

  He was troubling me; I couldn’t read his expression. He looked far away.

  It was a terrible feeling to have to entrust a little boy into the hands of Herr Mueller’s servants, but I had no other choice.

  That night, again, I barely slept. Random thoughts bounced around in my head. Puzzles pieces started falling into place.

  Just last week, in the church, when Herr Mueller tried to blackmail me into being his mistress, I accused him of “wanting to do to me what he did to her.” I had meant Glenda. I now realized that by his answer, “she came to me of her own free will,” he thought I meant Ruth.

  Then my thoughts bounced to William, sleeping fitfully next to me. Spitting on Herr Mueller’s shoes, throwing rotten eggs at him. Could William have seen Herr Mueller visit Ruth at their house? Is that why he hated Herr Mueller so much? Somehow, he must have known Ruth left Copper Springs with Herr Mueller but was unable, or too young, or both, to communicate that piece of information. Could he have been looking for her this morning when he slipped out through the window?

  Then the last piece of this puzzle fell into place and I sat straight up in bed, heart hammering.

  To William, girl meant Ruth! I had never taught William a name to call his mother. Neither had Robert. Since she was never spoken of in the Gordon home, she was never even given a name. Not Ruth, not Mother, not Mommy. When he had pointed to her picture by his bedside and said “girl,” I had thought he meant “female.” Ignorantly, I chided myself, I then taught him the word for “boy.” He was asking me for her name. That’s why he said, “Bad man, Girl go.”

  How could I have been so blind? He had been trying to tell us all along Herr Mueller was involved with Ruth. His tricks on Herr Mueller, and now his limited words, were all such obvious signs that William knew. He knew his mother had left with Herr Mueller. He knew.

  I shuddered. What if Herr Mueller were to know William was here with me? What would he do?

  I thought back to Ruth asking me if I loved Robert. I answered her without thinking. My answer came from deep inside, yet I knew it to be true. How close I felt to him—how much a part of the fabric of the Gordon family. With an ache in my throat, I realized I might not see him again.

  In the middle of the night, I was startled awake from a restless sleep by a key turning in my door. I sat up, trying to hide William. My heart pounded so fast I thought it might explode. Please don’t be Herr Mueller, I prayed. Don’t be Herr Mueller.

  Ruth tiptoed in. “Louisa! Get up and get William. Now! Hurry! I’m getting you out of here.”

  She didn’t need to say another word; we sprang into action. We crept out of the room where we had been kept as prisoners for the last few days, past that blessedly useless guard who was sound asleep, snoring loudly. We moved quickly, obediently, behind her. She led us down the hall and out a back door. A car was waiting. She handed me the keys. “Drive as fast as you can! Don’t stop!”

  As we scrambled into the car, William stopped, turned and said something to her.

  “What did he say?” she asked me, her eyes glued to him.

  “He wants you to come home.”

  A shadow crossed her face.

  “Ruth,” I whispered, “come with us.”

  Her eyes hardened, and she glared at me. “You just don’t understand, do you?” she whispered in an angry tone. “Robert never understood, either. Friedrich has promised me the world. Copper Springs holds nothing for me.”

  Oh Ruth, you’re so wrong. It held everything for you.

  I helped William into the car, got into the driver’s seat, and looked back at her one more time before starting the engine. She was already gone.

  I turned the key and pressed the gas pedal like I’d never done with Aunt Martha in the car, gunning the motor. The car roared down the steep driveway, past another sleeping guard. I glanced in the rear view mirror and saw him jump up, then stumble around in a state of complete confusion.

  When I came to the end of Herr Mueller’s long road, I felt a rising panic, unsure of which way to turn. I looked left and right but still had no idea which way to go. I knew the next few minutes were critical for our getaway.

  Oh Lord, please help! Which way? I looked up through the bug-splotched windshield, scanning the inky black sky, and there it was, shimmering, a beacon. The copper star! I pressed the gas pedal to the floor and turned right. William looked over at me, eyes wide, clinging to the door handle so that he wouldn’t slide around on the seat as I veered around sharp curves.

  As the sun started to rise, I saw a sign for the border at Naco. I drove so fast the car practically flew through the custom gates. I wasn
’t going to stop until I was on United States’ soil. Border patrolmen surrounded the car in alarm as I poured out the story of our kidnapping. It didn’t take much to convince them; they had already been notified by the FBI to be on the look out for Friedrich Mueller and two kidnapped victims.

  William and I were taken into the U.S. Customs Office. One agent offered, “Ma’am, would you like to call your husband and let him know you’re both safe?”

  My husband? The sound of that word amazed me. As I dialed Robert’s office, an odd thought burst unbidden into my mind. It was the very first phone call I had made in America since the calls I used to make back in Germany, delivering messages of the Resistance. Not so very different.

  Aunt Martha answered the phone. She began to get choked up when she heard my voice and realized we were both safe and unharmed. She said Robert had been out looking for us at Herr Mueller’s mines with a group of men from the town and that there was a prayer vigil going on at the church. She said she would get word to Robert right away and let him know where to find us.

  Finally, I started to relax. We were safe.

  The Customs Agent pummeled me with questions before alerting the FBI, the FBI attaché in Mexico City and the Mexican Police. I tried to give every possible detail that could help them locate Herr Mueller. I tried to give them directions to the villa, tried to recall every detail I could remember about the trip: old signs, odd landmarks, unusual trees. I knew Herr Mueller was slippery enough to get away; every passing minute was crucial right now.

  Someone was kind enough to get me a cup of coffee and a glass of milk with cookies for William, who finally fell asleep in my arms. A good sign, I hoped, but I had a nagging worry about how seeing his mother again had affected him.

  At last, Robert appeared at the door. When I woke William, he saw his father’s face and ran straight into his arms. Robert scooped him up and held him tightly, tears flowing freely. I held back, not wanting to intrude on this private moment, but Robert kept his eyes locked on me, holding one arm out to gather me in. William and I fit perfectly in the circle of his arms.