by Dean Hughes
“What do you mean, ‘falling together’?”
“It sounds like Wally wants to be part of us now. And Alex already got his feet wet at the plant before he left. By the time he gets home, you can have Wally up to speed, and we can—” He stopped. “Don’t get me wrong. You can stay on for a while, if that’s what you want. But you’ll have the option, and you won’t have to work so hard, with those two at your side to help you. We could expand our operation right now if we had the right managers. Once those boys are working for us, I don’t see why we couldn’t go after a lot more contracts. We’ll need more space, but we could build on, or maybe even buy out that lot to the north of us. I’ve already talked to—”
“Al, slow down just a minute. Alex never did like working in that business. And there’s nothing that says he’s changed his mind.”
“Oh, I think he will. He’s got a family to raise now, and he’ll never find a better opportunity than I’ll offer him.”
“Be careful, Al. Okay?”
“Careful? What do you mean?”
“You always tell me that you’ve learned your lesson, but then you jump right back in. You can’t run these kids’ lives for them.”
President Thomas’s head came up. “I haven’t said anything about running anyone’s life. All I’m doing is offering these boys the chance of a lifetime. I’m talking about turning the business over to them, gradually. Does that sound like I’m controlling them?”
“All I’m saying is that you can offer them an opportunity, as you put it, but if they turn you down, you’ll have to accept that. And if they do come to work for you, you’ll have to let them do things their own way. If they feel like you’re looking over their shoulders all the time, they’re not going to be happy about it.”
Al leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. Bea knew that she had taken the wind out of his sails, and she was sorry about that, but Al did need to be careful. He should know that about himself by now.
He took a long breath, and then he said, “You’re right, Bea. I know it’s bothered me sometimes when Dad’s given me the impression that he thinks he knows more about running a business than I do.”
“What father doesn’t feel that way?”
“Well, I don’t know. But I am proud of these boys and what they’ve survived. Alex is a decorated hero, Bea. If he wants to get into politics, with his looks, his speaking ability, the sky’s the limit for him.”
“Careful.” She grinned.
Al smiled. “The trouble is,” he said, “I do know what these kids ought to do. My dad just thought he did. If Bobbi were as smart as her father, she’d work things out with Richard, pronto, and not let him get away from her.”
“Oh, certainly. And now admit the truth. You have your eye on him as another one of your managers, so you can expand all the more.”
“And why not? What I see is a whole generation making a decent living and doing good things with their lives—serving the Church and raising fine families.”
“And all of your grandsons named after you.”
“Not all of them. Just the first son in each family.”
Bea rolled her eyes.
“No. I’ll be careful. I promise. I promise myself every day.”
“Good.”
“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.” Al took hold of Bea’s hands. He was wearing his light blue cotton pajamas that were almost threadbare, but they were the ones he liked, the ones he wore year-round. The truth was, they pulled a little too much in the middle these days, although Al didn’t like to admit that he was gaining weight.
“Now what?” Bea asked, and she winked at him.
“I’ve been thinking—let’s go on a trip somewhere.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
“Where would we go?”
“I’m not sure. We could go on a driving trip somewhere—maybe up to Lake Louise, in Canada. I’ve always wanted to drive up that way. It’s got to be pretty up there in the fall.”
“Fall? Al, it’s almost October. We’d have to go right away, and I want some time with Wally when he gets here.”
“If he gets here soon, we could spend a week or two with him and then get away for a while. We wouldn’t have to go all the way to Canada.”
“What about the girls? They’re in school.”
“I’m not talking about a family trip; I’m talking about you and me. We need to spend some time together. Maybe we could head off to England and see our little grandson.”
“Now?”
“No. But we could start planning.”
Bea had to think about all this. She patted Al on the chest and smiled at him. She liked that he was thinking about such things, but it also worried her. “Al, the girls have never been anywhere. The war took all those things away from them. Maybe we ought to wait until next summer and then take
them to Canada, or something like that. We could stop in Yellowstone on the way. Bev hardly remembers our trips up there.”
“That’s fine. We could do that, too. But you and I could take a trip this fall and then take the girls next summer. And maybe plan a trip to England, too—maybe fly on an airplane.”
“But I think the Stoltzes will be coming here before long.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But we need to start thinking about things a little differently. The war is over, and we have the means. We need to enjoy ourselves a little more.”
Bea hated how practical she could be sometimes. She had always blamed her husband for being the stick-in-the-mud, but when he started sounding extravagant, the change made her nervous. What would the neighbors think of them if they ran off on three trips, all in one year? But that’s not what she said. “Al, the kids are all coming home. That’s what I want—all of us together. I don’t want to go away. I want to be here this year and just enjoy the time with everyone.”
“I couldn’t agree more. But you and I could slip away at least once. We’ve needed to do that for a long time. The last couple of years, with you working and both of us putting in so many hours, I feel like we hardly see each other.”
“But Al, I’ve never gotten the impression you care much about that.”
“Well, I do.”
She leaned closer, looking directly into his eyes. “I think you say to yourself, sometimes, ‘I’ve made a bunch of money, and my life is still the same. What can I do to prove to myself that all the work has been worth it?’”
“No, I don’t—” But he stopped himself. “Well, maybe I do that a little. I want to build a house, and yet I like this one just fine. And maybe that’s because I want something to show for what we’ve done. But that’s not what I’ve been thinking about lately.”
“So what have you been thinking? Where did this idea to start taking trips come from?”
Al didn’t move. He looked toward Bea, but still not into her eyes. “Bea, I’m not sure my family likes me. I’m pretty sure you and the kids all have some reservations about the kind of man I am. LaRue is the one who makes me feel that way the most, but maybe she just says what the rest of you think. I’m afraid we’ll have a bunch of grandkids someday, a really nice family, and they’ll all come home to you, not to me, and I won’t be part of anything.”
Al had never said anything of this sort before. Bea knew she had to say the right thing, but she wasn’t about to lie to him. “Al, I do think you can do some things to be closer to everyone. That’s what I was talking about when I told you to be careful. If they think you want to make their decisions for them—especially as they start having their own families—they’re going to resent you.”
“I know.” He looked up at her. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“What do I have to do to keep you?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know that. But we’re going to be alone here one of these days. And I’m not good at doing the things that a woman likes from a man. I listen to t
he news and read the paper, and . . . I don’t know . . . you know the things LaRue says about me. I’m wondering what we could do to spend a little more time together. That’s why I was thinking that a trip might be good for us.”
Bea slipped down to her knees. She leaned toward Al and rested her arms on his lap. “A trip would be good,” she said, and she touched her hand to his cheek. “A little ride once in a while, now that we have gasoline. We could go dancing. Go out to dinner. All that would be good. But Al, I love you just the way you are. Don’t ever doubt that for a minute.”
Al nodded. “I love you, too, Bea,” he whispered.
“We’re coming into a strange time in our lives,” Bea said. “Every day I tell myself I want to get away from that plant and stay home, but then, when I think of being home all day in an empty house, that scares me too.”
“That’s right. That’s the same thing I worry about.”
“I guess we can sit around the house and worry about our kids all day.”
“I do worry about them—more than I need to, I’m sure. Sometimes I just wish they were all little kids again, and right here with us—not spread all around the world.”
“I know,” Bea said. “But I think we’ve got some pretty nice worries ahead. Education and weddings and grandchildren—not war, for a change.”
“Well . . . that’s right.” Al leaned forward and kissed Bea—something more than his usual little peck. Bea held him for a time, loving the closeness, and she decided that she wouldn’t go back to her book, that she would go to bed with her
husband.
Chapter 2
Alex Thomas was sitting at his desk one morning late in September when Sergeant Barr, his staff assistant, stuck his head in the door. “Lieutenant Thomas,” he said, “I just got a call I think you’ll be interested in.”
“What is it?” Alex asked.
Sergeant Barr stepped all the way into the room. “Someone spotted a man with a scar across his face and lip. He’s working on a farm over by the Luxembourg border. The local police haven’t gone to check him out yet, but they say he fits the description of this Kellerman guy you’ve been looking for.”
Alex stood up. “Tell them to hold off,” he said. “I’ll leave right away and get over there. I can go in with the local people and make sure it’s him.”
“I don’t think you have to do that. These guys can pick him up on suspicion and interrogate him. You could drive over later if you wanted to, and—”
“No. I want to be there.” Alex was surprised by the surge of emotion he was feeling. He told himself he would act like a professional, simply make sure that justice was done, but it was not easy to fight off an urge to take revenge on this man. It
was Kellerman who had inflicted so much misery on Anna and her family—all for reasons that had more to do with personal power than Nazi philosophy. “Contact the police. Tell them I’ll bring in a team. I want some numbers—and surprise. I don’t want to miss this chance to get him.”
But it was four hours later when Alex finally reached the little village of Roth. He had with him a team of twelve American military police who had traveled from Bitburg in the back of a deuce-and-a-half truck. “All these officers will not be necessary,” the local policeman told Alex, in English.
“I will make that decision,” Alex told him in firm, clear German. “Lead us out there, and we’ll take over. Stop your vehicles well back from the farm so we can get some men around the area without being noticed. I want to move in from all directions.”
The policeman was one of only four in the village—a young man named Kammler who walked with a decided limp, probably from a war injury. He clearly had no great love for “Amis,” and he didn’t like being told what to do in this case. But Alex didn’t care. He usually preferred to let German officials deal with arrests, but this time he was not going in short-handed.
The entourage set off, Kammler and his partner on an old military motorcycle with a side car and Alex in a jeep, with the truck behind. In a low, green valley, just a mile or so out of town, Kammler stopped. Alex pulled his jeep over as much as he could on the narrow dirt road, and then he walked to the motorcycle. “The farm is over this next hill,” Kammler said. “It’s the first one you will see, but it’s quite large. If you want to surround the area, some of your men will have to work their way along this stream and follow it as it bends south around the farm.”
“That’s good. We can do that.”
But the process was slow. Alex gave four of the men time to work their way to the north and west. He left two more at the south end of the farm and then drove to the east gate, where he stationed two more. Then he headed down the lane into the farm itself. The two German policemen wanted to go in, so he took them along with the four remaining MPs. They drove quickly to the farmhouse, and as they did, they watched the barn and outbuildings, but they saw no one. Alex sent the MPs to surround the house and buildings, and then he and the policemen went to the front door and banged on it. In a moment an older woman appeared, dressed in black, a scarf over her head. “What is it?” she demanded. “What’s all the noise?”
Alex stepped quickly into the house, holding his .45 caliber pistol. It was a dark little house, full of the smell of cooked cabbage. “You have a worker here. He has a bad scar on his face. Where is he?”
“He left.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Who else is here?”
“My son. My daughter-in-law. The children are at school.”
“Where’s your son?”
“In the barn, I suppose, or out—”
Alex was already striding out the front door. He was sick to think that he might have missed Kellerman. As he trotted around the house, he saw two of the MPs coming toward him, a man between them. The man was dressed in rough, black clothes and was wearing high rubber boots. Before Alex could speak, he said, “He’s gone already. Why didn’t someone come a week ago, when I first reported this?”
“A week ago?” Alex asked.
“Yes. I saw the picture in town, in the post office. I knew it was him.”
“Where did he go?”
“I can’t say. He didn’t show up for breakfast. But his bed had been slept in.”
“What scared him off? Who warned him?”
“No one that I know of. It might have been his plan all along.”
“What plan?”
The farmer lifted the hat off his head. He was a balding man with straggly, fine hair. “He came here quite desperate, or at least that’s what he said. He told me he had gotten that scar in the war, that he had fought in Russia. I needed help, and he told me he only wanted a roof over his head and food to eat.”
“What plan were you talking about? I don’t have time for all this.”
“Why would he want to be so close to the border? If he’s a Nazi, as you say, then he must want out. Maybe he needed papers. Maybe he was searching to find a way to cross the river. I don’t know. But my guess is that he’s headed into Luxembourg and wants to keep going to some distant country.”
Alex turned toward the two local policemen. “Should we search the farm? This man could be hiding him.”
“It was Herr Kauffman who first contacted us. Why would he want to hide the man?”
“Then why didn’t I know sooner?”
“We made our report instantly,” the policeman said. And then he began some sort of excuse about bureaucratic bungling. Alex didn’t care. He was heading for his jeep. He had to gather his men and get to the border. But he was furious, ready to kick something—ready to slam this policeman to the ground if he didn’t stop talking.
Alex blasted the horn on his jeep—the signal for the men surrounding the farm to assemble. And then he spun back to the farmer. “Where would he try to cross?”
“The river is not easy. My guess is that he had papers of some kind. He would try to cross at the bridge, at Roth. Maybe he paid someone off. He could have been
staying here long enough to find the right man—someone who would take a bribe.”
That made sense to Alex. And Roth was an out-of-the-way crossing, not as busy as many places. Kellerman might have found an advantage in that.
The men were coming now, some trotting, others taking their time. Alex screamed at them, “Come on. Let’s go. Let’s go.” He felt as though he were back in battle, felt the old fury. “Pile in that truck. Follow me. We’re heading back to Roth. Meet me at the bridge that crosses into Luxembourg.”
Alex didn’t wait. He jumped into his jeep, started it, and then gunned the engine as he popped the clutch out. His wheels spun in the loose dirt and then caught, and the jeep lurched ahead. An image had come to Alex’s mind—a picture of Kellerman resting easy somewhere, in some foreign land, never paying for what he had done.
Alex drove hard, spraying gravel as he slid around turns on the road. He drove through the village and then, when he had spotted the military guard station, raced straight toward it. He hit the brakes hard at the last second and jumped out. An MP stepped back a little, as though frightened, and then remembered to salute. Alex threw a quick salute and said, “Did a guy come through here this morning—about forty-five years old with a big, ugly scar across his face?”
“Yes, sir. Within the hour. We checked his papers, and he—”
“How was he traveling?”
“On foot.”
“You say he had good papers?”
“Yes. He was from Luxembourg City. He was over here on official business of some kind. He had a letter and passport—all of that. Our German guy checked it all out, and it looked fine.”
“What are you talking about? Why would a man like that be traveling on foot? You’d better see how much money your German has in his pockets.”
“I think he said his car broke down—or something like that. Someone was coming to the border to pick him up.”
“Was someone waiting for him on the other side?”
The MP looked a little confused for a moment. He was a big kid, and young, surely someone who had been sent overseas after the war. “I didn’t see anyone. He walked across the bridge, and then . . . I don’t know. I didn’t pay any attention. Dieter said his papers were all right, so I just figured he was okay.”
