She’s nervous, he observed. She needn’t be. She’s German.
“Fraulein.” He touched the tip of his helmet. The chinstrap dangled carelessly. He was off-duty and had not bothered to fasten it. “You shouldn’t be out this late. If you have accommodation nearby, I can escort you.”
“Uh, yes. I live nearby. And I can find my own way home, thank you.” Her frosted reply morphed into crystals and hovered between them. She looked down at her hands, searching for words. “I’m just wondering whether civilians are still safe here?”
“Let me walk you home.” He indicated for her to take the lead. “We can talk along the way.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I noticed the light catch the medal at your throat. I suppose I can feel safe with a soldier wearing a Knight’s Cross!”
He acknowledged her comment with a tip of his helmet, but said no more.
Her name was Ilse-Renata Chemiker, she told him. The laboratory in which she worked was not far from the church. At the lab, she assisted with formula development, including special greases and oils for the axles and wheels of military vehicles and a formula for a unique detergent. Originally developed by a local soap manufacturer to remove grease spots from clothing, her colleagues had discovered that the formula could be adapted to eliminate grease trails that followed fired torpedoes.
Her employer, a “White Russian” named Prow Kobelev, was concerned that it was time to leave the city. Rumours were circulating that the Red Russians were getting close. Not only was he concerned for his employees—especially Ilse-Renata—but he was concerned for himself. His family lived in Dresden, but they were originally from Russia. His political views were at odds with the communists.
The walk to her home took less than fifteen minutes. Paul knew the answer to her earlier question about civilian safety, but, selfishly, he wanted to see Ilse-Renata again, and contrived a distraction. “Let me make enquiries. I’ll let you know tomorrow. Do you often walk past the church on your way home?” he asked.
“Not always. I’m sure I would have seen you before if I did. But, I can pass that way again tomorrow if it will help.”
“No need,” he said. “I can find you at the laboratory tomorrow afternoon, if you’d like company walking home again?”
She had ascended two steps toward the front door of her home and halted. The added height allowed her to look directly into his eyes. She smiled demurely.
“Unless …” The word hung while he contemplated what next to say. Searching for a way to delay her departure.
“Unless?” she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Her voice rings like a church bell, true and clear. I could listen to her speak forever.
“I don’t suppose you’d be free to have dinner with me tomorrow evening? I know a great little restaurant.” He turned to point in its general direction.
“I really shouldn’t,” she said. “I don’t know you.” She twisted her gloved hands again.
“Hey! I’m the guy with the Knight’s Cross. Remember?” he teased. “It’s my job to protect the citizens of Deutschland. Especially the very pretty ones.” He flashed her a toothy, white grin.
Her laughter chimed like perfect notes of tiny bells. “Well. All right. Since you put it that way.”
“You will?” he asked, not expecting her to agree, and found himself at a loss for words. “Wonderful! Um, what time do you get off work?” he asked.
“Five o’clock. Is that too early for you?” Her words were rushed, anxious.
“N-no! Five o’clock is perfect!” He fought to contain his excitement. “I’ll meet you outside the laboratory at five o’clock tomorrow, then.”
“All right,” she said, her voice soft and sincere. “I’ll see you then.”
Paul waited for her to climb the remaining two steps and open the door. She switched on the light when she stepped inside and turned toward the stairway again. “Good night,” her silhouette said as it slowly closed the door.
“Good night,” he said, waiting for the thud of the closing door to sever the connection. I must be crazy. I don’t know her, and I’m falling all over her like a fool! And we’re in the middle of a war, for God’s sake!
He jammed his hands in his jacket pockets and set off toward the barracks, whistling a tuneless melody. If this war ever ends, I’m going to marry that girl!
Dinner the following evening was awkward, but friendly. Each felt drawn to the other, but neither had much experience socializing with the opposite sex.
She was born in Neisse, Ilse-Renata told him, but had completed her studies in Dresden at the beginning of the war. She was eighteen when she graduated and considered herself lucky to find a position at the laboratory straight away. She also found accommodation in the home of the president of the technical institute. Since she had moved to Breslau two years previous, the president had driven her to and from the laboratory every day.
“Last week, he and his family left for Heidelberg, where they’ll stay until the conflict ends. Now I stay alone in that big house, but I’m not afraid!” she exclaimed. A tinge of defiance appeared in a flush on her cheeks.
In answer to her question the prior evening, Paul told her that the city was safe.
“Herr Hitler has determined Breslau to be his fortress. It is well protected. You need not worry,” he assured her.
Avoiding any further military discussion, he told her of his upcoming leave and that he had decided to visit his aunt and uncle in Liegnitz.
“How lucky you are,” Ilse-Renata said. “I wish I had someone to visit once in a while. I’m here alone now, except for my colleagues.”
“Why don’t you come with me,” he suggested, without forethought. “I mean … my aunt and uncle have a huge house, and I know you’d be welcome,” he blurted.
“Oh!” she said, blushing at the unexpected invitation.
“You don’t have to …” he said, trying to recover his offer.
“Oh no! I mean …” she wrung her hands together under the table. “It’s just … well … I don’t really know you, and …”
“I understand,” he said, feeling deflated, then brightened. “I know! Why don’t we have dinner together tomorrow evening, and the evening after that? In fact, let’s have dinner every evening this week, so you can get to know me better. Then you can say yes!”
Pleased with his idea, he smacked the table to cement it, and gave her another toothy grin.
“Well … I suppose,” she said thoughtfully. “It couldn’t hurt. And … and … if I don’t feel comfortable by then. Well, I simply won’t go!” she said, grinning back at him. “After all, that gives us almost a week to get to know each other.”
“Would you care for a sweet and coffee?” interrupted the waiter.
Ilse-Renata blushed again. “Yes, please. That is. If you would,” she asked, deferring to Paul, peering at him through a dark fringe of lashes.
“Ah. Yes! Coffee and cake would be excellent!” he declared. “The evening is still young. We have time.”
“Ration books, please,” the waiter asked. He snipped stamps from the appropriate food groups and returned their books before serving their coffee and cake. “Just a reminder folks—this is the artificial coffee. We’re out of the real stuff.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” Ilse-Renata said. “I quite like the way it’s made with the fruit. So long as the water is pure, it tastes wonderful! And, I know you use only the best water!”
Each subsequent evening, they concluded their meal with coffee and cake, much to Ilse-Renata’s pleasure.
On the eve of his departure, as Paul walked Ilse-Renata to her door, he asked, “Well, have you decided? Will you come with me tomorrow to visit my aunt and uncle?”
“I will,” she said confidently before jogging up the four stairs to the front door. “Good night.”
“Good night,” he said, and turned to wind his way back to the barracks, whistling a tuneless melody. He did not remember the walk back, such wa
s his joy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Paul secured a car from the motor pool and drove to the house where Ilse-Renata boarded. She opened the door when he knocked.
In the light of the morning and without the hat that always covered her hair and shadowed her face, he hesitated. He knew from the previous evenings that she was a small woman; the top of her head did not reach his shoulders. What was hidden beneath the shadow of her hat was the beauty that shaped her face. Creamy complexion, with pale, pink cheeks and three small freckles on the tip of her nose. Dark blonde hair, almost brown. Hazel eyes like Mama’s.
“Good morning, Captain! Right on time. I’ll just grab my coat and hat.”
“You’re packed, then?”
“Yes,” she said tugging on her coat. “My case is just there.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have?”
“Yes; I only have a few things.” Ilse-Renata fit a grey, felt hat over her braids and fastened it in place with a pearl hatpin.
“Do you have your papers?” he asked.
She held them up in response to his question.
Paul picked up her suitcase and jogged down the four steps. He stowed the suitcase in the boot of the black military vehicle and returned to open the passenger door for Ilse-Renata. In that time, she had locked the door to the house and appeared at his side as the door opened.
They settled into the car and Paul prepared for the journey to Liegnitz, easing it away from the curb and heading toward the blockade that would see them into the countryside of southern Silesia.
Movement of military transports, blockades, constant requests to produce papers, and civilians fleeing west slowed their journey. Paul’s Knight’s Cross helped move matters along at each blockade, but could do nothing about the volume of vehicle and pedestrian traffic that inhibited their progress.
They chatted easily about her work and the farm. Paul steered any conversation about military matters to safer topics.
“I don’t know about you,” he said as they neared the farm, “but I’m starving. Are you hungry?”
In response to his question, Ilse-Renata’s stomach emitted a loud gurgle. Ilse snapped her mitted hands to her belly, giggling in surprise.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, grinning. “Uncle Otto is usually good for a bit of sausage, at the very least.”
She looked away from him, in the direction of the not-yet-visible destination of Uncle Otto’s farm. Beside her, Paul straightened in his seat, holding the wheel secure, and hummed contentedly.
Paul turned right, off the paved road and onto a rutted dirt lane. Patches of snow lay scattered in the fields, deeper in the ploughed furrows. Puddles formed by sun-warmed snow were framed in a crust of ice. The tires crunched in the frozen ruts and the car bounced awkwardly, their heads bobbing in response.
“Not far now,” Paul stated. “My uncle’s farm is just ahead on the left.”
Paul raised his arm in quick salute as he drove past the standard that marked him home—a square post, two metres tall and painted the bright yellow of his grandfather’s regimental coat of arms.
“What was that about? The salute?”
“Oh. Nothing. Just being silly.” The salute was a knee-jerk reaction, which Paul regretted as soon as he had done it. He did not know Ilse-Renata well enough to tell her everything about himself and his family. Need-to-know basis.
“There it is.” Paul pointed to the gated entrance of Uncle Otto’s farm, always open during the day. He slowed the car and took an easy left into the yard, allowing the car to roll close to the old, brick farmhouse.
“If you don’t mind waiting a moment,” he said, stepping on the clutch and the brake before putting the car into neutral and killing the engine. “I’ll try to locate Uncle Otto and let him know we’re here.” He yanked the hand-brake and lit from the car.
Paul walked around to the back of the house, knocked on the door, and stepped into the kitchen. It was midday, and familiar aromas permeated the warm air, releasing childhood memories fondly held in his heart of hearts.
A middle-aged woman scooted through the doorway opposite where it led from the hallway. Startled, she dropped the platter she was carrying on the tiled floor.
“What’s happened, Hilde?” hollered Otto, following behind her.
Paul heard the thump of his uncle’s familiar gait on the tiled floor, and recalled the story that Otto and his father rarely told of how Otto lost his lower leg during the Great War. The prosthetic limb that replaced his loss landed heavily each time he stepped on the artificial foot.
Before Hildegard could collect herself, Otto spied Paul standing at the outside door. With delight, he moved past Hildegard with arms outstretched.
“Paul, my boy! This is a wonderful surprise. Isn’t it, Hilde?”
Paul walked into his uncle’s embrace and mumbled apologies to Hildegard while Otto slapped him heartily on the back.
“No worries, Paul, none at all. You’ve actually saved us the need of a decision.”
“Sir?”
“Hildegard and I were just debating whether the platter was worth packing. Looks like it’s made up our minds for us!”
“One less dish to pack,” Hildegard replied, dusting her hands together. “Besides, it was a wedding gift from my mother’s second cousin’s uncle. I never liked it. Perhaps now I do!”
Smiling, Hildegard bent to pick up the shards and discarded them.
“Paul, what brings you here?” Otto asked.
“I have a few days’ leave and thought I’d visit with you two. The fighting is getting closer, and I worry about you, being here alone.”
“Well, Paul. I have to say that these last weeks, since before Christmas, really,” Otto said, turning to Hildegard for confirmation, “have been difficult.”
Hildegard nodded.
“Quartiermeister are constantly knocking on the door, asking for meat. They have soldiers to feed, they say.” Otto’s hands were on his hips, expressing his annoyance with the persistence of the quartermasters. “What few farmhands we have are staying away. Not that I blame them. We have to do the work ourselves, me and Hilde, and we have provisions for only a few more weeks. It’s time to go.”
Paul heard finality and acceptance in his uncle’s voice.
“I’ve notified your parents that they can expect us by the end of the month, and your father has arranged our travel papers. And, since we don’t use the trucks much in the winter, we’ve been saving our petrol rations. We have everything we need to get to Bavaria.”
“Otto! Don’t keep the boy standing there at the door.” Hildegard beckoned. “Come in, Paul. Come in.”
“Oh, mein Gott! Ilse-Renata! I almost forgot about her. She must be freezing.”
“Ilse-Renata?” Otto quizzed.
“A young woman I met last week. I left her in the car while I came to look for you.”
Hildegard and Otto exchanged a look that said, “Aha! Finally!”
“Well go and get her! Dummkopf! You don’t leave someone sitting in a car in the middle of January and forget about them,” Hildegard said, scolding him playfully.
Paul did as he was told, running around the outside of the house only to find the car empty. “Ilse-Renata!” he yelled anxiously.
“Here!” She rose from the opposite side of the car, dusting her hands together. “I thought I’d stretch my legs. When I stepped out of the car, this creature came bounding out of the field. I guess he was too late to greet you, but he certainly caught me! Nearly knocked me over.” She laughed.
He liked her laugh. It was music to his ears. “His sire’s a Schnauzer. That’s why he’s so big. Good farm dog, though, aren’t you, Wolfy!”
Wolfy abandoned Ilse-Renata, and jumped at Paul, planting his muddy forepaws on the breast of Paul’s overcoat.
Paul stepped back abruptly. “Off! You crazy hound.” Then he crouched down to greet the dog, ruffling his feathery coat.
Wolfy took the liberty of greeting Paul with his own expression of affection—several slobbery licks to a face that Paul had unintentionally made available to him.
“Bleh! Stupid dog. Keep your tongue to yourself! Off with you now. Go find a rat or something …” He waved his arm, and the dog bounded off into the adjacent field.
He stood facing Ilse-Renata, wiping slobber on his sleeve and brushing long dog hair from his hands.
“Mein Gott!” he said, raising his hand to his chest “Now I have mud on my overcoat.”
“Don’t touch!” Ilse-Renata raised a warning hand to stop him. “Let it dry and it will brush off easily.”
“Of course; you’re correct,” Paul said, feeling silly. “You’d think I’d remember that! I’ve spent enough time crawling through the mud these past years.”
Her gaze drifted up from his coat to take in the farmhouse.
“Come.” Paul extended his hand in invitation. “My aunt and uncle are in the kitchen, but I’ll take you through the front. It’s muddy along the side of the house.”
He led Ilse-Renata up two steps and through the front door, where they doffed hats, coats, and soiled shoes, and padded through to the kitchen for introductions.
Over a hot lunch of stewed vegetables, fresh bread, and slices of sausage, the foursome chatted amicably in the old farm kitchen. Most of the packing was done, and some things had already been shipped to the Neue-farm.
“These last items will travel with us at the end of the month,” Otto said. “However, we have a few more things to do before we go.”
“We want to butcher the last of the animals,” Hildegard added. “We’ll leave some meat and chickens with our neighbours and the farmhands. Who knows when they’ll see good meat again.”
“The rest we’ll take with us to the Neue-farm,” Otto concluded. “Hildegard should have time to make up some sausage too, before we leave.”
“That sounds like a lot of work,” Ilse-Renata said.
“Have you ever lived on a farm, Ilse-Renata?” Otto asked.
The Crest Page 15
