The Stranger From Berlin

by Melissa Amateis

‘He’s tuckered out. He helped me feed the calves today and then made brownies with Grandma. He’s napping on the couch.’

  ‘A nap sounds heavenly. Is the butterball soup ready?’

  ‘Sure is. Best get in there before you freeze.’

  But something kept her standing there, the cold hurting her nose, the falling snow dusting her coat. A chance to have a conversation with her dad, just the two of them, was rare.

  Erik pulled out the battered carrot and tossed it over the fence. ‘Your mother had a strange phone call today,’ he said, pushing the new carrot into the snowman’s face.

  Something about his voice put her on alert. ‘Oh? From who?’ She watched as her dad straightened the coal eyes and then retied the snowman’s blue and white knit scarf.

  ‘That fellow who was here for the fall festival last autumn. Rafe Deveraux.’

  The ground sloped beneath her feet. Oh no. Rafe hadn’t told them, had he? But why else would he call her parents?

  ‘What did he want?’ She tried to keep her voice light, but even she could hear the panic.

  ‘Asked how you were doing. Said he tried calling you but couldn’t get through.’

  Because I won’t take his calls, she thought. He’d probably received the ripped-up cheque and wanted to know why on earth she’d tear up his money.

  ‘That’s odd.’

  They both knew she was lying.

  ‘Any particular reason why he’d be enquiring about you?’

  Oh dear. She couldn’t tell him. She just couldn’t.

  Damn you, Rafe!

  Her brain scrambled for something to say. ‘He… he must have heard about Danny. Maybe Mrs Draper told him.’

  Erik stared at her, hard. She met his gaze, refusing to flinch, and prayed he didn’t see the truth in her eyes.

  ‘I never did like that fellow,’ he muttered at last. ‘A city slicker. Probably never done an honest day’s work in his life.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  With the snow beginning to pick up, they trudged into the farmhouse’s front porch and shook off the snow. Erik shrugged off his coat, then sauntered into the living room while Jenni held back and took off her overshoes. She’d dodged a mine just now, but it was only temporary. Rafe had some nerve. The more she thought about him, she more she loathed that snake charmer.

  In the bathroom off the porch, she applied a fresh coat of her favourite red lipstick and fluffed her curls. She straightened the pretty red cardinal pin on her blue sweater, a gift from Marty. He’d proudly told her how he’d picked it out all by himself – with Hank’s help.

  Bless those two. Ever since Danny’s death, Celia and Hank had showered Marty with attention and love. For that first week, Jenni had barricaded herself in her room, alternately sobbing and sleeping. Her mother had come to stay to take care of Marty and make sure Jenni still ate, even if it was only a few bites a day. Celia had stopped by nearly every day, and Hank took Marty out with him to take photographs. Marty had loved it and Jenni counted her blessings that her son had some kind of father figure during this time.

  At least Marty did have Danny, even if only for a short time. This baby would never know its father. She would make damn sure of it.

  When she went into the tidy white and yellow kitchen with its polished laminate flooring, white cupboards and sparkling countertops, the aroma of savoury chicken soup with its butterballs actually didn’t set her stomach off. Thank goodness. She didn’t think she could bear to miss out on Mom’s cooking.

  Her petite mother stirred the big pot of soup on the stove, her greying blond hair pulled back into a simple chignon. She wore an apron with playful kittens and balls of yarn, the fabric worn from use.

  Virginia glanced at Jenni. ‘I hope Marty wakes up soon. He loves butterballs.’

  ‘Don’t we all. I swear I gain ten pounds just by looking at them.’

  Though maybe she should eat more than usual to help explain her inevitable weight gain.

  Virginia picked up the pot and nodded towards the hot pad on the counter. ‘Bring that to the table, will you?’

  Jenni followed her into the dining room with its hardwood china cabinet, oak table and matching chairs, the floorboards creaking underfoot. Songs played on the wireless in the living room and the newspaper rustled every time Erik turned the page. Such warm, familiar sounds. If only she could catapult back in time to her childhood. And maybe she could change a few of her less than stellar decisions in the process.

  ‘Is it just going to be us tonight then?’ she asked as her mother set down the soup.

  ‘Yes. Your brothers can’t be bothered to come by much anymore.’

  ‘Well, maybe if they hadn’t married such shrews…’ She snapped her jaw shut. There she went again, running her mouth before thinking.

  This time, though, her mother didn’t chastise her and little wonder. Erik Jr. and Pete had managed to woo and then marry sisters whose father owned a great deal more farm ground about ten miles away. Instead of choosing to go into business with their father, they’d gone to work for their father-in-law, and broke poor Daddy’s heart. Worse? The snotty, holier-than-thou attitudes of her new sisters-in-law. Jenni had disliked them on the spot. The feeling seemingly was mutual.

  Her third brother, Zeke, worked on the farm, but he’d been drafted last year. The army had sent him to a safe spot at Boca Raton in Florida, though Jenni expected him to get his overseas orders any day now. Not a welcome thought.

  ‘It’s times like these I miss Zeke,’ her mother sighed. ‘Makes the place seem less empty when he’s here.’

  ‘Have you heard from him lately? It’s been a few weeks since I received a letter.’

  ‘Got a postcard yesterday, but that was about it. He’s still waiting for orders.’

  Jenni hoped the war would end before those orders ever came. Only a year apart, she and Zeke had spent most of their childhood pitted against their two older brothers. After a fight with Danny, she’d turned to Zeke more than once. Now, with him in the military, she couldn’t even ring him, but had to resort to writing letters.

  ‘I miss him,’ she murmured.

  ‘Well, he’s under the good Lord’s protection. No sense making myself sick worrying about it.’ Her mother eyed her as she set napkins around the table. ‘From the sounds of it, you’ve got some worries yourself with that German professor.’

  ‘Things are a little tense right now.’

  ‘Because someone stole the diary?’

  Jenni nodded. ‘It’s worse than that though, Mom. Some people think he just pretended that someone stole it, so he can sell it without suspicion landing on him. They think he needs the money.’

  ‘People in town are saying that?’

  ‘Sure are. Gloria told me so this morning at the bakery.’

  Virginia shook her head. ‘A bunch of fools is what they are, trying to make something out of nothing.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘You’d better go wake up Marty,’ Virginia said. ‘He won’t want to miss the soup.’

  Marty lay sound asleep on the couch, his golden-brown hair sticking up at odd angles. Jenni noticed his thumb hovering close to his mouth. Even though he’d just turned eight, he’d picked up the long-abandoned habit of sucking his thumb the night they’d heard about Danny.

  For a moment, she could only stare at this boy who was the spitting image of his father, even down to the dimple in his chin. But he’d changed since Danny’s death – how could he not? They both had. Gone was the light of life in her son’s eyes, replaced with something more sombre, more mature. The harsh truth of reality now burned in that earnest gaze, and she hated it.

  This war had robbed her son of not only his father but his innocent childhood. It simply wasn’t fair. But then, as her mother had told her so, so many times before, life wasn’t fair. Best to accept it and move on.

  She knelt beside him and smoothed the hair at his forehead. ‘Marty, time to wake up.’

  He stirr
ed and then yawned. ‘Did Grandma make the cannonball soup?’

  ‘Yes, she did.’

  Since he first started forming words, Marty had referred to the dumplings made from breadcrumbs, butter, cream and all-spice as ‘cannonballs’ instead of ‘butterballs’. And though he knew the correct name now, he insisted on calling them cannonballs. For that, Jenni was grateful. In some ways, he was still her little boy.

  Feeling impish, Jenni pressed a kiss on his cheek which he immediately rubbed off. ‘Aw, Mom, I’m too old for smooches.’

  She laughed softly and wiped off a trace of lipstick he’d missed, then nodded towards the hand-carved chess set on the table. ‘Did you and Grandpa play some chess?’

  ‘Yep. He said I’m getting better. At least I didn’t lose my queen right away.’

  ‘Progress then.’

  Her father put down his newspaper and eyed them both over the rims of his reading glasses. ‘Don’t let him fool you. He’ll be beating me before long.’ He tapped his temple. ‘Boy has a knack for strategy.’

  That didn’t surprise Jenni one bit. Marty hadn’t inherited her impulsive nature, thank goodness, but weighed his decisions with wisdom far beyond his years.

  He peered at her and rubbed his eyes. ‘You gonna be able to eat any soup?’

  ‘I sure am.’

  ‘Good.’ He sat up and threw the blanket off. ‘Or else I’d have to eat your cannonballs, too.’

  ‘Would that be such a bad thing?’

  He grinned at her. ‘You know what Grandpa says. If you eat more than your fair share, the cannonballs will explode in your stomach.’

  Jenni laughed. She used to write down all of his funny little sayings in letters to Danny so that he didn’t miss this part of his son’s life. But ever since that telegram, she’d stopped recording them.

  She made a mental note to change that.

  Jenni savoured the rich butterballs, the thick homemade noodles and her mother’s signature chicken broth. Here in their home, at least, they were never censured for being German. Virginia Lund’s family, Germans from Russia, had immigrated to America and settled in Scottsbluff in western Nebraska. Virginia had met Jenni’s father when he’d travelled to Scottsbluff to learn more about growing sugar beets.

  Marty eyed her bowl. ‘How many cannonballs do you have in there?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘All right. Guess your stomach is safe.’

  Jenni peered into the pot of soup. ‘I may take my chances and have one more.’

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ Marty warned.

  She almost quipped that, as she was eating for two, she could legitimately have two more butterballs and still be within the normal bounds of safety. But, of course, she bit her tongue.

  ‘Did your father tell you that that fancy man from New Orleans called here?’ Virginia asked suddenly.

  Jenni dabbed at her lips with a napkin in an effort to disguise her expression. ‘He did.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me why he was calling either.’ Virginia’s gaze burned into her. ‘Do you know why?’

  Oh, sweet sassafras. ‘Dad asked me the same question. I don’t know.’

  ‘Any reason you’re not taking his calls?’

  The stubbornness she’d long ago given up fighting reared into the fray. ‘I have nothing to say to him.’

  ‘That’s odd, considering how friendly you two were when he was here.’

  Virginia’s needling comment completely lost Jenni her appetite. She carefully pushed her bowl away and tried to ignore Marty’s curious glance.

  ‘He was a guest of the museum, Mom. I had to be friendly.’

  She braced for an answering volley and at the same time prayed her mother would drop it. Marty didn’t need to be a witness to an argument between mother and daughter.

  But like he had so many times in the past, Erik Lund intervened before the two women could launch into a full-scale attack.

  ‘So you have any idea who took that diary?’ Erik said.

  Thank you, Daddy.

  ‘I’m pretty sure it was one of the tourists I had that day,’ she replied, ignoring Virginia’s exasperated sigh. ‘The police don’t believe me, but I saw that man leaving the house.’

  ‘Any reason you think this man took it?’

  ‘Well… the thing is, there was something odd about him. On the tour, he didn’t look the least interested in Mrs Stanwick or the house. But when one of the tourists asked me about the cottage, I noticed he perked right up. By the end of the tour, he was gone. And then later I saw him coming out of the cottage.’

  ‘Well, as long as you told all of this to the police.’

  ‘Of course I did. But you know Victor Thompson. He and Mayor Lowe walk to the same drumbeat. They believe what they want to believe.’

  Erik leaned back in his chair and folded his paw-like hands across his stomach. ‘You don’t think the professor took it?’

  ‘I know he didn’t. The way he looked when he saw it was missing—’

  ‘You were with him?’ Virginia interrupted.

  Jenni bristled, knowing all too well where her mother was going with that remark, but she forced herself to stay calm as she told them about how she’d witnessed the entire incident.

  ‘Sounds to me like they should be looking for that strange fellow then,’ Erik said.

  ‘You would think so. But the way they were treating the professor…’ She trailed off, remembering the stricken look in his eyes, the disbelief at having his integrity questioned. It still made her see red. She had to believe this country, this town, was better than this.

  ‘They’ll get it all sorted out in the end,’ her father said.

  Jenni hoped he was right.

  After supper, everyone sat around and listened to the Lux Radio Theatre hour. The shrill ring of the phone made them all flinch, and Jenni ducked into the hallway to answer it. It was Celia.

  ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt you at home,’ Celia said, ‘but I’ve tried calling the professor and there’s no answer. Hank and I have to meet his parents at a restaurant in Lincoln for their anniversary. Can you keep trying for me?’

  ‘Sure. Do you think there’s something wrong?’

  Celia paused. ‘I hope not.’

  ‘But… what are you worried about?’

  ‘I don’t know. Things are just so tense right now… I just want to make sure he’s all right.’

  After promising to call, Jenni hung up, then gave the operator the cottage’s number. It rang and rang. Unease stirred in her and after the tenth ring, she finally hung up.

  He was probably fine. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. But the cottage phone’s ring could startle old deaf Mr Nobleman next door.

  ‘Something wrong?’

  Jenni whirled around. Virginia watched her as she had so many times in the past, trying to figure out what kind of mischief her daughter would get into next.

  ‘No, nothing’s wrong,’ she said.

  ‘Who were you calling?’

  Jenni’s temper rose. ‘Sheesh, Mom! What does it matter?’

  ‘It was that professor, wasn’t it?’

  ‘And if it was, so what?’

  Virginia closed the door between the hallway and the living room before she turned to her daughter, her eyes blazing.

  ‘Now you listen to me, Constance Jennifer Lund,’ she said, her voice tinted with steel. ‘You’ve caused your father and me enough grief over the years, what with your wild behaviour. Do you know what you put us through? You made a fool of yourself with that fellow from New Orleans, and I won’t let you do the same thing now with this professor.’

  Anger fuelled by the unwelcome knowledge that her mother was, at least partly, right rose to the surface. ‘I am not doing anything with Max.’

  Virginia’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re calling him Max?’

  That her mother would seize on such an unimportant fact further enraged her. ‘Good grief, Mom. It’s not like we’re living in stuffy Victorian England. I can call a ma
n by his first name without jumping into his bed!’

  As soon as the words slipped out, she wanted to reel them back in and stuff them down.

  Virginia’s shocked gasp echoed in the hallway. ‘I raised you better than this!’ she hissed. ‘Danny was the one who made you so crude and vulgar, not to mention those parents of his.’

  ‘What an awful thing to say! Tony and Sue are decent, hardworking people.’

  ‘They own a bar, Jenni. Tony is an alcoholic and Danny was well on his way to becoming one.’

  Jenni flinched and looked away, not wanting to admit it. Yes, Danny had drunk a lot. Yes, it had grown increasingly worse the longer they were married. Yes, they’d argued about it more than once.

  But Danny was dead. Did it really matter anymore?

  Suddenly tired, Jenni bowed her head and touched the wedding ring on her left hand that she couldn’t seem to take off. Married couples faced problems. She and Danny were no exception. She still loved him.

  Though not enough to remain faithful to him…

  Hating herself all over again, Jenni wished she could talk to Zeke, but that wasn’t possible. She finally turned to her mother. ‘Mom, I’m sorry for what I said. And you don’t need to worry about Professor Koenig. The last thing I want or need in my life is a man.’

  * * *

  When she turned down the street by the museum, lights still blazed inside Rose Cottage. Jenni slowed the Buick and pulled over to the curb. During the drive back to town from the farm, she’d argued with herself over stopping to check on Max. No, he’d not answered her phone call, but there could be a dozen excuses why. Maybe he’d gone to the movies or to the bar. Why was Celia worried over nothing?

  Yet here she sat, peering at the lone light in the kitchen window. It would only take a minute to check on him. She could do that. Her parents had volunteered to let Marty spend the night, anyway, so she didn’t need to rush home.

  It’s not your responsibility, whispered that wise voice she’d ignored so many times in the past. He can take care of himself. But if something was wrong and she didn’t at least check on him, she’d regret it, and Celia would be none too happy.

  ‘And why you think you’re the one that has to do all this is another thing altogether,’ she muttered to herself. She had her own problems. She didn’t need to go sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong.