There they were, on the bottom shelf. Dusty. She hadn’t opened them in years. She brought them to the coffee table and browsed through the introductory chapters. Then she took out a notepad from the boy’s school shelf, and began to make notes.
Chapter 4
*
On a chill gray morning, a pickup truck trundled up the dirt lane to Kate’s farmhouse, carrying several German POWs and three guards. One of the guards was Otto Epstein, a veteran of WWI. Until recently, he ran his own farm not far from Kate’s. But his rheumatism finally forced him to sell it and move into town. As a veteran, he wanted to do his part in this war and was pleased to find work at the recently established POW branch camp. He sat with the driver in the cab of the truck, rubbing his hands against the cold.
The truck pulled up to the machine shed where Kate, Jessica, and Ed were laying out the fencing materials. Jessica had convinced Kate to let her stay home from school so that she would be there for the arrival of the prisoners. Jessica had already missed several days at harvest time, and Kate didn’t want her to miss any more. But she unreasonably felt that there would be strength in numbers today, and had given in to Jessica. Ursula stubbornly remained behind the shed, hammering away in a futile attempt to repair the tractor.
“Ursula!” Kate hollered out the back door. She waited a moment. Then she turned to Jessica. “Go tell her to come inside.”
Kate walked out to the truck, a jolt of fear shooting through her. She realized how easily they could be overpowered by the Nazis.
With some difficulty, Otto climbed down from the truck, walked around to the back, and called out three names. The POWs jumped out, dressed in blue denim with the letters PW stamped on them. They lined up with their hands behind their backs, awaiting their orders.
Kate raised her head in goodbye to the driver, a man she recognized from the next town over. He noisily shifted gears and drove off to deliver more POWs to the neighboring farms.
“Mornin’, Kate!” Otto said brightly, as if he had just dropped by for a friendly visit, and was not being followed by three prisoners of war. He carried the rifle issued from his WWI days.
Kate refrained from smiling and stepped up to give Otto a quick handshake, somewhat alarmed at the frailty of his gnarled hand. She quickly assessed the three POWs. One looked to be in his mid-thirties, perhaps, the others in their early twenties. They all looked strong. Though she would never admit it to her daughters, she had been afraid that she would meet threatening eyes full of hatred and vengeance. She was relieved to see impassive, perhaps resigned, expressions.
Otto pushed his hat back and looked at the disappearing truck. “That’s Zack Wells. He’ll pick us up at four-thirty. I’ll stick around, make sure everything goes smoothly.” He walked over to Kate and spoke softly. “Course, there aren’t enough of us for all the farms. Not sure if I’ll always be able to stay the whole time. It will depend on how things work out, how many men you’re going to need, how many guards they can find.”
A flash of fear crossed her face, which she did her best to hide.
“Not to worry,” said Otto. “These three come highly recommended by the camp coordinator. Has known all three of them for several months, says they’re all hard workers, can be counted on.”
Good behavior in prison held little value for Kate.
“And they’re available six days a week. Rather be earning a wage than sittin’ inside a camp.”
Otto waved the men over. “Mach schnell, lads. Over here. Meet the owner of the farm.”
Kate looked at Otto with surprise. “Do they understand English?”
He shook his head. “No, but I mix it up with a little German and they seem to get the gist of things.”
Kate noticed that although all three prisoners faced straight ahead, their eyes took in the empty fields, the wide open country that stretched for miles, the clump of trees that lined the pasture creek. A subtle shift occurred in their faces, something like a glimmer of happiness or the lifting of a burden. Were they happy to be out in the open? Did it remind them of home? Or were they seeing ample opportunity for escape?
When Kate nodded to them, they bowed their heads. And though they didn’t smile, she thought she saw an expression of politeness in all of them. Or was she simply seeing what she wanted to see?
“Come inside here,” said Kate to Otto. “Ed will show you what needs to be done.”
Inside the machine shed, Jessica stood next to Ed, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides. Her apprehension faded when she noticed her mother’s confident stride, and Otto Epstein’s familiar face.
Kate stood next to Jessica and addressed the POWs, speaking slowly and clearly, allowing for Otto to translate. “This is my daughter, Jessica. And this is our farmhand, Ed Barnaby.” She looked around for Ursula, a flash of anger momentarily surfacing. “Just a moment.”
Ed began to explain to Otto what they wanted done with the fencing, starting with the pasture and the south field. Otto, who had learned rudimentary German from his grandparents, then translated in a mix of the German from his youth, loudly-articulated English, and an abundance of large arm movements.
The sound of metal banging on metal came from the side of the shed, where Ursula was growing frustrated in her attempt to fix the tractor.
Kate walked to the back door. “Ursula!” she hollered, and waited for her daughter to look up.
Still holding the wrench in her hand, Ursula jumped down, strode past her mother, and walked into the machine shed, wearing an expression of disdain. She softened only to greet Otto, but avoided looking at the prisoners.
Kate followed her in and stepped up to Otto, waiting for him to introduce the three men.
“These are the POWs you requested. This here’s Gustav – has his own farm over there in Germany,” Otto said, waving his thumb towards the fields, as if it were somewhere nearby. “This is Karl – pretty quick to pick up English.” The young man nodded and gave a wide smile. “And this is Friedrich. They all have farming experience.”
Ursula kept her chin thrust out and barely acknowledged their existence – until the last of the POWs was introduced.
When Friedrich raised his eyes, Ursula stiffened. A look of dismay crossed her face for one brief moment, quickly replaced by contempt. She threw down the wrench and stormed out.
Kate stepped aside and took Otto by the arm. “I’m sorry, Otto. I’m afraid it’s going to take her some time to get used to this. She’s been dead set against it from the start.”
Otto was about to ask a question, when understanding filled his face. “Francis. Of course. Can’t blame her.” He kicked the straw around with his boot. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with these three. But I’ll try to keep them away from you all.”
“Thank you, Otto. Go ahead and get started. I’ll have lunch ready for you.”
“No need. They have sandwiches.”
“On this farm, everyone eats a hot meal for lunch.” He was about to object but she put up her hand. “They’ll get more work done that way.” She looked around the shed and gestured to one corner. “It’s warm enough for now. They can eat in here.”
Kate and Jessica then left, leaving Otto and Ed to carry out the fencing instructions.
“That wasn’t so bad,” said Jessica.
“No, it wasn’t.” Kate was relieved that the first encounter was over, and that she didn’t sense any menace coming from the prisoners. “Might as well get started with the washing,” she said. “I’ll be right in.”
She turned around and watched Otto and Ed help the POWs hitch up the horse and cart, and load up the materials. One of the prisoners pointed to the tractor and said something to Otto. Otto waved his arms and made some answer, scratched his head, and pointed back to the horse and cart.
“Ursula!” Kate called out, seeing that her daughter was busying herself in the barn.
Ursula looked up, and walked over to her mother.
Kate waited until Ursula was
standing in front of her, and then spoke softly but firmly. “I’ll not tolerate that kind of behavior on this farm.”
“I couldn’t help it. It’s an outrage!” In a lower voice, she added: “Otto Epstein – a guard? We all love him, but – he’s what stands between us and the Nazis? God help us!”
“If you’re so afraid we’re in danger, then stop behaving like a petulant schoolgirl. Show some common sense, for God’s sake, and a little more self-control.”
Ursula colored at her mother’s remark. That was not how she saw herself.
“They’re here to work,” said Kate. “We’ve wasted days chasing down the cows that get through that fence. Like it or not, we need their help.”
Ursula remained silent, a swarm of conflicting emotions all over her. Then she went back inside the barn.
Kate returned to the farmhouse, thinking that she couldn’t blame Ursula for her fear and aversion. She felt it as well. But if this was going to work, she would need her daughters’ cooperation. Childish outbursts would get them nowhere. Could set them back.
Ursula occupied herself in the barn all morning, with an energy and efficiency that was unusual, even for her – milking, feeding, brushing, cleaning.
It was nearly lunchtime when Kate went out to get her. As she approached the barn, she saw Ursula put her hands to her lower back, and then wipe her forehead with her sleeve. Kate’s heart filled with a piercing ache. She had so wanted Ursula to go to college, to learn and make a sweeter life for herself. With four strong sons, she had been sure it would happen. Then the war broke out. When Pearl Harbor was attacked, her eldest sons were whisked off to training, and everything changed. Jessica was happy with country life, but Ursula had wanted more. She had prepared diligently for the coming year at the women’s college downstate, thrilled that her life was about to change. Now, instead of pursuing her beloved subjects of history and literature and French, there was her daughter, brushing the cow. How she wished that Ursula were now attending college. How she wished that her sons were still at home. How she wished that Francis had not been killed.
Kate stepped into the barn and spoke softly, her voice shaped by years of struggle and the abrasion of pain. “Come on in. Lunch is ready. Don’t worry – you won’t have to see them.”
Ursula kept her eyes fixed on the ground as her mother spoke, and only lifted them once she was gone. She leaned her head onto the cow’s neck. “What am I going to do, Clover?” she asked. “How can I be so unlucky?”
The docile cow blinked and swished its tail. Ursula slowly shook her head, and then straightened and addressed the cow with more energy. “I must be mistaken. It can’t be the same man.” She left the barn and went back to the house, stopping to wash her hands at the pump.
In the kitchen, Kate and Jessica piled up the plates with meatloaf, potatoes, and corn bread. Ed had taken two plates outside and came back in for the rest. “I’ll eat out in the machine shed with them,” he said. “Who knows, maybe I’ll pick up a word or two of German.”
Kate knew better than to object. It was Ed’s way of making sure that all went well.
She was about to take out the last plate and a thermos of coffee, when Ursula suddenly reached for them and followed Ed out to the barn.
Jessica, with a breathy catch of surprise, looked over at her mother.
Kate stood with her mouth open. “I’ll never understand her,” she said. “She’s contrary to the core.”
Jessica shrugged. “I guess she’s just showing us – and them – that she’s not afraid.”
A makeshift table had been set up in the shed using a plank resting on two bales of hay. The men sat on upturned crates, and jumped up when Ursula entered. Ed handed out two plates, and the POWs softly replied, “Dankeschön.”
Ursula took the last plate and handed it to the dark-haired man. Friedrich. He took the plate, but kept his eyes lowered. She stood before him, waiting for him to look up.
He slowly lifted his eyes to hers, with an expression that was almost apologetic.
Without a doubt, it was him. Dark, haunting eyes, a face that seethed with emotion without ever changing expression.
It was him. And she was sure that he recognized her. She closed her eyes and whipped around, vowing never to look on him again.
*
That night after supper, Kate sat at the kitchen table doing some mending. From the radio came a newscaster’s scratchy voice, clipped and taut as he relayed the evening news.
Ursula sat across from her mother, examining a pair of old overalls, carefully cutting out the parts that were not threadbare. Then she separated them into sizes – some for patching, others that could be used for quilts. When the news program concluded, and music began to fill the air, Ursula saw the same release of tension in her mother that she also felt.
Jessica had spread out her homework on the table, but was now on the phone with her friend Shirley.
Ursula had her ear tuned to the conversation. Jessica had called Shirley to discuss their history assignment, but she was soon comparing notes about their POWs: Did they feel safe? What were they like? How many? What was their behavior like?
Then she heard Jessica say that one of theirs was older and seemed nice and had a farm of his own. And that the other two were young and handsome. “Especially the one with dark hair.”
Ursula shot her a look, and Jessica quickly added, “Too bad they’re nasty Krauts. And they don’t speak a word of English.”
Kate observed Ursula’s close attention to Jessica’s conversation and wondered at her silence. Ursula’s anger was gone, replaced by something more akin to sadness. Though her elder daughter was so much like herself, there were parts of Ursula that she could never quite fathom.
Jessica finished her call and sat back at the table, flipping through her notebook.
“Shirley says they’ve had the same five POWs for two weeks now, and they’ve started laying out the new barn. She said her dad wouldn’t be surprised if they had it finished by Christmas. He’s requesting the same men to help him with the planting in the spring.”
“Makes sense,” said Kate, biting off a thread.
Ursula’s head snapped up. “I think we should try to find different ones. I don’t like this group.” Ursula knew her assertion sounded weak, but she hadn’t been able to think of a legitimate reason for requesting different men.
“They seem all right to me,” said Kate. “Ed said he and Otto found them easy to work with.”
Ursula stared at the floor, concern clouding her face.
Kate noticed it, but kept her eyes on her sewing. “In one day, they finished mending the fence in the pasture,” she said, in justification of her decision to use the POWs. “Otto said once he’s confirmed that we can have them for a few weeks, they can get started on repairing the barn.”
“Ed said they’re hard workers,” Jessica added timidly, afraid of rousing her sister’s anger. “He thinks they like farm work.”
“As opposed to killing people?” asked Ursula.
Kate ignored her comment. “We’re lucky Otto speaks a little German.”
The three of them sat in silence for several minutes, as was their habit. Then Jessica continued with her train of thought.
“Shirley said one of theirs has the same name as a boy who rides the bus with us – Kurt Reinhardt – and that he even kind of looks like him, with the same white-blond hair.”
Kate considered this and nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re related. This area was largely settled by Germans, along with Italians and Irish. Some Poles and Slavs.” She held the needle away as she began to thread it. “I’ve heard that some of the prisoners have close relatives here that visit them at the camps.”
“Otto said they get three good meals a day,” said Jessica, “and that they play music and have sports teams and – ”
Ursula set her sewing down, appalled. “Such a nice, comfortable life – while our men are being shot at and killed?”
“Think about it, Ursula,” said Kate. “If word gets back to Germany about how well we treat our POWs, perhaps it will help our boys over there.”
“I doubt it,” Ursula answered with a huff of contempt.
A few more minutes passed in silence. Then Jessica, biting the eraser on the pencil, looked up at her mother.
“Mom?” she said softly.
“Hmm?” Kate asked, briefly glancing up from her sewing.
“I was all ready to hate them. I really was. But it’s hard to do when they look like our neighbors. When they look like us.”
Ursula could listen to no more. “Listen to you. They’re brutal Nazis! They’re killing our men. Doing horrible things to the Poles and Jews. You’ve read the papers, seen the newsreels. Don’t be fooled by their appearance. They’re nothing like us. They’re cold-blooded murderers. Never forget that.”
She stuffed the remnants of the overalls into the rag basket, and then stood stiffly, sore from overdoing her chores.
“You look all done in, Ursula,” said Kate. “Why don’t you go soak in a hot bath? It’s been a long day.”
Ursula went upstairs and ran the bath water, letting her clothes drop heavily to the linoleum floor. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, pushing aside her hair. She did look done in.
She touched the amethyst earrings. It had been so long since she felt pretty, since she had worn a dress, since she had gone to a dance. Everything now was bleak and grim. Her brothers, and most of the town boys, were gone. Everyone was having a hard time, having to adapt to all the changes. For the most part, she didn’t mind. She loved the farm, loved the fields at sunset, had even learned to love the backbreaking work. It kept her mind focused, prevented it from filling with daydreams. Foolish dreams of college and travel, of seeing the beautiful capitals of Europe. She wondered if those cities would even still be standing after this nightmarish war was over.
The steam gradually blurred her reflection – just as her dreams had blurred and faded, she thought. No matter. There wasn’t time for girlish daydreams. Her mother was right; she had behaved childishly today. Work needed to be done, and she would do it. The best thing was to keep busy and not think about anything too much.
Christmastime 1943 Page 4