“It doesn’t matter, Lilly. Tell him whatever you want. Maybe it’ll make him feel better, and allow him to enjoy his married life more. I wish him well. After everything that has happened, I still love the guy. I mean, I still want him to be happy. But I have to keep it at arm’s length – or I’ll be too miserable. He had – has – some kind of hold on me. Well, I better go.”
Izzy stood and let out a dramatic groan. “Oh, why doesn’t Rockwell go away for the holidays? And leave us in peace.”
Lillian laughed at Izzy’s ongoing battle with Rockwell – and knew that, for the most part, it was Izzy who had the upper hand.
Chapter 14
*
Love is resourceful. In spite of the obstacles that kept them apart, Ursula and Friedrich sought, and found, moments to be together. Snatches of conversation, secret looks, small tokens left where they would be found. She had told him that the fir tree below her window, which at seven feet tall was so like a Christmas tree, used to be decorated at Christmas. Before the war. So they had taken to decorating the tree with objects that the other would find – from him, pinecones, branches with red berries or white; from her, dried flowers and small glass ornaments.
On a trip back from town, Kate and Ursula were carrying in the groceries, when Kate suddenly stopped, noticing the decorations.
“Ursula – what’s all this?”
Ursula glanced at the tree in a dismissive manner. “Oh, you remember, Mom, how we used to decorate the outside trees at Christmas. I’m just keeping the tradition alive, is all.”
Kate smiled at the unpredictability of her daughter. “Well, that’s the Christmas spirit, Ursula. And I’m proud of you,” she said, walking up to the porch, “that you have overcome your prejudice. I’ve seen you talking to the Germans with more kindness in your voice. It’s the right thing to do. It’s what we would want for our boys.” She entered the kitchen and placed the groceries on the table.
Shame and guilt filled Ursula. She had always been honest and unafraid – but if anyone found out about her and Friedrich, they would take him away, and perhaps harm him. “Shall I leave the flour out for the baking?” she asked, desperate to change the conversation.
“Yes. Go get Jessica and let’s get started on the bread.”
They were soon sitting around the kitchen table, Jessica and Kate kneading the dough.
Ursula absented herself, hoping they would assume she had just run upstairs for a moment. Ed had taken Karl with him to town to get a few supplies, and Otto and Gustav were out in the machine shed. Ursula saw the opportunity she had hoped for, and slipped out into the barn where Friedrich was working.
A flash of fear crossed Friedrich’s face when she came and reached up to kiss him.
“Ursula,” he said, looking around. “We must be careful. We can’t risk – ”
“Don’t worry. They’re busy in the kitchen. I had to see you,” she said, sinking into an embrace.
They sat down on a bale of hay, where they could see the front porch should Kate or Jessica come out, and where they could keep an eye on the machine shed.
Ursula had a thousand questions. She wanted to know more about his family and his life growing up in Germany. He had told her that he had studied in England and that he wanted to get his degree in engineering; that his father was a music professor and his mother played the piano beautifully. He described his older sister who was married with two children. And one day, he told her about his younger brother, Gerhard. Ursula, in turn, told him about Francis, and then about her other brothers, and her memories of her father. She described life on the farm, and shared her dream of going to college, once the war was over.
They had spoken of what would happen if he were to be transferred. It could be for a few months, or, who knew, it could be for several years. There was no telling what the future would bring. But they could at least communicate through letters. Otto had told Kate that he would stay in touch with them, no matter where they were transferred. Ursula at least had the consolation of knowing that she could write to Friedrich, should he have to leave.
“But you must take care, Ursula. You must not write anything that would – ”
She placed her hand on his arm. “I would never be so foolish, Friedrich. I would never do anything to expose you.”
“It’s you I’m worried about. There are many watchful eyes. I want to know that you are safe, if I am sent away. You would be the object of scorn and hatred if anyone were to find out.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes, their hands linked, weighed down by the reality of what they were doing. But Ursula brushed away the heavy thoughts, wanting him to be happy in the few moments they had together. She asked again if there was anything he needed, but as before, he spoke well of the camp.
“We have never eaten so well – not since we left home. Besides, we have ways of getting small things we might want.” He smiled at her curiosity. “Some of us buy cigarettes or candy with our script, and then trade with the guards.”
“Have you done this? Is it dangerous? What do you need?”
“Just small things that remind me of home,” he said, and kissed her cheek.
“Is there anything I can give you? Books or food?”
“We are not allowed anything from the outside. But we are able to purchase what we need from the canteen, and some men receive packages from home. But the truth is we have more here as prisoners than our families have back in Germany. We eat well. We are warm. There is even a library that keeps growing with books and magazines. There is nothing we can complain about. The only thing we truly miss is our freedom. And some have found a way to get a taste of that now and then.”
Ursula raised her face to him, waiting for him to explain.
“A few prisoners have escaped camp at night.”
She gasped in surprise and sat up straight. “But we haven’t heard of any escapes.”
Friedrich smiled. “That’s because they return before the next roll call. There’s a man in my barrack – he has been out many times, just to walk the woods at night. Just to feel like a free man again.”
“But why does he go back?”
Friedrich gave an easy laugh. “There is no place for us to go. We’ve studied the maps of the United States. There is no way we could make it back to Germany – even if we wanted to.”
He waited a few moments before adding, “Except for missing our families, the will to return is not there for many of us. We would just be sent to the Russian front or some other form of madness. Even though it is every prisoner’s duty to try to escape – that’s as true for your soldiers as for ours – we have little incentive to do so. Especially those of us who do not believe in Hitler. Especially after being here and seeing for ourselves the lies we have been told.”
“What lies?”
“So many. We were told that the United States had been bombed flat, that the cities were in rubble, and that collapse was imminent.” His face took on an expression of awe. “Then when we traveled through the country, we could not believe what we saw. Such a vast land, good roads, fields bursting with crops, cars on the highways, the people happy and well-fed. We were amazed. There were rumors that all prisoners were being taken through a special route, one that was falsely paved with abundance and wealth, and that the destroyed US was being hidden from us. But we compared notes, all of us, coming from different places, and had to accept the truth: the US was prevailing, and our Germany was slowly crumbling. Many of us understand what is happening – in spite of the SS men and Nazis who continue to perpetrate the lies.”
Ursula glanced at the machine shed, at the farmhouse, and knew she didn’t have much time. She decided now was the time to ask him the question that most preyed on her mind, though she feared he wouldn’t – or couldn’t – answer it.
“Friedrich, are you in any danger in the camp?”
He turned his face away and was silent for a few moments. “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve heard things
. About the Nazis in the camps. And something called the Holy Ghost.”
He put his face in his hands, and then leaned his elbows on his knees. “You must never tell anyone – ”
“I would never, Friedrich. I’ve told you that I would never repeat anything you say to me.”
He let out a long breath and looked down. “All of us – me, Karl, Gustav – we all said we were farmers, in order to leave the base camp. Only Gustav knows farm work; he told us what to say so that they would believe us. I had to hide the fact that I spoke English; that alone would make me suspect. We are all anti-Nazis. But in many of the large camps, the Nazis are in control – complete with spies and traitors and punishment. We’re all afraid for our families back home. So we keep quiet.”
A knot of fear formed in Ursula’s stomach, for what might happen to him.
“I had to get away from the base camp. I had a friend there,” he continued. “A musician from Munich – a violinist. He was older, and sometimes spoke out against what was happening in Germany. And one night, the Holy Ghost came and – ”
Ursula saw him wince at the painful memory.
“They broke his hands. Every finger. He knew he would never play again. His spirit was crushed. He didn’t live long after that.”
“Oh my God, Friedrich. Please be careful!”
He nodded. “We are safer at the branch camps. Many of us have requested transfers. Some letters have made it out to the International Red Cross about the beatings and – other things. I hope to God that something is done.”
Ursula kissed his face. “Be careful. Don’t do or say anything that will cause trouble.” She clasped his hands and brought them to her lips. “Oh, I hope this awful war is over soon.”
“Ursula!” came Kate’s voice from the porch. “Ursula! Where are you?”
They both jumped up.
“I must go.” Ursula ran out into the farm yard. “I’m here! I was looking for Cotton. Have you seen her?”
“She’s in the kitchen, next to the stove. Come inside. We’re ready to start fixing dinner.”
Chapter 15
*
When Lillian arrived home from work, she heard Tommy and Gabriel conspiring once again in the bathroom, and her temper flared.
“Tommy! Come out here this instant.”
Tommy came out of the bathroom, the bruise on his cheek confirming her suspicions.
“I don’t believe it! This has gotten completely out of control! I’ve told you and told you that I won’t have you fighting, and yet you continue to – ”
“It’s not his fault, Mom,” came Gabriel’s voice from the bathroom. “He was just breaking up a fight. Honest!”
Lillian looked at Tommy and raised her eyebrows. “Is that true?”
Tommy nodded, but avoided her eyes.
“Well why didn’t you say so? Who was fighting?”
“Billy,” said Tommy, reluctantly.
“Billy?! Good heavens, wait until his mother finds out. And just who was he fighting with?”
Tommy looked down at the carpet.
“Tommy? I asked you a question. You weren’t fighting with Billy, were you?”
He shook his head.
“Then who was Billy fighting with?”
Gabriel stepped out of the bathroom, holding the ice bag to his eye that was fast becoming purple.
Lillian gasped. “Gabriel!” She stood speechless. Gabriel was always the angel, the little boy who got along with everyone, the son she never had to worry about. She lifted the ice bag and looked at his poor little face.
She led him into the living room, and examined him more closely. Then she sank onto the couch, feeling like the world was moving in directions she couldn’t keep up with.
Gabriel and Tommy waited a moment, and then sat on either side of her.
Her first response was to blame Tommy. “You see what kind of an example you’ve been setting?”
“It’s not his fault,” said Gabriel. “Sorry, Mom.”
Lillian took the ice pack and dabbed at his eye, shaking her head.
“I don’t know what to say. Billy’s your best friend. What on earth were you fighting about?”
Gabriel looked out and pinched his eyebrows together, then stared up at the ceiling and blinked hard, and then finally turned to her. “I can’t remember.”
She leaned back and let out a deep sigh. “I wish your father were here.”
“So do I, Mom,” said Gabriel.
“Me too,” added Tommy.
Lillian didn’t want to go down that road, and quickly changed the subject. “Your Uncle Bernie will be here tomorrow to take you back with him. What will he think? What will your Aunt Annette think?”
Gabriel shrugged his shoulders high. “I don’t know. They might think I fell. Or maybe that someone threw something at me. Or – ”
“Gabriel! I didn’t mean – oh, hurry up and get ready. I have class tonight and I’m taking you to Mrs. Kuntzman’s. I don’t dare leave you boys alone.” She went to the telephone and rang their babysitter, who was more than happy to have the boys with her for the evening.
Lillian gathered her supplies for class, and dropped off Tommy and Gabriel at the babysitter’s.
Mrs. Kuntzman opened the door, wearing a red Christmas apron with a pattern of poinsettias. The smell of butter and cinnamon and cloves greeted them.
“Just in time, boys!” she said. “Youse can help me with my baking. For dinner we have chicken over noodles, then nice dessert.”
Tommy and Gabriel smiled at the greeting, kicked off their shoes, and ran into her kitchen.
“Tommy, Gabriel! You know better,” said Mrs. Kuntzman, pointing at their shoes. “What I always tell you?”
“A place for everything,” said Tommy, walking back and putting his shoes neatly by the door.
“And everything in its place,” finished Gabriel, doing the same with his shoes.
Then they ran back to the table where a batch of cookies was cooling. “Bye, Mom!” they shouted from the kitchen.
Mrs. Kuntzman put her hand to her chest, and spoke softly. “What happen to our Gabriel? His eye . . .”
“He got in a fight with Billy – and doesn’t even remember what it was about!”
The old woman’s face broke into a smile. “Ach,” she said, waving away the triviality. “Is that all? Don’t you worry. Tonight they’ll bake cookies. No fighting.”
“Thank you for watching them. Tonight is my last class before Christmas. I might be a little later than usual.”
“Take your time. We always have a good time together, me and your boys.”
Knowing that Tommy and Gabriel were in good hands, Lillian said goodbye and hurried off to her class.
As she rode the bus to the hospital, she surprised herself by feeling somewhat disappointed that this would be her last class until she returned from upstate. It would be two weeks before her next class; she would miss it.
When she entered the room, she noted the festive atmosphere. Mrs. Coppel had arranged for punch and holiday treats, and cheerful Christmas music played from the radio. The men made a show of being in good spirits, despite the fact that most of them would be there for the holidays.
Lillian taught for half an hour, and then gave in to the party atmosphere and chatted with the men, and answered all their questions. She told them about her and the boys’ plans for Christmas, about Charles, about when class would resume in the New Year.
Then she stood and gathered her things to leave. “I hope you all have a good holiday. And remember to practice.”
When no one answered her, she looked out at them and sensed that they were hesitant about something – she couldn’t quite make it out. “What is it?” she asked, smiling.
Memphis pushed Remling. “Go on. Give it to her.”
Lillian turned her head in question.
Remling came up to her. “Well, me and the guys – the other GIs and myself – wanted to give you something for Christmas, you
know. And, well, being that we’re stuck in this hell hole, well – ”
“Cut the bull and just give it to her!” hollered Bushwick.
“Go on. Don’t chicken out now,” Bull added.
Remling cleared his throat. “Well, Vinnie here does a bit of woodwork, you know, and he made a frame – for this.”
He winced as he gave her a package wrapped in paper. “I made it, but it’s from all of us. I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest,” he said, sheepishly.
“We made him do it!” shouted one of the men.
Lillian hesitated, wondering at his unease.
“Go head,” he said. “Open it.”
Lillian took the package but before opening it, she addressed the group. “Thank you. All of you.”
She looked down at the package, then up at the men. “I just want to say that I’ve enjoyed our class, and I want to thank you for giving me the opportunity to teach. I’m so pleased at the progress you’ve made. Even you – Rembrandt,” she said, laughing at Remling.
She opened the paper, turned the frame over – and nearly choked in surprise. In the frame was an expertly rendered drawing of her that flatteringly captured her likeness. It was utterly life-like, while also revealing something of the artist’s style. The picture could only be the result of years of schooling, years of experience; it was the work of a true artist.
Open-mouthed, she looked up at Remling. “You mean – all this time?”
He gave a side nod and winced again. “Don’t be sore.”
She stared at the drawing – it was beautiful. She cast her eyes to the group of men. “And you all knew?” By the way most of them avoided looking at her, she knew that they had all been in on it. She had been duped. Utterly, absolutely, duped.
The men shifted around uneasily in their seats.
She looked at the drawing again, then at Remling, and then back at the group – and burst out laughing. And laughed all the harder when she thought of the ridiculous early drawings Remling had made, her patient efforts with him. She laughed until tears began to fall, and she had to wipe them away.
Christmastime 1943 Page 15