Friends & Enemies (Promise for Tomorrow Book 1)

by Terri Wangard

  Paul hefted the crate, tightening his muscles at the unexpected weight. Herr Schultz flicked the towel from his shoulder and wiped his counter. Their time here was over.

  Heidi opened the door for Paul when the grocer’s wife, whom Paul had spoken to the day before, came from the back room. She held out a sack to Heidi. “A bit of food. You may not have the opportunity to find much on your journey.”

  “Thank you, Frau.” Tears welled in Heidi’s eyes. Once outside, her voice trembled. “We’re really doing this. We’re on our way.”

  This was no time for her to fall apart. They’d cleared another hurdle and seemed to be accepted into the underground’s network to be passed along to France. But, as yesterday proved, a lot could go wrong. He shifted the crate, his burned palms smarting. The whole scenario seemed too much like a low-budget Hollywood film.

  Of course, he was heading back to his side of the war. Heidi was leaving hers, stepping into the unknown. All the more reason why they couldn’t separate.

  A river cruise wasn’t the fastest way to get to France. The city of Nancy, in the disputed Alsace region, lay only about one hundred miles away, as the birds flew, but the Mosel River easily doubled that distance as it meandered through one hairpin turn after another. Heidi stifled a yawn and looked around. Paul sat on a barrel and watched the scenery go by. His eyes appeared to have glazed over as terraced vineyards slid past.

  Try as she might to keep her thoughts focused forward, images of the Ziemer farm and the children continued to pop up in her mind. Had Konrad informed their parents of her flight from the Gestapo? Mama must be having conniptions. Or had the Gestapo arrested him and Gretchen? How had the children taken the news of her sudden disappearance? Paul had spoken often of returning to his army unit, but had they understood he wouldn’t still be there to play with them?

  The wind picked up. Waves slapped at the boat, threatening to push it backward. The steam engine put up a gallant struggle, but they’d probably make better time walking. A moan brought her head around. The chugging of the engine and the sideways lurching in the current cast Paul’s face in pallor. He staggered to his feet and vanished into the hold.

  Their chauffeur preferred not to converse. Herr Banner hadn’t introduced them. Indeed, he hadn’t asked for their names. They’d repeated Herr Schultz’s instructions and been sent directly onto the boat. The need for secrecy and stealth was both appalling and reassuring. This underground escape line clearly understood their business, but the risks were profound.

  Paul stumbled out of the hold and collapsed on the bench beside her with a groan. “I wonder about that bread and cheese he offered us. How long has the cheese been without refrigeration? We should have eaten Frau Schultz’s food.”

  The helmsman evidently found humor in the situation. Heidi would love to wipe the smirk off the man’s face. Taking pity on Paul’s seasickness, she directed him to the side of the wheelhouse away from the near riverbank. Collapsing on the wooden deck with a wadded-up burlap sack for a pillow, he groaned again and gulped in the fresh air. “The great airman flies through the sky with nary a qualm, but can’t endure a river cruise on a stinkin’ little tub.”

  Heidi bit back a laugh that would only encourage him. “Shh. This is a very nice boat. He’s lucky to have it and might toss you overboard if he hears your insults.”

  “That would put me out of my misery.” Paul rolled onto his side and curled into a tight ball. “Talk to me. Give me a reason to continue living.”

  She did laugh then. “I can think of so many things to say.”

  He waved an unsteady finger in her direction. “Be nice, Heidi. Distract me. Talk about the stars or something.”

  “You’re the astronomer, not me.” Snatches of Psalms might soothe him. “‘When I look at Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars which Thou hast established, what is man that Thou art mindful of him? … O Lord our Lord, how majestic is Thy name in all the earth! … By the word of the Lord the heavens were made… Let all the earth fear the Lord, stand in awe of Him… The eye of the Lord is on those who fear Him.’ That’s us, Paul. The Lord is watching over us.”

  She shaded her eyes as she looked up at the sky. “Look, Paul. A sliver of moon is playing hide and seek behind wispy clouds. We don’t have to wait until night to see it. Is it waxing or waning?”

  Paul didn’t answer. He didn’t see it. His eyes were scrunched shut.

  “You’re missing the scenery. Vineyards and villages. I thought you wanted to see more of Germany.”

  “Not today, thank you.” Paul shifted and squinted at her from one eye. “What’s with all the vineyards? Did this area used to be part of France? Germany’s s’posed to be full of beer, not wine.”

  Heidi nudged his foot with her own. “Tsk, tsk. Your ignorance is showing. The Romans planted the vines, and the grapes brought great prosperity to the Mosel Valley. To guard their interests, all the lords and barons built themselves these fine castles you see still with us today. As I told you yesterday, the French are to blame for their destruction.”

  “They were jus’ jealous.”

  She frowned down at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been nipping at the bottle.”

  “Just hadda bit a water ta settle ma stomach.” Sweat beaded his forehead.

  This wasn’t simple seasickness. Heidi’s frown deepened and she ducked into the hold. In the gloomy interior, she spied a jar high on a shelf, the only liquid in sight. She unscrewed the lid, sniffed, and reared back.

  “Mighty potent water.” Paul had sipped either very ripe wine or maybe even engine oil. She grabbed Frau Schultz’s food sack and hurried back to him.

  “Eat some bread, Paul.” He mumbled a protest, but she jerked him up to a sitting position. “Eat some bread. It’ll absorb whatever you drank.”

  He frowned his irritation at her disturbance, but she pressed a piece of bread to his lips. Heaving a martyr’s sigh, he nibbled on it and swallowed hard. A moment later, his stomach rebelled and he lurched to the boat’s side. Whatever had been ailing him ended up in the river. He slid back down to slump on the floor.

  Heidi retrieved a towel-wrapped bottle of water from Frau Schultz’s sack and handed it to him. Good thing they weren’t being threatened by the Gestapo while Paul was indisposed. He was in no shape to think fast.

  She peered ahead of them, then behind. Odd there was so little river traffic today. On one hand, that was good. Fewer people would get close and notice them. Conversely, they would be more noticeable to people on shore. Maybe Paul’s sickness keeping him slumped down was good. It would appear as if the boatman was accompanied only by his… ugh… wife.

  The boat chugged around a bend and she could have screamed her aggravation. Once more, they were cruising east, the exact opposite direction they wanted to go.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Bernkastel, Germany

  Saturday night, June 17, 1944

  The boatman deposited them in Bernkastel. They had covered forty miles and could expect the same distance tomorrow before he turned them over to the next contact. For tonight, real beds awaited them. The town baker had met them at the boat and guided them to his shop with living quarters above stairs.

  While Heidi luxuriated in a bath, Paul briefed Herr Hoffman and his wife on their story. “Heidi’s accompanying me was very last minute. Since she doesn’t have travel documents, we concocted the tale of searching for her husband. We know the Gestapo in Treis-Karden is looking for her and know both her maiden name and her married name. If she has to show her identity papers,” he spread his hands, “she’s sunk.”

  Herr Hoffman opened his mouth but, before he could speak, a knock rattled the door. He jumped to his feet, his eyes searching the room. He snatched up Heidi’s papers and shoved them under the sofa. In a hushed tone he said, “She is not here.” He fluttered his hand at his wife. “Warn her.”

  With a last quick glance, he opened the door.

  “A
h, Herr Hoffman, I understand you have a visitor.” A short, balding man barged into the room and stared at Paul.

  “Yes, indeed, we are always pleased to provide hospitality to our brave troops. Horst is returning to his unit in France after a convalescent leave.” Herr Hoffman turned his back to the intruder. “Horst, this is the block warden, Herr Detweiler.” He raised a hand, unseen to the warden. Exercise caution.

  Herr Detweiler settled onto the sofa uninvited. “Where are you based?”

  “Calais.”

  “Calais? Bernkastel is an unlikely stop on the route to Calais. Where have you been convalescing?”

  Paul bounced his fingertips off each other. “I am not following a direct route. I’m using several days to look up my buddies’ families. Werner asked me to see his wife and I offered to check on others. Their wives write brave words so their men won’t worry, but we have heard things are difficult.”

  If he said they’d heard Germany was being bombed into oblivion, would this joker arrest him for defeatist talk?

  Frau Hoffman returned to the room. “Oh, Herr Detweiler. I thought I heard someone come in. Did I hear you say, Horst, that wives write brave letters? Of course they do. We women are much stronger than men give us credit for.”

  Paul smiled at the baker’s wife. She and his mother would be good friends if they met. Mom brooked no nonsense from the grade schoolers she taught and this lady had the same mettle. “I’m sure they must be, ma’am. I wonder if we would have such fortitude to withstand the air war here. Returning to the front is a relief.”

  The Hoffmans didn’t allow the warden a word. Herr Hoffman spoke as soon as Paul closed his mouth. “Did you find your comrades’ families well?”

  “Some, not all.” Paul leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Klaus’ wife remains in Koblenz, living in the rubble. Her prized possession is a cooking pan. She also recovered three spoons, a fork, and a coffee cup with just a small chip in it. Alfred’s wife is still in Kassel, but I don’t think I’ll mention seeing her.” He flicked a glance at the warden. “Her block warden has been keeping an eye on her a little too exuberantly. Not everyone is concerned with maintaining proper morals.”

  “The ladies do tend to forget themselves. They expect us to do all their repairs for them.” Herr Detweiler crossed his legs, ready to impress them with his sacrificial service, no doubt.

  Frau Hoffman’s lips thinned and her chest heaved, but when she turned back to Paul, he saw only curiosity in her gaze. “Have you endured any bombings?”

  The good woman didn’t realize she opened up a minefield for him to tread. Paul wracked his mind for details of Konrad’s stories. “A minor raid in Siegen, which was harrowing enough. I spent an hour in a basement cellar. The apartment house was hit and set ablaze. I thought we would be asphyxiated. We had to crawl through the break in the wall into the neighboring cellar. Then the water mains burst. The cellars filled with water so fast, some people drowned.” He shuddered. Too theatrical?

  “I tell you, we have it good at the front. I do not like being underground.” A yawn caught up with him, but he didn’t try to restrain it.

  Frau Hoffman hopped to her feet. “Oh, goodness. Here we are quizzing you, when you need your sleep. It’s so considerate of you to spend your convalescent leave visiting your friends’ families, but you ought to be resting. You’ll return to your post exhausted. Let me get some sheets and I’ll make up a bed on that sofa. Herr Detweiler, do you mind?”

  The block warden didn’t look pleased to be shooed out of the way. He rose but didn’t move toward the door. “May I see your papers?”

  “That reminds me, Horst. Keep your ration coupon. My garden is doing well and you have a long way still to go. You may need every last coupon you have, especially if you don’t find your friend’s family in Trier tomorrow.” Frau Hoffman bustled into the kitchen and picked up Paul’s papers from the table. She tucked his ration card into his Soldbuch and handed it to him. “Now you put this away and don’t think anything further about it.”

  Herr Hoffman wiped a smile off his face before giving Paul one end of a quilt. “Let’s get this blackout curtain up so Herr Detweiler can make a dark exit. There we go. Have a good evening, Detweiler.”

  The man was pushed out the door, but he probably tarried on the landing. Paul had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

  Heidi’s fingers had shriveled like an old lady’s. The bath water, so wonderfully soothing when she’d stepped in, had long since dropped in temperature. But she was trapped. Any movement would cause splashing. The block warden was out there, Frau Hoffman said. If he had any inkling someone else was in the baker’s apartment, he’d push his way into the bathroom and catch her. So she shivered and strained to hear what transpired in the living room.

  How did Paul know what a bombing raid was like? Everything he said about cellars was accurate. Her experience in Hagen had been tame. Going to England would be worth it just to avoid being under the bombs again.

  A tap came at the door. “Heidi? You can come out now.”

  She lost no time in hopping out of the tub and wrapping in a towel. Opening the door a crack, she peered out.

  “It’s safe now?” Her teeth chattered.

  Paul grinned. “The bogeyman’s gone. Soon as you’re finished in there, I’ll take a turn.”

  Frau Hoffman lent her a robe and invited her into her bedroom. “Considering your lifestyle while you travel, I think you could use some additions to your wardrobe. You shouldn’t have to climb down any more castle walls, but you may find these more comfortable while you’re roughing it.” She handed Heidi a stack of folded clothes. “Try these on.”

  Heidi held up one garment and let it unfold. Men’s trousers.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Trier, Germany

  Sunday, June 18, 1944

  Trier claimed to be Germany’s oldest city. Of greater interest to Paul was its location, a dozen miles from Luxembourg, and France just south of the principality. Tomorrow they’d be out of Germany, although with the surrounding territory still under German control, they might not notice any difference.

  “Wait at the Kaiserthermen,” the boatman had said. Hanging around the imperial baths didn’t sound like a good idea. How would someone know to look for them there today? He hadn’t seen any telephones among any of the contacts.

  They passed through an archway of a colossal monument. “This is the Porta Nigra.” Heidi ran a light hand along the wall. “I’ve never been here before, but we learned about this in school. The Romans built the Black Gate in the second century.” She poked a finger between two huge blocks. “These aren’t held in place with mortar, but by iron clamps. That’s all I remember about it.”

  Coming out into the late afternoon sunlight, they found themselves in the central market place. Trier looked to be considerably larger than any of the towns they had passed along the Mosel, but few people were to be seen. Of course, it was Sunday. The Allies must not have been here. The city showed no signs of bomb damage. “Has Trier been evacuated?”

  “I don’t know.” Heidi glanced over her shoulder. “We’re conspicuous with our backpacks, aren’t we?”

  They ducked down a side street and hurried in the direction of the baths. Before long, another massive structure came into view. “Ancient and crumbling. That’s it.” Paul hesitated in front of it. “This place must have been spectacular with those patterns of red and cream bricks.” When Heidi tugged at his sleeve, he led the way into the midst of it. “Watch your step.”

  They found a stairway leading down into subterranean passageways. Paul pulled out the flashlight rescued from the motorcycle and started down.

  “Should we be doing this?” Heidi kept step with him. “Shouldn’t we wait outside?”

  They came to a fork in the corridor. Light glimmered on the left. Paul chose that direction. In a whisper he said, “No one was outside and from the identifying phrases the boatman gave me, someone may be waiting down
here.”

  They rounded a bend.

  “Good afternoon.” An old man sat erect in a gloomy room, a hat held on his lap. “This is a good place to stop and rest.”

  Their contact! Paul concentrated on his response. “This labyrinth of corridors gives an idea of the backbreaking labor demanded of slaves.”

  “Unfortunately, the basement provided the only maintenance access for the heating system of the baths. This way please.” The man led them outside by another route. “These baths are larger than any built outside of Rome.” He scanned the periphery. “But you didn’t come here to sightsee. Go to the market square and find Löwen Apotheke near the fountain. It’s the oldest pharmacy in the country, but never mind that. Go to the door marked number eight. You will be asked what hymn was sung at the basilica today. Answer with ‘Sing Praise to God Who Reigns Above.’ You will be welcomed.”

  With a tip of his hat, he left in the opposite direction.

  Heidi didn’t move. “We just came from the market place. Now we have to go back?”

  The plan did seem too expose them to unnecessary scrutiny. Or maybe not.

  “We may have been more conspicuous if we’d hung around the square until someone from the drug store bustled out to fetch us. This way we can march right up and go inside like we’re there on business. Less opportunity for anyone to question us.” Paul grasped Heidi’s hand and tugged her forward. Hopefully, not as lambs to the slaughter.

  Heat sweltered in the attic room on the fourth floor by midmorning. From behind a sheer curtain, Heidi watched people milling in the market place. Paul chafed at the delay in getting underway, but she didn’t. Today they would enter France. It seemed like an irrevocable step into the unknown. What if the Allies wouldn’t let her into England? What would happen if they turned her over to the Gestapo? What would Rudy do with her?