The Watcher

by Joan Hiatt Harlow

  Adrie then explained in English. “This is Rikka, Frau Himmelman’s daughter. She belongs to the young German girls’ group.” Rikka was tall and slim as a rake handle, and her tight curly brown hair looked as if she just had gotten a permanent wave. She smiled at me and stepped back. Both girls wore the dirndl dresses so popular in Germany. I wished that I had worn mine.

  “This is Gertrude Ernst,” Adrie said, gesturing to the other girl whose thick braids wound around her head and framed her perfectly round face. “And this is Frau Ernst, her mother. She is a pediatric doctor.”

  Frau Ernst smiled and nodded, then reached out to bring her daughter closer to our group.

  I almost laughed when I saw the resemblance between Gertrude and her mother. Both wore braids circling their heads, and their round faces both reminded me of gingerbread men—same smile, same raisin eyes.

  Almost immediately Gertrude burst into a string of loud, fast sentences. Frau Ernst poked her daughter, but the girl kept talking.

  When Gertrude stopped for a breath, Adrie spoke rapidly in German, and I noticed a tone of annoyance in her voice. The grown-ups looked at one another with raised eyebrows as the two girls turned abruptly and went back to their former place at the end of the room.

  Frau Ernst, looking embarrassed, spoke softly to Adrie. I recognized a familiar German word: Entschuldigung. I remembered that word only too well. It meant, apologize. I was sure Gertrude had said something rude to me, and now her mother was apologizing to Adrie.

  These girls are mean and catty—just like that group of girls in Maine. I hoped never have to see them again.

  Still, I wondered what Gertrude had said.

  8

  A Watcher

  I was relieved when Adrie finally suggested we go home. I prayed there would be no more tea parties for me to attend, especially any with Rikka and Gertrude.

  My puppy was asleep when we got back to the car. “Look, he didn’t mess in the car; he didn’t chew the upholstery. Isn’t he a good puppy, Adrie?”

  “Take him for a quick walk right now so there won’t be any accidents on the way home,” Adrie ordered.

  I clamped on the leash the SS officer had given me, and the puppy jumped onto the grass. He sniffed around, as dogs do, and before long, he was ready to get into the car again.

  “Come on, little guy,” I said as I settled him into the backseat. “We’re taking you to our beautiful new home. You and I both have a new home. Aren’t we lucky?” I said this for Adrie’s sake, but she didn’t seem to notice. “What is our address?” I asked Adrie. “I don’t even know.”

  “Sieben Lindenstrasse,” Adrie answered. “Seven Linden Street. Sieben Lindenstrasse.”

  “Sieben . . . Linden . . . strasse,” I muttered. “Sieben Lindenstrasse.”

  Before long, we turned onto our street and pulled in to the driveway. I gathered my puppy into my arms and got out. Then, stopping on the walkway, I looked at the stone house with its formal elegance. It was certainly beautiful, and I felt a tinge of emotion for the father I never met. He would be happy to know I was actually here in my own home at last.

  Adrie hustled up the steps, her key in hand, but before she could slip it into the lock, Frieda opened the door and the puppy squirmed from my arms and tumbled into the foyer.

  At first Frieda looked surprised and startled. Would she mind my having the dog? Would she complain to Adrie? As the puppy jumped and wiggled at her feet, Frieda bent down as if to quiet him. The pup had other ideas. He leaped up and licked Frieda’s face, his tail wagging like a flag in a gale. Frieda looked stunned as she wiped her face with her apron.

  “Quite an introduction,” Adrie muttered, shaking her head. “We should have prepared Frieda for this . . . animal.”

  I picked the puppy up and brought him into the kitchen. Adrie and Frieda followed, and I could tell by the tone of her voice that Adrie was apologizing for the dog. After a short conversation back and forth in German, Adrie said to me, “The dog will stay here in the kitchen and sleep under the table. Frieda has an old blanket for him. You will need to take him out at night before we all go to bed and first thing in the morning, too. That’s your job, Wendy, not Frieda’s.”

  “I know. I will, I promise.”

  Frieda scooped out meat and vegetables from a pot on the stove and put it in a dish. To my surprise, she set it on the floor. The pup sniffed the dish and then chomped the food down happily. When he was finished and looked up, even Adrie laughed at the gravy all over his nose.

  Frieda had prepared a luscious supper. The beef roast was so tender, it fell apart with a fork. It was surrounded with potatoes, onions, carrots, and cabbage. Frieda watched with a satisfied smile as I helped myself to seconds.

  “Rinderbraten mit Gemüse,” Frieda said slowly and clearly.

  “Rinderbraten mit Gemüse,” I repeated with my mouth full. “Gut.”

  “That’s roast beef with vegetables,” Adrie translated. “We have this meat only because of my position with the Abwehr,” she explained. “Rationing now allows only one-tenth of a pound of meat per person per day.” She gave me a meaningful look. “Having a dog is almost sinful when people are hungry.”

  “Then I’ll share my food with him,” I told her.

  I could tell Frieda was trying to please me as she hovered around, placing warm, buttered rolls on my plate and filling my glass with milk whenever it was even partly empty. But I wondered how she really felt about my bringing a dog into the house. I knew Frieda had a lot of influence with Adrie. Meanwhile, the puppy curled up under the table at my feet and fell asleep.

  “I hope you can train this dog to be obedient,” Adrie said to me later. “You can’t expect Frieda to take charge of him.”

  “It’s my dog. I don’t expect anyone to take care of him. I’m sure he’ll be easy to train,” I assured her.

  “Well, the SS officers didn’t think he was easy to train. Do you think you’re better than they are?”

  “They weren’t showing love to him. He’ll obey when he knows he’s loved, because he’ll want to please me. He’s a good dog, Adrie, you’ll see.” I had an idea. “I notice what a large library you have. Would there be a book there on training dogs?”

  “Karl had a dog for a while—a little squeaky thing—a dachshund, I think. There might be a book on dog training in our library. Most likely it would be in German. Still, you could look and see.”

  Earlier I had peeked into the library room, but I had not had time to get a good look at the shelves of books that lined the walls. I hoped there were some books in English.

  After dinner I went to the library, which was accessible from the front hall or from the French doors that led out to the terrace. Even with the two large French doors open facing the western sun, the library was a dark room with its mahogany furniture and paneling. I turned on several lights and glanced at the bookshelves that stretched up to the high ceiling. How would anyone get books from those shelves? I wondered. I could see a track around the shelves, indicating there had once been a library ladder, but now I didn’t see one.

  At that moment Adrie came into the library to see what I was doing.

  “Is there a library ladder to get around the upper shelves?” I asked.

  “There is one in the closet. However, it is broken and I haven’t had a chance to get it fixed. I put it in the closet so no one would try to use it and get hurt. Please use only the shelves that you can reach.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Remember, you must use only the lower shelves,” she repeated. “There are no books up high that you would be interested in anyway. They’re all in German or other languages.” Adrie turned to leave then stopped. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand,” I said.

  Adrie’s collections of books were in a dozen or more languages, but I was able to find two books on learning German from English. I’d like to learn German secretly, I thought. Then I can surprise Adrie. And I’d also know what w
as being said about me—like what that girl Gertrude who was at the tea party had said. I set the books on the desk to take upstairs later.

  I was about to look for books about training dogs when a crow or a jay screamed out from across the street. Startled, I turned sharply to the open doors, which faced the park. The shrubs near the park fence shook as the bird flew off. I warily stared at the darkening trees on the other side of the iron fence. The sun was about to set, and the shadows were deepening. Suddenly a shadowy silhouette moved among the bushes and trees.

  Was it just another illusion from the setting sun and the wind stirring the leaves?

  I waited, wondering when . . . there it was again! This time I could make out the clear outline of a person, a man standing on the other side of the fence, looking directly at me! Whoever it was swiftly backed away into the foliage and disappeared from view.

  I felt goose bumps prickle my arms, and I rushed to shut the French doors, lock them, and pull the heavy drapes over the glass panes.

  Was it just a passerby in the park? Someone who simply happened to glance at the lighted room? No, this was different—deliberate. Someone was out there watching this house—watching me.

  9

  Nighttime Concerns

  For a moment I froze and waited, watching between a slit in the drapes. Whoever was out there had retreated into the shrubbery and disappeared. This was not an illusion. I clearly saw the figure of a man, and I was sure I had seen someone in the park before, and thought it was my imagination.

  I ran from the library and into Adrie’s den where she did her work and kept files. She was listening to the news on the radio. The announcer spoke excitedly in German.

  “Adrie! Someone is watching our house. I’ve seen him twice now.”

  Adrie turned the volume down. “Who’s watching us?”

  “I don’t know, but it looked like a man.”

  Adrie listened attentively as I explained how I had seen someone earlier and thought it was just my imagination. Nevertheless, tonight it was clearly the silhouette of a man.

  Adrie frowned and appeared thoughtful. “How old a man was he? Could you tell?”

  “I didn’t see him clearly. Just his form, and then he was gone.”

  Adrie was silent for a moment, and then she said, “Well, we are supposed to keep the drapes drawn at night in case of air raids. If we follow that law, it will keep Peeping Toms from looking into our house.”

  “Air raids? I thought Berlin wouldn’t get bombed.”

  “Oh, Wendy, we are at war. We are required to block out the lights. We had the same law back in Maine. Just keep the drapes drawn. Personally, I think you’re overtired and that’s why you’re seeing things.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “You should go to bed soon.”

  “All right.” I was about to leave, when she called me back.

  “Before you go to bed, be sure to let the dog out for a little while. By the way, he’d better be quiet, because if he whines or cries all night, he’ll have to go.”

  She had turned the radio up again. I nodded and left the room. If Adrie wasn’t concerned about the watcher in the park, I guess I shouldn’t be concerned either. However, I was worried about the puppy. I hadn’t thought about him howling at night, and now Adrie had threatened to get rid of him if he did.

  Before going upstairs, I took the puppy out to the backyard, where he sniffed around. After he was finished, I brought him to the blanket Frieda had folded under the table. Frieda watched as I pushed him gently down onto the blanket. “Go to sleep now. Please don’t make a sound,” I whispered, kissing his head. “I hope you won’t be lonely. Tomorrow I will give you a name.”

  The puppy got up immediately and followed me to the dining-room door.

  “No, no. You must stay,” I told him. I carried him back to the blanket, but again he followed me to the door and looked at me with mournful eyes.

  I could see Frieda watching without any expression. What was she thinking? Did she want the puppy gone? After all, he was in her kitchen, and she might consider him a pest. Once more I pulled him back under the table and set him on the blanket. “Now listen. You have to stay here.” I started to leave and he got up. “No, lie down,” I insisted.

  Adrie called from the hall. “Your dog may understand only German.”

  “Aha!” Frieda exclaimed. “Platz!”

  This time the puppy folded his legs and lay down, but he watched me dejectedly as I left the room and closed the door.

  Late in the night I was roused by a howling—a deep sad cry. I sat up in bed, wondering for a moment where I was. The whining turned into a sharp bark, and I realized it was the puppy downstairs in the kitchen. If the dog woke up Adrie, she would be furious.

  Again the pup howled, louder this time. I climbed out of bed and made my way in the dark to the hall and stairwell. I felt my way along with my hands, not wanting to turn on the lights.

  Yelp! Arooo! Yelp! Arooo! The puppy cried then moaned so sadly.

  Nothing shone through the draped windows, and not a light was on anywhere. I crept slowly through the pitch black, and down the winding stairway to the first floor, and then headed for the kitchen.

  Now the sounds had stopped. I waited. Silence. Should I go back to bed? What if he began to bark again?

  As I entered the dining room, I noticed a light gleaming from under the door. Quietly, I treaded toward the kitchen and opened the swinging door. No one was there—and the dog was gone.

  Another light gleamed from the wing where Frieda slept. Could the puppy have gone into Frieda’s room? I tiptoed into the tiled hallway. A door was partly open, and a soft light came from within.

  I knocked gently on the door. “Frieda?”

  To my surprise, Frieda opened the door and laughed softly. Then with her finger to her lips, she pointed to her bed.

  Curled up smack in the center of a soft quilt, his head between his paws and his eyes closed, the puppy snored softly.

  I put out my hands to Frieda. “Shall I take him?” I asked, hoping she understood.

  She obviously did understand. She shook her head and once again put her hand to her lips. “Nein,” she said. And with a smile, she shoved me gently out the door. “Gute Nacht.”

  My suspicions of Frieda disappeared in an instant. “Good night and danke. Thank you,” was all that I could say.

  10

  At the Park

  Frieda served breakfast on the beautiful patio the next morning. The summer air was drenched with the scent of flowers. It was a sunny beautiful day, and once again the war seemed faraway.

  Frieda brought the newspaper and coffee on a tray. My puppy came running and leaping when he saw me. He sat at my feet, his tail wagging, and his eyes were on my face, watching my every move.

  “I should take the dog out,” I said, remembering my promise.

  “Frieda said she let him out in the fenced-in yard.” Adrie unfolded the morning paper. “Wendy, this isn’t Frieda’s job. It’s yours.”

  “I know, but she beat me to it.”

  Frieda came out again with a tray of sausage, cheese, toast, and more coffee, and I looked at her anxiously. Had she told Adrie that the dog had slept in her room, in her bed? I hoped not. However, Frieda smiled and winked at me, indicating everything was fine.

  Tonight I will have to do something if he starts barking, I decided. Maybe I’ll sneak him up to my room. I can’t expect Frieda to take care of him again.

  “I have to decide on a name for my dog,” I said to Adrie. “But I don’t know what to call him.”

  “Max is a good name for a dog,” Adrie suggested. “It’s masculine and strong. I like it.”

  “Hmm.” I wanted something less common than Max. I stood up and gazed out over the patio. “Maybe I’ll take him for a walk in the park.”

  “That’s a good idea. And you’ll have the dog with you for protection.” Adrie laughed. “I don’t think Max would be much protection, though, since he failed his police course
.”

  “He’ll be a wonderful watchdog. You’ll see.”

  The dog at my side suddenly froze and the hair on his shoulders and back stood up.

  He lowered his head as if to get a better look at something. He growled—a soft, low growl—not much louder than a cat’s purr.

  I followed his gaze and noticed a young man walking his dog on the sidewalk across the street. “You are a good watchdog,” I told him. As I patted his ears, the puppy relaxed, looked up, and wagged his tail. “That’s what I’ll name you,” I exclaimed. “Watcher!”

  “Watcher is a perfect name,” Adrie agreed. “Though another name beginning with W—how difficult you make it for our German friends.”

  After breakfast Adrie had work to do in her den, so she didn’t seem to mind that I was taking a walk. Of course, I didn’t let on that I was determined to look for footprints or any clue to where that Peeping Tom had stood and what he might have been looking at—other than me.

  I fastened a leash to Watcher’s collar. The puppy jumped, wagged his tail, and eagerly tugged me along. “Heel!” I commanded with a tug on the leash. Watcher ignored me, sniffed at nearby plants, and strained to run after squirrels.

  I knelt down, held Watcher by his collar, and looked directly into his eyes. “Listen to me, Watcher,” I said in a stern voice. “I know we speak different languages, but I’m sure you can see I’m serious. Now, walk with me quietly and quit pulling me in other directions.”

  I got up and continued down the sidewalk. This time, to my surprise, Watcher trotted along next to me and only occasionally focused on a blowing leaf or shadow.

  We strolled along behind our house where the iron fence of the park separated the trees and gardens from the sidewalk. Once we turned the corner, I could see the entrance to the park. The tall black iron gate was open, so we went inside. A few mothers and nursemaids pushed carriages through the pleasant surroundings. Water gushed from the mouth of a fish statue that stood in a fountain by the entrance.