The Watcher

by Joan Hiatt Harlow

  “I hadn’t thought about it like that,” I answered, suddenly disappointed in myself.

  We both loved the children at Lebensborn. Hunfrid, who was my favorite, was getting to be comfortable in his new home. He was speaking some German words and called me “Ven-dee.” He called Johanna “Yo-Yo.”

  Johanna played a small accordion, sang German folk songs to the children, and before long Hunfrid and I were singing them too. One of the favorites was an old German folk song.

  Lady-bird! Lady-bird! Pretty one, stay;

  Come, sit on my finger, so happy and gay.

  With me shall no mischief betide thee.

  No harm would I do thee, no foeman is near—

  I only would gaze on thy beauties so dear,

  These beautiful winglets beside thee.

  “That’s only the first verse.” Johanna gave me a long look then said. “To me, you are the lady-bird.”

  “How so?”

  “You could have stayed in a happy, safe place, but you flew off to Germany.”

  “No, I sailed off to Germany,” I said with a laugh. “Tell us what happens to the lady-bird. Sing us the second verse.”

  Lady-bird! Lady-bird! Fly away home;

  Your house is on fire, your children will roam!

  List, list, to their cry and bewailing!

  The pitiless spider is weaving their doom!

  Then, lady-bird! Lady-bird! Fly away home,

  Hark, hark! To thy children’s bewailing!

  “That’s scary. I’m not sure what it means,” I said. “If I am the lady-bird, who are the children? And who is the pitiless spider?”

  “That’s the riddle for you to figure out,” Johanna said with a little smile.

  I didn’t know why the song and its meaning made a nest in my head, but I found myself wondering about it often.

  19

  Adrie’s Plans

  I wanted desperately to see Barret and his grandfather. At times I wondered if their story and warnings were just a hoax. But I was still curious how they knew I was in Germany, and why they waited and watched for me. I had to find out.

  Therefore, I was pleased when Adrie told me on Friday night that she had to go away on business. She was in her room, packing a suitcase, and called to me.

  “Wendy, I have to go to Munich for a while, and I’m hoping you won’t go out after dark when I’m gone. You have to maintain your schedule at Lebensborn. Be careful! Promise me that you will stay at home and not go gallivanting off somewhere.”

  “Where and how and with whom would I go gallivanting?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “How will I get to Lebensborn?”

  “Take a bus. One leaves from the corner of our street on the hour and half hour, and goes almost to the Lebensborn door. Or you can call a taxi. Oh, and by the way, I’ve called Frau Messner, and she’s going to arrange for you to learn German with Johanna on your lunch hours from now on.”

  “Did you need to get permission? Johanna and I have already been doing it for weeks.”

  “I wasn’t sure how wise it would be for Johanna to be used in that way without permission. After all, she is a . . . detainee. She may be bright, but she is also stupid. All she needs to do as a German citizen is sign her name on a paper and she’d be free.”

  “I don’t think she’s stupid. I think she’s brave and loyal to what she believes.”

  “You think she’s loyal?” Adrie turned and glared at me. “On second thought, perhaps I should not allow you to spend time with her.”

  “Oh, I have no idea what Johanna believes—it has nothing at all to do with me,” I replied, and quickly changed the subject. “So why must you go to Munich? What if it’s bombed?”

  “It is an important city and could be a target at some point,” Adrie replied. “However, they are prepared with siren warnings and have many shelters everywhere.”

  “Why are you going?” I was worried for her—and for myself, too. What if something happened to Adrie? I’d be alone in this strange country.

  Adrie sat on her bed. “I have to go because . . . there is a resistance group there that is causing trouble.”

  “Sabotage?” I asked.

  “No, although it might lead to that. This is a group of students who print leaflets filled with lies about our Führer. They call themselves the White Rose group.”

  “What are they saying in the leaflets?”

  “Terrible things. ‘Every word that comes from Hitler’s mouth is a lie,’ ” Adrie quoted in a sarcastic voice. “ ‘When he says peace, he means war, and when he blasphemously uses the name of the Almighty, he means the power of evil, the fallen angel, Satan.’ Imagine! Calling our Führer, Satan! I should not be telling you all this, but since you were worried, I wanted you to understand that I am not in great danger. My job is to find out who the leaders of this gang are.” She shut her suitcase. “Everything will be fine.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I’ve left money and bus tokens on my desk. There is a phone number where I might be reached, but only for an emergency, Wendy.”

  I carried Adrie’s overnight bag and her briefcase out to the car, and she took the suitcase. Frieda came running out with a thermos and a brown bag filled with cookies for Adrie’s trip. After a few words with Frieda, Adrie climbed into the car and drove off.

  That night I found it hard to sleep. There were too many new questions creeping into my thoughts—especially Herr Strohkirch’s words: . . . tucked and hidden away are the memories that Adrie’s tried so hard to keep from you . . . and even from herself . . . pieces of your background that are awaiting you in that house. Then, when you are ready, we will meet again.

  I sat up. Since I couldn’t sleep anyway, I thought I might as well start my search for whatever it was that Adrie might have hidden from me. The first place I’d check would be that top shelf in the library. There had to be something important up there or Adrie would not have made such a scene. If there was something about my life and my father in those books, I had every right to know.

  However, I’d need to be extremely careful. If Adrie found out, I didn’t know what she would do.

  20

  Trapped!

  The clock on the table by my bed said one fifteen. Surely, Frieda was asleep by now. I slipped out of bed, peeked out my bedroom door, and found the house silent and dark. After taking a flashlight from my bedside table, I tiptoed down the shadowy hallway to the stairs.

  I made my way noiselessly into the library so neither Watcher nor Frieda would hear me. After shutting the library door, I flashed the light on the closet and opened it. Then I carried the heavy ladder to the bookshelves, praying that I would not stumble or drop it. I turned the switches that locked the legs and set the ladder up against the shelves.

  Cautiously, I climbed each rung and flashed my light on the leather-bound books on the highest shelf. I stood on the top rung of the ladder, reached up as high as I could, and was able to pull three of the heavy books toward me. Holding the books under one arm, I climbed down the ladder, set the books on the reading table, and turned on the desk lamp. To my delight and excitement, I discovered two of the books were photograph albums. I chose the third book to examine first, saving the photos until last.

  I discovered that the third book contained documents written in German. As I sifted through them, one in English caught my eye. It was my birth certificate from the State of New York—city of Buffalo. There was my name, Wendy Adriane Dekker. Birth Date: July 25, 1927. Mother: Adrie Dekker; Father: Karl Dekker.

  Well, that was interesting. Adrie says I am 100 percent German. However, even if my parents are German, I was born in the USA; that makes me American as well!

  I wondered if the other documents were important to me, but since they were written in legal-looking German, I put everything back in the book and set it aside.

  The pictures in the first album, yellowed with age, were of men and women who I didn’t know, dresse
d in old-fashioned clothing.

  Why should these photographs be off-limits? I wondered. I had no idea who these people were. As I reached the back, I found pictures of a smiling baby and the name Adrie written in faded ink. I couldn’t help but smile. She was a cute baby who reminded me of me in my own baby pictures back in New York. I wondered if Adrie had any of my pictures here. She must have received pictures of me as I was growing up. I closed the album and set it aside.

  The last book was thick with photographs mounted or stuffed loosely in the pages. When I opened it, photos fell out onto the table and floor. I gathered them together and set them on the tabletop.

  My heart skipped as I went over the photos. These were pictures of Adrie and another man. But this man was not my father, Karl Dekker. Who was he? Several pictures were of Adrie and the stranger, sitting on the deck of a big sailboat. Adrie looked dazzling and very young! The man had his arm around her shoulders, and he was looking at her affectionately.

  Another photo of that day on the boat was of Adrie and the same man, standing close together. She had her head on his shoulder, and this time he had both his arms around her. Who was he? A friend? No, there was more than friendship in that photograph. There was love in their eyes.

  I fumbled my way quickly through the set of pictures. The unfamiliar man was in dozens of them. He sure was handsome, whoever he was. Adrie looked young, shining, and happier than I had ever seen her. In almost every picture where they were together, they clung to each other.

  Wait a minute!

  In one close-up of Adrie where she held a picnic basket, her hands were clearly in view, and there on her finger was the ruby ring! My father gave her that ruby ring. How could she be flirting and having fun with this stranger, when she was engaged to my father? I was indignant. How could she?

  Perhaps this man was a relative. However, Adrie did not have a brother, and I had never heard of cousins. So who was he? Had she been unfaithful to my father at this time? I turned over each picture to look for dates. Those that were marked had the dates 1924, 1925, and 1926. These pictures were taken before I was born. Yet, clearly, she was engaged to my father at that time because she wore the ruby ring.

  I sat back in the chair, confused and puzzled, when suddenly I heard a car coming up our driveway, its lights flashing through the front windows.

  It must be Adrie! If she found me in the library with the ladder and the books, she would never forgive me. I turned off the desk lamp and grabbed the books and the loose pictures. What shall I do with them? Hastily, I stuffed them into a wastebasket, rushed to the closet, and set the wastebasket inside.

  I had no time to put the ladder away. Already I could hear someone unlocking the front door, just outside the library.

  It had to be Adrie. Had she seen the light on in the library? I glanced around, looking for a place to hide, and without another thought I went into the closet and silently closed the door.

  I heard the front door open and close. The hall light went on, and I could see the crack of light under the door. I heard her in her den, desk drawers opening and shutting. Then I heard her footsteps going up the stairway.

  If she looked in my bedroom and found me gone, then what? She would certainly look everywhere, and then she’d find me in here! She’d see the ladder and notice the books on the top shelf were gone.

  I couldn’t possibly hide the ladder. It was too big and complicated to take it apart quickly, especially in the dark.

  I trembled at the thought, and I felt my heart pounding in my chest. I’d have to confess everything and beg her to forgive me.

  21

  Lies

  What shall I do? No time to think! I tiptoed out into the hall, closed the library door softly, and raced to the kitchen. I shut the kitchen door and turned on the small light over the sink. I was relieved that Watcher was not under the table and was most likely in Frieda’s room; otherwise, he would have barked and whined.

  After grabbing cookies from a new ceramic cookie jar, I slumped into a chair at the table as if I’d been there for a while. My heart was pounding so furiously, I wondered if it could be heard, and I was gasping for breath as if I’d been in a race.

  Within no more than two minutes Adrie came into the kitchen. “Oh, you frightened me,” she said. “I peeked into the bedroom and you were not there.”

  “I couldn’t sleep and I was hungry.” I bit into the cookie so that my mouth would be full and Adrie wouldn’t notice how my voice trembled. “How come you’re back?”

  “I forgot some important papers, and since I wasn’t halfway there, I decided to come home and pick them up.”

  “So are you staying?” Please don’t stay, please don’t stay, I prayed. I took another bite of a cookie and realized how awful it tasted. It didn’t matter; I swallowed hard and tried to look natural.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll have a cup of coffee and then head out again.”

  “I’ll put the coffee on,” I offered, getting up. I needed to spit out the cookie without her noticing.

  At that moment Frieda came into the kitchen dressed in a chenille bathrobe. Watcher was at her feet, and he wiggled over to me, his tail wagging.

  Adrie and Frieda spoke to each other, and I hoped Frieda wasn’t coaxing her to stay home since it was so late. I swallowed the terrible cookie and tried not to show my distaste. Frieda filled the percolator and turned on the stove.

  “I love driving in the night,” I said. “I mean . . . um . . . the streets are not as busy, and there’s a nice quiet world around me.”

  “Hmmm,” Adrie said. “We’ll see.”

  Frieda turned to look at me and noticed the second cookie on the table. She exclaimed something in German and grabbed the cookie.

  “Frieda wants to know if you have eaten these cookies,” Adrie said.

  “Um . . . just one. I didn’t care for it.”

  Frieda and Adrie spoke together and then began laughing. What was so funny? I wondered, wishing Adrie would just get up and leave. I couldn’t bear it if she stayed overnight. She’d be sure to find that ladder standing in the library—not to mention the missing books in the closet.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded, feeling sick with worry.

  Frieda pointed to the cookie jar—still laughing.

  Adrie turned to me. “Did you notice that cookie jar is a dog? That happens to be Watcher’s cookie jar. Frieda made special dog cookies for Watcher, and you ate one.”

  I must have looked sick, because Adrie thrust a napkin into my hand.

  “Oh, that is so funny.” Adrie stretched her arms over her head. “I’m wide awake now, so I do think I’ll head out.” She spoke again in German, and Frieda, still laughing, turned off the stove.

  “Let me help you out to the car,” I offered.

  “Oh, no. Just go back to bed.”

  I followed her out to the front door where she had her other briefcase waiting. The library door was closed, as I had left it. Please don’t go into the library. Please don’t go into the library, I prayed.

  I didn’t want to look anxious, so I breathed a pretend yawn and opened the front door for her. “Well, good night, Adrie. Have a safe trip.” I stayed calm, smiled, and resisted a strong urge to push her out the door.

  “Dog cookies! I’ll probably laugh all the way to Munich,” she said as she headed out to the car. “Good night, Wendy.”

  “Good night!” I shut the door and heaved a deep breath.

  22

  The Dentist

  The next morning, while Frieda was hanging clothes in the yard, and before I stashed away the books on the top shelf, I set aside one clear snapshot of the good-looking man who seemed to have been in love with Adrie. I wrapped it in an envelope and hid it between the pages of a book on the bookshelves. It would be hard to remember the name—Die Leiden des jungen Werther by Goethe—I’d have to go by the color—a deep green leather cover. After I tucked it in among the other books on a middle shelf, and put away the top
-shelf books, I quietly set the ladder back in the closet.

  Once I could relax, I went out to the terrace to look over my study book of the German language. I brought a dish of nuts to nibble on while I browsed through the vocabulary.

  I will never get this language by myself, I decided. Especially the pronunciation. In any case, with Johanna and Frieda to help me, I was finally getting the gist of what was being said—at least some of it.

  I bit into a nut and crack! I spit into my napkin and looked through the brown pieces of the nut that I had chewed. To my horror, I discovered a large piece of white enamel. “My tooth!” I yelled. “Frieda!” I ran into the yard. “My tooth!”

  I showed her what I had spewed into the napkin, then opened my mouth and pointed to my teeth. What was the German word for tooth? “Zahn. Zahn.”

  Frieda understood. She pulled me to the sink in the laundry room and handed me a glass of water. “Spülen.”

  I knew what she wanted. I rinsed my mouth and spit into the sink. I ran my tongue over my teeth when—ouch—a sharp edge on one of my back teeth nicked my tongue.

  Frieda brought me out into the sunlight and peered into my mouth. She nodded and spoke sympathetically in German.

  “What shall we do?” I asked.

  As if she knew what I had said, Frieda went to the telephone and dialed. While she waited for an answer, she smiled at me and whispered, “Mutter—Adrie.”

  After speaking with Adrie and making two more phone calls, Frieda hustled me outside, where we waited for a taxi. Then off we went into town—to the dentist.

  I hated going to the dentist. I tried faithfully to keep my teeth healthy so I wouldn’t have to go—except to have them cleaned, of course. Cleaning didn’t hurt too much.

  Will he pull my tooth? Will he fill it? Will it hurt? Oh, I will never eat nuts again, I vowed.