The Watcher

by Joan Hiatt Harlow

  There was utter silence. Then Barret asked, “What can we do now?”

  “The girl here—Karin—I’ll take care of her and her dog,” Erik said.

  “You mean, you can take a dog into the country, but not a blind boy?” Ingrid looked appalled.

  “The dog will need to be quarantined for a few days, but yes, that’s the law right now. You will be in Sweden legally,” Erik said to me. “The Red Cross has already registered you. I believe your parents have been in touch with the authorities there.”

  “I won’t leave without Conrad,” I said firmly. “Absolutely not! He came all this way for freedom, and now, when it’s only a few miles away, you have to leave him here?”

  “I’m sorry.” Erik shook his head. “It’s useless to even attempt it. They will only turn him away. Are you coming or not, Karin? If you are, we need to get going.”

  Barret reached out for my hand. “You have come all this way for freedom too, Karin. Do not quit now because of me. You must go on. I’ll try to work things out here.”

  “We’ll get you to Sweden.” Captain Lichtenberg nodded vigorously. “We’ll smuggle you in if we have to.”

  “Maybe once Karin is in Sweden, she can be a sponsor,” Ingrid suggested.

  “She would need to be an adult, a legal resident, and working full time with some sort of bank account. It’s impossible, I’m afraid,” Erik said.

  “I will call Opa. He’ll know what to do,” Pier said decisively.

  “Meanwhile, you and Watcher must go on,” Barret insisted.

  I looked down at Watcher, who sat by my feet. “How will you get along without Watcher?” I asked Barret.

  “I will be fine,” Barret answered. “Please go with Erik, Karin. Your parents are waiting to hear from you. You’re almost home.”

  I thought of Mom and Daddy. How eager and excited they will be to know I am safe in Sweden. “I need a few minutes alone with Watcher,” I said to Erik.

  He shrugged and sat on the couch. “Be quick about it.”

  I took my backpack and called to my dog. “Come, boy. Let’s sit outside for a little while.” Watcher immediately followed me to a back door, where there was a porch and a stairway down to the street. “Sit with me, my sweet dog.” He obediently sat by my side.

  I put my arms around him and buried my face into his coarse coat. “I love you so much, Watcher. I want you with me forever.” My dog wiggled and rubbed his cold nose against my cheek as he licked my face. “Watcher, I don’t know what will happen to Barret now. He can’t come with us. Here the streets are strange, and Barret doesn’t know the way, but you know how to lead him, and where to wait for traffic, and where the steps are—and you will love each other. We trained you so well, my sweet dog, and you are so smart and such a good guide dog, you must stay with Barret and help him until we are all together again—the three of us.”

  Watcher recognized the words good dog and slithered his way close to me.

  I was about to lose my best friend and my wonderful dog. I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to cry. Not now. Sacrifices must be made in wartime, I told myself. I haven’t suffered like the thousands who die every day.

  Nevertheless, for the first time in my life I felt agony, as if my heart were breaking.

  I removed Watcher’s collar, took out the jackknife, pried off four large jewels, and tucked them carefully into a secret pocket in my backpack. There were four more jewels on the collar for Barret. After I replaced the collar, I patted my dog and stood up. “Come, boy.”

  We went inside. “I’m ready to go, but I’m leaving Watcher with you, Conrad,” I said to Barret.

  He jumped up. “No, no—you two belong together. He must stay with you.” Barret reached for my hand and pulled me toward him. He put his lips to my ear and whispered, “Wendy Vendy. You must not be alone in Sweden. Please take Watcher with you. I know how you love him, and he will be lonely without you. “

  “But he will be happy with you.” I kissed Barret on the cheeks and then on his lips. I could taste our salty tears. I must leave quickly, I thought, or I will never go. I bent down to Watcher again. “Take good care of each other.” I tried to sound brave, but my voice trembled. “It won’t be long until we are together again.”

  I hugged everyone good-bye and slipped a gemstone into Captain Lichtenberg’s palm.

  I left quickly—before I could change my mind—before I began to cry—before my broken heart began to bleed.

  55

  Escape to Neutral Sweden

  I had never felt so completely alone, and neither of us spoke while Erik drove me to Helsingør.

  When we arrived, Erik said, “Too bad you can’t stay awhile here in Helsingør,” he said. “The city is also known as Elsinore. There’s even a castle there.” Erik waited for me to speak, but I didn’t answer.

  After a moment he said, “Did you ever read Shakespeare’s Hamlet? This is where the story takes place.”

  I began to cry. “I don’t really care right now, Erik.”

  “It’s all right, little Karin. I know you’re sad about leaving your friends.”

  We finally reached a hidden beach, where a rowboat had been pulled up onto the sand.

  “What is this?” I asked. “Are we crossing over to Sweden in a rowboat?”

  Erik laughed. “No. There are strong currents through the Sound. The waters between the Baltic Sea and the North Sea merge here.” He handed me a lifejacket. “Get in. I’m taking you out to that boat.” He pointed to the shadow of a fishing boat on a mooring.

  He rowed out, hooked the rowboat to the mooring, and then helped me climb into the larger boat. He started the engine, and the craft moved slowly through the darkening waters. The ship did not have a deep keel, so Erik was able to keep us close to shore, inside markers, and in passages that were not deep enough for larger vessels.

  I sat on the deck, covered in a big blanket, and watched the dim shore of Denmark slip away. Darkness had finally settled in, but the sky in the north was alight with aurora—shades of red and green, twisting and dancing. Ahead were the lights of Sweden. Had Barret and Watcher been with me, I would have delighted in the beautiful sight. However, nothing could delight me tonight. Barret and Watcher were on the opposite shore.

  Erik turned off the engine and we drifted quietly.

  “What’s happening?” I whispered.

  “Patrol boat—their running lights are dim—over there. See?” He pointed then handed me binoculars.

  Sure enough, the shadow of a ship lurked in the darkness. Only the Northern Lights exposed the ship’s silhouette.

  “They may see us, so be prepared. Sweden is just ahead.”

  “Will the patrol boat stop us?” I shuddered as I recalled the German ship and the lieutenant who had accosted us.

  We waited, drifting quietly, as the Northern Lights danced in the sky. I opened the parcel of pastries that Ingrid packed and shared them with Erik.

  Erik started the engine again and I watched from the bow, as the bright shore of Sweden grew closer.

  We were soon tying our little boat to the great docks among the big ships, small ships, sailboats, and fishing vessels. I was in Sweden.

  Once we landed, Erik brought me to customs and the office of the Red Cross. “They will take care of you from now on,” he said.

  I put a jewel in his hand and said good-bye.

  “God save you, little girl Karin,” he whispered. Then he was gone, and I was alone in a strange country.

  A matronly woman at the desk looked up and spoke to me in what I supposed was Swedish.

  “I speak only English and German,” I told her in both languages. She understood, because she asked my name in English.

  “My name is Karin Nelson,” I answered.

  She looked at a long list and then smiled. “Ah, here it is. Do you have your Swedish identification?”

  I opened my rucksack and fumbled through the many things that were in there. “Here is my Swedish birth certificat
e,” I said.

  “Ah, good!” Once again I watched as her eyes and fingers drifted down a long list of names. “Karin, your family has arranged for you to stay at a local hostel—a lodging house for refugees.” She stood up and pointed to a Red Cross van parked outside the door. “They will take you to your residence,” she said, smiling. “But before you go, I have a request from your mother.”

  I stood silently. Had Adrie found me?

  “It’s an overseas call, from your parents in the States, so it might take a while. They wanted us to call them as soon as you arrived.” She dialed a number on the telephone—spoke a few words—then said, “Go rest on the couch over there until I can connect with your parents.”

  I sat stiffly on the sofa. All I could think about were Barret and Watcher—only a few miles away in Denmark—but they were another world away from me. Would I ever see them again? Families and friends who were separated and displaced might never see each other, I had been told.

  After what seemed like a long while, the woman at the desk called my name and handed the telephone to me. “A call to you from New York,” she said, smiling.

  “Hello?”

  The static was loud and crackling. “Oh, darling! Is it really you, Wendy?” It was my mom’s voice—warm and full of love. She was crying.

  Then a man spoke: “Honey, it’s Daddy.”

  “Mommy and Daddy.” I wept. “I love you both, and I’ve missed you so much. And now I’m coming home!”

  Epilogue

  It was the spring of 1946, and I was curled up in the little gable window seat of my family home in Derry, New York. The war ended last year when both Germany and later, Japan, surrendered unconditionally. As I gazed out the window and watched kids ambling home from school, chasing and teasing one another, I mourned the loss of my own teenage childhood. War took away childhoods and loved ones. War made us grow up too soon.

  I would be nineteen in July this year. Barret would have been twenty-one.

  Daddy said I should write a book about my escape from Germany to Sweden, then to England, and finally my trip home across the Atlantic—this time safely on the deck watching the sparkling sea and the peaceful nighttime stars. Maybe I would write a book someday—but that would be another story for another time.

  Hitler was dead. He supposedly committed suicide just before the Russians invaded Berlin. His great one-thousand-year dream was really a twelve-year nightmare. That cruel, insane Himmler, who had instituted Lebensborn and the death camps, tried to escape by disguising himself as a lowly soldier. When he was found out, he took his own life rather than face the justice that awaited war criminals. Justice came eventually, often in strange ways.

  Mom and Daddy worked tirelessly to get me home. Since then we spent hours trying to trace my friends. Thankfully, Daddy had been able to locate most of them, but he was unable to locate Barret.

  Every night since we had separated, I heard Barret’s teasing whisper, “Wendy Vendy,” and my dog’s cheerful bark. I pulled the pillow over my head to block out the voices, but they were not silenced.

  We were finally able to find Frieda’s address in Bavaria. I wrote to her several months ago. Mail is slow and often returned with Could not be delivered or Displaced Person stamped on the envelopes. However, last week I had an answer from Frieda. The letter was in German.

  My dearest little Wendy,

  I have prayed for you so many times, and now at last I received your most welcome letter. It was forwarded to me here in Bavaria. I am happy to hear that you are back in your home in America.

  For the last two months, I have been living in a friend’s home here. She lost her son and husband during the war. We are both glad to be away from the destroyed cities and the sadness. It is beautiful here with the mountains around us. Still, Germany has changed forever. Berlin—and Germany itself—is divided among the Americans, British, French, and Russians, as you probably know.

  I am sure you are concerned for Adrie. When she discovered you were gone she was extremely angry. Later she sat down at the kitchen table, put her head in her hands, and sobbed, so concerned for you she was, and the dangers facing you. As time passed, she seemed to accept the fact you were gone—and, hopefully, safe in Switzerland. (That is where she thought you might be. She tried to locate you there.)

  You may already know, Adrie was eventually arrested for her part in war crimes. She will be in prison for five to seven years. She is alive and who knows? Perhaps she will eventually grasp what horrors the Nazis brought upon the entire earth. You will hear from her before long, I am sure. She loves you in her own way, you know.

  Surprisingly, Admiral Canaris, Adrie’s chief and head of Abwehr, was murdered by the Nazis. Come to find out, he was helping the Resistance all along. Life is strange. One never knows how things will turn out.

  I hope we will meet again, darling, in a peaceful world.

  Love always,

  Frieda

  Sometimes bad news did not come in the form of a letter. I found out in the newspapers that in 1944 there was an attempt to assassinate Hitler. Several Nazi officers—trusted officials—were indicted and hanged—among them, my borrowed, wonderful grandfather, Opa. I will never believe he had any part in the conspiracy. He hated what was going on in his Fatherland, but he would never kill or hurt anyone. His only crimes were helping Jews and others to get out of Germany. Hitler avenged himself by cruelly hanging anyone even remotely involved with the group of assassins. So my kind, wonderful, borrowed grandfather, Opa, was gone.

  I worried about Johanna until Daddy discovered that the Bible Students in Germany—the Bibelforscher—were free at last, and held a convention in the very stadium in Nuremburg where Hitler vowed to eliminate them. We contacted the Bible Students in the United States and were told Johanna and the rest of her family were free. Fortunately, Johanna now lived in West Germany. However, many of the Bible Students in Russian East Germany were arrested and sent to Siberia for preaching their religion. I have written to Johanna, and I know I will hear from her.

  We were able to find out something about everyone, except Barret and Watcher. Despite all the hours, and calls, letters, and telegrams we sent, trying to locate them, Barret’s whereabouts remained a mystery. Sometimes, I’d hear a dog barking outside, and I would fill up with tears.

  “Would you like a German shepherd puppy?” Daddy often asked. “We’ll get one anytime you say.”

  “No dog could ever replace my Watcher,” I’d tell him.

  Daddy never quit searching for Barret. He contacted every charity, lists of displaced persons in several countries, and even the prisoners who were in concentration camps and who were still living. Daddy and Mom knew very well how much Barret meant to me, what a good friend he was, and how alone he must have been since Opa died.

  “Wendy, honey, sometimes we have to accept things that hurt us in order for the pain to finally go away,” Mom has said many times.

  I was gradually realizing I might never find out what happened to Barret and Watcher.

  A couple of weeks ago Daddy went to New York City—which he did sometimes for his work. One morning Mom had an idea. “Dad is coming home tonight. What do you say we plan a special dinner for him?”

  Mom made Daddy’s favorite—a standing rib roast with baked potatoes. I made the New England clam chowder that Adrie had served at the inn in Maine. I baked a chocolate cake with white butter frosting and wrote I love you in chocolate icing on the top.

  Everything smelled so good, and I knew Daddy would be delighted with our surprise. He had tried so hard to make me happy, searching for the few friends I had and lost. He was gloomy when he could not find a clue about Barret, because he hated to disappoint me.

  “It’s time to let go of the sadness and move on,” Mom said.

  “I won’t beg Daddy to search anymore,” I told her. “Perhaps it’s better that I don’t know what happened to Barret or to Watcher.”

  That afternoon I was in the kitchen when
Daddy’s car pulled into the driveway.

  Mom peeked into the kitchen—and to my surprise, there were tears in her eyes.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked anxiously.

  “Dad’s home. Go on out and greet him.” As she gently pushed me toward the front door, I heard the car doors open, and a dog barking.

  “Did Daddy buy a dog?” I asked.

  “You know he always wanted a German shepherd,” Mom replied as she opened the front door wide. “Your dad always wanted a son, too—and what do you know—I do believe he found one of each!”

  A sweet familiar voice called to me, “Wendy Vendy!”

  At first I froze. I could not speak or move. Then I flew out the door, my feet never touching the ground. I flew down the flagstone walk to the front gate, and I flew into Barret’s arms while Watcher jumped around us, barking joyfully, his tail wagging like a windmill in a gale.

  Afterword

  If you have read my book Shadows on the Sea, you have already met Wendy Taylor when she was vacationing in Maine in 1942. She was a strong secondary character in that story, and at the end, she disappears with her newly discovered mother, Adrie. Readers often write to me asking, “What happened to Wendy?”

  In The Watcher, we catch up with Wendy in Nazi Germany. Her mother, Adrie, a zealous Nazi, requires Wendy to renounce her former life as an American and become the perfect German daughter.

  Historically, Nazi Germany was the epicenter of a true horror story where the unthinkable—known as the Holocaust—actually did happen. This was when the “Final Solution” was initiated, the plan to exterminate the entire Jewish Race. There were thousands of individuals of various religions and ethnic groups that were also persecuted and there are thousands of true stories yet to be written about them.

  As I created The Watcher, I wove true historical facts into my plot to show how Nazis also turned their evil obsessions upon three other groups.