The Copper Series

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  By remaining close by but not actually in Copper Springs, I could continue to see William as often as possible. For as attached as that little boy was to me, I felt the same attachment to him. And I couldn’t deny it would be wise to separate myself from Robert, too.

  My feelings about his absence during that trip to the General Assembly Meeting caught me by surprise; I realized I was getting perilously dependent on him. I nearly slipped up, too, that last night before he left.

  I knew the crucial importance of remaining detached. I was even a little ashamed of myself, but I had a renewed resolve. My back-up plan was in place. Maybe this was all a blessing in disguise, I decided. Maybe God was helping me to prepare to return to Germany, by providing a way for me to separate from those relationships in America that might make it complicated for me to leave.

  That evening, after Miss Gordon went up to her room to listen to her soap opera and William was tucked into bed, I went over and knocked on Robert’s office door.

  “Come in,” he said. He barely glanced up at me from his desk.

  “I just wanted to tell you something.” I leaned against the door. “While you were away, we took William to Bisbee to see the tutor. During the hour William studied with Mrs. Morgan, your aunt and I went over to have coffee at the Prospector’s Diner. Do you remember that waitress, Wilma? The one who said I fell off the turnip truck? And then she offered me a job?”

  He nodded, showing no expression.

  “Well, she offered me a job again. She really meant it. So I’ve been thinking it over. The war should be over soon, and I really should earn some more money to return to Germany. And then I noticed that William’s tutor is renting a room out in her house. So, you see, the two opportunities presented themselves on the same day.”

  He leaned back in his chair. Now I had his attention.

  “I thought it was very timely. Providential, actually. I’m going to accept Wilma’s job offer and move to Bisbee. That way, I could still see William fairly often, and we could keep up with the correspondence lessons. Mrs. Morgan is an excellent tutor; I think she will be able to help you and your aunt carry on with William’s language skills. It won’t be quite the same, but at least I could continue to see him. At least until I return to Berlin.”

  His facial expression didn’t change. With a level gaze, he finally said, “so you’ve worked this all out.”

  “Yes. It’s all settled. I’ll leave next week when William has his session with Mrs. Morgan. Your aunt could drive us over and then I’ll just remain.”

  “So that’s what you want to do.” He rubbed his chin.

  “Yes. It’s all decided,” I said, looking down.

  “And you’ve prayed about this?”

  I glanced up at him. The nerve of that remark. How pious! How patronizing! I wanted to shout. Instead, I said as coolly as I could, “Please don’t use your pulpit voice with me.” The truth was that I hadn’t yet prayed about this decision. I’d done everything but pray.

  “Just out of curiosity, does Wilma know your only job qualifications are playing the piano and spy work?”

  My eyes grew wide; I felt as if he had just slapped me. I turned to leave. Then I stopped, hand on the door, and turned my head to look back at him. “I never used to think you and your aunt had any similarities, but lately, I’m seeing quite a family resemblance.” I slammed the door behind me.

  Back in my room, I tried to read but had trouble concentrating.

  After an hour or so I heard Robert come into the house, climb the stairs, and stop at my door. He gave a gentle knock, waited to hear my voice, then opened the door and poked his head in, a trace of apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll make a fine waitress.” He closed the door but then opened it again. “Just stay out of the kitchen,” he added. And then he shut the door and went to his room.

  If the book I was reading wasn’t so heavy, I would have thrown it at the door behind him.

  Robert must have told his aunt that I was leaving by the time I came downstairs for breakfast. Her face looked like she had eaten a persimmon. She poured my coffee wordlessly.

  The four of us ate breakfast just like when I first arrived in Copper Springs. The only difference was William’s animation. He threw words out in a steady stream and kept us all distracted from other underlying issues. I had planned to wait until later in the week to tell him that I would be leaving. I dreaded that conversation.

  The week reminded me of how time ground to a halt when I first arrived at the Gordon household and tried to keep out of Miss Gordon’s way. Robert and I were polite to each other, a guard against unpleasantness. Mostly, we avoided each other.

  It wasn’t very hard. I stayed in my room until I heard him leave in the morning. He returned to his office right after dinner each evening. And from the sixth of June on, I had one ear glued to my Christmas radio, listening to incoming reports about D-Day.

  Thousands of Allied troops had landed on beaches in Normandy, France in a surprise attack so that the march to Germany, to victory, could begin.

  But no sooner had that news hit than the Germans retaliated by launching the first V-1 rocket at Britain. The 'V' came from the German word ‘Vergeltungswaffen,’ meaning weapons of reprisal. Weapons of revenge. Up to 100 V-1 rockets fell every hour, around the clock, mostly targeting London, indiscriminately injuring and killing thousands.

  Listening to the news made me feel reassured that moving to Bisbee was a wise decision. As tragic as the reports about the V-1 rockets were, I knew more than most that the Nazis retaliated when they felt threatened. To me, it was another clear indication they were losing the war. Surely, the war would be over soon.

  The night before I was planning to leave, I stayed up in my room and packed. It didn’t take long; I didn’t come with much nor was I leaving with much. I looked around the room to see if I’d forgotten anything. There were a few theology books I had borrowed from the downstairs bookshelves that needed to be returned. Books in arms, I went down to the darkened parlor and straight to the bookshelves, looking for the places on the shelves where they belonged.

  “So that’s where my Scofield Reference Bible went,” a voice said.

  I jumped; I hadn’t realized Robert was sitting by the fireplace. “Lieber Gott! Robert, I didn’t know you were there.” I looked down at the books in my arms. “Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had been looking for it.”

  “All packed up?”

  “Yes.” I turned back to the bookshelves and slid the books back in their place.

  “Probably helps that you never really unpacked to begin with.”

  I spun around on my heels. That did it. “I always told you I was planning to return to Germany. From the very first day, I have never wavered from that. It’s always been my plan to return after the war is over. Always.”

  “That’s true. I can’t disagree with that. That’s been your plan,” he said with sarcasm.

  “Then why do you sound as if that’s not the right thing to do? Didn’t you agree to let me live here with the understanding that I would be returning after the war?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.” He jumped to his feet. “But things change, Louisa. Circumstances change. People change. Life doesn’t always work out the way you’ve planned. And for someone who has been pushing me to accept change from the day you arrived here, you’re not even willing to consider it for yourself.”

  I looked at him for a long moment. Then I went to sit on the davenport. I asked, “Is that why you’re so angry with me?”

  The question seemed to hang in the air for a while. He turned toward the fireplace, lost in reflection. Finally, he spoke. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself.”

  “Whatever for?”

  He walked over to the fireplace, placing one hand on the mantel. “Because I didn’t learn from my mistake.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I was away at the meeting in North Carolina, I thought about this a
great deal, Louisa. It suddenly became so clear to me. I realized I had allowed myself to get emotionally involved with the same kind of woman as Ruth.” There was cold anger in his voice.

  I gasped audibly. “I am not like her,” I said, now seething. “I am nothing like her. I can not believe you said that.”

  He didn’t answer me. Nor did he look at me.

  “I never made a promise to you like she did. I am not abandoning you or William like she did.”

  He glanced at me. “You’re both ambitious women.”

  “How so? I’ve never asked you for anything.”

  Now he looked straight at me. “You both want something badly enough that you’ll leave people who love you for it. She wanted a fine life: fortune and status; you’re after more noble things. You want to ride back on your gleaming white horse and save Germany, single-handedly.”

  Those words cut me to the quick. I glared at him through a blur of hot tears as a maelstrom of fury welled up within me. “How dare you trivialize how I feel about Germany! You make it sound foolish and silly. You don’t have any idea what it is like to lose your country. You sit here in the desert and think you’re helping to fight a war by collecting tin cans and eating oleo on your bread. You have no idea what war is like! You have no idea how dark this evil is! Hitler’s evil. And yet you say that I am the naïve one!”

  I tried to calm down before repeating, insistently, “Robert, I am nothing like her.”

  A long stretch of minutes passed. He watched the fireplace while I watched him.

  Then the real issue that had been avoiding so carefully spilled forth. Still looking at the fireplace, he said, “Louisa, is there something so wrong about me that you…and Ruth…couldn’t love me?”

  My heart nearly melted. “Wrong? Something so wrong about you? Oh, Robert, no. Just the opposite. There’s something so right about you.”

  The way he looked at me then, so unguarded, I knew I had to get upstairs fast, or I would never be able to leave tomorrow.

  * * * *

  The next morning, I waited until I heard Robert leave for his office before going downstairs. Miss Gordon wouldn’t even look at me. She went outside to hang wet laundry on the clothesline as soon as I walked into the kitchen. I still hadn’t told William I was moving out. My plan was to have Mrs. Morgan help me tell him this afternoon, at his tutoring session.

  I ate a silent, lonely breakfast, gathering my courage to go let Rosita cut my long dark hair into the fashionable bob she was so eager for. I knew how much this meant to her; I tried not to envision myself as a lamb being led to the slaughter.

  I went into Rosita’s beauty salon holding my Christmas coupon. She knew it was my last day. She led me to her chair, wrapping a big apron around me. “At last, Louisa! We are going to make you into a Hollywood movie star. No more looking like you came from the Old World.”

  After she finished, I looked in the mirror and had to bite my lip to keep from weeping.

  “Bonita! Sì, amiga?” she asked. Rosita had the biggest heart in town but very possibly could be the worst haircutter in the state of Arizona. One side was longer than the other side. And the bottom edge was cut in a zig-zag.

  Oh, well, I thought, trying to console myself. Hair grows back.

  Ramon wheeled his chair over and looked aghast at my hair. “Rosita, would you mind going to Ibsen’s store and buying some of that #10 hair dye for Mrs. Wondolowski? She has an appointment this morning.”

  “But Ramon, I am just about done with Louisa’s bob. Un momento?”

  “No, bambina. I need that dye right now. Before she comes in. Louisa understands. ¿Sì? ¿Comprendes?”

  I nodded. I comprehended completely.

  “Oh, Louisa, I come back soon to finish up.” And off she hurried to Ibsen’s store.

  As Ramon watched her disappear, he whipped out his scissors to straighten my cut. “I’m sorry, Louisa. She means well, but I have got to get the scissors away from her.”

  “Maybe she’ll stay home when the baby comes.”

  “She says she wants to bring the baby to work!” he rued.

  “Ramon, have you ever thought of having her open a restaurant? Copper Springs doesn’t really have a decent place to eat.”

  “That could be an interesting idea,” he said, frowning, as he examined the back of my head.

  By the time Rosita returned from the store with hair dye #10, my new hairstyle was greatly improved, and my countenance brightened considerably.

  “Oh, see, I told you that it would be perfect!” she said, not realizing that her husband repaired her damage.

  I jumped up when I saw her pick up a pair of scissors, eyeing my edges. “It’s wonderful, Rosita! I think it’s fine just the way it is.” I hugged her goodbye and promised to keep in touch and that I would be back to see her new baby. Then, feeling quivery, I left before I started to cry.

  Not today, I told myself. I needed to keep my feelings under control today.

  I walked up to the parsonage and stopped at my Victory Garden. Even though it was too hot to grow much of anything now, it still showed signs of glory. The second year in a garden was always better than the first. I hoped Miss Gordon would try and care for it, but I doubted it. Her artistic sense was not noticeably developed. She was in the backyard unclipping the laundry she had earlier hung to dry, so I went over to help her finish.

  “I see Rosita finally had her way with your hair.” She eyed my new haircut with disapproval.

  “Should I get William down from the tree house so he can eat his lunch? We need to be at Mrs. Morgan’s before too long,” I said.

  “There’s time enough.”

  As the last towel went into the basket, I said, “Miss Gordon, I want you to know how grateful I am for the hospitality you’ve given me for the last year and a half.”

  She didn’t respond. We walked into the kitchen for relief from the glaring sun. She put the basket on the floor and inhaled deeply. “Answer me one thing, Louisa.”

  I looked at her, curious. I think it might be the first question she had ever asked me.

  “Why are you so all fired sure you need to go back to Germany?”

  That wasn’t hard to answer. “Because I believe God wants me to return.”

  “Seems to me there’s some other reason.”

  Puzzled, I tilted my head at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Seems to me you feel as if you owe God something for saving your own backside and getting you out of there.”

  I looked down at the laundry. “Would that be so wrong? To feel an obligation to God?”

  “Not if it’s for the right reasons. I’m just not so sure about yours’.”

  “It’s just that…it’s just that…I do owe God something.” I went to the kitchen window and looked outside. “I have to prove it to Him.”

  “Prove what?” asked Robert, hurrying down the stairs into the kitchen. I had noticed the Hudson parked in the driveway but assumed Robert was in his office. “Louisa, what do you have to prove to God?”

  “Prove that…,” I turned and looked at him. “I have to prove He didn’t make a mistake.”

  “What mistake?” he persisted. “What kind of mistake could God have made that you feel you need to prove something to Him?”

  I couldn’t get the words out. From deep inside of me came a profound emotion, something I had buried long ago from the daylight and only seemed to rise up when I had a nightmare. It felt like a dam had broken and emotion poured forth. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. “Saving me,” I choked.

  “Why should I have been allowed to survive when so many people have lost their lives? It isn’t right! It isn’t fair! Miss Gordon, that day in the diner, you said everyone I knew was dead or arrested! You were right! Everyone! Every family member. Every friend. Every neighbor. They’re gone! Gone! Can you imagine? If the entire town of Copper Springs, all of the people you’ve known and cared about your entire life, if they were suddenly gone, arrested or killed
by a mad man?”

  I sat down at the kitchen table and put my head in my hands. “Don’t you understand?” I cried out in frustration. “I never should have left Germany! I should be dead or arrested just like the others. Like Dietrich. He is the one who should be here. Not me. Don’t you see? He’s the one with so much to give to the world. And there are so many others just like him. I have to go back and prove to God He didn’t make a mistake. I have to go back and make my life count for something!”

  Then I buried my head down on my crossed arms, too deeply into crying to stop. I don’t remember crying so long or so hard in my life since my father’s death. The kitchen table had probably never witnessed such a torrent of unrestrained emotion before, certainly not in the Gordon household.

  Miss Gordon slipped upstairs, no doubt grateful to get away from my dramatic outpouring of sentiment. Her feelings were just like the bun in her hair—tightly wrapped up and pinned into place.

  Robert sat down next to me, waiting, stroking my hair a few times. Then, after I had no more tears to shed, all he said was, “God has His reasons, Louisa. There are many things we’ll never understand this side of eternity.”

  I looked at him through a blur of tears. “That’s just too simple an answer.”

  He went over to a kitchen cupboard and pulled out Miss Gordon’s Bible, opening it to the sixteenth chapter of the book of Proverbs as he sat back down next to me. “The Lord hath made all things for himself, yea, even the wicked for the day of evil.” Then, he said, “Even the day of evil, Louisa. Even that is under His control.”

  He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped my tear-stained face. ”There’s something I want you to think about. I don’t even want an answer right now. Just think about it. Pray about it.”

  I looked up at him, wondering what he was going to say.

  He cupped my face in his hands, looked me right in the eyes and asked in a voice of great tenderness, “what makes you so sure your life doesn’t count right here?” Then he left the kitchen.

  I stayed at the table for a while longer, completely spent. Finally, I stood up and gazed out the kitchen door window at the church. I felt a pull toward the church from deep inside. I knew the sanctuary would be empty.