The Copper Series

by Suzanne Woods Fisher

  How had the International Red Cross Tracing Service managed to locate me? I had come to the United States two years ago using a false name to hide my identity. It used to be false, anyway. Now it belonged to me. After Robert and I married, hastily, to avoid my deportation, I became Louisa Gordon, a citizen of the United States. And somewhere along the way, Robert and I fell in love.

  That little slip of yellow paper that arrived last night stirred up many memories of Germany for me. Some good ones, many bad ones. As I gently screwed the cap back on to the top of the radiator, I knew for certain that somehow, someway, I was going to go to Germany to get Elisabeth.

  And on the heels of that thought: while in Germany, I intended to find someone, anyone, who would help me track down Friedrich Mueller, the banker from Copper Springs. The man who caused my family, not to mention this town, so much damage. But I had no intention to confess that plan to Robert.

  Robert refused to discuss Herr Mueller; it was the Gordon Way. It might be a closed chapter for Robert, but not for me. I hadn’t stopped thinking about Herr Mueller— places he might have fled, ideas to track his trail. I was convinced Herr Mueller could be found and brought to justice. I just needed a little help.

  Over the next few days, Robert and I spent hours discussing options of how to get Elisabeth here, what it might mean for us as a family to have her live with us, how it might change things. We were in complete agreement about bringing Elisabeth into our home, but we couldn’t concur on how to get her here.

  “Robert,” I started one evening after Aunt Martha had gone to bed, “I can travel to Germany and back again in just a few weeks. I did it during the war, through blockades and occupied countries. Think how much easier it will be now with the war over.”

  “It’s not safe. The war has only been over for a few weeks. It’s not even over in the Pacific yet.” He glanced up at me. “I recognize that look of maddening determination in your eyes, Louisa. You’re not going alone. I won’t let you put yourself in harm’s way.”

  “But we’ve been over this. We can’t bring William. One of us needs to stay here with him. He’s too much for Aunt Martha to handle; she won’t work with him on his lessons. And you can’t leave the church. Please, Robert, be reasonable. I’m the logical choice to go.”

  “All of Europe is in chaos! There are shortages, railways have been blown up from air raids, Allied troops are everywhere. No. You can’t go. There must be a way for someone to bring Elisabeth here.”

  “If we waited for a Red Cross escort—it could take months, maybe even a year or more. I speak the language; I know how to get to places. It’s exactly what I did when I was working with the Resistance. There is less risk now than there was then. I can do this!”

  “No.” He wouldn’t budge.

  “Then what are we going to do?” I asked, frustrated.

  “I don’t know yet,” he admitted flatly.

  We faced an impasse. A stubborn, bull-headed, immovable impasse. That was, until our good friend, Judge Pryor, came up with a solution.

  The judge knocked on the door of the parsonage one afternoon. As I opened the door, the judge took off his hat, wiped his brow with the back of his hand then replaced his hat before asking me to join him for a conversation in Robert’s office. Blue eyes twinkling, he told me he had an interesting proposition to discuss with us. Curiosity piqued, I followed him over to the office.

  We sat in front of Robert’s desk in a rather formal meeting. Judge Pryor leaned back in his chair, taking his time, seeming to weigh his words. I shot a puzzled glance at Robert, who only shrugged a look back at me. Finally, the judge spoke. “You know that my nephew works in Washington D.C.”

  The judge’s nephew was a figure shrouded in mystery. The judge spoke of him often, with evident pride, but never explained what his nephew actually did for the government. Clearly, he was someone of great importance.

  I was convinced Robert knew more about this nephew but wouldn’t tell me. “Louisa,” he would lecture in a fatherly tone, “if you needed to know more, the judge would tell you.” To which I would respond, “Robert, if I operated on that principle, I would not have been a very effective Resistance Worker.”

  The judge cleared his throat. “Well,” he continued, “you probably heard on the news that President Truman is heading over to Germany for a Conference with Churchill and Stalin. There will be a naval ship accompanying the U.S.S. Augusta as an escort, and in that ship will be the Press Corps. I made a call to my nephew, and it turns out that the Press Corps is in need of someone who can translate the President’s press releases into German for the German population. The translator who was meant to go just broke out with mumps.” He leaned back in his chair, watching Robert carefully, giving him time to absorb this information. “An amazing coincidence.”

  Oh no, it wasn’t. Just last night I had prayed for God to send us some kind of miracle. I needed one. So did Elisabeth.

  “So Louisa could travel with the Press Corps. Escorted each way.” He turned to look directly at me. “But you’ll only have a brief window to get down to Munich and fetch this child. You’ll have to stay with the Press Corps to hitch a ride back. Miss that ride and you’re on your own. Understood?”

  I nodded, not daring to look at Robert.

  “Now, it’ll cost some to get Louisa to meet the ship in Virginia and then back again, but when she’s on the ship, she’ll earn her keep. And she’ll be safe, Robert. There can’t be any safer means of transportation than traveling with the President of the United States.” He smiled. “Of course, my nephew will be on the ship, too,” he added, pausing for effect, as if he had just made a piece de résistance.

  The judge rose from his chair. “I need your answer within an hour. If you’re going to do this, Louisa, you’ll have to be in Washington D.C. by Friday.” As he reached for the door, he turned back to add, “One good thing about traveling with the Press Corps. You can telegraph each other, and the telegrams will get delivered. They send out regular dispatches. One of the perquisites of politics.” Then he closed the door behind him. The silence in the room was deafening.

  Cautiously, I looked over at Robert. His head was bowed low, chin resting on his chest, scribbling something mindlessly on a piece of paper. I went over to stand behind his chair and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “Please, Robert. I have to do this,” I whispered. Couldn’t he understand?

  He was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he lifted his head and said, his voice raw, “I guess you’d better start packing.”

  Chapter Two

  With only two days to prepare for a trip that would last at least four weeks, probably longer, I jumped into action. I spoke to each of my piano students to give them work to do while I was away. I prepared William’s lessons so that Robert would know what to keep working on, borrowed clothes for the trip from my friend and neighbor, Rosita, and bought boxes of saltine crackers to take along for the sea journey.

  The night before I left, Robert and I lay in bed, facing the ceiling, neither of us saying a word. Actually, Robert hadn’t said much of anything in the last few days. Not since we had that conversation with the judge. I was so excited about the trip that I hadn’t even noticed. Until now. “Robert, is something wrong?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered, typical of the Gordon Economy of Words.

  “Are you worried about this trip costing so much money? Because I have some saved from my piano lessons. It’s not much but it can help.”

  “No, Louisa. That’s your money to keep.”

  “It’s our money.”

  “It’s not enough, anyway, to get you there and back again.”

  “Could we borrow money from Cousin Ada?”

  “I do not borrow money. Not from anyone,” he said sharply.

  Of course not. How could I forget about his Scottish descent?

  “I’ll figure something out, Louisa. Let me worry about the money.”

  I turned on to my side and looked at him. Kind,
generous, intelligent man that he was, he lived deep inside of himself. He could deliver a twenty-minute expository sermon on ceremonial law in the book of Leviticus but struggled to express his feelings. “Robert, please tell me what’s troubling you.”

  He turned over to face the wall. “Nothing. Get some sleep. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

  I wasn’t easily deterred. “Are you having second thoughts about taking Elisabeth into our home?”

  “No. Of course not. Don’t ever think that.”

  “Are you still concerned about my safety? Remember that the judge said nothing could be safer than traveling with the President.”

  “I remember.”

  “Then what is it? What’s wrong?” I heard him take a deep breath, but he didn’t answer me.

  I could feel the brick wall between us, that same wall I had bumped into so many times before we married when I pushed him too far or asked questions that were too personal. He closed me off. I turned on my back and sighed. I hated to leave like this.

  Quietly, he said, “So it’s the first time you’ll be back in Germany.”

  I turned on my side and propped my head on my elbow. Of course! How had I missed that?! “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t think I’m coming back, do you?”

  He remained on his side. “From the moment I first met you, when you stepped off of that train two years ago, you were planning to return. I wish I had a dime for each time you asked me if I thought the war was almost over. I would be a rich man.”

  That was true. “But that was before we married. I’ve never mentioned returning to Germany since we married.”

  “But you really didn’t have a choice. If you didn’t marry me you would have been sent to a camp, either in the U.S. or in Germany. Or both. You didn’t have a choice. Until now.”

  I lay back down, staring at the ceiling, thinking of how to answer him. “Robert, could you give me your left hand?”

  He turned onto his back and held up his hand. I took his hand in mine and touched his wedding ring. “I should have asked you first about wearing this ring.” I had surprised him with this ring at our wedding ceremony. It was my father’s ring. Most men didn’t wear wedding rings, but my father had, and I had given it to Robert. I’ll never forget how his grey eyes filled with tears when he realized that the ring had been my father’s. He had never taken it off since.

  “Was your father wearing this ring when he…when he was…”

  “Murdered?” I supplied the word for him. “No. It wasn’t prudent to wear anything of value out of the house. He kept it hidden in the flour jar, but he always wore it when he slept. I do remember that.” We were quiet for a while. “You must know what this ring means to me.”

  He gave a brief nod.

  “Every day while I’m away, I want you to look at that ring and remember that I made a promise to you and to William and that I will be back. Just as soon as I can.” I put his hand down and turned on my side to face him. “Please don’t ever doubt that I am committed to you, to our marriage. But I have to do this. I have to go get Elisabeth.”

  He was quiet for a long while. Then he said, “Louisa, do you need to take care of the whole world?”

  “No! Of course not. Only those whom God puts in my path.”

  Then he smiled and reached out to draw me close.

  The next morning, Aunt Martha handed me a cup of coffee when I came downstairs. I waved a hand, refusing it. “Thank you, but I’m too nervous this morning to eat or drink anything.”

  Her forehead wrinkled in concern. “You can’t start a train trip on an empty stomach. Eat!” She set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast on the table and ordered me to sit down.

  I forced myself to take a few bites, but my stomach was churning.

  “Louisa, I was wondering about something,” Robert started, stirring cream into his coffee. “Would you mind if I read through the letters Sabine wrote to you about Dietrich?”

  Sabine Bonhoeffer, Dietrich’s twin sister, had married a Jewish man who had become a Christian. Before the war began, as the pressure against Jews increased in Germany, they emigrated to England. “No, not at all. But they’re written in German.”

  He slapped his palm against his forehead. “I forgot.”

  “I could translate them for you when I get back. Is there a reason you want them?”

  “I was just thinking…I’d like to see if I could write a magazine article about Dietrich. About the impact he had on others. I just…I just feel that his story should be told. I have some letters he and I wrote over the years, and I have notes from lectures he gave while we were at seminary. I need more information about the last few years, though.”

  I gazed at him fondly while he sipped his coffee; we shared a devotion toward Dietrich Bonhoeffer. When I first arrived in Copper Springs, I think the loyalty we felt toward Dietrich might have been the only thing that drew us together. We had absolutely nothing in common other than Dietrich.

  Robert and Dietrich had become friends in seminary, during the one year Dietrich had spent in the United States. I had known Dietrich as a child. My father tuned the piano at the Bonhoeffers’ home in Berlin. Later, after my father was killed by the Nazis, I joined Dietrich in the Resistance Movement. “Perhaps I could learn some more details about his experience in the camps when I’m in Germany. I might be able to locate his relatives and—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” He set his coffee cup down with a clunk and leveled me with a stare. “You promised me you wouldn’t put yourself at any risk, Louisa. I don’t want you wandering around areas of the city that might be dangerous.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  He cast a suspicious glance at me.

  “I promise! But if you really want those letters translated right away, perhaps Mrs. Bauer’s mother-in-law could help you. She speaks German.”

  Aunt Martha snorted. “A few more of that woman’s tent stakes have slipped loose. Last week someone found her in her bathrobe and slippers buying bananas in Ibsen’s Grocery Store.”

  Robert frowned.

  “What if I translated the letters for you while I’m on the train trip? I could mail them to you before I board the ship,” I offered.

  His face brightened. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “No. It would give me something to do.” And help me do something to dispel my nervous energy.

  After breakfast, Robert left the house in his Hudson and was gone for hours. I was so busy finishing some last minute tasks that I didn’t hear him come back inside. Later that afternoon, William, his big yellow dog named “Dog”, Robert, and I left for the train station in Tucson. As I hugged Aunt Martha goodbye, she handed me a twenty-dollar bill. “Just in case of an emergency,” she whispered, her face filled with worry.

  Such a thoughtful gesture from a woman who was not overburdened with thoughtfulness! I knew how valuable that money was to her. The entire town had been wiped out by Herr Mueller, who had stolen assets and cash from every safe deposit box in the bank and copper from every mine he owned before he scurried back to Nazi Germany or to wherever it was he scurried. Like a rat to the sewer.

  In our driveway sat the judge’s car. “Where’s the Hudson?” I asked, as I helped William and Dog clamor into the back seat.

  “It needed some work,” Robert answered.

  “But I drove it yesterday and didn’t notice anything. And I didn’t strip the gears,” I added defensively, conditioned to expect a lecture on improving my driving skills.

  “No, nothing like that. Just an oil change,” he said.

  I glanced at him, curious. Robert usually changed the oil in the Hudson himself. He felt machines were more dependable and less complicated than his congregation so it actually gave him pleasure to work on his car.

  “Look, Mom.” Over the seat, William handed me his notepad from the Junior Spy Kit.

  “Hmmm,” I said, reading it over. “9:02 a.m. Aunt Martha hangs out laundry. 9:19 a.m. Aunt Martha comes back i
nto the kitchen and turns on radio. 9:25 a.m. Aunt Martha dances in kitchen to radio. 9:27 a.m. Aunt Martha waves her arms at me to stop spying on her. 9:54 a.m. Aunt Martha takes cake out of oven. Puts cake on counter. 10:14 a.m. Dog jumps up on counter and bites cake. 10:16 a.m. Aunt Martha finds cake on floor and chases Dog outside with broom.”

  I turned all the way around to face him so he could read my lips. “William! What wonderful observations! I never knew Aunt Martha danced in the kitchen!” I said, laughing. I couldn’t even imagine Aunt Martha dancing. Anywhere! “Take good notes for me while I am gone. I’ll want to read your notepad when I get back. I want to read about everything that I missed.”

  “You shouldn’t be encouraging him, Louisa,” Robert tried to scold, but he couldn’t hold back a grin. “It’ll be interesting to see if that Junior Spy Kit is still around when you get back. I have a hunch Aunt Martha plans to confiscate it.”

  “What does that mean?” asked William, watching Robert’s face in the rearview mirror. He hung on our words like a cat on a rope.

  “It means that she will take it from you if you’re not careful,” I said, turning to face William so he could see me clearly.

  William looked worried.

  “Hide yourself better when you take observations,” I advised.

  “Louisa!” warned Robert, rolling his eyes.

  I grinned at William.

  “So you’re going to have a chance to meet the mysterious judge’s nephew,” Robert said.

  “Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Louisa,” he sternly warned, “you don’t need to know everything about everybody.”

  Yes, I did.

  “Some things are best left alone,” he added.

  No, they weren’t. But I nodded as if I agreed with him.

  At the train station, Robert handed me an envelope fat with cash. “There should be plenty for you and Elisabeth.”

  I looked down at the envelope in my hands, puzzled, until a realization dawned on me. “You sold the Hudson, didn’t you?”