Rhineland Inheritance

by T. Davis Bunn

  “Any friend of Sally’s is a friend of mine, Captain.” The chaplain was a small man with sandy hair and a voice as gentle as his eyes. “Welcome to my little créche.”

  Jake snapped his fingers and declared, “Laughter.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Laughter. I’ve been trying to figure out what it was about this place. It’s the first time I’ve heard laughter off the base since,” he tried to remember and was sobered by the realization. “Since I arrived in Germany.”

  “That’s the chaplain’s doing,” Sally said quietly.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of refreshments, Captain. The children devour everything just as fast as it arrives.”

  “Cookie’s sent you some more supplies,” Sally said. “We’d better get them out of the jeep before somebody makes them disappear.”

  They went back upstairs and pulled out the sacks from the back of the jeep. Chaplain Fox peered into the first one and said, “Please tell Cookie how very grateful I am,” he said softly. “And the colonel, of course. Without them—”

  “They know,” Sally said. “We all do.”

  “This is a wonderful place,” Jake said as they returned to the shelter. Eager little hands reached out for the sacks, but not with the imploring, demanding, frantic plea that met him everywhere he went outside. Here it was a game. “Really wonderful.”

  “Why, thank you, Captain. Here, just bring the sacks back to the pantry, will you? The only way I can ensure that we make our supplies last is to lock them up. I have no idea how children normally are at this age, but these are eternally hungry.”

  The several dozen kids all appeared to be under six. The youngest were still in diapers, gathered on a pair of stained mattresses by one side wall, watched over by a trio of young girls involved in some intricate hand game. A gray-haired matron sat on the floor surrounded by children, keeping them quiet with stories. Another woman watched over some children playing with battered building blocks and a few other toys. As the sacks were set down and the storehouse door relocked, the women’s gazes remained fastened intently on Chaplain Fox.

  Jake looked down at the children. “Whose are these?”

  “Buddy’s,” Sally replied. “Chaplain Fox’s.”

  “Well, there are several local people who help out,” said the chaplain. “We have worked out a series of shifts, and pay what we can from these stores. No one really has enough to eat, you know. Many such women are quite happy to work for food, and we need as much help as we can afford. I still have my divisional duties, of course. But everybody helps as they can. Some with food, others with blankets, a few with chocolates and cigarettes and other things I can use for money. And then Sally and Colonel Beecham help with everything possible, from medicines to stores to paint for these murals.”

  “I mean,” Jake said, “whose kids are these?”

  “Nobody’s,” Sally replied.

  “God’s,” Chaplain Fox corrected. “As are we all.”

  “I’m beginning to believe you,” Sally said. “Sometimes, anyway.”

  “Nothing on earth could give me greater pleasure to hear,” he said.

  Jake asked, “Are all of these orphans?”

  “A few of them, but not too many,” Chaplain Fox replied. “Not anymore. Orphans are being gathered by church organizations, the young ones anyway. No, these are the unwanted.”

  “Kids kicked out of their homes,” Sally explained. “The ones left to fend for themselves. They fall through the cracks of officialdom, because their parents are still drawing rations for them and legally, at least, they still have a home.”

  “They’re just left on the streets?”

  “Or in trash cans,” Reverend Fox replied, smiling sadly. “Or at train stations. Or on rubble heaps. Some the local gangs bring in, now that they know we are here.”

  The chaplain caught sight of Jake’s expression. “Do not be too harsh on the parents, Captain,” he said. “Some are genuinely good people who have come to realize that under the present circumstances, they have no way of bringing in enough to keep their entire family alive. So one must be sacrificed for the good of all. Sometimes it is the youngest, sometimes the one who causes the most trouble, sometimes a sickly child, or one who appears to be a little slower than the others.”

  “This is awful,” Jake murmured.

  “This is war,” Chaplain Fox replied. “This is why we need God. Here. Everywhere.” He smiled at Sally. “And the grace of friends like this dear lady.”

  “You supply the love,” Sally replied. “I’ll see what I can do about the grub.”

  “God supplies the love,” Fox countered gently. “And the healing. If you look, I wager you’ll find there is quite enough of both leftover for you.”

  Sally turned toward a group of a dozen or so young girls who had been quietly waiting for her attention. She squatted down and was swiftly enveloped by small arms and questioning voices.

  Reverend Fox brought Jake back around. “You are Sally’s friend?”

  “I’d like to be,” Jake replied.

  “She needs a friend,” he said, inspecting Jake with clear eyes. “Come with me, would you?”

  Jake followed him back out into the cold winter air. “She’s got walls high as the Matterhorn.”

  “Yes, she has.” Buddy Fox offered a smile. “Just the sort of challenge for a strong man like yourself, I’m sure. Are you married, Captain?”

  “No.”

  “Girl back home?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Ah. A casualty of war.” He motioned toward someone behind Jake. “There goes yet another casualty, one I see much too often these days.”

  Jake spun, caught sight of a gang of young teenagers flitting around a corner and vanishing. “They’re outcasts too?”

  “Almost all children of that age are left to fend for themselves, at least to some degree,” he replied. “Most of them have no fathers. Fathers are a rare commodity in Germany these days. Whole adult men of any age are, for that matter. An entire generation is growing up void of role models and direction, Captain. If only I had a division of strong and caring men like you. I just might be able to reach them.”

  As Sally came through the doors and up the stairs toward them, Jake asked, “Do you have any contact with these kids?”

  “With several of the local neighborhood gangs, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. We offer them meals two afternoons a week. It is both a peacekeeping measure, and a way of learning who they are. Many of them are growing up like wild tomcats, constantly on the prowl, sleeping where and when they can.”

  “For some of them,” Sally said, “the only kind words they ever hear are the ones Buddy speaks to them.”

  “If only there were some way to fill their empty days,” the pastor said worriedly. “If only I could give them a purpose. They need that as much as they need more food.”

  Jake was about to express his sympathy over the plight of the young Germans when he was suddenly struck by an idea. He stood there, his mouth open, wondering how on earth anything could feel so right.

  “Is anything the matter?”

  He gathered himself, shook his head. “Let me go check on something,” he said. “Maybe I can give you a hand with the kids.”

  Chapter Four

  “You want me to do what?”

  The colonel’s roar echoed through the open door, stopping all typewriters, footsteps, and conversations within hearing range. Jake pleaded, “It’s just a gimmick, sir.”

  “It’s absolute madness, is what it is!”

  “I’m not looking for results, sir,” Jake persisted. “I’m just trying to give them something constructive to do with their time.”

  “You call running loose on the streets constructive?” The colonel’s voice was loud enough to shake the windows three doors down. “This is what my liaison proposes is the best use of his time? Maybe I need to remind you, mister, that I could always make you officer in charge
of the spud detail!”

  “They’re already running loose, Colonel,” Jake replied as Beecham stomped over and slammed the door. “And as far as I heard, they live pretty much full time on the streets as it is.”

  Colonel Beecham walked back around his desk. “You’ve got to stop doing this to me, Burnes.”

  “Doing what, sir?”

  “Putting me in a position where I should blow my stack. It’s bad for my blood pressure.” Beecham slumped back into his chair with a sigh. “You ought to know better than to come in and propose such a scheme in full earshot of everyone.”

  “I guess I wasn’t thinking, sir,” Jake replied, not understanding at all.

  “No, that’s one thing I’ll agree with right off the bat. Maybe nobody heard you. Then again, maybe Morrows had some urgent filing that left him loitering just outside my doorway as usual. You know how it is. Anything to do with treasure, and this whole place threatens to come apart at the seams.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just—”

  “I know. I know.” A glint of humor appeared in that steely gaze. “Buddy’s got you hooked too, has he?”

  “Sir?”

  “Buddy Fox. The chaplain. He’s gotten under your skin, has he?”

  Jake nodded slowly, and confessed, “I heard them laugh.”

  “Yeah, that hit me below the belt too. Never knew I could get so much pleasure out of such a simple sound. Or miss it as much as I did when it was gone.” Beecham fiddled with his pen, then gave an abrupt nod and said, “Okay, son. How much do you need?”

  Jake’s hopes soared. “As much as Stores can spare, I guess, sir.”

  “Well, you sure can’t bring them here and have Cookie dole out the leftovers. Not unless you want to make us a laughing stock from here to Berlin.”

  “I can’t?” Cookie already spooned out leftovers at the outside gate every evening to the people waiting there. They were always waiting, and there was never enough.

  “Good grief, son. Did you really think you could line up a dozen young kids out there day after day and not have the word leak out? No, strike that. Word is bound to get out anyway. But can you imagine what they’d be calling us if we lined them up here?”

  “It’s more than a dozen, sir,” Jake interjected.

  “Even worse. The Burnes Blarney Brigade. Or maybe Beecham’s Best. How’d you like to hear that every time you turned around?”

  “I guess I hadn’t thought it out, sir.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Captain. Your idea has merit. Anything that might help some of these kids needs to be taken seriously. But we’ve got to present it in a way people can accept. Do you understand?”

  Jake nodded. “Just another hand across the waters.”

  “Now you’re thinking. All we’re doing is helping to feed a few of the older kids. Nothing more, nothing less. Everything else stays between us.”

  “And Captain Servais,” Jake added.

  “And the chaplain and Sally. Those two wouldn’t give Connors and his goons the time of day. But around everyone else except them, lips are to stay permanently zipped tight.”

  “Mum’s the word, sir.”

  “You just make sure those kids understand they’re not to take any risks.”

  “From the looks of things, just being alive out there is risky,” Jake replied.

  “No additional risk, then.” The gaze showed grudging approval, but all Beecham said was, “Still bucking for another medal, aren’t you?”

  “Nossir, that’s not it at all,” Jake answered, rising to his feet. “As you said, Colonel, I’m just trying to feed some hungry kids.”

  * * *

  Captain Servais was still out on patrol. Jake stopped by the supplies division, known far and wide simply as Stores, then drove back into town alone.

  When he walked through the créche door, the first person he saw was Sally. “What are you doing here?”

  “That’s what I like about you, soldier,” she replied, hands on hips. “You really know how to make a girl feel welcome.”

  “Is the chaplain around?”

  “Why, hello, Captain.” Chaplain Fox stepped out from behind a curtained alcove. “What can I do for you?”

  “Cookie asked me to drop off some supplies,” he said, hesitant to discuss the real reason behind his visit.

  “Why, thank you, Captain, but we’re not scheduled for another shipment until Thursday.”

  “We’d better get outside while there’s still something to unload,” Sally reminded them.

  As they left the créche, Jake said softly to the chaplain, “I need to talk with you. Privately.”

  “Just take that satchel on back to the storeroom, dear,” Chaplain Fox said. He waited until she walked back down the stairs, then asked Jake, “What’s on your mind, Captain?”

  As swiftly as he could, Jake outlined his plan. The chaplain inspected Jake with a new appreciation.

  There was a scraping sound. Jake turned around and discovered that Sally had remained standing on the bottom step. “I thought you were taking the things inside.”

  “Don’t get hot, soldier,” Sally said mildly. “I think it’s a good idea.”

  “You do?”

  “So do I,” the chaplain told him. “There should be no difficulty increasing our meals to the children from two to five times a week. We pay our cooks with food, you know. I’m sure they would be happy to take on the extra work.”

  “You shouldn’t call them children,” Sally said, her eyes still on Jake.

  “No,” Chaplain Fox agreed. “I suppose I’m looking at the size of their underfed bodies, not the depth of their experience. They’ve packed a lifetime into a few short years. Some of them, several lifetimes.”

  “I don’t know how long the support can last,” Jake warned, thinking of his own impending departure.

  “Anything that will help these young people stay alive and out of harm’s way through the winter must be taken seriously, Captain.”

  “Call me Jake.”

  “Thank you, Jake. Yes, in times like these, seeing to the needs of today are as far as anyone can afford to look.”

  “So you think it will work?”

  “It’s not what I think, but whether they will accept it that is important.” The chaplain hefted two bulky sacks. “Let’s get these stores inside and go find out.”

  ****

  Jake picked his way across a stretch of shattered pavement as treacherous as river ice cracked by spring thaws. Over one million tons of bombs had been dropped on German cities by Allied planes during the last few months of the war. Few buildings were left intact, and inner city roads were treacherous in the extreme, especially now with their covering of frozen snow and slush.

  Civilians walked and slid and stumbled wearily across the uneven sea of snow and ice and dirt. Those with bicycles pushed them along, not letting go for an instant—with the scarcity of transport, bicyclists lived under the constant burden of envy and the threat of theft. Nobody met Jake’s eyes. Wherever he looked, eyes dropped immediately to the ground. But he felt their gaze on him always, everywhere.

  They crossed a plaza whose once majestic central cafe was now a three-sided empty hulk. They were surrounded by windowless buildings whose empty eyes stared in dark and silent sorrow. From time to time Jake caught sight of families huddled within. Their only protection from the bitter weather was an occasional rag or blanket tacked over a hole. Wood was too precious as fuel to be used for boarding over the buildings’ wounds.

  “Whatever you see,” the chaplain told Jake as they walked, “don’t let the children sense your reaction.”

  “Why not?” Jake watched a group of elderly people being directed by a loud-mouthed overseer. They sifted through the ruins of a collapsed building, collecting bricks. These were piled into wheelbarrows and rolled to a corner of the square where the oldest women squatted and hammered off the clinging cement. The bricks were then loaded onto a single waiting truck. Everyone moved in
the slow motion of the almost starving.

  “I’m not sure,” Chaplain Fox replied. “They just hate being looked at. Maybe they expect you to be disgusted as others have been. Maybe they want a reason to dislike you. Maybe it’s shame. Maybe it’s despair. I have simply found it best not to notice how they are forced to live.”

  He led Jake through a building entrance that had been tripled in size by a direct hit. The bomb had taken out the floor, revealing a deep basement far below. A beam too heavy to steal had been laid across the pit. Jake could see how at night the beam was dragged back and secured with wire cable, offering a wartime sense of security. Jake followed the chaplain across, his hands out and wavering.

  The building’s single intact chamber was redolent of cocoa. Chaplain Fox halloed through the makeshift entrance cover, then said to Jake, “This used to be one of the city’s finest chocolate factories. It specialized in handmade pralines. That is why these children are able to claim it for their own. Two other families used to live here, but in their hunger the odor almost drove them mad. It has not been any better for the children. Since they moved in, I have had to take three of them to the hospital after they ate dirt which had collected the scent. Still, I suppose it is better than sleeping out-of-doors.”

  The tattered burlap curtain was thrown back, revealing a sunken-cheeked youngster of perhaps fifteen. He peered at the chaplain with undisguised hostility, then turned and shouted back into the chamber, “Es ist der Pfarrer und ein Fremder.” It’s the priest and a stranger.

  “Lass denn rein,” came back the reply.

  Jake stepped gingerly into the gloomy depths. The only light came from a smoldering cooking fire and from around the burlap hanging over the single window. Better dark than freezing, he supposed. The room was marginally warmer than the outside.

  Fox’s German was surprisingly good. “Where is Karl? I have someone he needs to meet.”

  “The only person I’ll ever need to meet is the devil, Pfarrer,” a voice sounded from the gloom. “Isn’t that where you say I’m headed?”

  “I pray not,” the pastor replied, untouched by the unseen man-child’s anger. “This friend has an offer for you.”