by Liz Tolsma
Gisela trailed Mitch into the city, the blister on her heel burning with each step. It had started even before the truck picked them up. When they had been able to get a ride, she hoped she wouldn’t have to walk much anymore. With each step, the pain increased. Her stocking was sticky with blood.
Renate had fallen asleep on Mitch’s shoulder and Annelies’s feet dragged more the farther they walked. Bettina clung to Audra and Katya grasped Kurt. Gisela didn’t think she had ever been so tired in her life.
She had failed Herr Holtzmann, like so many others. He should have rested more. She pushed him too hard.
They passed a shop with a few boxes of powdered milk in the window. A sign hung on the glass.
Soldaten meldet euch bei der nächsten heeresdienststelle. Wer mit ziviltrecks zieht oder sich in privatquartieren herumdrückt, gilt als fahnenflüchtig.
Mitch stood beside her. “What does it say?”
“Soldiers, get in contact with the nearest army base. Anyone who attaches themselves to civilian convoys or hangs around in private homes is considered a deserter.” She shivered. Mitch grasped her hand and squeezed it.
The others caught up to them. Mitch turned down a side street in a residential area. Where it was dangerous for him. Though it was dangerous for him everywhere. Kurt would not have to report to the army base. Not as a wounded hero.
She turned her attention to the neighborhood. Neat houses lined the road. They slumbered, all quiet, unaware of who waited on the doorstep to their city.
Mitch went no farther than the second or third home before he climbed the steps and knocked on the door.
A stooped, elderly woman answered. Her hands and head and even lips shook. Mitch waved Gisela forward. “We are looking for a place to stay. Do you have room or know of someone who might take us in?”
The woman shook her head, her long gray braid bouncing. “Nein. We aren’t well enough to have boarders, especially ones with little children.”
“Bitte, I’m begging you. The old women and small girls are exhausted. We need a warm place to rest for the night.”
“There is no way I can take you.” She began to close the door.
Gisela stuck her foot on the threshold and prevented the woman from shutting them out. “We will be quiet, I promise. We are so tired, we will sleep. No fuss.”
The home owner grasped the brass knob. “Nein. They are taking people at the school. That is where you can stay.”
“Bitte, how do we get there?” While Gisela desperately wanted a little peace and quiet, time away from the crowds, the school had to be better than the outdoors.
Gisela bobbed her head when the old woman finished giving them directions. “Danke, danke.”
They stepped back into the deserted street. Mitch adjusted the sleeping child on his shoulder. “Were you paying attention to those directions?”
“I was.”
“Good. I had trouble following her German.”
Gisela led them up and down a few blocks before they came to the unassuming red brick building.
The gymnasium was packed with people. Wall to wall. Where would they even go? She looked at her crew. The old women had ceased their chatter some kilometers before Danzig. They had hardly been able to put one foot in front of the other between the house and the school.
She turned her attention to Mitch. He shrugged.
Then Kurt stepped forward. She had felt his gaze on her back the entire way from the truck to this spot. She wanted to squirm under his scrutiny. “They will make room for a hero of the Reich.”
He proceeded to pick his way through the throng, which parted for him like the Red Sea parted for Moses. He chose a spot close to the door. With one sweeping motion of his hand, those huddled there made room for their party.
Kurt flashed her a crooked grin, a triumphant light in his cold blue eyes.
She shivered. Together with the rest of their bunch, she made her way to the place Kurt had cleared.
“I told you I would be able to make room. For a hero, these people will do anything.” He cast a glance at Mitch. Mitch glared back at him.
She settled on the hard floor and Mitch handed Renate to her. The child stirred, then nestled her warm body into Gisela’s. How blissful to be so innocent, to have someone looking out for you so you never had to worry.
Kurt positioned himself on Gisela’s right, a little too close for her liking. Trying not to appear obvious, she slid over a few centimeters. Mitch lowered himself to the floor on her left. A man sandwich. Stellar.
Mitch leaned over. “How about that foot?”
“What about it?”
“You have been limping since we got off of the truck. Those boots are much too small for you. My guess would be that you have a nasty blister.”
“I’m fine.”
“Let me see.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Let me determine whether it is necessary or not.”
More to make him stop pestering her, she handed Renate to Audra, who sat across from her.
When she tried to pull off her shoe, Gisela sucked in her breath with the fierce pain.
Mitch ripped off her boot and her blood-soaked sock.
NINE
Mitch tightened his grip on Gisela’s ankle when he saw her heel. Her small, thin foot was caked in blood. He examined the blister. White puss oozed from the raw wound. She tried to pull it back, but he held her fast.
“We need to get some medication for that.”
“I’ll wash it out with soap and water and it will be fine. Now please, hand me my sock.”
He clung to it. “I’ll rinse this when I get ointment.”
“You have some in your pack?”
“No, but I’ll get some.”
“How?”
“You ask too many questions.” Best not to let her know he planned to rifle through the sack of a woman he saw applying ointment to her own blisters earlier.
Gisela lowered her voice. “You’re not going to steal it, are you?”
Kurt leaned over, attempting to catch their conversation, Mitch assumed. He kept his mouth shut.
She reached out and grabbed the filthy sock from him. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll get caught and be in a world of trouble.”
“What is wrong with your foot?” Kurt couldn’t keep his nose out of their business.
“Nothing.”
“I will take care of her.” Mitch swiped the sock back. His burst of possessiveness surprised him.
With an abruptness that startled Mitch, Kurt rose and walked away, fisting his hand. More than likely, he was off in search of medicine for Gisela’s foot. Watching the German clear a spot for them in the crowded school gave Mitch confidence. He pointed to the stylized SS on the tab of his shirt collar. “They’ll hand the medicine over to a soldier.”
“And you’ll explain what you need in your terrible German?”
He flashed her a rakish smile. “Nein. I won’t have to explain. Kurt cleared this area with one gesture. That is all it takes.” At least he hoped it was.
“I won’t let you put it on my foot.”
“Unless you want to limp all the way to Berlin and risk gangrene, I suggest you let me treat you.”
He’d had enough of arguing. Mitch turned and stomped over the mass of refugees, much as Kurt had moments before.
A pleasant surprise awaited him in the washroom. Running water. Not hot, but a trickle of water from a faucet all the same. He rinsed out Gisela’s sock. He’d love to rinse the lice from his hair.
His reflection in the mirror startled him. Two weeks’ worth of beard covered his face and lines rimmed his eyes. Over the years in the camp, he had lost a good deal of weight. And some muscle. His mum would never recognize him when he got home. His dad might not accept him, a failure several times over. A stabbing pain sliced through his chest.
Mitch stepped into the crowded room once again. The owner of t
he sack had walked away for the moment. Mitch didn’t see her as he scanned the mob. Not saying a word, he crouched and loosened the drawstring.
He avoided eye contact with those surrounding him and picked through the bag. Lord, let me find this liniment soon.
A pair of black boots and legs encased in long black socks appeared in his line of sight. Ignoring them, he continued his search. Don’t let this be in vain.
“What are you doing?” The husky voice of this rather large woman gave him shivers.
He pointed to the SS on his collar, just as he had with Gisela. “I need this.” At that moment, his fingers closed around a bottle. With a flourish, he pulled it from the rucksack.
He held a brown bottle of beer in his hand.
“You are stealing.”
“Nein. My wife must have this.” Again he pointed to his chest. Why wasn’t this working as well for him as it had for Kurt? And why did she carry a bottle of the liquor when most other refugees had dumped their unneeded supplies?
The woman stood tall and puffed out her chest. “This man is stealing.” She called with enough volume for the entire room to hear her.
Only a few took notice of the announcement. Stealing to survive had become commonplace.
“What do you need it for?”
“My wife’s foot.” Even to his own ears, his German sounded broken.
The woman stood with both hand on her hips, her legs parted. “Why would you need beer for a foot?”
He didn’t know the German word for blister. His brain sparked to life and he fumbled to find the correct words to answer the woman. “It is bleeding.” At least that’s what he thought he said.
Yet again, he prayed the officer’s uniform would be enough to keep him out of trouble.
Gisela watched Mitch walk across the gymnasium and heard the rotund woman’s accusation that he was stealing.
He stood at such a distance that she couldn’t see what he held in his hand. He gestured at his chest. He had been foolish to think his uniform would do him any good.
The sack’s owner hesitated for a moment before nodding. Mitch straightened his shoulders and tipped his head to the woman. Then he marched in Gisela’s direction.
No sign of Kurt. Just as well.
As he sat beside her, he produced a beer bottle. She took it from him. “What do you intend to do with this?”
“Treat your blister. What else did you think I might do with it? The alcohol will kill any infection.” He smiled his rakish grin.
“So I’ll get to smell like beer all the way to Berlin?”
“There is running water here.”
That was the best news she had heard in a long time. She hadn’t washed any part of her body since they left Frau Becker’s house.
Herr Holtzmann had been with them then. They didn’t know what lay ahead of them. She drew in a deep breath to keep the tears at bay. If only they could go back to the way things used to be. Peaceful. Quiet. Loved ones around them. Like Opa. Gisela pinched the bridge of her nose.
Mitch lifted her foot and turned it so he could see her heel. His touch was tender, careful. Though she hated how he had come by the remedy, she relaxed under his ministrations. For a little while, it was good to have someone take care of her. Good to know someone watched out for her.
Like Mutti always had.
A terrible wave of homesickness crashed over her. She so wanted to be home with Mutti, for them to be a family, for all of this to end. Surely it was a nightmare. Surely she would wake up soon.
Just as Gisela relaxed a bit, the girls happily brushing Audra’s almost-white hair, Kurt returned, strips of cloth in his hands. “Move over, Cramer. I will bandage Gisela’s foot.”
She stiffened at the casual way Kurt addressed her. Mitch did it and it didn’t grate on her nerves. Why, then, did it bother her so when Kurt spoke the same way?
He grabbed her ankle and Mitch was forced to release his grasp. He rubbed his stubbly chin. “I believe it would be more proper for her husband to do this.”
Kurt, his touch rough, growled. “I will do it. I have dressed many wounds on the field of battle. You babysat for a group of aristocratic Brits.”
Mitch clenched his jaw as he eyed the roll of bandages in Kurt’s hand. “Bitte, I will take care of her.” The more he spoke, the more his accent became apparent.
Not wanting Mitch to be exposed and a brawl to break out, Gisela pulled her foot from Kurt’s possessive grasp. She hugged her knees to her chin. “I don’t need any bandages. You two are making such a fuss over nothing. Just leave me alone.”
Audra held out her hand to Kurt. “Let me bandage Gisela’s foot.”
It was crazy the way the men fought over that woman. She was nice enough but nothing special. Not pretty enough for Hollywood.
Kurt looked every inch the perfect Aryan—blond hair, blue eyes, features that could have been carved from stone. He held himself tall and proud.
She had never seen a man like Josep. He was the definition of Kurt’s opposite—dark hair, olive skin, and a boyish and impish grin.
“Ow. Don’t tug it so tightly.” Gisela pulled her foot away.
“I’m sorry. Please hold still now so I can finish.”
Katya bent down to inspect Audra’s work. “Dearie, is she going to lose her foot? How dreadful. I was a nurse in the Great War, you know. I saw too many men lose their feet, even their entire legs. But never a woman before. Just awful.”
Audra concentrated on her task, noticing that Josep watched. “She will not lose her foot. It is nothing more than a blister.”
Gisela pulled away again and finished tucking in the ends of the bandage. “Exactly. Nothing like this fuss should be made about it. I believe I will survive.” She pulled on her sock and squeezed her foot back into her too-small boot.
Audra reclaimed her brush from the girls and drew it through her tresses one last time, hoping to restore them to order. Her task completed, she set Renate on her lap and maneuvered closer to Josep.
“Isn’t she such a sweetheart?” She kissed the child’s forehead.
Josep nodded.
“I have nine brothers and sisters, all younger than me, so I am good at handling children.”
Josep smiled at Audra, a grin that made her stomach flip like a trapeze artist. “Good.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“A sister.”
Did he ever answer in anything other than monosyllables? He spoke to Gisela freely enough. Then again, she was his wife. Just a minor detail. “It’s nice to have brothers and sisters around to keep you company, to play with you when you are small. Family means so much to me.”
Again he smiled and nodded.
From the corner of her eye, she spied Kurt watching her. A light danced in the depths of his steel blue eyes. Did he think it funny?
She sat back against the hard wall, gaze cast to the ceiling.
She thought Kurt to be very handsome. When she made it big, she would need an escort on her arm. She imagined him dressed in evening wear. Josep had a boyish charm that was appealing. He would be a good man to have too. So what if he was married?
Actresses broke up marriages all the time.
Annelies slept in Mitch’s arms. He stared at her freckled face, her nose upturned just enough to be cute. He cuddled her as Gisela pushed the child’s golden hair from her face. His breath caught in his throat at the intimate, maternal gesture.
She was beautiful.
She kissed the girl’s cheek and spread a blanket from the pack over her. She pulled out an old quilt for Renate. A long stretch of silence passed, a hush falling over the crowd in the gymnasium as one by one, people fell asleep. Only he and Gisela from their group remained awake.
He should be exhausted, but he wasn’t. He should be able to sleep, but he couldn’t. His thoughts tumbled one over the other. Xavier. This flight from the hated and feared Russians. Their safety. His home.
Father. He had never written to Mitch in
the camp. Not a single line. The only letters he received were from his mother and sister. He disapproved of Mitch’s joining the army in the first place, even though he was in the 5th Queen’s Regiment. Especially not the way he joined. According to Father, Mitch should have stayed at home and followed the family tradition of studying law.
He had to prove to his father that he made the right choice. He had to rejoin the British troops so he could fight for his country.
Then, perhaps, his father would understand.
Gisela leaned over to whisper in his ear. Her breath brushed his neck and every muscle in his body came alive.
“I can’t sleep. Do you want to come outside with me for fresh air?”
“Good idea.” He set Annelies on the floor and pulled the blanket around her thin shoulders. She turned on her side and resumed her light snoring.
They exited the stuffy building, a heavy blanket of stillness over all. The cold wind bit him through his greatcoat, refreshing after the close, stifling quarters. A military truck rumbled past, and out of instinct, he flattened himself against the rough brick facade.
She laughed, then took his hand. Her slight form swayed in a pleasing way as she led him to the opposite side of the building. He gulped the clean air.
She stood next to him, her shoulder brushing his. “I don’t think Kurt likes you very much.”
Mitch shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ve had enough of German officers to last me a lifetime. In the camp, you got to know the men. Some were decent chaps, others not. You always tried to have one of them on your side, never knowing when you might need a favor from them.”
She gasped. “Did you ever try to escape before this?”
He rubbed the muscle ache at the base of his neck. “No. Most who tried weren’t successful.”
“That’s a long time to be in prison.”
“Some of the time I worked on a farm. The hausfrau was kind, but it wasn’t home.”
“Did you steal from her?”
Her question caught him off guard. There was no teasing in her tone. “What is that supposed to mean?”