The Brass Compass

by Ellen Butler

  “I think she’s taller than I am, and grown to be quite lovely. But I do miss those blond locks you had when you were little.” A hacking cough overcame my mother.

  With furrowed brow, he released me and tenderly guided her to one of the unmade beds. The rough mattress ticking scraped against the soft fur of her mink coat as she coughed into a handkerchief. I slid down beside her and rubbed her hunched, convulsing shoulders.

  The episode wound down and she waved her hand at us. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Be a dear and point me in the direction of the little girls’ room.” She dabbed at her eyes.

  “Left out the door and straight to the end of the hall,” I answered.

  Her gloved hand cupped my cheek. “You’ve acquired an adorable British accent. I won’t be but a moment.”

  Edward watched my mother’s exit, and I watched Edward, noticing the deep grooves around his eyes, as his drawn countenance followed her.

  His shoulders jerked when I spoke. “What is wrong with her? She looks ill. What happened in Africa?” I didn’t mean to sound so accusing, but fear made my voice sharp.

  He lowered himself on the bed across from me and removed the gray fedora. “There was fever. We all caught it. Your mother is taking longer to recover.”

  “When? Why did no one tell me?”

  “She did not want to worry you.”

  “She seems so ... thin and fragile.”

  “I’ve arranged for her to see a specialist as soon as we return to the States.”

  “A specialist? What kind?” I probed.

  “A lung specialist.”

  “But will she—”

  “Enough,” Edward cut me off. “Your mother does not like to speak about these things, and I have something important to tell you before she returns.” He unbuttoned the top button of his overcoat and rubbed a hand through hair so thinned I could see his scalp. “You’ll not be returning to the States right away. We have arranged for you to attend finishing school in Switzerland.”

  I gasped, “Finishing school?”

  “It is a top-drawer facility.”

  “But ... I thought ... I was to come home.”

  “It’s only a year. Then you will return to D.C.,” he said in a placating tone.

  “Aren’t I a little old for finishing school? Shouldn’t we be looking at colleges?” Actually, I disliked the thought of more schooling, but if college got me back home, I would go in a heartbeat.

  “College is a possibility. We can see how things ... turn out after finishing school.”

  “What am I supposed to learn at finishing school?”

  “Château Mont-Choisi provides a number of things for a young lady about to be launched into society. Languages—”

  “I already speak four languages,” I interrupted.

  “Dancing lessons.” He looked at me sternly and continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “A wide variety of sports, such as golf, and you’ll be able to continue riding, which your mother tells me is one of your favorite activities, and of course, the etiquette lessons.”

  “Etiquette.” I spat the word out. “That is one lesson I’m sure I’ve gotten enough of here in this stuffy British school. ‘Pinky out when we drink tea, ladies,’” I said in the headmistress’s uppity British accent while sipping from a pretend cup with pursed lips.

  Edward frowned. “There is more to etiquette than learning how to drink tea. And if your behavior is any indication, it is clear you are in need of it.”

  “Fine,” I said crisply. “Then I would like to go to finishing school in the States.”

  “Swiss schools are far superior to any of those in the U.S.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “No,” I said with deadly calm and crossed my legs. “I won’t do it. I’ll tell Mother I do not want to go.”

  “It is your mother’s wish that you go. Please do not be difficult,” he said in a soft voice.

  “I ... I don’t believe you.” Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, and I bit down on my bottom lip in an effort to hold them in.

  “That feels much better,” Mother said.

  Always the gentleman, Edward rose as she entered the room and discarded her coat on the bed next to me.

  “Now, where were we?” Her bright gaze took in Edward’s stern look and my shining eyes. “You told her ... without me?”

  Neither of us spoke. I turned away from them.

  She sighed. “I see. Edward, dear, would you give us a moment?” Mother’s voice was soft as silk, but steel lay underneath. “Please.”

  He took his dismissal without argument.

  Her dress rustled as she sat on the bed in his place. “Peanut?”

  “Why?” The whispered word was filled with hurt and sadness.

  “My dearest, I only want what is best for you.”

  I skewered her with my angry gaze. “Am I that much of a burden on you and Father that I am not allowed to come home? Is my presence so odious I’m to be shipped off to another school?”

  Her sympathetic features turned to shock at my words, and she reared back as though I’d slapped her. Putting a hand to her chest, she cried, “How could you say such a thing?”

  “Last holiday you told me I was going back to D.C. with you. Why am I now being sent away ... again?”

  “Dearest, when I was your age, I would have given anything for an opportunity like this. To attend a Swiss finishing school, and Château Mont-Choisi! Heavens, have you any idea the strings your father pulled to get you in?”

  “But ... I want to go home,” I muttered in a small voice. The tear fell unbidden.

  “Oh, my darling girl.” She crossed over to my bed and wrapped me in her arms. “Don’t cry. This is a chance for you to meet important people. You’ll go to museums, learn about art, and see plays at the theater. You can ride horses. It will be fun, I promise you. It will also teach you how to run your own household and servants. You’ll learn about floral arranging and cookery. You’ll meet grand people. And when you complete the course, we’ll have a splendid coming out, and you’ll be the toast of Washington society. The crème de la crème will come, and maybe you’ll meet a handsome young senator or congressman who’ll sweep you off your feet. Doesn’t that sound magnificent?”

  “What about college?”

  “There will be time for that. Once you complete this program, you’ll have your pick of colleges ... if you’re not already married. Dearest, believe me, I’m desperate for you to come home with us now, but when the prospect arose for you to attend Mont-Choisi”—she shrugged—“I simply couldn’t allow my own desire to have you close-at-hand outweigh this marvelous opportunity. It’s only for ten months. It’ll go by in a blink. Oh, and I’ve completely forgotten, you and I are going shopping in Paris before you begin class. Isn’t that a wonderful treat?”

  I couldn’t resist her excited gaze. Ten months wasn’t so long, and some of the things sounded like fun. I’d always enjoyed our museum days when we lived in Vienna and Rome. So, I allowed myself to return her smile. “When do we leave for Paris?”

  ♠♠♠♠

  A clicking sound brought me awake, and it took me a few moments to recognize the sound was the chattering of my own teeth. An uncontrollable shiver shook my frame, and with stiff muscles, I pushed to my feet, stamping them to get rid of the numbness. I’d pulled my arms inside my coat to stay warm, and now I clumsily wrestled them back into their sleeves. The forest remained dark, but the road turned gray in the shadowed dawning light, and my pendant watch pointed to five-fifty. My stomach rumbled with hunger, and my tongue seemed to fill my dry mouth. I found a patch of half-melted, undisturbed snow and scooped a handful to quiet the thirst. Needling pins in my feet announced the return of blood flow and reminded me it was time to get moving.

  German nursery rhymes spun through my head, and the quiet ticking of my boots against the hard ground accompanied the ditties like a drumbeat. Half a dozen kilometers later, I came to a
crossroads. The flaking white paint on the wooden sign pointed directions to nearby towns—Stuttgart to the east, Schweiz to the south and Freudenstadt twenty kilometers northwest. Freudenstadt was the capital of the district and one of the larger towns in the Black Forest. It would be easier for me to hide and perhaps make contact, but it was also one of the first places I would expect the SS to look for me. Dornstetten, a few kilometers east of Freudenstadt, was a quaint small town built during the Middle Ages. I’d been there twice on day trips with the children. The SS and Heer presence was less pronounced in these smaller towns ever since the Allies had pushed closer to the Maginot Line that paralleled the Rhine River and more men had been put on the front lines. Moreover, the bus to Dornstetten-Freudenstadt should be passing within the hour.

  I faded back into the woods to wait out of sight, and fished a small compact from my purse to see what damage my night on the run had wrought. The Tyrolean fedora was sadly mashed on one side, but with a little tweak here and there, I formed it back into some semblance of order and hung it on a broken branch. The comb caught on snarly knots, and I blinked away the sudden tears as I pulled the teeth through my dusky curls. Along with the shadows beneath my lashes, smudges of dirt marred my face, and my hands were soiled with dried blood from my late-night stumble. A handkerchief took care of most of the mess; powder and fresh lipstick took care of the rest.

  The green bus rumbled to a stop in front of two basket-carrying, middle-aged Frauen, and I merged in behind them to board. The bus was only half-full, and I slid into an unoccupied seat near the back.

  The goose bumps receded, and the gentle swaying of the bus must have rocked me to sleep, because I woke with a start when the bench shifted and another Frau joined me. She frowned and didn’t acknowledge my existence, so I turned my attention to the other embarking passengers. A pair of young SS Stormtroopers came down the narrow walkway; they bypassed three empty seats to fill the one right in front of me. The second one glanced over his shoulder, and to my displeasure, our eyes connected.

  He smiled and tipped his hat, “Fräulein.”

  My ears burned and I racked my brain, trying to remember if I’d met this handsome young man at the house, but his face didn’t ring a bell. I acknowledged his greeting with a stiff nod, returned my attention out the window, and worked to steady my breath.

  The bus meandered its way toward Dornstetten, and the men spoke in muted tones. I only caught snatches of the discussion over the noisy engine, but I could feel the soldier’s gaze intermittently focus on me. I remained rigidly upright, my muscles taut as a bowstring and my stomach churning with acid. It wasn’t the first time I’d drawn admiring looks from a young man, or older ones, for that matter.

  He once likened me to Ingrid Bergman.

  In the spy business, looks had gotten a number of women out of tight spots, my own included. On this occasion, I wished I looked like the frumpy, middle-aged Frau seated next to me, to whom the troopers hadn’t given a second glance.

  A few more stops, then the bus finally came to a juddering standstill in the center of town. Passengers filed off, but I didn’t move until the SS troopers’ images disappeared from the reflection in the window. Travelers continuing on to Freudenstadt remained on the bus while others disbursed as they exited; however, the two soldiers stood on the street corner in animated discussion. I fell into line behind my seatmate and used her girth to shield my getaway, slipping around the back of the bus.

  “Fräulein.”

  I continued my pace, pretending I hadn’t heard.

  “Fräulein, bitte bleiben sie stehen.” Please, stop where you are.

  There was no way I could ignore the command in his voice. My feet hesitated, and I looked over my shoulder.

  “Sie haben ihr Taschentuch verloren.” You dropped your handkerchief.

  It was a ploy. Immediately, I recognized the handkerchief the soldier held in his hand couldn’t be mine because it was pristine white, whereas my own filthy handkerchief lay stuffed at the bottom of my purse. This smiling blue-eyed boy was becoming a dangerous nuisance, and he needed to be dispatched. Even though, officially, I had this morning off, eventually Magda would look for me when I didn’t come down for breakfast. I had limited time to get what I needed in Dornstetten before moving on.

  “Vielen Dank, Sturmmann.” Thank you, soldier. I plucked the handkerchief from his outstretched hand, and as he opened his mouth to further the conversation, I proceeded to convulse with a hacking cough that soon turned real from the dryness and thirst I suffered. I will give the young man credit, he had impeccable manners. He wiped the revulsion from his face so quickly I might not have seen it if I hadn’t been watching for it. I finished the coughing fit, wiped my mouth, and stuffed the handkerchief into my pocket.

  “Pardon. You were saying?” I croaked with my Bavarian German accent.

  “Auf Wiedersehen, fräulein.” He tipped his hat, turned on his heel, and set off at a smart pace.

  The ploy worked and I strode across the Marktplatz of half-timbered buildings. Women wrapped in woolen cloaks and head scarves gathered around the shops, waiting for them to open. A door squeaked and a squat man wearing an eye patch stood in the entrance to the butcher’s. The women filed in and queued, waiting to fill their empty baskets with whatever was available today.

  Quietly, my knuckles rapped against the baker’s door. A moment later, an apple-cheeked frau, her apron covered in flour, answered. “We don’t open for another hour, miss. Best move on to get your other rations and come back later.”

  I’d remembered the stout merchant from my last trip. She’d given Klara and Dagobert each a raisin cookie, a rare treat for them. Her kindness was the reason I’d chosen this shop. The fact that it was empty pleased me all the more.

  “Yes, I know, Frau ... Hardebecke.” Her name unexpectedly popped into my head. “I was wondering if I could beg the use of your toilet. It was such a long trip on the bus...”

  She eyed me up and down for a moment. I must have succeeded in looking sufficiently desperate, or the fact I knew her name tipped the scale. With a sigh, she swung the door for me to enter. Warmth and the smell of yeast and fresh bread washed over me.

  “Through those curtains and on the left. There’s a sink for you to clean up across the hall.”

  “Thank you, Frau. God bless you.” I clasped my hands penitently in front of me.

  She blushed and waved me away. “Go on with you. I’ve got to finish up.”

  I slipped behind the black curtain and found myself in a short hallway. To the left was the toilet and the right a small room for washing. Furtively, I slunk down the hall until it opened into a large, dark-paneled room. A bulky desk covered in papers and a ledger sat in the center. Bookcases flanked the desk and candles were scattered throughout the room. The baker must have used it as her office, but I didn’t find what I was looking for. It’d been a long shot. Her phone, if she had one, must have been upstairs or in the main shop. Most phones to be found in this town were either in very public locations or sitting at the local headquarters office.

  I rinsed out my soiled handkerchief and, using the sliver of lavender soap, washed the rest of the dried blood off my hands before cupping them to drink deeply. The water tasted rusty, but I didn’t care. It cooled the rawness in my throat and filled my belly. There was no mirror, so once again I took out my compact and used the wet handkerchief to wipe away a bit of dirt I’d missed in the woods.

  Frau Hardebecke stacked dark, crusty loaves of fresh bread into a basket as I returned to the main shop area.

  “Danke. It smells delicious.”

  She looked up from her work. “Have you Marken for bread?”

  “Yes, of course.” Luckily, I hadn’t handed over my Marken, ration coupons, for the week to Cook. A handful of half-used booklets of the Reichseierkarte remained in my possession. I pulled the Marken out of my purse, handed it and the appropriate amount of Reichsmark into her flour-dusted hand.

  To my reli
ef, money would not be a problem. The coat I wore had been given to me by my SOE contact. “Wear it anytime you step out of the house,” he’d said, gruffly pulling it closed and buttoning the top button. A secret pocket had been sewn inside the lining, which held a substantial amount of forged Reichsmark. “For bribes,” he’d said, and I had thought no more about it ... until now.

  The baker tucked both into her apron pocket, broke the bread in half, and passed one of the halves across the counter. “Where is your basket?”

  Blast! I should have nicked a carrier somewhere along the way. All the other ladies on the bus and waiting in line had them. My purse wasn’t large enough to store the supplies I’d need. “I ... I haven’t got one. I ... mean I need to purchase a new one.”

  She tut-tutted, then bustled beneath the counter before returning with a small shopping basket. A blue-checked towel lined the bottom. “Here.”

  “How much?” I reached into my purse.

  “Nein. Nein, take it. I have too many,” she insisted.

  I should have argued, but I didn’t have the time. There were other shops I needed to visit, which likely had long queues out the door by now. The SS would catch me standing in line if I didn’t get moving.

  “Danke, Frau Hardebecke. You are an angel,” I said with feeling and meant it.

  She jerked her head. “You’d better line up at the butcher’s next. I hear he has venison today.”

  I thanked her again and exited. Two hours later I’d used as many Marken as I could and had filled Frau Hardebecke’s basket. Along with the bread, it held a hunk of hard cheese, smoked deer jerky, two bottles of local bier, a withered turnip, a potato, and marmalade. Living in a rural area had its benefits. It was rare to find anything but horse meat in the cities, but the forest provided meat for hunters and more space to raise chickens for eggs.