by Ellen Butler
Chapter Seven
Noah’s Animals
Twilight fell, Franziska summited a hill, and we came out upon a verge to find a tiny village nestled in the valley. I didn’t see any factories and wasn’t sure if the village even had electricity. Like Gregor said, I saw no sign of a military presence, no trucks, cars, or motorcycles. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t identify a main road into the hamlet, though there must have been one. Small, single-story dwellings with thatched roofs dotted most of the landscape, and I imagined, in the springtime, the acreage would be carpeted with verdant grass. In the center of the little town rose a white church spire. Picture perfect.
Had I been on foot, I would have snuck into the chapel after dark to seek sanctuary and escape the elements for the night. However, sneaking my enormous companion into a tiny town church seemed laughable, not to mention ill-advised. I searched for another option, and my gaze alighted on an outlying farm. A figure exited the barn carrying a lantern. The clothing identified the form as a woman. She navigated the snow-covered ground to a two-story brick house; the light disappeared as the wooden door shut behind her. I contemplated the gray weathered barn.
Darkness drew in swiftly, as it does in the winter months. Franziska and I waited patiently while the village quieted for the night. Lights flickered here and there, doors opened and closed, a dog barked, the scent of hearth fires drifted through the valley, and stars began their twinkling dance in the night sky.
I approached the barn from behind, hoping the structure would cloak Franziska’s clopping steps. Our footprints created a path behind us, but it couldn’t be helped. The moon rose; its light was alternately blocked and unobstructed as shadowy clouds drifted past. When we reached the barn, I hooked Franziska’s reins over a nearby tree limb and snuck around the side to a normal human-sized door. The rusty metal latch squeaked when I lifted it, but the rough-timbered door swung silently into the barn. A chicken clucked and I heard the rustle of shifting hay. A quick flick of my lighter showed an average barn. Holding the light up high, I perceived a couple of goats, some chickens in racks up above an overhang, and a donkey’s muzzle poking out of the stall directly in front of me.
The scent of hay, earth, and manure blended together in the cozy space. The barn brought welcome warmth from the outside temperatures that continued to plunge; I was relieved to be out of the bitter wind that had picked up after sunset. Further investigation revealed three unused stalls covered in straw. I found a pitchfork leaning against a post and took a few minutes to freshen the hay before leading Franziska through the door. It was tight, his mid-section barely fit through without scraping the sides, but I daren’t open the large barn doors as they were in the direct line of sight of the house.
I didn’t worry about the goats or chickens, but I feared the donkey would kick up a fuss. The bray from the creature would be heard like a foghorn across the valley. It was a tight corner, and Franziska and the donkey came nose to nose. The donkey stomped, and as soon as Franziska’s rear end cleared the opening, I quickly pulled him down to the berth at the end. The donkey kicked the side of his stall and gave three quick snorts. Franziska snorted and shook his head up and down, his mane flying in different directions.
A soft lullaby that I used to sing to Klara at night when she cried for her mother filled the chamber with my mezzo-soprano voice. The song calmed Franziska, but the donkey shifted restlessly in his box and gave off a snorting whinny that threatened to turn in to a full-fledged, teeth-grinding bray. Once I loaded Franziska into his stall and closed the door, I went back to calm the donkey, using shushing noises and singing quietly. Above me the chickens rustled in their nests, and one of the goats gave a bleat. I strove to calm the environment that could, any moment, erupt into an all-out symphony of agitated animal racket that would surely bring the farmer and give me away.
My heartbeat pulsed in my ears, and I clenched my fists in an effort to maintain my own calm. The donkey was at the heart of the animals’ edginess, so I tugged some fresh straw out of a hay bale and held it out to the restless creature while speaking German nonsense in a singsong voice. He seemed to grow less nervous as I stroked his nose, and taking the straw out of my hand, he turned away to masticate his treat. Pressing unsteady fingers against the pounding at my temples, I quietly made my way back to Franziska.
He’d found the fresh hay in the hayrack and was already eating. I pulled him back for a moment to remove the bridle, then allowed him free access to the meal. I didn’t want to use up the fluid in my lighter, so I moved about the barn by the light of the moon shafting across the floor from the open door and a window in the front of the structure. However, when I closed the door through which Franziska and I had entered, the darkness almost completely closed in. Even with the window and my night vision, I had to feel my way down the walkway, back to where the horse stood.
My toe kicked against something hard that skittered into a nearby post. I bent forward, sweeping my hand back and forth, until my fingers contacted uniform metal prickles that I recognized even in the darkness. Franziska’s head turned only once to look at me as I stroked the curry comb through his pelt before continuing his meal. A shiver of pleasure rippled through his muscles. I brushed by touch, skimming my other hand behind the comb, feeling for encrusted clumps it might have left behind. I think by the time I’d finished, most of the matted dirt had come clean, and having taken care of the horse, I was finally able to sit on a bale of hay to eat.
I had to use the lighter in order to find the tin of sardines in the rucksack. The residual tension of the day’s events also had me opening the second bottle of bier. The alcohol warmed my belly, and the salty fish tasted satisfactory even though they were served on a flavorless stale cracker.
Finishing the last of the bier, I went outside and made my way to the back of the barn, where I found undisturbed snow to fill the bottle and relieved myself for the night.
The quiet, soothing sounds of the barn—rustling, a snort, animals breathing—relieved me. Franziska lay down among the straw, and I curled up against his back, wrapping myself with a small blanket, by the smell, I assumed belonged to the donkey.
How on earth did I end up here? The nonsensical thought flitted through my head. It was foolish because I knew exactly how I’d gotten here.
Chapter Eight
Getting Here
Spring 1942
Washington, D.C.
“I don’t think you understand; the committee must take this situation seriously. Jews are disappearing by the dozens and we are doing nothing about it.” My heels echoed against the marble floors while I walked double time to keep pace with the long-legged sixty-five-year-old politician.
“I’ve already addressed this issue.”
“But, Senator, if you would just take a moment to read the letter.” I shook said piece of paper.
The senator came to an abrupt halt in the domed rotunda of the senate office building, and I slid past him before coming to my own clumsy stop. “Young lady, there is simply no way I’m going to waste the committee’s time with a letter from some childhood school chum of yours. I don’t care who her father is related to.”
His condescending tone flicked out at me like a whip and I flinched. I don’t know why. I should have been immune to it by now. The senator’s bullheadedness and refusal to listen to the opinions of any of the women in his office were legendary. For the most part, we’d learned to circumvent his prejudice by providing our opinions and advice to his chief of staff, a man who displayed an open mind and softer touch, and some of us had seen our ideas floated upriver to the senator and eventually the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, which the senator chaired. It was exactly what I should have done, but his chief of staff had traveled to the home office in Georgia for the week, and I deemed Camilla’s fervent plea urgent enough to go directly to the senator.
“We are fighting a war on two fronts,” he continued in his harsh tone. “We’ve got boys in the Pacific fighting the J
aps and over in Africa fighting Nazis. Right now we have to pull together and support our soldiers. The committee doesn’t have time to listen to a schoolgirl’s fearful ramblings.”
“She is an adult woman, and her father is a viscount,” I said through clenched teeth with barely controlled irritation.
“I don’t care who her father is. We simply don’t have the means or manpower to investigate the, frankly, farfetched allegations she’s making.”
My expression must have shown my disconcertment, because his tone and face softened and he placed a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “You remind me so much of your mother—she passed her beauty and grace to you. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more I can do.”
My shoulders deflated.
“Now be a good girl, and when you get back to the office, send Ruth over to the Capitol. I’ve some dictation for her.” He patted my cheek, then turned and whooshed out the glass door before I could utter another sentence.
At five o’clock, I handed in my resignation to Ruth. Gray hairs escaped the chignon of her normally perfect coiffure, and her blouse revealed deep wrinkles built throughout the day. She removed her glasses, rubbed tired eyes, and sighed. “Are you sure you want to do this ... now?”
I glanced away from her disappointed expression. “I’m sorry, Ruth, I’ve got to do something more.”
“What are your plans?”
“I ... I’m not sure yet. I have heard the newspapers need photographers and reporters. I’m pretty good with my camera.” I shrugged.
“Well, I’m disappointed you’re leaving. Of all the young girls in the office, you’re the only one gutsy enough to take on the senator when he’s in one of his moods.”
Thinking of my afternoon interaction with him, I grimaced. “I don’t have quite the knack you do.”
“Pshaw.” She pushed her chair back and came around the desk. “You’ve got gumption, girl, and I’m sorry to lose you.” She pulled me into her motherly embrace. “Let me know if you need a reference.”
Unexpected tears rose and I cleared my throat before answering, “I will, Ruth. You take care of yourself.”
The wheels of politics moved too slowly for my taste, and if I was personally going to make a difference for the war effort, I’d have to step outside my comfortable and sheltered lifestyle. As I walked past the Supreme Court on my way home, I paused to stare at the magnificent pillared building. Above the Corinthian columns, deep grooves engraved into the marble portico read, “Equal Justice Under Law.”
Where was the justice in a man like Hitler?
It was time for me to fight for those whose country now trampled justice under its feet. I squared my shoulders and decided morning would find me at the local recruiting office.
A few hours later, my roommates and I stood around our secondhand coffee table, glasses in hand. “Jane, drink your champagne, and stop staring at me like I’ve grown a turnip out of my ear.” I indicated with the bottle. “I know it will not be what I’m used to, but if I can manage the pitfalls of an English boarding school, I’m sure I can handle basic training for the WACs.” I laughed as the rosy liquid bubbled over the rim of the bowl-like glass and ran down my fingers.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Jane mumbled.
“Then what?” I snapped, irritated Jane wasn’t showing the support I’d expected. The boxy brown dress she wore hung loosely off her shoulders because she’d recently lost weight, and her lipstick had been chewed off. And, looking closer, I could see the dark circles that had built under her eyes. Work must have been stressful at the law firm where she worked.
“It’s just that ...”
Evelyn, southern sweet and always the peacekeeper, interrupted, “Don’t fuss, darling, Jane is simply upset that you’ll be leaving us. That’s all it is. Honestly, I am too. I’m going to miss you.” She clinked her glass against mine.
Jane opened and closed her mouth, took another sip, then her mouth quirked. “Evelyn’s right, we are going to miss you.”
“Thank you, ladies. I’ll miss you too.” I swallowed back a lump of sentimentality. “But ... after Milla’s letter.” I shook my head. “It’s time I did something more for the war effort.”
“I have an idea.” Jane perked up, a beautiful smile transforming her face. “One of my co-workers is having a party. Let’s change into some fancier togs and go out.”
“A wonderful idea.” Evelyn swallowed the last of her champagne and put her glass down with a firm clank. “I’ve got a new green dress that I’ve been dying to wear. Lily, you should wear the black and white, and borrow my spectators.” Evelyn had a sharp eye for fashion, and we’d gotten used to accepting her advice because it invariably hit the mark. “And Janie, you always look chic in your blue cocktail dress. Since I took it in last week, it should fit perfectly on your figure.”
An hour later, a cab dropped us off at an apartment building on Wisconsin Avenue, the first of three stops we’d make that night.
The next morning, I awoke with a fuzzy mouth, blurry headache, and Jane irritatingly shaking my shoulder.
“Wake up.”
I rolled away, pulling the pillow over my head. “Go away, Janie.”
“We need to talk before Evelyn returns.” She snatched the pillow off my face.
“Why?” I groaned. “Where did she go?”
“To the bakery. Here”—she shoved a mug in my face—“have some tea. It will make you feel better.”
Once she’d gotten me into a coherent sitting position, drinking the hot beverage, Jane explained that her boss, Mr. Barden, wanted to speak with me before I joined the army. I tried to bring his face to mind, but all I could remember was a nondescript man of average height. No remarkable features stood out, although some of my lack of memory could possibly ... possibly be blamed on the champagne.
“Why? What business is it of his? Is this Edward’s doing?”
“It has nothing to do with your stepfather,” Jane assured me. “If you are determined to serve your country, there are better ways than joining the military.” She grabbed my shoulders and shook. “You must understand, with your knowledge of French and German, you can do so much more than march around in military uniform and become a nurse. If you trust me, you’ll take the time...” Jane’s impassioned speech ended abruptly when the apartment door closed.
Evelyn sang out, “I have cinnamon rolls. Wake up, dearies.”
The fact Jane refused to speak further with Evelyn in the apartment aroused my curiosity, and since I was in no particular rush to get to the recruiting office, I agreed to let her take me to the Willard Hotel that afternoon to meet her boss for lunch.
We’d walked around the Capitol building to catch the streetcar running down Pennsylvania Avenue. The crowded trolley forced Jane and me to stand at the rear holding on to the loops overhead. However, something wasn’t right. The hairs on the back of my neck had been standing at attention since before we boarded. At the Sixth Street stop, I waited until the bell chimed, an indication that the lumbering vehicle was moving on, before grabbing Jane’s hand and yanking her off the back steps at the last minute. The bumper of the trolley whisked past the tail of her coat, sending it swinging.
“Lily, what on earth are you doing? We could have been killed and now we’re going to be late to the meeting.” She pulled her hand out of mine and checked her watch.
As she spoke, I locked eyes, through the glass of the trolley’s window, with a pinched-faced stranger who must have rushed to the back. Raising my hand, I flagged down an oncoming taxi.
“Get in, Jane. I’ll explain once we’re in the cab.” Jane seemed relieved that I’d acquired another, faster, mode of transportation so quickly, and slid in beside me without further comment until I directed the cabbie to turn right on Sixth street and stay straight until hitting G Street. Once we rounded the corner, I relaxed and turned to my irritated and confused roommate.
“Mind explaining why we are taking the scenic route?” she drawled
and crossed her arms.
I sighed and adjusted my hat. “You’re not going to believe this, but I think we were being followed.”
Her brows rose.
“There was a man lighting a cigarette, across from our apartment, when we left. He followed us for a block, turned, and then picked us back up in front of the Supreme Court building. He dogged our steps all the way to the streetcar and then got on after we did.”
“Perhaps he just wanted to ride the trolley.”
“Maybe, but every time I looked at him, he looked away and he stayed at the front of the streetcar ... until our untimely exit. He must have rushed to the rear, and he gave me a deadly look as the street car pulled away. You didn’t notice him?”
Jane made a moue with her mouth and tapped her chin in thought.
“You don’t believe me? You think I’m being unreasonable?”
She blinked and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re safe, and even taking your roundabout way, we should arrive on time.” She leaned forward to direct the cabbie to turn left on Fourteenth Street and drop us at the Willard.
The taxi pulled to a halt in front of the limestone staircase at the stroke of twelve, and a negro porter opened our door. “Do you ladies have luggage in the trunk?”
“No, we are here for lunch,” Janie responded.
We climbed the red-carpeted steps into one of the finest and oldest established hotels in Washington, D.C. Jane gave her name to the maître d’, and we followed him to a solitary table in a cozy nook. Jane’s boss rose to his feet as we approached.
“May I take your coats, ladies?” the maître d’ asked.
We removed our gloves and wraps, handed them over, and settled ourselves, Jane on my left and her boss directly on my right.
“What would you ladies like to drink? Wine? A cocktail?
“I’ll have a coffee with cream,” Jane responded.
I followed Jane’s lead and declined the wine. “Coffee as well, sugar, no cream.”