Echoes of Silence
Nadene R. Carter
Published by NorLightsPress at Smashwords
Copyright (C) 2009 by Nadene R. Carter
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Dedication
For my children: Ralph, Norene,
Thayne, Holly, Geneil, and Brad
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Acknowledgments
First and foremost to my friend and writing mentor, Les Whitaker, who challenged, taught, and encouraged me--thank you for your counsel and wisdom, and for your faith in me.
A special thanks to the following individuals:
To Janet Takami Koda for planting the seed that grew into this novel.
To George Iseri for providing the historical basis for this novel.
To Woodrow Weyerman, who was so willing to help with research and for his unfailing interest in this project.
To my son, Brad Mickelson, and his wife, Melissa, for providing valuable assistance with reference to the German language and customs.
To Charlene Hirschi, Janet Jensen, and Thora Hankins for reading the manuscript and providing helpful suggestions and friendly encouragement.
And last but not least, special thanks to my parents, Norman and Afton Roberts, who taught me to believe in possibilities.
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That Damned Fence
They've sunk posts deep into the ground.
They've strung out wires all the way around,
With machine gun nests just over there,
And sentries and soldiers everywhere.
~~~~
We're trapped like rats in a wire cage,
To fret and fume with impotent rage.
Yonder whispers of crisp, cool night,
But that DAMNED FENCE assails our sight.
~~~~
We seek the softness of calm midnight air,
But that DAMNED FENCE in the floodlights glare
Awakens unrest in our nocturnal quest
And mockingly laughs with vicious jest.
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With nowhere to go and nothing to do,
We feel terrible lonesome and oh so blue.
That DAMNED FENCE is driving us crazy,
Destroying our youth and making us lazy.
~~~~
Imprisoned in here for a very, long time,
We're being punished though we've committed no crime.
Our thoughts are gloomy and enthusiasm damp,
To be locked up in a concentration camp.
~~~~
Loyalty we know, and patriotism we feel,
To sacrifice our utmost was our ideal.
To fight for our country, and die, perhaps;
But we're here just because we happen to be Japs.
~~~~
We all love life, and our country best,
Our misfortune was to live in the west,
To keep us penned behind that DAMNED FENCE
Is someone's notion of NATIONAL DEFENCE!
author anonymous
~~~~
Prologue
The knock at the door interrupted Rupert Schwab's sixth birthday dinner. His father went to the door. It was his partner, Officer Ostwaldt, with orders for them to bring Konrad Bauer to police headquarters to answer the charge of giving aid and assistance to his Jewish neighbors.
This event forever changed Rupert's life. Within hours, his father and Officer Ostwaldt were dead. Facts were sketchy, but circumstances pointed to Bauer as having murdered them. Bauer eluded the police and, with his family, managed to escape from Germany.
Even though the officers lost their lives in the ordeal, Bauer escaped while in their custody. This episode besmirched Officer Schwab's character, which by association, transferred to his son. Years later, Rupert was denied membership in the coveted Hitler Youth Organization, bringing ridicule and contempt from his peers, a wound that never healed. Out of that hurt grew a hatred for Konrad Bauer that grew larger with each passing year.
Then came the day of the note.
Fifteen-year-old Rupert pulled from his pocket the crumpled piece of paper that he'd read at least a dozen times since his friend, Franz, gave it to him that afternoon.
Konrad Bauer
Rural Route
McGregor, Oregon, USA
Franz's mother worked at the Postamt. Discovering the whereabouts of Konrad Bauer was a real find. The Bauer family's escape had long been a hot topic among the townspeople, raising the story to almost legendary proportions.
Rupert contemplated the years of hate that festered in his soul: Bauer killed my father and now, soon, he will pay.
~~~~
Chapter 1
The army truck rattled along the rough country road. Dust billowed in its wake, partially obscuring the other three trucks that snaked along behind. Through the back opening of the brown canvas cover, Jenny Saito gazed at the intensifying colors of the approaching dawn. She watched the scattered clouds that clustered along the eastern horizon change from indigo through deep orange to flaming red. The sun broke from behind the mountains, sending shafts of golden light across the valley. Fences outlined blocks of farmland, with some fields green and others still brown showing drill furrows where seed had been planted earlier in the spring.
The truck hit a pothole, and Jenny grabbed the seat to steady herself. "Ouch," she groaned, irritated, achy, and thirsty beyond endurance. "This truck rides like a log wagon."
Her father gave her a reassuring pat on the knee. She looked into his eyes; a deep sadness lived there. Guilt brought tears to her eyes. She averted her gaze and wished that she could quiet the anger that roiled inside her. Ever since her parents accepted the offer to leave the Minidoka, Idaho, Japanese internment camp to work in Eastern Oregon's sugar beet fields, her attitude had been anything but honorable. She had argued bitterly against the move. How could they know conditions would be any better in Oregon? Backbreaking labor in the fields only seemed like more punishment. Not only that, she doubted the motives of the solicitors. She voiced her concerns and said hurtful things to her parents.
A life of uncertainty left behind; a life of uncertainty ahead.
She drew in a ragged breath and leaned forward, elbows on knees, head resting against fists. They had been so happy before the war. Her thoughts drifted to their home in Seattle, still so real in her memory, where she had a room of her own. Sweet smelling azaleas and hydrangeas would soon bloom in their yard. Most of all she missed her school. A good student, she had planned to be a nurse. Now, everything was gone, including her dreams. The bitter taste of resentment rose in her throat. When they received the order to leave their homes, she and some of the older children raised their voices in protest only to be hushed to silence by their parents.
"This is the best way, the only way," they said. They gave no explanation and allowed no discussion. Just hush and be still. "One day the war will end, and this difficult time will pass."
But why did they say nothing, Jenny wondered, when the guards and others humiliated them so and showed such disrespect?
The truck lurched awkwardly around a corner, and again Jenny leaned back to steady herself against the truck bed. She studied the faces of the others huddled together for warmth against the chill April air. Ten families shared this truck; in all, thirty families made up this relocation convoy. They wore plain yet serviceable clothing, most wore high-top shoes. Some adults napped, leaning against each other. Others watched the landscape roll out behind the truck.
Jenny, being sixteen, sat with the adults on rough plank benches along the sides. The younger children rested on a pile of straw in the middle. They had not slept well that night. Babies cried and young ones whined at having their sleep disturbed. Mothers continually tucked quilts around them against the cold. Now, the sun streamed through the back of the truck, and they sat, still subdued, rubbing their eyes.
Jenny pushed her long, black hair away from her face. An only child, she had often wished for brothers and sisters, but she had become accustomed to the quiet and had difficulty adjusting to the lack of privacy in the camp. The biggest shock was the crush of people. Six families shared a barracks, and she found the constant noise oppressive. Some days were unbearable, especially during cold winter weather when they couldn't go outside.
She returned to watching the road fall away behind them. The casual observer would describe her as striking, but if pressed as to why, it would take a few minutes to decide. Petite with delicate bone structure, she wore her silky hair to the middle of her back and her bangs straight cut. Her large, almond-shaped eyes said more than she sometimes wished to reveal. She was more outspoken than pleased her parents, but it was what her eyes said that often caused her the most trouble.
The truck slowed to round a corner, bringing Jenny back to the present. The gravel crunching beneath tires ceased as they crossed a wooden plank bridge that spanned a wide river. The difference in sound caught the younger children's attention, and they rose to their knees for a better look. The trucks labored up a short hill, gears clashing as tired drivers downshifted. Houses on both sides of the road gave way to store fronts. As they passed a cafe, a cluster of sullen-faced men stood with arms folded. Something about the look on their faces caused Jenny's stomach to tighten. She had seen that look of near-hatred many times in the past two years.
The trucks eased down an incline, crossed another bridge over a small stream, and through lowlands that smelled of damp earth and new grass. At last the trucks lugged to a halt in a large, grassy area.
Jenny stood, intending to climb out of the truck, but her father placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. She stared into eyes that caused her complaint to die in her throat. In defiance she remained standing, though. She waited as doors slammed and the sound of men's voices drew near. They lowered the tailgate.
"Everyone out," the guard named Wickum yelled.
Jenny jumped from the truck and helped the other children down. Trees surrounded the meadow, giving the area a feeling of seclusion and protection. For the first time in weeks, Jenny allowed her mood to brighten a little. By contrast, the land on which the Minidoka camp had been built was of fine sand, and the wind blew incessantly--dirt in their beds, dirt in their food, a thick layer deposited daily over everything inside the barracks in which they lived. She thought of the stifling heat of last summer and suspected this summer might be easier to bear in this meadow. Hope stirred in her heart.
"Jenny." Her mother, Lilly, grabbed her arm. "We have no time to daydream. Help get the little ones fed. We must hurry."
She helped pour corn flakes into bowls, while her friend, Mary, poured milk from glass jugs. Some of the children complained at the cold cereal. They were used to a warm breakfast in their tummies, but a sharp word from the mothers put a quick stop to their grumbles.
After breakfast the adults designated a safe play area out of the way for the children and gave the older girls the charge to see to them, while their parents began the work of constructing the camp. The children, unused to so much open space and still weary from the long journey, at first seemed withdrawn, almost frightened, but the warmth of the sun and the smell of green grass worked its magic. Soon the children were laughing and romping about.
Jenny laughed too, the first time in many months. If only she'd known they were coming to a place like this.
The truck loaded with building materials backed to the edge of the meadow, interrupting her thoughts. She watched the men and boys carry huge rolls of mesh wire and long, sturdy poles from the truck. The men began to dig holes and set posts around the perimeter, while the women set up temporary tents inside the compound.
"Jenny, there are enough younger girls to watch the little ones," her mother called. "We need your help. Come, bring Mary, too."
She and Mary had been best friends since they arrived at the Minidoka camp. Both celebrated birthdays in August. Now, her mother wanted their help. Maybe she could do something to make up for the sadness she had caused her parents.
They worked through the morning, the place noisy with the sound of hammers pounding and the hum of conversation. The women raised the tents and stretched them taut, while Jenny and Mary pounded stakes for guy ropes to make them secure.
Jenny wondered at the happy voices, so different from the camp in Idaho, and it felt good to do something physically taxing. Joy and gladness filled her bosom. At noon they stopped for a quick lunch. They ate dry sandwiches and drank stale water that made Jenny wonder if the barrel had been cleaned properly.
By late afternoon, the tents were in place, and the mesh wire nailed to tall poles. While everyone took a break, the guards gave instructions for the next stage of construction.
"The younger men and the women are to unload lumber from the truck," one guard said. "Make a stack between this fence and the pine tree. Pile the rest along the fence by the gate. You older men, I want you to start building the first barracks near that pine tree. The grass has been cut away to show the approximate size and shape we have in mind. Let's get as much done as we can before nightfall."
Jenny and Mary angled across the compound until they found the outline cut in the grass. They walked the perimeter.
"It doesn't look as big as the barracks at the other camp," Mary said.
Jenny stepped the distance across the width. "It's the same number of steps wide, but I can't remember how long the barracks were."
"Get over here and do what you're told," Wickum growled.
Jenny stared at him. The old anger blossomed; she felt her throat tighten.
"Don't stand there like a post," he yelled. "Get a move on."
Jenny ducked her head so her eyes didn't reveal the fury she felt and hurried to comply.
~~~~
Chapter 2
At the edge of the meadow, Kate Bauer stopped in her tracks and stared at the strange looking people.
"We shouldn't be here," whispered Anja, her twin sister. She tugged at Kate's arm. "Hurry, we should go."
Kate shrugged loose and craned her neck to see.
"No. I want to stay and watch." Liz, the twins' best friend, shook her head, her blond curls swinging back and forth. "If we keep still, they won't know we're here."
The three girls clutched their school books and made themselves small in the shadow of the trees that encircled the meadow. A high fence of big posts with heavy mesh wire enclosed the grassy area. A truck was backed through the enclosure gate. Smelly exhaust fumes hung in the air. Inside the enclosure, men and women hefted lumber from the truck and stacked it near the fence. Three guards stood watch, shouting an occasional order. Another stood near the truck, holding a rifle.
Chills skittered along Kate's nerves. She hugged her freckled arms tight against her and wished she had listened to Anja. Why a gun, and why do they have those people in a pen?
Past summers flashed through her mind. Her gaze darted to the big thicket near the bend in the creek, where, as children, they made their secret, no-boys-allowed hideout. This was their special place. Now it belonged to all these people.
The guard with the gun strode toward a woman holding a baby. He yelled at her. Kate strained to hear the words, but they weren't clear. He shoved the woman hard and she landed on the ground; the baby started to wail. One of the strange looking men hurried to help the woman to her feet. With vicious force, the guard struck the man on the side of the head with the rifle butt, knocking him to the ground, then he aimed the gun at him.
Kate trembled, horror-chilled despite the warmth of the afternoon sun. It was unthinkable that this ugly scene could happen in their meadow. A jumble of emotions--anger, fear, and helplessness--seized her. She wanted to run, to escape, but she stood, rooted to the spot.
A glance at Liz said it all. Her eyes bulged; she visibly shook.
Kate heard a strangled sound and turned. "Anja?"
Her twin sister pointed a shaky finger toward the compound, and in a voice husky with fear, she yelled, "The fire! We have to put out the fire!"
Kate, alarmed, looked about. "Where? I don't see a fire."
Anja stumbled toward the enclosure, swayed, and crumpled in a faint, her black hair a jumbled mass across her face.
Kate's shock turned to horror, as two guards hurried toward them.
"Anja!" Kate shook her. "Anja, you have to get up."
Kate and Liz managed to pull her to a sitting position as the men stopped in front of them.
"What're you girls doing here?"
"We, ah, we heard noises out here in the meadow," Kate tried to explain.
"You got no business here. Let's have your names," the guard's gruff voice rumbled. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.
"Ah, why our names?" Liz mumbled, wide-eyed.
"This area's restricted. Your names!"
"Elizabeth Huff."
"Kate Bauer."
Speechless, Anja scrambled to her feet and just stared at the man.
"This is my sister, Anja," Kate finally offered.
The guard quit writing and gave them a hard look. "Bauer," the guard snorted. "Sounds like a Kraut name to me. You two are Germans!" He poked a finger at the twins.
The other guard glared. "If it was up to me, we'd have all you Krauts locked up, same as the Japs. You'd best get out of here before I decide to do just that." He took a menacing step toward the girls.
Anja screamed and covered her head with her arms.
Kate jumped between Anja and the guard. "Leave her alone! We saw what you did to those people. Touch her and I'll tell."
"Now hold on." The guard sneered. "I was trying to be friendly. You start threatening me, and you'll see how unfriendly I can get."
Kate grabbed Anja by an arm.
"You keep quiet about being here today. You hear?" The guard's eyes turned a cold slate gray. "If you don't, we'll come find you and lock you up, too. Now get outta here and don't come back. I see you hanging around, you'll be sorry."
The girls scrambled over each other in their haste. They ran hard until Liz cried out, "Stop! Please stop. My side aches."
Liz dropped to the grass where the road turned and started up the grade. She lay on her back, and clutching her side.
Kate rested a few moments, bent over, gasping, hands on knees, freckled arms blotchy in the dappled light that filtered through the leafy canopy. Her wavy, light auburn hair hung toward the ground.
Anja sat at the edge of the road. She clutched her arms tight against her body and rocked back and forth, head bent, her long black hair hiding her face.
Kate hurried to Anja's side and hugged her tight. "It's okay. We're safe now."
The dam broke and all the emotion escaped in a cascade of tears. Anja sobbed, unable to speak.
Kate stroked her sister's hair. Best to let her cry it out, she decided. The encounter flashed through her mind again. Who are those people, and why were the guards so mean? Unwelcome tears trickled down her cheeks. She took an angry swipe at them.
Distant sounds invaded her thoughts--magpies squabbling, bees buzzing, and the gurgle of Ritter Creek as it struggled through the culvert farther up the road. Safe, familiar sounds, but the guard's menacing words replayed inside Kate's head, so alien against the safe sounds of the spring afternoon.
The swollen leaf buds of the black locust trees showed flecks of green, and patches of bright yellow curly-head blossoms contrasted against the multi shaded greens of the lowlands. Kate watched a killdeer make a long, graceful landing. It extended a wing and struggled as if wounded in an attempt to lure the girls away.
For an instant, her mood brightened. She probably has a nest nearby and thinks we're intruders. Intruders! Why are those people in our meadow?
Liz joined them. "They're hateful men." Her voice shook with emotion.
A ribbon from a blue bow at the end of Liz's braid hung loose. Kate reached over and retied it.
Anja raised her head and looked at Kate. "We better get going. We're already late getting home from school, and Mama will ask questions."
"She won't have to ask. I'll tell her as soon as we get home."
"No!" Anja frowned. "You mustn't."
"Those people need help. I'll tell my dad, that's what I'll do," Liz babbled, as she always did when she got excited. "He's not scared of anybody. Who do they think they are anyhow, and who are those funny-looking people, and why did they have them inside a fence?"
"Stop it!" Anja, her lower lip quivering, grabbed Liz by an arm. "He wasn't kidding. Those soldiers will hurt us."
"What soldiers? They weren't soldiers," Kate scoffed. "They didn't wear uniforms."
Anja stamped her foot. "You don't understand." She looked from one to the other. "Both of you have to promise you won't tell."
"Well, I won't promise." Liz flounced up the road.
Anja ran and grabbed her arm. "They'll find out if we tell. They'll hurt us bad."
Kate stared at her sister. This wasn't at all like Anja, the brave one who usually talked Kate into going along with her schemes and got them both in trouble.
"What if we think about it overnight and decide tomorrow?" Kate suggested. Anything to calm Anja down.
"That makes no sense," Liz argued. "Those people need help now. And another thing, Anja, why did you yell 'fire' when there wasn't one?"
A bewildered expression on her face, Anja stared at Liz. "I didn't say anything about a fire."
"Before you fainted, you yelled we had to 'put out the fire'."
"I did not!"
"So, I only imagined all that?" Liz gave Anja a hard look.
Kate, sensing that her sister really didn't remember, came to her sister's defense.
"Leave it alone, Liz," Kate warned. "Stop pestering her."
Liz shrugged. The brooding fourteen-year-old friends trudged up the grade to the farms on the flat bench plateau that stretched to the west. By contrast, the nearby town of McGregor was located on rolling terrain. The girls paused at the lane to Liz's house.
"If it's okay, I'll come over as soon as I finish supper so we can work on our math." Liz lowered her voice, "Maybe I'll find a way to ask Mom and Dad about those people in the meadow. Won't hurt to ask." The flick of a smile crinkled the corners of her eyes.
"Liz," Anja begged, "please don't say anything."
"My, we're touchy. I was only teasing." Liz turned and jogged up the lane toward her house.
~~~~
Chapter 3
Kate and Anja sprinted the last mile home. The newly painted house gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Kate smiled at the memory: paint-spattered clothes and speckles in their hair. They had all helped. Papa and Steffen up on the scaffold; the rest of them worked from the ground. A fine job they'd done, too.
The two-story house, white with narrow board siding and built deeper than wide, sat back from the main road. Its ample porch extended along the front--cool in summer because it faced the east. The lane in from the road ran close to the house and made a lazy arc past the barn and outbuildings and on to the fields beyond. Two rows of apple trees along the north side of the lawn separated the yard from the plowed field beyond.
"Mom, we're home!" Kate called, as she opened the front door. The aroma of freshly baked bread made her mouth water.
The large front room extended the full width of the house. Lacy, cream-colored panels pulled back with ties covered the tall windows on either side of the door.
"You girls hurry." Their mother's voice came from the kitchen. "I need help with supper. Pa and the boys will be in soon."
The girls changed into everyday skirts and blouses and ran downstairs to the kitchen. A freshly ironed red and white checked cloth covered the large, rectangular table near the window. Their mother, tall, with narrow shoulders and a slender waist, stood over the cookstove at the end of the room. She pushed a chunk of wood into the firebox. The reflected light created a halo of her light auburn hair. The stove belched a puff of smoke. She took a step back, waved her hand to clear the air, and replaced the black iron plates.
Marta Bauer, wiping her long, narrow hands on her apron, turned away from the stove. "There you are. Did the teacher keep you after school?" she teased, her dark blue eyes twinkling.
"No." Kate glanced sideways at Anja. "We needed help with our geography project."
"You can set the table but wash your hands first. They look like they need it."
Later, as Kate poured melted butter over the green beans, the back porch door slammed shut. Ten-year-old Hugh entered the kitchen carrying a hat full of eggs. Hugh and Kate had inherited their mother's Irish coloring: freckles, light auburn hair, and deep blue eyes.
"Pa will be here in a minute." Hugh carefully placed each egg in the egg box. "He's feeding the heifers." He grinned, pulled Anja's apron ties loose, and swaggered to the back porch to wash up.
Kate watched a smile ripple at the corners of Anja's mouth as she retied her apron. Kate shook her head and wondered at Hugh's short memory. Last Sunday after church, he had propped a bucket of water above the back door. It was their father's misfortune to walk out that door and get drenched.
The Bauers didn't believe in spanking as effective discipline. On that day, their father made an exception. Kate often heard him say that Hugh would rather play pranks than eat. She knew that was probably true. Hugh lacked self-control when it came to playing a joke on someone.
Kate was cutting the warm bread as her father walked in the back door. She watched him gingerly move his shoulders. She understood sore muscles. It happened every spring. Soon, after school was out, she and Anja would spend a few weeks thinning and weeding sugar beets. Not a fun job.
Konrad Bauer washed up on the back porch and entered the kitchen with a towel in hand, drying his face. His callused hands and ruddy, weather-worn face spoke of the many hours he spent outdoors. "Betsy will calve tonight. I must check on her later."
Steffen shouldered through the door and set the covered milk pail on the floor. Thin as a willow, he was a younger version of his father--brown eyes, dark brown hair, and a slender nose, but his high, prominent cheekbones were his mother's.
After everyone was seated at the table, Konrad said grace, the final words being, ". . .and God, bless the boys who have to fight on both sides. Amen." He had uttered those words at the end of each prayer since Japan bombed Pearl Harbor more than two years earlier.
Konrad took a serving of roast beef and passed the platter to Marta. "Steffen, we need to clean out the irrigation ditch along the south alfalfa field. Could you do that tomorrow after school?"
"Sure. I can have it done by dark."
"I worry about loading you too heavy. Can you keep up with your school work?"
"Yeah, no problem. Besides, one more year and I won't have to worry about school." Steffen buttered a thick slice of bread.
Kate shut her eyes. No, he won't have to worry about school; we'll have to worry about him off somewhere fighting in the war. When she opened them again, her mother's deep blue eyes spoke the same thoughts.
"And Hugh, how are you doing?" Konrad asked with a slight raising of his chin.
Hugh squirmed and rhythmically kicked the table leg. "I hand in all my work."
"I have no doubt about that, but we both know I do not speak of assignments. Your teacher stopped me this afternoon when he saw me at the feed mill."
A red flush crept up Hugh's neck and rapidly spread across his face. He visibly shrank smaller.
Konrad set his fork down and leaned across the table toward the boy. "Would you like to tell me about it or should I tell you?"
"That Jimmy Kofed, he's such a baby," Hugh muttered. "Can't take a joke."
"Hugh, a joke is not funny unless everyone can laugh. Stop the nonsense."
"I'm sorry, Pa. I'll try to do better."
"You say that so often it has lost its truth."
Minutes passed, the room quiet except for the ticking clock and the occasional clink of fork against plate.
Kate knew her father loved them, but sometimes she thought he overdid it a bit.
Konrad turned his attention to Anja who picked at her food. "Do you feel all right?"
Anja nodded and kept forking through her food.
He looked at Kate. "Did you two get into a fuss?"
"No." Kate could feel her face grow warm. He'll know I'm fudging the truth about something. "We're just tired. The teacher piled on the work this week."
Konrad took more potatoes and gravy.
To Kate's dismay, her mother had picked up on the undercurrent and now studied Anja. With raised eyebrows, she looked at Kate. To escape scrutiny, Kate hurried to the icebox for another glass of milk. When she came back, Anja looked up with an unspoken 'thank you' in her eyes.
Anja, with her long, black hair, olive skin, and gold-flecked brown eyes, didn't look like any of them. Their mother said Anja was a throwback to the black Irish side of her family.
"That stove is temperamental today," Marta complained. "Smoked up the house again."
Konrad nodded and looked at her. "Be patient. We'll get you a new one when this war is over."
Her fork clattered against the plate. "After the war! Everything waits for the war."
Later, as Anja and Kate stacked the last of the dishes onto the shelves, a tap-tap sounded at the front door.
The door opened immediately and Liz hollered, "Are you guys down here or upstairs?"
"We're here in the kitchen," Anja called, "but let's go up to our room." The twins hung their aprons on the hook behind the kitchen door.
"Guess what," Liz whispered, as she followed them upstairs. "I learned some more about those people in the meadow."
Anja hurried them into the bedroom and pushed the door shut. She turned on Liz. "What did you learn?"
"My dad says they're just a bunch of Japs brought in from Idaho to help with the sugar beets this summer. You know. . ." Liz strung out the words for emphasis. "They're the ones who started this war, and lots of them are locked up all over the country. My dad says they would kill us all if they got loose. That's why those men with guns were there."
"Liz, you weren't supposed to tell," Anja wailed, head in hands.
Liz took off her jacket and threw it on the bureau. "I didn't tell. Dad was talking about it during supper. I just listened."
Anja looked puzzled. "Part of the war is with Japan, so why did those people come to this country?"
Liz shrugged. "He says after they bombed Pearl Harbor, they all got put in camps to keep them from killing any Americans."
Anja walked across the room and stared out the window. Slowly she turned. Kate could see fear in her eyes again.
"Germany is at war with the United States, too. That guy at the camp called us Krauts, said he'd lock us up if we told. Maybe they'll lock up German people next. " Anja slowly picked up her arithmetic book and stared at it.
Kate studied her sister, finally understanding what she meant. Did Americans hate German people, too?
"That guard was just trying to scare you," Liz said stoutly. "There are lots of German people around here. You don't see any of them locked up, do you?"
Anja appeared unconvinced.
"We better get our arithmetic finished," Kate said.
Liz sat on the chair next to the bed. The twins took off their shoes and socks and sat cross-legged on the lavender and yellow bedspread.
"Oh, yukky!" Liz stared at Kate's foot. "What's wrong with your toe?"
"Huh? Oh, it's infected from a hangnail. Couple of weeks ago it ached like sin. Doesn't even hurt anymore."
"Well, cover it up." Liz wrinkled her nose. "Makes me sick to look at it."
Kate tucked a corner of the bedspread over her foot.
"Hush up you two." Anja frowned. "I can't concentrate."
The chatter quit as they focused on their homework.
When they were finished, Liz stood and pulled on her jacket. "Anja, I didn't mean to upset you. I wish I could understand why you're so worried."
"This war stuff scares me." Anja exhaled a breath of pent-up nerves.
Kate noticed and studied here sister. Why is she acting so weird?
"Maybe we can talk about it some other time, okay?" Anja managed a smile.
Still barefoot, the twins jumped from the bottom stair to the braided oval rug that covered the center of the living room.
Liz opened the front door and smiled. "See you tomorrow. I'll wait by the mailbox."
The twins waved goodbye. Kate pushed the door shut, and they hurried back to their room. Hoping to relieve the tension in her shoulders, Kate took a deep breath and let it out. She wished it were time for bed, but they still had a reading assignment for history class.
They took their books and padded back down to the living room and sat on the small braided rug in front of the pot-bellied stove in the corner. A rocking chair and small divan filled the area between the stove and the stairs that led up to the twins' room.
Kate heard their mother in the kitchen. Probably fixing lunches for tomorrow, she thought.
In the background the radio played.
They had read for only a few minutes when Kate heard footsteps and the back door close.
"Another heifer calf." A smile carried on Konrad's voice. "Seven of the last ten calves were heifers. Not bad odds, would you say?"
"That is good," Marta said.
Kate heard a chair creak, as someone sat down. "I dared not say this in front of the children, but I heard talk at the feed store today. One of those war reporters with the troops in Germany came back with a story that Hitler is murdering prisoners-of-war."
"Do you think that could be true?" Marta asked.
The chair creaked again, and Kate recognized the ta-lop, ta-lop of her father's boots as he paced. "Wish I didn't. We saw what he was capable of before we left Germany. If only we could have stopped him." A wistful tone carried in his voice.
"God knows you tried and near got us all killed."
Kate tried not to breathe, afraid her parents would discover them. Careful not to make a sound, the girls picked up their books and tiptoed to the stairs. Anja placed her feet on the side of the steps close to the wall where the boards didn't squeak. Kate followed in her steps. Anja crept to the center of the room and pulled the cord to the light. Kate followed and eased the door shut.
In unison, their breath escaped in a rush. Kate's lungs felt starved for air. Every nerve felt raw.
"What did she mean, 'Papa nearly got us killed'?" Kate whispered. The words had barely escaped her lips when Kate knew she should have kept still.
Anja's hands shook so violently she couldn't undo the buttons of her blouse. Why is Anja being so weird?
"Anja, I'm sorry." Kate knelt in front and helped.
The girls hurried into their flannel nightgowns. Kate took the brush from the bureau drawer, sat on the bed, and brushed Anja's hair with slow, rhythmical strokes, until her thick, black hair glistened, and she could see her shoulders relax. Kate gave her own hair several quick stokes and put the brush away. They knelt beside the bed for their prayers. Kate silently thanked God for her own blessings and prayed earnestly to understand Anja. Kate wound the alarm clock on the bedside table before Anja turned off the light.
In the darkness Kate lay next to her sister, knowing that sleep would not come easily this night. Her mind sifted through the day's events, but she felt as if she were trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. What happened back in Germany that nearly got us killed, and why were the guards so mean to those people in the meadow? Kate shuddered and tried to make her mind quit thinking about it.
Kate listened to Anja turn from one side to the other and then back again. After a long time, her breathing grew slow and steady. In the darkness, a tear trickled off the side of Kate's nose onto the pillow. She reached out and stroked her sister's hair.
~~~~
Chapter 4
"Marta!" Konrad hollered, as he leapt out of bed and pawed the air for the overhead light cord. At first, he had thought the screams were part of his dream.
In the darkness, Marta found the door before Konrad clicked on the light, and she darted ahead of him as they raced to the girls' room. In his haste, Konrad stumbled, caught his balance, and took the rest of the stairs two at a time.
Konrad strode to the center of the room and pulled the light cord.
"Anja." Marta patted the girl's face. "Anja, wake up."
Kate rose up on an elbow and looked back and forth from her parents to Anja.
Anja squinted and blinked. Huge sobs shook her body as she struggled to break free of the horrible dream.
Marta sat beside her and stroked damp hair away from her face. "Shh, it's all right."
Konrad glanced at the clock beside the girls' bed. Twenty minutes to one. "You were screaming like the Schleswig ghost had you." Konrad shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Extreme displays of emotion always unhinged him. "Half-scared us to death."
"I'm sorry I woke you. It was such an awful dream," Anja moaned.
"Maybe you'll feel better if you talk about it," Marta soothed.
Anja shuddered. "It was so strange and jumbled. There were lots of people crying and screaming inside a fence. At first . . . at first I seemed to be above the people, looking down at them. It was dark, but I could see a tall, round building, and people were being pushed toward a fire burning inside. Then, all of a sudden I was on the ground, trapped inside the fence. I tried to find a way out, but my fingers hurt. I looked at them, and they were covered with blood from pulling at the wire."
Anja's words came faster and faster. "A soldier with a gun shoved me. More people pushed against me from behind. The roar of the fire grew louder." Tears streamed down her face. "I tried to turn around," she sobbed, "but people were too close in front and too close behind." Anja struggled to continue, but she could not.
Konrad closed his eyes. Did she overhear our conversation? He searched back over the words.
Marta stroked Anja's black hair as she stared at Konrad. Unasked questions and barely masked fear passed between them.
Konrad paced the wood floor. His head brushed the cord to the single, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The light swung back and forth, shadows jerking crazily about the room.
Rubbing his chin, he stood at the foot of the bed. "Did you hear your mother and I talking in the kitchen?"
Kate blurted out, "It's probably what we saw in the meadow down by the creek this afternoon that caused the dream."
Anja grabbed Kate's arm. Kate jerked it away.
Konrad's instincts came alert. "And what happened in the meadow?"
Kate let out a sigh that sounded to Konrad as if she'd resigned herself to something. "On our way home from school, we saw people inside a fence in the meadow. Elizabeth told us her father said they were Japs that got locked up because they started the war."
Marta joined Konrad at the foot of the bed. "That is no place for you girls."
"Marta, please. Let me handle this." Konrad tried to keep his voice calm. "You saw people inside the fence, but how did that frighten you enough to cause a nightmare?"
Konrad waited for an answer. Anja and Kate stared at each other.
Finally, Anja pulled her gaze away. "It, ah, it was seeing that many Japanese people. I've never seen people like that before. It was scary."
Exasperated, Konrad raked his fingers through his hair. "If you did hear your mother and me say something that upset you, maybe we should talk about it."
"No," Anja insisted, "we didn't hear anything."
Konrad felt a sharp elbow to the ribs. Marta's eyes conveyed a warning he understood as clearly as if the words had been spoken. Konrad looked at the floor. "I guess we all better get back to bed. We need our sleep."
"Isn't part of the war with Germany?" Anja interrupted.
"Yes." Konrad studied his daughter.
"Will soldiers lock us up like they did the Japanese, because we're from Germany?"
Troubled, Konrad sat at the foot of the bed. This is not fair. I bring my family to America to find peace, and now this. How can I make her feel safe?
"No, Anja," he assured her. As he searched for the right words, an idea began to form. As the thought grew, Konrad knew he'd stumbled onto something his girls might understand. "Remember a couple of weeks ago when I bought that cow from Ken Rey?"
The girls nodded.
"When I first put her in the corral, do you remember how our other cows treated the new cow?"
Anja thought for a moment. "They butted her and chased her round the pen."
"That's right." Konrad nodded. "People are not much different from cows. They don't like change, either. When we first moved here, months passed before we felt comfortable with these people. When the Japanese came to this country, they faced the same thing, but it was harder for them because they look different from everyone else. Do you understand what I am saying?"
"Yes, but could they lock us up?" Anja persisted.
"No, Anja." Konrad shut his eyes and shook his head. She still does not understand.
"But I don't understand why," she pleaded.
"Because we are white. I'm glad we can feel safe, but we must have compassion for the Japanese people who have lost so much."
Konrad could see Anja beginning to comprehend.
"And one more thing," Konrad said. "We will hear much about 'the Japs'. That is name-calling, and we will not be part of it. They will be called Japanese in our home. Now, to bed."
Marta bent down and kissed Anja's cheek and squeezed Kate's hand. Konrad kissed Anja on the forehead, pulled the light cord, and followed Marta to their bedroom. He pushed the door shut. They stood, looking at each other.
"Do you think they heard us?" Marta asked.
"It is hard to say, but I have a bad feeling about this." Konrad sat on the bed.
"We must be more careful," Marta whispered.
"The fire in her dream makes me wonder if she is starting to remember." Konrad raked his fingers though his hair. "Maybe they should be told. All of the children are old enough to understand."
"No! Telling them makes no sense." Marta spoke resolutely. "Anja was the only one who saw it happen, and she was not yet four years old. How much can you remember from that age?"
"Not much, but to look at it another way, nothing as traumatic as seeing someone burn to death right before my eyes ever happened to me. It makes me crazy mad when I think about that soldier grabbing her out of your arms and holding her so near the fire." Konrad swallowed against the growing lump in his throat. "Her poor little blistered face and crying all night. . . Even at such a young age, if that happened to me, I think I might remember something."
Every time Konrad thought of that night, he lived it all over again. He paced back and forth at the foot of the bed.
Marta reached out and stopped him. "That was a terrible time with memories that never go away, but we must not doubt ourselves now. Ten years ago we decided it was best not to tell the children. We cannot tell part of the story without the rest coming out, and we can never tell the rest. People around here, our neighbors, would never understand. We have built a place for ourselves here. The other farmers look up to you and respect your judgment. Will you risk losing that?" Marta asked, frustration in her voice.
"Yes! If it starts to affect Anja," Konrad said.
Konrad stood at the window, gazing out at the moonlit yard, remembering that night long ago. He heard Marta climb into bed.
A troubled silence filled the unaccustomed distance between them. Memories and voices that Konrad thought he had long ago silenced now bubbled to the surface. He and his friend, Jakob Daniel, grew up next door to each other in the village of Halle. No one noticed or cared that Jakob was a Jew. At least half the people in the village were Jewish, but they were all German. That held them together and gave them a sense of community. To most people, how a person worshipped did not matter. Deutschland, the fatherland, that was important.
Even when each of them had married, Jakob and Konrad remained friends, especially so after Jakob and Grete learned they could not have children. They loved the Bauer children as their own.
Then the Nazi Party came to power, and with that, the awful realization that the Jewish people were targeted with severe punishment for any minor infraction. Still, Konrad reasoned, Jakob was safe because Grete was German.
Konrad and Jakob joined Die Freunde des Jüdischen Widerstands (the Friends of the Jewish Resistance) and grimly resolved to do whatever they could to help.
Life went on, different yet somehow not. The seasons changed, old ones died, new babies came, the land always there, both giving and demanding, and then that cold December night when Jakob and Grete came to celebrate Konrad's twenty-seventh birthday. It was a happy time. Happy because the Nazi's relentless pressure against Halle's Jews had eased. Happy for his growing family; they expected another baby in the spring. Content, even though threats of war billowed larger with each passing day. Yes, war was coming. It would be terrible, but it was not here yet.
Earlier that week, Anja had become ill with scarlet fever, and Marta sent the other children to Grandma Bauer, hoping they would be safe there from the fever.
And then it happened. The abstract horror became a reality. The knock. It had come now at Konrad's door. The Police dragged Jakob to the front yard. They tied him to the tree, piled straw around him, and set it ablaze. Konrad never thought of that night without remembering the smell of smoke and burning flesh in the chill night air.
Konrad stared at his bedroom wall, reeling from the vision of that awful night. His heart pounded in his ears. He would remember the sound of Jakob's screams until his dying day--the straw had been damp, the fire, slow to consume. The sound never went away.
He rubbed his forehead. I settle this in my mind so I can finally live with it, and something comes along to bring it all back. Will there never be any peace?
His subconscious whispered: 'No, not in this life, Konrad. You must go on. You must, because you have to, or Jakob and all the rest will have died for nothing. You must believe that. Every week the big bombers go deeper into Germany, and winning a war can come by way of a plow as surely as from a bomb. Believe that, Konrad, and then the screams might become bearable.'
Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow when all this work is done, then I will stand and look toward Germany, and I will shake my fists and say, 'Jakob, I have not forgotten'.
"Konrad, come to bed."
"In a minute."
He felt sick inside, sick with helpless rage. Konrad thought of their first years in America. Back then, Marta and Grete wrote often, but gradually the letters slowed to a trickle. Konrad, weary with it all, turned away. He pulled the light cord and climbed into bed. "How long since we heard from Grete?"
"Right after Christmas." Marta's voice sounded soft and sleepy. "She sent the letter direct to our address instead of sending it to her uncle in Leipzig and having him forward it on to us. Remember?"
"I remember. Nothing since then?"
"No." Marta turned over and snuggled her back against him. Konrad pulled her close and kissed the soft bend of her neck.
~~~~
Chapter 5
Kate woke to the smell of frying bacon. She patted Anja's side of the bed, hesitated, and reached farther, then raised her head and squinted against the bright block of sunlight that streamed through the alcove window. Anja's up already?
She let her head flop back against the pillow and gave in to the inertia of slumber. Finally, she could no longer ignore the chatter of birds in the apple trees or the sounds drifting upstairs from the kitchen. Reluctantly, she pulled her clothes off the chair and darted to the warm alcove to dress.
As she tied her shoes, she heard the back door slam and the sound of Steffen's muffled voice. Kate straightened the bed, fluffed the pillows, and hurried down to the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway. Her mother carried a platter of bacon and eggs to the table, and the sound of her brothers' back-and-forth banter carried from the porch.
She looked around. "Where's Anja?"
"I thought she was still upstairs," Marta replied.
The front door opened, and they turned to see Anja, standing with the afghan wrapped about her. Dark circles around her eyes offset her unusually pale face.
"Where have you been?" Kate asked.
"I couldn't sleep, so I sat on the porch to watch the sun come up." Anja folded the afghan in half and draped it over the big chair in the living room.
Kate frowned. There it was again, Anja not sleeping, and she wouldn't talk about it. They usually shared everything, so why was Anja shutting her out now? Soon, Kate decided, she'd try again to get Anja to open up about what troubled her.
During breakfast, Marta said, "I need to make a quick trip into town. Do you need me to pick up anything while I'm there?"
"What are you going for?" Konrad poured himself another glass of milk.
"I need fabric to make new kitchen curtains."
"Still a week before the milk check comes," Konrad cautioned. "Take care how much you spend."
The first two years after arriving in the United States, Konrad had rented the Klaas Laan place. When he bought this farm eight years ago, Marta made curtains for the kitchen. Now, one could only guess they had once been red, and any attempt at providing privacy had long ago gone out with the wash water.
"Can I go with you?" Kate asked.
"Sure. Anja, would you like to join us?"
"No, I'd rather help Papa outside."
"Good. You can give us a hand cleaning the hay shed." Konrad nodded. "We need to get the old hay out and repair the roof before we put in the new crop."