The Farmer's Daughter (15 page)

When he woke on the third morning, he was looking a great deal better. His colour had returned and he was anxious to be up and working again, even though he had a thick bandage round his chest and was wearing a pair of Arthur's pyjamas, which Jean had helped Doris put on him. He was also worried about what had happened at the camp.

‘They caught them all, except the one who shot you,' Jean told him. ‘He made off in the farm truck. I peppered him with shots, so I don't think he'll be feeling too good.'

‘He shot Corporal Donnington. I could not stop him.'

‘Yes, poor man. They found his body in the lane. That man has a lot to answer for when they catch him.' She paused. ‘You could
have gone with them. You needn't have warned me. You certainly needn't have risked being shot.'

‘But he was going to shoot you. I could not have allowed that. My life is nothing compared to yours. Without you, my existence would be a black hole of misery. You have brought me contentment and a kind of peace.'

‘Oh, Karl, what a lovely thing to say.' She picked his hand off the bed cover and put the palm to her cheek. ‘I thought you might die. I knew if that happened, I would want to die too.'

‘You love me?'

‘Yes. Don't sound so surprised.'

‘And I love you.'

‘Really? What about Heidi? You were in love with her once.'

He smiled. ‘No, I do not think I was. We were both very young when the war separated us. I think I clung onto the idea of loving her simply to keep me sane during the bad times. Now I have you and that, I promise you, is infinitely better.' He paused, searching her face. ‘We cannot know what the future holds for us, but if God is willing, perhaps we can live it together.'

‘I should like that, I should like it very much.' She bent over to kiss him. He put his arm up and round her neck and drew her down beside him to kiss her and stroke her face. His tenderness sent tingling shivers of longing right through her body.

‘What will your parents say?' he murmured when, at last, he let her go.

She sat up and ran her hands through her tousled hair. ‘I think Mum has already guessed how I feel about you.'

‘And?'

‘And nothing. She is worried about what others will think, but I couldn't care less.'

‘But you should care,
Liebling
. These are your people and they
are at war with mine. And you have been forbidden to fraternise with us …'

‘Rubbish. How can we work together under those conditions?'

‘All the same, I think we must not say anything to anyone yet. Wait until the war is over.'

‘You will have to go back to Germany.'

‘Yes, but Germany will be ruined. I will want to see my parents, but after that …' He smiled. ‘I don't have to stay there, do I?'

She brightened. ‘You will come back?'

‘If you want me to, I will come back.'

‘Then I will wait.'

They were stroking and kissing each other with growing fervour which only his injury prevented from escalating, when they heard a thunderous knocking on the front door and loud voices as her mother answered it, followed by heavy footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom door was flung open and Doris rushed in, followed by two uniformed soldiers, one a sergeant, one a private. ‘Jean, these men have come for Sergeant Muller.'

‘Well, they can't have him,' she said. ‘He's been wounded and is recovering from surgery. He can't be moved.'

‘We have our orders, miss. He's an escaped prisoner and you are harbouring him. That is a serious offence. If you don't hand him over, you will undoubtedly be prosecuted.'

‘That's nonsense. He works on this farm. He was never part of the escape.'

‘So you say.' It was the sergeant who did the talking. The private was silently watchful, holding his rifle at the ready, as if he expected Karl to make a run for it.

‘It's the truth. How do you think he was wounded? Not trying to escape, I can tell you. He was shot saving me.'

‘Makes no difference. I'm here to arrest him and arrest him I will.'

‘No.' She stood up, putting herself between the sergeant and the bed. ‘He'll go back to camp when he is well enough.'

‘It comes to something when an Englishwoman protects a Jerry,' the sergeant went on. ‘That's treason in my book.'

‘Oh, don't be ridiculous.' She was angry and aware as she spoke that Karl was getting out of bed.

‘If you pass me my clothes, I will come with you,' he said to the sergeant.

The sergeant looked about him, saw the uniform garments on a chair and flung them at him. ‘Make haste. We haven't got all day.'

‘No,' Jean said, watching Karl struggle to dress himself. ‘You are not well enough.'

‘I shall be all right,
Fräulein
,' he said. ‘It is best.'

Doris helped him finish dressing. ‘I'm sorry,' she said.

‘You have no reason to be sorry, Mrs Coleman. It is I who am sorry for putting you to all this trouble.'

‘I'll give you trouble if you don't come quietly,' the sergeant put in. ‘We've had our fill of chasing filthy Jerries all over the countryside. I'd shoot the lot if I had my way.' The sergeant grabbed Karl's arm and hustled him downstairs and out to a waiting truck, followed by the private still pointing his rifle.

Jean followed and watched them go. She was crying when she went indoors. ‘It's not fair,' she told her mother. ‘He is no danger to anyone. Colonel Williamson knows that. I'm going up there to give him a piece of my mind.'

‘I shouldn't do that, Jean,' her mother said. ‘Let things calm down a bit. Everyone has had a pretty bad scare and you flying of the handle isn't going to help, especially if you want him back.'

‘Of course I want him back.'

‘I am right, aren't I? You have fallen for him.'

‘Is that so very bad?'

‘We are at war with Germany.'

‘Not for much longer.'

‘Then what?'

‘I don't know, Mum, really I don't.'

‘Have you talked to him about it?'

‘A little, but what is there to say? There is nothing we can do about it.'

‘No. Best left. Least said, soonest mended.'

‘Mum, there's nothing to mend. I've got to get back to work. Let's not talk about it any more.'

She went to the field gate where the cows, heavy with milk, were waiting. She opened the gate and drove them towards the yard. Her conversation with her mother played on her mind. Mum had guessed the truth and thought it ought to be nipped in the bud, but the trouble was she didn't want to do that. The prospect of saying goodbye to Karl and never seeing him again was something she didn't like to contemplate.

‘I would have come sooner,' Bill said. ‘But I was busy helping to round up the Jerries. They were everywhere, hiding in sheds and ditches, one had buried himself in a haystack. Some went to the station and others were caught trudging down the road towards Littleport.'

‘How many got out?'

‘Half the camp, I should think. They overcame the guards and stole their weapons and raided the ammunition stores. It was nasty while it lasted. Most gave themselves up without much trouble, one or two were a bit braver and boasted that Hitler would beat us yet and all the prisoners all over the country were out and marching on London, which they would
take with the help of paratroopers. Did you ever hear anything so bizarre?'

‘It doesn't bear thinking about,' Doris said.

‘One of them killed poor Corporal Donnington,' Jean said. ‘He shot Karl, too.'

‘Is he dead?'

‘No, he isn't dead.'

‘Pity.'

‘How can you say that? He saved my life. That man was going to shoot me. If he had got into the house, he would have killed everyone …'

‘Jean helped Doctor Norman to take the bullet out of him,' Donald added. ‘Then the soldiers came and arrested him and took him away.'

‘Good thing too,' Bill said. ‘He won't be let out again.'

‘I had to do all the farm work while Jean looked after him,' the boy grumbled.

‘All the work?' his mother queried. ‘You don't know what real work is, young man.'

‘Yes, I do. I hate farm work.'

‘Nevertheless, we will all work together and get things done,' Doris said. ‘That right, Pa?'

He grunted an assent.

‘I can give you a hand, if you need one,' Bill said.

‘Thanks, but we can manage,' Jean said. ‘And perhaps Sergeant Muller will come back when he recovers.' She had refused his help before when it had been her pride and independence governing her; there was no question of accepting it now. It would have been hypocritical.

Frustrated and angry, he took his leave. He wished that Jerry to kingdom come. If he'd caught him out in the open when
the prisoners were all running loose, he'd have given him both barrels. Someone else had done it for him but he had made sure Colonel Williamson knew where the man was hiding.

Colonel Williamson came to see Karl in the sick bay. ‘Are you being looked after, Sergeant?'

‘Yes, thank you.'

‘Tell me how it happened?'

‘I got in the way of a stray bullet. It was an accident.'

‘Accident?'

‘Yes.'

‘But you were taking part in the escape?'

‘No. I was going to work as usual.'

‘Even if that is true, you knew what was being planned. You warned Miss Coleman and she alerted me.'

‘Oh.' He hadn't known Jean had done that, but he should have guessed she would.

‘It is thanks to her timely warning that we were able to contain the breakout to the immediate area,' the colonel went on. ‘I imagine you would not want your fellow prisoners to know that. They are all back in the camp.'

‘All of them? Even
Feldwebel
Hartmann?'

‘He was picked up this morning. He is in the surgery at the moment having some shotgun pellets extracted. After that, he will be sent to a civilian prison and tried for the murder of Corporal Donnington.'

‘I am sorry about the corporal.'

‘So am I. He had a wife and two small children. It is in your best interests to tell me all you know, Sergeant. It is the only way that I can protect you.'

‘
Herr Kolonel
, you know as much as I do. And if everyone is
safely back in camp, I cannot see how I can help you.'

‘That is a pity. As soon as the doctor says you are fit, you will be sent back to join your fellow prisoners.' They both knew what his fate would be. The other prisoners might guess someone had tipped off the commandant and it would not be long before they came to the conclusion that he was to blame for their failure. His actions would be seen as cowardice at best, treason at worst. If the colonel had hoped that might make Karl more amenable, he was disappointed.

‘When can I go back to work?'

‘That I don't know. For the moment everyone is confined to camp with loss of privileges.'

Gerhard Richter, otherwise known as
Feldwebel
Hans Schmidt, had managed to reach the outskirts of Ely with the help of Hartmann and the farm truck. When the truck ran out of fuel, they had split up, running across the fields to avoid a roadblock. The inhabitants of that town had been warned and, seeing a man running over sodden winter fields, had given chase. He had been caught when he fell into one of the many dykes that criss-crossed the fens. Brought back to Little Bushey, wet and freezing, he was sullen and angry. It was impossible to confine all the men in the cells, so all but the known ringleaders were sent back to their quarters. Colonel Williamson was fairly sure Schmidt was one of them, but no one would betray him, least of all Sergeant Muller. Consequently he was free to roam about the compound and inevitably encountered Karl after roll call three mornings later. He was surrounded by his cohorts.

‘Ah, here we have the teller of tales,' he said. ‘I think a trial is called for. We will convene in the latrines in half an hour.'

The latrines were chosen because it was easier to find hidden
microphones there than in the huts. In less than the stipulated thirty minutes they were so crowded no one could have used them for their proper purpose. Gerhard presided, but he was far from an unbiased judge, he was also the main accuser. ‘I took you for a friend,' he said, addressing Karl, who had been dragged there by Schumann and Keitel with his hands tied behind his back. ‘I told you things I would never have done if I had known your true colours, and you betrayed me. Because of you, we were not able to carry out our orders. The whole course of the war has altered because of our failure.'

‘That's rubbish.' Karl knew from the newspapers he had seen at the farm that there had been no parachute drop on London and the counteroffensive in the Ardennes had been halted.

‘Silence! You will speak when I give you leave.' He looked round at the crowd of men, everyone angry that he had been recaptured so easily and they were looking for a scapegoat. ‘I have
Feldwebel
Hartmann's sworn testimony that you tried to prevent the escape and all for
eine Englishe Flittchen
.'

Calling Jean filthy names was the last straw for Karl. He roared with anger and struggled against his bonds. He was rewarded with a punch from Schumann. It caught him on the still-healing wound in his side, making him grunt with pain. He would have remained upright if Keitel, on his other side, had not punched him in the kidney. He dropped to his knees.

‘That's better,' Gerhard said. ‘Do you confess to being a
Spitzel
and an informer?'

‘No.' This time it was more convenient to kick him than punch him, and both men used their boots to great effect.

‘What say you,' his accuser addressed the men. ‘Guilty or not guilty?'