The Watcher (17 page)

Adrie put her cup into the sink and announced, “I've got to go to work. We are still looking for those White Rose members. It was bad enough that they distributed their
pamphlets secretly. Now I hear they are painting their messages on walls and buildings.”

“Why are you so worried about the White Rose?” I asked casually. “No one pays attention to what a few college kids are saying, do they?”

“We can't have our own people undermining our war efforts and saying slanderous things against our Führer.” Adrie took a small mirror from her pocket, checked her hair, and turned to me again. “I must go back to Munich for a few days. I hope you are well enough to be left alone again. After your reaction to what happened to Johanna, I'm worried about you.”

“I'm not alone. Frieda is here.”

“You'll feel better once you go back to Lebensborn and face those girls who exposed Johanna. If they start in on you, let them see you do not give a hoot about them. Then they'll stop harassing you.” Adrie picked up her briefcase from a nearby chair and headed for the door. “You should have done that with those girls in Maine. Instead you fell apart.”

“I'm not the same girl I was when I visited Maine.”

“Well, that's a good thing. See? Living here has made you a better and stronger person.” Adrie looked pleased as she went out the door.

“Yes, I am stronger,” I answered.

Frieda did make a special American breakfast—hot cakes with sweet syrup and lots of butter and thick slices of ham. I sank down at the kitchen table and allowed her to wait on me—even to tuck a napkin into the neck of my pajamas.
The syrup felt good on my sore throat, but it was hard to swallow the ham. And even though the pancakes were soft, I could only manage to eat half of one.

“Danke,
Frieda
,”
I said, pushing the plate away.

Frieda looked at me with concern. Then she came around the table, put her arms around me, and kissed me on the cheek.

At her gentleness and affection, the tears came spilling out over my lashes and dribbled down my face, as if a dam had broken. I clung to Frieda and trembled as she held me. Adrie must have told her yesterday's events at Lebensborn. It did not matter how Adrie may have told the story, all I needed was that hug and that show of affection.

Later I was eager to get to the park, where I hoped Barret was waiting, but I walked slowly. My head pounded with each step. Watcher tugged and whined. He wanted to see Barret too.

Barret was already there with his white cane, sitting by the fountain. I hurried over and sat down next to him. “I knew you were here because Watcher was so excited.”

Barret reached out and grabbed both of my hands. “Wendy Vendy, how are you?” he asked. “I've been worried about you. You were so distressed when we talked yesterday.”

“Barret, yesterday was the worst day of my life. I have never witnessed anything so cruel —not even in the scariest movies. Johanna says the Bible teaches us to love one another, including our enemies, and she stayed respectful
even when Himmler said they had beheaded her brother. What an ugly monster of a man.” Once again the tears welled up in my eyes. “I'll . . . probably never see her again.”

Barret could not see my tears, but he had to have heard the distress in my voice, because he pulled me closer and put his arm around my shoulders. “Wendy Vendy,” he whispered, using his teasing name for me. “You are like a little sister—innocent and trusting. You have never been conditioned to circumstances like these.”

I leaned against him. He felt strong and warm. “Why are the Bible Students hated so much?”

“One reason is that their magazines are distributed all over the world, exposing what is going on here.”

“Do you think Johanna has been killed?”

“Honestly, we may never know.” Barrett seemed thoughtful, then asked, “Have you heard about the White Rose? They are speaking out too, in their own way.”

“Yes. Adrie told me about them. She said they will be caught and punished.”

To my surprise, Barret bent over and took off his shoe. Inside was a folded paper, which he pulled out and handed to me. “This is one of their leaflets. Opa read it to me.”

“Having that paper is dangerous, Barret,” I warned, my voice a hoarse whisper. “Suppose someone found it on you.”

“They'd know I couldn't read it.” He laughed, and then said seriously, “But it wouldn't matter. If I were caught with this, they'd suspect me—blind or not.” He whispered in my ear. “I wanted you to see there are Germans who
are willing to speak up, even though they do so anonymously. Once you have read this, burn it immediately.”

“I'll be careful.” I took off my own shoe and tucked the folded leaflet inside. Then I sat back and faced my friend. “Barret, I want to leave Germany. I want to go home—back to the States. Opa said he'd help me.”

Barret nodded and looked sad. “
Ja
, but if you go away, Wendy, I'll be very lonely.”

“You can come too! We'll go together. We will find the way out of Germany. Watcher will come with us. As long as we have each other, we can do it.”

Barret took a long sigh, and then shook his head. “I would be a burden.”

“Barret, I have to have hope. Please do not tell me it's impossible. I need to believe there is a way out. Go along with my dream. Even if it never happens, it's comforting to pretend there is a way. We'll make plans for the three of us. I will not go without you—even in my pretend world. We will all go together.”

Watcher seemed excited, because he jumped up from the cement, put his front paws on Barret's knees, and licked his face.

“See? Watcher knows that the three of us can do anything!” I put my arm around Barret and hugged him. Then I whispered. “Barret, I must go home now. I'm not feeling well. My head is pounding and my throat is sore.”

“It's no wonder, after what you went through yesterday.” He reached for his cane and stood up. “Go home and get rested.”

“Adrie will be away, so I'll see you here on Saturday.”

We walked to the sidewalk then turned in opposite directions. Watcher looked after Barret, as if undecided with whom he should go. I gave him a tug. “Let's go home, Watcher.”

The walk home seemed longer than usual. I felt hot and weak. When we reached the entrance at the back of our house, I was relieved to find the gate unlatched. We went inside and up to the terrace where Frieda was sitting at a table, drinking tea and reading mail.

“Frieda!” I called. I did not recognize my own voice. “Frieda!”

She looked up, puzzled, and then came to me. “Are you all right?” she asked in German.

“I'm so ill,” I whispered. “It hurts to talk . . . and my head  . . .”

Frieda put her arm around my waist and felt my forehead with the inside of her other wrist. “You are burning up.”

I felt myself my legs give out—and Frieda holding me. I knew I was about to faint.

My shoe!
What if someone finds the White Rose paper in my shoe?

It was too late. I dropped into a deep hole of blackness.

W
here am I? I am deep in the sea—with icy water on my face and neck. I am turning over repeatedly in the waves. Shivering. So cold.

I hear echoing voices far away. They are speaking German. I can't understand. Is it Johanna? What have they done with Johanna?

I try to call out. “Adrie! Frieda!” My voice is garbled.

A man is speaking. He is forcing my mouth open. Get away from me. Are you Himmler? Do not take Johanna!

Now . . . I feel cool facecloths and comforting words. Is it Mommy? My mommy in New York? Am I in New York? Is that my daddy holding my hand?

I miss you, Daddy and Mommy. Please come for me.

Over the next several weeks—or so I found out later—I was in a dark place, not knowing much of anything. Night
and day dragged into one long nightmare. At times I knew I was in my room. Other times I thought I was back in Maine, or in New York. How disappointing when I realized I was still in Berlin.

I was often aware of Frieda sitting me up in my bed, fluffing pillows, coaxing me to swallow the soft food she made for me—scrambled eggs, chicken soup, oatmeal. I was afraid to swallow because of the pain. I dreaded to hear footsteps coming toward my room, because I knew someone would be forcing me to eat and drink.

One morning Adrie brought water with icecubes and a straw to sip. “You must have fluids, Wendy. You are severely dehydrated.”

I could barely speak. “No. Please.”

“If you don't drink, we will have to feed you with a tube down your throat. I will have a nurse come and force you to eat. You don't want that, do you?” Adrie held the straw to my mouth, and I tried to sip—just the smallest amount—to satisfy her.

“Shards of broken glass,” I whispered, pointing to my throat.

“It's time we called the doctor again. He has been here several times, but you probably don't remember.”

“What did he say?”

“You have an infected throat. He coated your tonsils with iodine. You must remember that. You put up a big fuss.”

I shook my head.

Adrie left the room, and I could hear her speaking on
the telephone in her bedroom. The overhead bedroom light was harsh and bright, and my eyes hurt; there was also the unbearable headache. My head pounded with every sound—squirrels quarreling in the big tree outside my window; dogs barking; telephones ringing; doors shutting.

“The doctor is coming,” she said later, peering into my room. “I'm staying home again today. I cannot go back to Munich when you are so ill.”

“Johanna?” I tried to ask about Johanna, but it hurt too much.

“She is gone” was all that Adrie said.

Frieda came into the room and spoke softly in German to Adrie. It was an effort for me to translate what they were saying. I wanted to hear only English.

The doctor came. He forced my mouth open again, looked down with a light, then shook his head and spoke seriously to Adrie. I turned away and prayed they wouldn't poke at my throat again.

Suddenly someone shoved a rubber mask onto my face, and I smelled the sickening sweet scent of gas. I slipped back, deep into that strange sea where dreams and reality all melded together.

Hours? Days later? I woke up in the bright light of my bedroom and was shocked to realize that I could not move. I was strapped to the bed with bands of heavy material. Was I being punished for something? Had they found the secret paper in my shoe?

However, my throat wasn't quite as sore now. I could
open my mouth wider without as much pain, and I could breathe more easily.

Adrie peeked in, and seeing me awake, gestured for Frieda to come in. Frieda smiled at me gently—sadly—and held up a bottle of medicine and a spoon.

Frieda plumped up the pillows as Adrie loosened the bands that held me tightly to the bed. Then they lifted me to a sitting position. If it would make me better, I was more than willing to take the new drug, so I opened my mouth while Adrie fed me a tablespoonful of the strange-tasting medicine. It didn't hurt as much to swallow now.