The Watcher (20 page)

To my surprise, Frieda was standing in the hall wearing a troubled expression. She put a finger to her lips.
“Sei vorsichtig,”
she whispered.
Be careful.

Adrie stayed in her office for most of the day. I heard the radio turned on, and the news was mostly about the White Rose instigators' trial tomorrow—Monday. It sounded as if they were already convicted—and I realized they did not stand a chance for a fair trial.

I
slept late on Monday, February 22. As I headed down to breakfast, I passed by Adrie's office, where she was sitting at her desk. She had the radio on, and the telephone was in her hand.

“Are you expecting an important call?” I asked, hoping to set aside yesterday's argument.

“I want to hear the results of the trial with Sophie and Hans Scholl and their friend Christoph Probst. This one will be over quickly because after they found evidence—the printing press and more leaflets in Sophie's apartment—she confessed.”

“What will the sentence be? Concentration camp?”

Adrie did not answer. She looked at me sideways, her eyebrows raised, as if to say,
Don't ask stupid questions.

I pressed on. “Death?”

“Of course.” The phone rang and she put her finger to her lips.
“Shh!” She turned off the radio.

I did not want to hear any more, so I left the room. I went to the kitchen, where Frieda was peeling vegetables at the sink. Watcher was asleep on his blanket under the table. He must have whined or barked during the night, and either Adrie or Frieda had let him out of my room. He looked up at me sleepily, wagged his tail, and then sank his head down on his paws again.

Frieda pushed a plate of breakfast biscuits over to me and then poured cups of tea from the kettle for both of us. I picked out one bun glazed with cinnamon, apples, and walnuts. It was so good that I helped myself to a second.

Frieda, who went back to peeling turnips and potatoes, looked over at me occasionally with serious glances. Was something bothering her? I looked to see if I had spilled tea or food onto the printed tablecloth, and brushed away a few crumbs. “Is everything all right, Frieda?” I asked in German.

Frieda opened her mouth as if to speak, but then turned away, her attention on the job at hand.
“Ja,”
she said, nodding quickly.

At that moment Adrie burst into the room. “Well, the trial is over, and all three of those students are on their way to the guillotine.”

“What?” I jumped up. “Guillotine? You mean they're . . .”

“Yes.” She looked at her watch. “They're dead by now, and they got exactly what they deserved. This is what happens to traitors.”

“You said they'd get a fair trial.”

“They d-did get a fair trial,” Adrie sputtered. “They confessed, remember?”

“Confessed to what? To voicing their opinions? They were not shooting or killing anyone.” I headed for the door. “There is no freedom of speech here. There's no freedom of anything here.”

“Don't you dare speak of your government in that way,” Adrie warned. “You'll end up at the guillotine yourself, if you keep this up.”

Frieda did not look at me, but as I turned to leave, I could see her hands shaking and suddenly blood streamed from her fingers onto the vegetable peels.

“Oh, Frieda,” I whispered.

She quickly tucked her bleeding fist into her apron. Her other hand she held to her mouth as if to hold back a scream.

I could not face Adrie again, so I raced up the stairs to my room and closed the door. The very thought of that brother and sister facing the guillotine just a few moments ago made me ill.

I didn't know how long I sat there. Maybe an hour. No one came to see where I was or what I was doing. Adrie didn't attempt to talk me out of my anger and shock at the outcome of the trial. She was probably tired of arguing with me or trying to make me the perfect German maiden she wanted for her daughter.

Frieda was so upset too. Was it because of the students? Or was it because of my attitude and the things I said? Poor
Frieda! Her hand was cut badly, but she did not want Adrie to see.

I stood up and went to the window. The trees were bare, their limbs like skeletons. The world outside was gray.

This is Berlin, Germany,
I thought.
And I do not belong here.

I
t snowed this week—three days in a row. On Wednesday, after the snow had melted a little and been packed down, I put on my boots and warm jacket and walked to Barret's house. Watcher trotted along ahead of me. Barret had made hot chocolate and cookies. I was always amazed at the things he could do without his sight. Since it was bright and sunny, we brushed off the snow from the picnic table and benches, then sat and enjoyed the bright sunshine. Because it was too slippery to drive, Opa stayed home that day and joined us.

We talked about the terrible fate of the White Rose students. “I wonder if Johanna had to face a guillotine,” I said. “I can't bear to think about it.”

“Now that you've lived here for a while, how do you feel about your own life here?” Opa asked.

“I don't want to stay here another day.”

Opa gave me a long, serious look. “Barret told me you might want a way out.”

“I'll go whenever and wherever you say.”

“The war is coming closer and will become more violent. It will be more difficult for you to leave by then.” He began his usual task of filling his pipe bowl with tobacco. “My advice to you now is to get out while the getting's good—as they say in England.”

“But it's winter, Opa,” Barret objected. “It would be better to wait until spring,
ja?
”

“By the time she's ready, it will be spring,” Opa added. “A few months ago I wouldn't have encouraged your leaving, Wendy, but since the surrender in Stalingrad, and the loss of German submarines in the North Atlantic, I am sure Europe will be invaded before long. Then there will terrible times ahead here in Germany—and Berlin, especially. There is much to do if we are to help you escape. I must contact people along the way who will help you make your way to Denmark.”

“Denmark? I never thought of Denmark,” I told him.

“Once you are in northern Denmark, you are only a few miles by boat to Sweden, which is neutral and willing to take refugees.”

“Is that what I will be? A refugee?”

“
Ja,
you are seeking refuge, right?” Opa answered.

“Oh, Wendy Vendy, I will worry about you . . . ,” Barret started to say.

“We must keep personal feelings out of this, Barret,” Opa said with a frown. “We will provide Wendy with maps,
addresses, names, bus and train routes—along with identification papers.” He turned to me. “You will most likely need to show papers at every train depot and border, Wendy. I will get them together for you.”

A shiver went up and down my back. Opa spoke rationally and realistically, I knew my escape was really going to happen. But could I do it? Could I get to Denmark by myself in the middle of a war?

“What about money?” I asked. “I don't expect you to provide the funds. I will start saving right away. . . .”

Opa laughed. “Oh, my child, your father prepared for whenever you would need help with your life—either here or in America. He knew quite well, even before you were born, what was ahead here in Germany—especially with Hitler as the Chancellor.” Opa motioned to the barn door. “Come in here with me. I have something to show you.”

Once inside the barn, Opa opened a cabinet that was stacked with books. He looked them over, then pulled four books from the top shelf. Reaching back into the empty space, he dragged out a rough, unpolished wooden chest. Motioning for us to gather around, he set the chest on the table and turned on the overhead light.

“What is it?” Barret asked.

“A box,” I whispered to him.

Opa touched a switch on the box and the cover opened.

I looked inside eagerly, but all it contained was a pile of wooden matches. “Matches?” I asked.

“Matches!” Barret exclaimed.

Opa caught our disappointed expressions and chuckled.
“Just wait.” He poured the matches out onto the table. Then, Opa took a small chisel and pried the base of the chest until it popped, revealing a black velvet bag hidden inside.

Opa untied the strong twine that sealed the bag and poured out the contents. A waterfall of precious stones tumbled out, splashing the surface of the table with sparkling colors—emeralds, diamonds, rubies, peridot, yellow citrine—all gleamed like dewdrops and cast little rainbows around the room.

Was I dreaming? I reached out and caught a cobalt-blue sapphire as it rolled across the tabletop. Jewels and gemstones glowed in shades of green, lemon-yellow, pale lilac, and deep purple.

“These are all yours, Wendy,” Opa said, “from your father.”

I grasped the cold blue jewel tightly in my hand, closed my eyes, and envisioned the blond, smiling man in the photographs.

This treasure was a gift to me from my own father—to protect me. I felt my throat tighten as tears blurred the world around me.

David Dressner, my father whom I never knew—had loved me.

I
sat there staring at the jewels. Neither Opa nor Barret said a word, but Watcher whined and pawed my leg, asking if I was all right.

Finally Opa spoke. “Wendy. Your father suspected the time would come when you would need these jewels. They will enable you to get out of Germany. However, we all know you cannot carry gems like these in your pocket, so we must find a way for you to smuggle them out. While they can be the means for your freedom, they may also be the means for your being robbed, or worse. For now we will keep them here where they have been safe all these years.”

Even though we had talked about my leaving Germany, the idea of actually doing it was scary. I had chills as the possibilities of what might happen began to set in.

Opa continued, “Until now, the war has been on the
outskirts of Germany, with bombs concentrating on factories and defense plants. Once the Allies invade Europe, Berlin will be their goal.” He gave me a long, serious look. “You must be convinced you're doing the right thing, Wendy. It will not be easy. So, if you are not sure . . .”

“I am sure. I want to leave Germany. When I saw Johanna taken away, and when I heard what they did to the White Rose kids . . .” I nodded. “Yes. I am absolutely sure.”

Opa gathered the jewels and put them back in the velvet bag. “Very well. I will begin setting things in motion.” Opa put the gems into the box and returned it to its hiding place. “Let's think of way to hide these jewels when you travel.”

We were getting warm with our winter jackets still on, so we went outside again. Watcher settled on the snow between Barret and me.

Barret reached down and scratched my dog's head and neck, then paused as his fingers touched Watcher's leather collar. “I know where we can hide the larger jewels.”

“Where?” Opa and I asked together.

“We'll hide them in plain sight—on Watcher's jeweled collar!”

“Watcher doesn't have a jeweled collar,” I said.

“Not yet,” Barret said. “But Heidi did. Opa can replace those fake stones on Heidi's collar with the real jewels.” He turned in the direction of his grandfather. “Dogs often have a leather collar with fake jewels fastened to them.”

Opa frowned and held his cold pipe in his mouth as he thought about it. After a moment he spoke up. “
Ah, gute
Idee,
Barret. That collar should be a perfect fit for Watcher, now that he's fully grown.”

“I'll need to be able to get them off the collar easily,” I reminded them.

“
Ja,
of course, Wendy, and we'll keep this in mind,” Opa said. “Now I need to get in touch with those who will help you along the way. This may take some time. Letters are in code. Some may be hand delivered on the other end. It may be spring before everything is in place. On the other hand, it may be sooner than we expect. Meanwhile, you should prepare for this journey of yours.”

“I'm not sure what I'll need.”

“Practical clothing, for one thing. You will need a pair of heavy shoes with thick soles. As you go farther north you may have to walk through bombed-out cities, and there will be broken metal and glass.” Opa looked down at my boots. “Those will work well.” He nodded.

“Be sure to take a first-aid kit,” Barret added.

I glanced at the clock and clamped Watcher's leash onto his present collar. “I must leave. Adrie may be home and wondering where I am and who I've been with.” I gave Opa and Barret hugs and headed for the sidewalk.

“Wait! I'll walk a little way with you,” Barret called, reaching for his white cane, which he always kept close.

I waited for him and we walked together. “Barret, it seems I must be prepared to leave at any time.”

“Opa is eager to get you out of the country before the bombings begin here.” Barret paused, as if remembering something. “Wendy, I think he's talked with someone who
wants you to leave soon and who is urging him to help.”

“Talked with someone? Who?”

Barret shrugged. “I don't know. I have often wondered how he knew you were coming to Berlin when he began the watch on Adrie's house. Have you any idea who it might be?”

“I've wondered the same thing, but I have no idea who it could be.”

We stopped at the corner, where we parted ways. Barret took my face in his hands and kissed my cheek. “I wish I could see your pretty face,” he said with a sigh.