The Watcher (18 page)

“You must take this medicine every four hours. It's the new miracle sulfonamide drug, Prontosil from Bayer—made here in Germany of course. The allies do not have this. You are very fortunate that there is still some available. Most of it is being used for our wounded soldiers.”

“What's wrong with me?” I croaked.

“Your sore throat turned into quinsy throat—it produced a large abscess behind your tonsil. It's no wonder you couldn't swallow. The doctor gave you anesthesia and pierced the boil.”

“What has happened in the war? Did the Russians surrender?” I was hoping the war was over—no matter who won.

“Things are not good for our troops at Stalingrad.”

“So the Germans have not surrendered yet?”

“Of course not. They'll die before they'd surrender.”

I tried to get comfortable. “Take those straps off me, please,” I whispered to Adrie.

“No, the restraints will keep you from falling. We have to be sure the anesthesia wears off first. Just go to sleep.” She turned off the overhead bedroom light and left on the small bedroom lamp by my bed. It gave a soft, comforting glow, and for the first time I believed I would get better.

I closed my eyes. Time for me had stopped. How long had it been since I had seen Barret? Was he worried about me? Did he know I'd been ill?

What about my shoe? Surely, someone must have found the White Rose brochure folded up inside by now. Who? Adrie? No, she would have been so angry, I would have heard about it, no matter how sick I might have been. I had to look for it! I struggled under the straps, then realized I was too weak to get up. I sank back onto the pillow and tried to remember.

When I came home ill that day, Frieda had undressed me and put me to bed. If she had discovered the brochure, would she have told Adrie? Or had she even found it, considering how frightened she was when I fainted? Could the paper still be in my shoe?

A
fter several more weeks I was able to get up and walk around a bit with Adrie's or Frieda's help. My legs were rubbery, and it was hard to keep my balance. Once I was alone, the first thing I did was to look in my closet for the shoes I had worn that day in the park. They were there, on the shoe rack. I held my breath as I looked inside each shoe. There was nothing there. Someone must have removed the White Rose brochure.

I could not imagine Adrie finding it and not exploding at me. The only other persons who had come into my room were Frieda . . . and the doctor. The doctor would have no reason to look in my shoes. Had Frieda found that folded paper? If so, had she read it? Perhaps she just tossed it out without even looking at it. Should I ask her? Did I dare bring it up? The anxiety I felt made my headache started throbbing again. I
went to the bed and dropped back onto the sheets.

Later that day the doctor came and told Adrie my blood was thin—whatever that meant—and he prescribed iron and vitamins for me to take every day.

“You have been seriously ill for more than a month,” Adrie said. “So it will take several months to recuperate before you're back to normal.” She sighed. “That means you cannot go back to Lebensborn—or to school, for that matter. I was hoping you'd be going to school, at least. But you need to stay quiet and rest here at home.”

I was so relieved, my eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, I know that makes you unhappy,” Adrie said sympathetically, noticing my tears.

She had no idea how delighted I was. Why, it was worth being sick to know I would not have to go back to Lebensborn. I wouldn't need to attend a school, either. Now Adrie would go back to Munich and I would be able to meet Barret again.

Frieda helped me down the stairs to supper that night. We celebrated my first time downstairs since I became ill. We ate in the dining room. Adrie lit candles, and we each had a little glass of wine.

“Prost!”
Adrie said, lifting her glass. “Here's to good health for all of us—especially Wendy.” Then she added, “You don't remember much of what happened when you were so sick, but I was headed to Munich. Once I talked with the doctor, I canceled my trip to stay with you.”

“Oh, I'm sorry I caused you to postpone your trip, Adrie,” I said.

“It wasn't your fault, of course! However, that week Munich was bombed badly. So perhaps you saved my life, Wendy.”

“I'm thankful you weren't there,” I said.

Frieda had made my favorite: pot roast and vegetables. “Eat lots of meat,” she said. “It will build your blood.”

We ate quietly, with Watcher at my feet, when Adrie suddenly spoke up. “Oh, I must tell you something else, now that you are better. I spotted that watcher in the woods twice since you have been ill. Both times it was in the morning. I've decided I will call the police tomorrow and tell them to capture this person once and for all.”

I looked down at my plate so my eyes wouldn't give away my apprehension. I was certain it was Opa. “Do you have any idea who it might be?”

“No. I wasn't concerned before, but this has been going on for too long.”

Has Opa been spying on our house to see what has happened to me? He must stop. I've got to let him know I am all right.

Later that evening Watcher and I sat with Adrie in her office while Berlin radio played music by German bands and singers.

Suddenly Dr. Goebbels interrupted with an important announcement regarding the Sixth Army on the Eastern Front. His high-pitched fanatical voice screamed out to German citizens. “Our gallant soldiers are closing in on Stalingrad! Victory is near. Their most dangerous enemy is the winter weather. Our troops need warm clothing and
boots. Bring your coats—especially fur coats—to our booths around the city, and we will send them to our brave men on the Eastern Front.”

“I must get my furs out of storage tomorrow and bring one down to the collection place,” Adrie said. “Winter is here, and you need a warm coat and jacket too. Stand up and turn around, Wendy.” I did as she asked and felt uncomfortable under her critical gaze. I had seen my skinny bones and pale skin in the bathroom mirror. “Oh, Wendy. You must be at least two sizes smaller now. I am going to pick up some winter clothing for you.”

“Whatever you get will be fine with me.”

“That goes to show how weak you are. Usually the very thought of shopping would set you dancing.” Adrie shook her head sadly. “I'll go while I'm in town tomorrow. I will be working for most of the day. Will you be all right without me? Frieda will be here.”

“I'll be just fine, Adrie.” My heart soared with relief. I would be able to call Barret tomorrow morning and warn him.

B
efore Adrie went off to work the following morning, we listened to the radio and heard that Russian soldiers had surrounded the Sixth Army in Stalingrad.

“That sounds bad for the German soldiers,” I commented.

“Everything will be all right. The Führer has sent Field Marshal von Manstein's soldiers to break the encirclement. Our Führer would never leave our soldiers at the hands of the Russians.”

I was beginning to pay more attention to the newspaper and radio broadcasts regarding the war. I wanted to know what was happening and when and where I might go if I should try to escape. Even though it might never happen, it was a relief to know that Opa could find a way—if I really wanted to go.

I called out to Adrie as she headed for the door. “Adrie,
if you do get some clothes for me, would you pick out some warm, comfortable boots—like hiking boots?”

“Hiking boots?” she asked with an astonished look on her face. “And just where are you going hiking?”

“I think they'd be good to have for the winter. I don't want to fall or get cold.” She must never know I would be walking with Barret. “One more thing, I'd really like a warm jacket with a hood. Do you think you could find one . . . with a lot of pockets?”

Adrie put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I'm surprised you aren't begging for something chic and stylish.”

“I have nowhere to go to wear chic clothes. I don't want to get sick again.”

“Good for you, Wendy.” Adrie smiled at me as she left.

From the window, I could see Adrie driving down to the street. Frieda was scraping dishes and pouring hot water into the sudsy dishpan. Good. While Frieda was busy, I had time to call Barret. Once upstairs, I took the phone from Adrie's room and plugged it into the phone jack in my room. Then I dialed Barret's number.

Almost immediately I heard Barret's voice. “Hallo?”

“It is me, Wendy?”

“Oh, we have been so worried, Wendy Vendy. It has been a month or more! Have you been ill? You were not feeling well the last time we were together.”

“I have been very ill. I was unconscious for a long time.”

“Opa tried to find out how you were. He was back in the park watching your house.”

“Barret, don't let him go there again. Adrie saw him twice, and she's sending the police to set a trap.”

“I'll tell him. Now that we know you're all right, he won't go near the park.”

“I do have so much to tell you. Where can we meet?”

“In Opa's workshop. He has fixed up an old barn behind our apartment building. If anyone does see us, we can say we are training Watcher.”

“Good. We need to train him so he can help us when we leave Germany.”

“I cannot leave Opa, Wendy. Your dream cannot be mine.” Barret then changed the subject. “Are you well enough to walk to the park?”

“Um, day after tomorrow—in the morning? We can meet at the park, and then you'll show me the way to Opa's workshop.”

“Wednesday morning then.” He hung up.

Instead of feeling happy to have spoken to Barret, I was depressed. He did not intend to leave Germany. After all, Opa and Barret were so close. What would either do without the other? I was being selfish to suggest that Barret escape with me—even if it was only a dream plan. I unplugged the phone and replaced it in Adrie's room.

In my own room, Watcher was sleeping on the rug. I knelt down and put my arms around him. “It makes me sad, but if we do go, Watcher, it will be just the two of us after all.”

Watcher looked up at me drowsily, wagged his tail, and went back to sleep.

I
t took three trips to the car to bring in all the packages of winter clothing that Adrie had purchased for me.

“I had such a good time on this shopping spree,” she said, flopping down on the living-room sofa. “But it would have been more fun if you'd been with me.”

“Each time you came to visit me in the States, you were loaded up with gifts and goodies,” I said. “I could hardly wait for your visits.”

“See? She only loves me for my money and gifts,” she said in German to Frieda who was folding shopping bags.

I looked in awe at the heap of shopping bags piled on the floor. “You really bought out the store, Adrie.”

Right there in the living room I tried on a pair of slacks and a sweater. “Oh, wow!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands. “I cannot believe you actually bought me slacks. My friend Jill wore slacks in the States, and it was shocking! But now,
with women working in factories for the war effort, it's more acceptable and stylish.”

“Actually, after your illness I decided they'd be much warmer for the winter instead of dresses.”

As we opened the packages, it felt like Christmas. Adrie had purchased long-sleeved shirts and sweaters; a pleated plaid skirt with a velvet vest; a green wool coat; the sporty brown jacket with a hood and pockets I wanted; and a pair of ankle-high boots for walking or hiking.

“The boots aren't real leather, though,” she apologized. “It is impossible to find real leather shoes anymore. But they should be durable.”

“They are fine! Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

As I tried on the boots, I wondered once again who might have found the White Rose paper in my shoe. It had been more than two months now, and no one had said a word. I looked up and saw Frieda watching me. Had she found it? Was she waiting and watching to see what I might do next? She was a loyal German, wasn't she? I'd been told not to trust anyone, not even someone kind like Frieda.

The next morning, after Adrie left, I pulled on the new coffee-colored wool slacks and topped them with a soft flannel shirt and tan jacket. “I'm taking a short walk this morning,” I told Frieda in German as I hitched Watcher to his leash. “I need fresh air.”

She nodded. “Short walk only. Do not go far. And stay warm.”

It was cold outside, and the trees had lost most of their leaves.
The few remaining were brown and crisp, and they clattered in the breeze. Sounds were clearer; car horns, sparrows chirping noisily in a hedge, a dog barking in the distance.

Watcher stopped, as if wondering where the other dog was. Then he tugged impatiently at his leash and trotted as he realized we were heading for the park.

Christmas was approaching, but there were not many decorations because of the war and out of regard for the soldiers on the Eastern Front. As I entered the park, I saw Barret by the now silent, empty fountain. “Barret!” I called, and he turned toward my voice.

Watcher caught sight of Barret and pulled away from me, his leash dragging behind him. When my dog leaped up to lick Barret's face, Barret laughed and gave Watcher a hug. Watcher then lay at Barret's feet, wiggling and whining.

“Watcher's crazy to see you,” I called out as I ran toward my friend.

“I was so worried about you.” He pulled me close to him. “I've missed you, Wendy Vendy,” he whispered. Then he held me at arm's length. “Is it all right for you to be out walking?”