The Watcher (21 page)

“You only assume my face is pretty,” I told him. “And I will let you believe it.”

“I know you are beautiful—inside and out.” He kissed my cheek again. “I will miss you when you are gone.”

“I will miss you too.” I hugged him.
Once I have gone, once the war is over, will I ever see you again?
I wondered. As I clung to Barret I could feel his arms tighten around me. Then he let me go and I headed home.

T
ime now dragged out, and at times it seemed my schemes for escaping Germany were only dreams. Opa was waiting for a message from his contact, and he could not make plans without this person's involvement. “It will happen, Wendy,” Opa said. “Be patient.”

Spring had come and the grass was turning green and the planes from England were coming closer. The Allies were bombing German airfields and factories. German and American planes fought in the sky and dropped to the Earth in balls of fire. Would I get out of Germany in time?

One night in early May I walked by Adrie's den. She was there listening to BBC—the British Broadcasting Corporation. I could tell she had it on when I heard
da da da BOOM!
—the musical tones from Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. Everyone knew that was the Morse code for
the letter
V
—for “Victory.” The Allies used that tune all the time, and they held their fingers up in a
V
.

Suddenly a familiar song came from the radio and a well-known voice began to sing.

“That's Drew Winters who is singing!” I exclaimed, rushing into the den. She was about to turn the radio off when I yelled, “Wait! That's my friend Jill's dad!”

“You are not allowed to hear British broadcasting,” Adrie stated emphatically.

“But it's Jill's dad. Please, Adrie. It's just a song.” I plunked myself on the rug in front of the radio. Drew Winters's beautiful voice floated across the room.

SNAP!
Adrie turned the radio off.

I did not want to argue with Adrie, so I went upstairs to my room. I sat on my armchair next to the window and looked out at the dark sky.
I cannot stand one more day here. They watch everything we do; we can't even listen to the music or read the books we want.

While the following days passed, Watcher and I went on longer walks to build up our strength. I noticed how protective he was of me. Whenever persons came onto our path, Watcher was sure to step around them at a large swath, trying to keep out of their way. I also noted his caution when we passed crowds. Sometimes the fur around his neck bristled if any stranger came too close.

One night when I couldn't sleep, I decided to pack. It was after midnight when I took my backpack out from the closet shelf and put in the things I had listed for the long trek—to Denmark.

After packing I shoved my bag far back on the closet shelf, where it had been since I first arrived. Now I was hungry. I looked at the clock. Two thirty in the morning! Maybe I could sneak downstairs and get something to eat. I tiptoed down the hallway and stairs, went into the kitchen, and turned on the light above the sink. Watcher was asleep on his blanket, and he looked up drowsily when he saw me—his tail thumping.

I was about to close the hall door that led to Frieda's room when I realized her light was still on and her door was open a crack.
Would she like to join me?
I wondered. I treaded silently over the tile floor to her room and rather than startle her, I peeked in first through the crack of the door.

Frieda was sitting at her desk, her back to me. I saw from the reflection in the window by her desk that she was busy writing. It seemed strange she would be up and busy at this late hour.

“Frieda?” I whispered for fear of alarming her. She turned swiftly to me—a look of fear on her face. “It's just me,” I said in German. “Would you like some tea?” Frieda and I were conversing more and more often in German.

Relief relaxed her face.
“Ja.
Let's have some tea.” She got up from the desk and then motioned to me.
“Komm rein!
Wendy
.”
She gestured me to a chair, and then took both of my hands. “I have something of yours.”

She opened a drawer to her desk, fumbled through stationery and papers, and held up a folded paper. “I found it
in your shoe the day you were so ill.” It was the missing White Rose brochure!

“Oh, Frieda, I wondered what happened to it. I've been so frightened that someone had found it and would tell Adrie.”

Frieda's face softened. “
Nein,
darling. I did not feel I had the right to destroy it, but I knew how much trouble you would be in if Adrie found out. So I hid it all this time.”

I reached out and hugged her. “I put you in danger too, Frieda. Someone had given the brochure to me because I was curious. I was going to read it and then burn it. When I regained consciousness, I was worried and wondered where it went.”

“Do not worry anymore,” Frieda said. “Shall we destroy it?”

“
Ja.
Let's burn it now.”

Frieda placed the brochure in a dish on her desk, took out a match, and we both watched as the flame slowly danced around the infamous pamphlet. Soon the flames burned brightly. The papers blackened and twisted until they were ashes.

B
y July third I was beginning to wonder if the plans we had made would ever happen. I had kept busy all spring, walking, exercising, studying the geography from Berlin to Denmark, and thinking about home in the States. Adrie had gone away last week to somewhere—she would not tell me where—and she did not know when she would be back.

It had been two weeks since I last saw Opa. Since today was Saturday and Opa was usually home on Saturdays, I headed for their house.

“Come in, come in Wendy Vendy,” Barret said as he opened the barn door. “Opa was hoping you'd get here today. He's been busy putting things together for you,”

“Come in, my child,” Opa called. “
Ja,
everything is ready for you to leave soon, but there is much for me to explain to you.”

Watcher and I went to the worktable, where a large silk map of Europe was spread. Opa traced his finger along a red line he had drawn. “Here is Berlin,” he said. “There is a train system to Hamburg from here. You will need these identity papers on the train and other places, if necessary.” He handed me two copies of cleverly forged German birth certificates.

“The name on here is Karin Nelson,” I said curiously.

“That's your new name, Wendy—from the moment you get on the train,” Barret said. “Otherwise Adrie or her people will be able to trace you.”

“Remember, while you are in Germany, you are a German citizen.” Opa handed me an official-looking Swedish document with a gold seal. It also had the name, Karin Nelson. “When you get to Denmark, you will still be German, since Denmark is occupied by Germany. However, in Sweden, you will use this birth certificate. You are then a Swedish citizen. This Swedish document was the most difficult to get. We hope by then the Red Cross will have this name listed and they will be expecting you. We do not want to use your American birth certificate or your real name. You must never use your name Wendy Dekker or your American name, Wendy Taylor, when you leave your house for the last time.”

“Will my mom and dad in America know I'm going by the name Karin Nelson?”

“Yes, they know everything. So again, use only the name Karin Nelson once you leave. A slip of the tongue and you can be sure you will be found out. However, Adrie
will be unable to trace Karin Nelson, a Swedish girl.”

“I don't speak Swedish.”

“You speak German, and that will be enough. If anyone asks, why you are in Denmark, explain you were visiting Germany and you need to get back to Sweden.”

Each birth certificate had a photograph of me. “Where did you get the picture?” I asked.

“I took it one day at the park with this.” Opa pulled a pen from his shirt pocket. “No one suspects you are taking a picture. I have more things you will need,” Opa continued, showing me a small can of beef—or so the label said. He demonstrated a secret way of opening the can. “The silk map folds easily to hide inside.”

Then he displayed a jackknife and popped open the blade. “This is for you to keep in your rucksack along with the false can of beef. The blade is very strong. You'll want it to pry things open, or to remove the stones from Watcher's collar as you need them.”

He handed me the jackknife, and I discovered it also hid a screwdriver, a can opener, and a little fork/spoon.

Barret felt with his hand across the table and retrieved a leather harness. “Here is Heidi's old work harness. Watcher did well with it when we practiced with him. Take it home now, but hide it.”

“Dogs may not be allowed on the train or boats, but a seeing-eye dog will be given permission to go with you. You will pretend to be blind, won't you?” Opa asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “It will help me in many situations, I'm sure.”

Opa asked me at our last meeting to bring him my hiking boots. Now he placed them on the table, turned them over, and showed me how each heel opened into a hollow space. He reached inside and pulled out money. “In your right shoe I have inserted German Reichs marks and Swedish money—along with several of the smaller gemstones. You can sell them to a jeweler if you need money.” He opened the heel in the left shoe, drew out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to me. “You must keep this list of names and addresses well hidden. If anyone should find it, many lives would be in danger.”

“I'll guard it with my very life,” I promised.

Opa pointed to the first name. “When you arrive in Hamburg, this is where you will go. You must say, ‘I am looking for my father, Herr Nelson. Is he here?' He will answer with, ‘He went back to Sweden. I am Otto. Come in.' Now you will know you are in the right place. He is an old friend who lives in Hamburg with his sister. His last name is not here in order to protect them. Give him this blue sapphire.” He pointed to a deep blue stone on Watcher's collar. “For this stone Otto will see that you get to passage into Copenhagen, Denmark.” I watched as Opa's finger traced the map to Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark. “Most likely Otto will send you to Denmark by ship. If so, you will give the captain a stone—perhaps this blue garnet—for the risk he is taking by transporting you in his boat.” He handed me the stone.

“A blue garnet?” I asked. “I thought garnets were red.”

“A blue garnet is rare, and although it is small, it is valuable.
Otto will know its value.” He touched a square red gem. “This is another treasure—a red emerald. The unusual colors of the stones enhance their value.”

“The jewels are so beautiful; I hate to part with them.” I pointed to a pale green stone.

“What is this? It's too light to be an emerald.”

Opa picked up the stone and put it in my hand. “This peridot came from the sky. It was found in a meteorite.” Opa smiled as he remembered. “David said to tell you he would give you the stars if he could.”

“Oh, it came from the stars! I will keep this one for myself forever.”

Opa smiled. “Yes, he loved you, my child. Now, let's get back to your trip.”

I took a deep breath. “I hope I can remember everything.”

“Once you are in Copenhagen, you must contact this couple,” Opa continued, indicating the address on the list. “Pier and Ingrid are jewelers who knew your father, David. Their jewelry store is Solstice Jewelry. They are very happy to help you—for David's sake. Use the same code, asking for Herr Nelson. Their answer will be ‘He went back to Sweden.' You will give them this pigeon-blood ruby.” He tapped his finger on the darkest red stone on Watcher's collar. “They have arranged for another fishing boat to take you to Sweden. You might give that captain this large fire opal.”

He folded the list carefully and replaced it in the heel of my boot.

“Remember, Wendy, guard this list,” Opa warned again. “Do not let anyone get it under any circumstances. These friends take money or jewels so they can continue to help Jews and other prisoners get away. They are risking their own lives when they help someone to escape, and at some point they may need to flee themselves.”

“I understand, Opa.” I snapped my fingers. “Come here, Watcher. Let's try on your work harness.” My dog came and sat at my feet patiently while I put the work harness on him.

Opa took a satchel from the table and placed the jeweled collar inside. “Don't set that bag down anywhere on the way home,” Opa warned. “The gems are valued at thousands of dollars.”

“I'll guard it carefully,” I promised, tapping the sack. “This is my ticket to freedom.”

“Which reminds me,” Opa said, handing me another envelope. “Your ticket to Hamburg.”

I opened the envelope. The ticket was stamped
Monday, July 5, 1943, 6 a.m.
“That's the day after tomorrow!”

I
put everything in a bag to carry home, headed to the door, and then remembered something. “Opa,” I said, turning back, “you were watching Adrie's house, knowing I would be coming to Germany—to Berlin. So many times I've wondered how you knew.”

Opa smiled. “I didn't know you well enough at first to confide that information to you for fear you might tell Adrie. Since you haven't asked since then, I haven't brought it up.”

“Will you tell me now? How did you know I was on my way to Germany?”

“It was Nixie—your mother in America—who contacted me.”

I felt a rush of love. “How did she know you?”