The Watcher (5 page)

F
rieda served breakfast on the beautiful patio the next morning. The summer air was drenched with the scent of flowers. It was a sunny beautiful day, and once again the war seemed faraway.

Frieda brought the newspaper and coffee on a tray. My puppy came running and leaping when he saw me. He sat at my feet, his tail wagging, and his eyes were on my face, watching my every move.

“I should take the dog out,” I said, remembering my promise.

“Frieda said she let him out in the fenced-in yard.” Adrie unfolded the morning paper. “Wendy, this isn't Frieda's job. It's yours.”

“I know, but she beat me to it.”

Frieda came out again with a tray of sausage, cheese, toast, and more coffee, and I looked at her anxiously. Had
she told Adrie that the dog had slept in her room, in her bed? I hoped not. However, Frieda smiled and winked at me, indicating everything was fine.

Tonight I will have to do something if he starts barking,
I decided.
Maybe I'll sneak him up to my room. I can't expect Frieda to take care of him again.

“I have to decide on a name for my dog,” I said to Adrie. “But I don't know what to call him.”

“Max is a good name for a dog,” Adrie suggested. “It's masculine and strong. I like it.”

“Hmm.” I wanted something less common than Max. I stood up and gazed out over the patio. “Maybe I'll take him for a walk in the park.”

“That's a good idea. And you'll have the dog with you for protection.” Adrie laughed. “I don't think Max would be much protection, though, since he failed his police course.”

“He'll be a wonderful watchdog. You'll see.”

The dog at my side suddenly froze and the hair on his shoulders and back stood up.

He lowered his head as if to get a better look at something. He growled—a soft, low growl—not much louder than a cat's purr.

I followed his gaze and noticed a young man walking his dog on the sidewalk across the street. “You are a good watchdog,” I told him. As I patted his ears, the puppy relaxed, looked up, and wagged his tail. “That's what I'll name you,” I exclaimed. “Watcher!”

“Watcher is a perfect name,” Adrie agreed. “Though
another name beginning with
W
—how difficult you make it for our German friends.”

After breakfast Adrie had work to do in her den, so she didn't seem to mind that I was taking a walk. Of course, I didn't let on that I was determined to look for footprints or any clue to where that Peeping Tom had stood and what he might have been looking at—other than me.

I fastened a leash to Watcher's collar. The puppy jumped, wagged his tail, and eagerly tugged me along. “Heel!” I commanded with a tug on the leash. Watcher ignored me, sniffed at nearby plants, and strained to run after squirrels.

I knelt down, held Watcher by his collar, and looked directly into his eyes. “Listen to me, Watcher,” I said in a stern voice. “I know we speak different languages, but I'm sure you can see I'm serious. Now, walk with me quietly and quit pulling me in other directions.”

I got up and continued down the sidewalk. This time, to my surprise, Watcher trotted along next to me and only occasionally focused on a blowing leaf or shadow.

We strolled along behind our house where the iron fence of the park separated the trees and gardens from the sidewalk. Once we turned the corner, I could see the entrance to the park. The tall black iron gate was open, so we went inside. A few mothers and nursemaids pushed carriages through the pleasant surroundings. Water gushed from the mouth of a fish statue that stood in a fountain by the entrance.

The July morning was hot, so I sat on a bench by a pool
to cool off after our walk. A little boy placed a paper boat into the pool, but it quickly sank in the rushing water. He began to cry, and his nurse picked him up and rocked him. But his screaming was disturbing, and Watcher whined and pulled at the leash in an effort to get to the child.

I stood up to explore the area that would be directly behind the terrace of our house, and once I gave Watcher a little tug, he trotted alongside obediently.

The walking paths were set out from the fountain like spokes on a wheel. The trail to the right seemed to wind its way around the perimeter, so I chose that one. As we strolled, I realized how the foliage along the fence was so thick that the sidewalk outside was invisible. The heavy greenery by the fence muffled the noise of traffic, and it seemed as if we were far away from the city. The only sounds were the chirping of birds and the distant wailing of the little boy back at the fountain.

When the path veered to the left, I knew our house must be somewhere on the other side of the fence and sidewalk. Here the wooded area was dense with trees and shrubbery, and to get close to the fence, I had to shove my way through branches and vegetation. I had worn my new black shorts, and the twigs and plants scratched my bare legs.

Why would anyone climb through this thicket to look out at our house? Perhaps they wanted to use the bushes for a toilet. Yuk. There would be no need to do that. There were restrooms near the entrance.

I reached an area deep in the woods that seemed likely
to be opposite my house. As I pulled the brush away, I noticed some shrubs and small trees had broken branches. I bent down and found shoe prints in the damp soil. They were large—like men's shoes. Yes, someone had been here. I did not imagine it.

Directly across the street, my house was as clear as could be. Frieda was distinctly visible, collecting the breakfast dishes from the patio table. The French doors to the library still had the curtains pulled from last night. Everything seemed so close, I knew that with the drapes open and the lights on, anyone in the library or dining room could easily be seen from this spot. There was no other reason for anyone to come to this place, except to watch our house.

It was obvious that Adrie was a German agent, even though she did not tell me in so many words. Why else would her boss be the head of
Abwehr
—intelligence? We fled Maine because she was about to be captured—and the U-boat was waiting for us. I could understand that while we were in Maine, someone might be watching her, suspecting that she was a German agent. However, who would be spying on her here in Germany?

Adrie wasn't a bit worried when I told her I saw someone out here. Maybe seeing the watcher in the park meant nothing, just as she had said.

“Perhaps I should forget the whole thing,” I whispered to Watcher.

Once again I recalled the shadow—the outline of someone who was looking straight at me.

No, I would bet my last dime that this person had some reason to be watching our house. I looked down at the footprints again, and a chill came over me, raising the hair on my arms. But the big question was:
Is that person watching Adrie—or me?

W
atcher and I scrambled out of the thicket and back onto the paved trail. We continued to circle the park until we arrived at the entrance again from the other side.

I was about to leave, and was turning the corner, when a young man who looked to be about seventeen came from the other direction and almost bumped into us. The dog he held by a harness stopped suddenly, avoiding a near collision.

“Entschuldigen Sie bitte,”
he said in German.

I recognized the word for “apology,” but finding it difficult to say, I answered in English. “I'm sorry.”

I couldn't help noticing how good-looking he was, even with the dark glasses shielding his eyes. The brown-and-black German shepherd guide dog stood alert, as if at attention. This dog wore a harness with a handle, but it also
had a beautiful leather collar decorated with large colored glass stones.

“Pretty boy!” I murmured. The dog tilted its head and watched me cautiously.

“She's a female.” The young man surprised me by replying in English—with a slight German accent. “Her name is Heidi.”

“She is beautiful . . .
schön
,” I said.

He smiled, nodded, and fondled the dog's ears. It was easy to see how much he loved his dog.

“You speak English,” I said. “I'm surprised to meet someone who speaks my language. In fact, I can spot a British accent there.”

“You are right. I went to school for many years in England. At a school for the blind.”

“And is Heidi your guide dog?” I asked. “I can see how well trained she is. I've heard about guide dogs, but I've never seen one.”

“They were first trained here in Germany for veterans who were blinded by gas during the Great War. Now they are used around the world,” he told me.

“My dog here is a shepherd too. But of course, he is still just a puppy.”

The young man reached down, feeling for Watcher, who went right to his hand and lapped it. I could see him feel my dog's floppy ear. I noticed how Heidi's ears stood up proudly. “His name is Watcher. He's smart, courageous, and very beautiful. He was trained by the SS.”

“Should I be afraid of him?”

“No.” I laughed. “He failed at military school. He's totally harmless and would probably run in another direction if he were challenged.”

“I can tell he's too friendly to be a guard dog for the SS.” The young man reached out his hand to me. “I am Barret Hartmann,” he said. “And you are . . .”

“I'm Wendy,” I replied, shaking his hand. “Wendy Dekker.”

Barret was quiet, as if taking in my name. “Do you live nearby? I mean, I have not met you before, have I? I often walk here.”

“I live across the street—on Lindenstrasse. Actually, I just moved in. This is the first time I've been to the park.”

Barret didn't speak—it was as if he were stunned or not interested at all. It was difficult to speculate what a person might be thinking when he wears dark glasses.

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Barret,” I finally said after a moment. “Perhaps I'll bump into you again one of these days.”

“I hope so, Wendy. I often walk here, so please say hello when we meet again.”

“I will,” I assured him.

Barret gave a command at which the dog began to walk again. I watched him as he headed down the sidewalk and crossed the street. I noticed Heidi waited until there was no traffic.

Barret seemed so very nice and gentle and handsome—and he spoke English, too!
I would love to see him again,
I thought.
Maybe we could be friends.

I
hardly noticed the ten or fifteen minutes it took for Watcher and me to head back home, I was so happy to have met Barret. He said he hoped we would meet again. I could hardly wait to tell Adrie that I had a friend—at last!

I looked for Adrie when I arrived, and I found her in the den, on the telephone. She motioned me to a chair, so I sat down with Watcher at my feet while she talked. When I heard her say my name, I tried to decipher what she was saying, but she spoke too fast and there were very few German words that I could catch.

I did notice, though, the intensity of her voice—was she angry? Then she seemed calm and placating—as if she were making peace with whomever was on the line with her.

When she hung up, she was thoughtful and quiet.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

She looked at me, almost as if she had forgotten I was there. “That was Dr. Ernst—Gertrude's mother. You met them at the tea we went to the other day.”

“Oh, yes. Gertrude. You never told me what she said when you introduced us. Remember, how she rattled off?”

“She was rude, and her mother was terribly embarrassed. At any rate, this might be of interest to you. Dr. Ernst, her mother, is the pediatrician at the local Lebensborn center. She wondered if you would like to be a volunteer. I told her you were apprehensive about joining the German Maidens—especially since you speak only English. She thought this might be a good alternative until you learned German and got to know other girls.”

“Why me?”

Adrie looked uncomfortable. “Actually, Gertrude wanted the vacancy when and if it came up. However, Dr. Ernst was so put out by her attitude at the tea that she decided, as a punishment to Gertrude, you should have this position if you want it.”

“In other words, she's offering me this volunteer assignment to punish Gertrude?”

Adrie raised her eyebrows. “Um, yes.”

“Now Gertrude will hate me even more! And, by the way, I never did hear what she said that day.”

“You don't want to.”

“Yes, I do.”

“It was just a tirade about you being American and perhaps not trustworthy. We are at war, Wendy. She is not a happy person to start with—and she is certainly not as
pretty as you are. It's jealousy, of course. Here you are, as pretty as a picture—and she assumes you are American. She noticed how everyone greeted you sweetly. That was even more reason for her to be envious, just like those girls in Maine. It all boils down to resentment and envy.”

“She never even got to know me.” I felt the same way I did in Maine, when the girls there were so cruel. Now, if I took that volunteer job at Lebensborn, I was certain Gertrude and her friend Rikka would get back at me somehow.

“I think you'd like working at Lebensborn,” Adrie replied.

“I don't even know what Lebensborn is. It doesn't matter anyway because I don't want to volunteer there.”

Adrie drew herself up tall. “Oh, you can't say no to Dr. Ernst. She would be incensed.”

“Well, too bad. I thought this was a volunteer job. No one asked me if I wanted to do it.”

I could see Adrie's anger beginning to flare. “You didn't want to go to the youth group. You whined about your inability to speak German. You are afraid of the girls. Well, get over it! You've got this opportunity, and you will take it.” She got up and headed out of the room.