Chapter 26
ETHEL
On her way home from yet another day petitioning the courts on behalf of potential adoptive families, Ethel made a quick stop at the commissary to pick up a bag of flour so she could make cupcakes to celebrate the children’s first day of school.
Franz, Heinz, and Monika had returned to their German elementary school to start the year, but once their adoption paperwork was complete, Ethel would transfer them to Mannheim Elementary, the American school set up by the Department of Defense for an international education.
With Anke on her hip, Ethel arrived at the one-story school a few minutes early for the children. In the yard were three wooden benches set against the chain-link fence. While she waited on one of the benches, she pulled a coloring sheet and two crayons from her purse for Anke.
Three German mothers were talking to one another on the bench adjacent to Ethel, and she noticed that they kept glancing over at her. Then one woman broke from the group and strolled over.
“Hallo,” she said, swooping her brown hair into a knot at her neck.
“Good afternoon,” Ethel said, protectively laying a hand on Anke.
“The Brown Fairy?” the woman asked in a thick accent.
Ethel’s cheeks blanched. An article that ran in the Mannheimer Morgen, the local newspaper, had reportedly dubbed Ethel “The Brown Fairy” for her work securing goods for the German mothers with half-Negro babies; it even gave a plug to her adoption agency.
“People call me that, but my name is Ethel Gathers.”
The woman fidgeted with her hair again. “My baby. I can’t keep. Will you help?”
Ethel looked up at the woman and nodded.
It was not the first time a German woman had asked for her help.
She had been cornered on the streets several times and asked to take half-Negro children home with her.
She reached into her purse for a scrap of paper and wrote down the name and address of St. Hildegard’s orphanage.
“Sister Ursula will help you,” she said to the woman, who squeezed her hand in thanks as the school bell rang.
The elementary children were released by class, and eight-year-old Heinz bounded to Ethel first, holding up a math assessment. “One hundred,” he said, smiling, showing off his missing front two teeth.
“Excellent,” Ethel said, pulling him into a hug.
Then Monika ran toward her, showing off a picture that she’d drawn.
“It’s lovely.” Ethel patted her head, then sat the children on the bench next to her as she waited for Franz. Line after line of children poured from the school before she finally spotted him. He moved toward her slowly, expressionless.
“Franz, are you okay?” Ethel asked, holding him at arm’s length.
He nodded and slumped out of the school yard.
Even after three months together, Franz was still the hardest of the four children for Ethel to reach.
As they walked the few blocks to their house, Heinz and Monika played a game that had them avoiding the sidewalk cracks, but Franz declined, walking behind them instead.
Ethel decided to give him a little space.
When they reached home, she sent Franz to shower, while Heinz, Monika, and Anke sat around the kitchen table.
Even though they did not have homework from school, she had obtained workbooks in English and now gave them two pages each to work on while she mixed the batter for the cupcakes.
Once the cupcakes were in the oven, she sat down at the table to inspect their work.
As she was holding Monika’s hand, teaching her to trace the capital letter B, Franz burst into the kitchen crying. His copper-colored face had red blotches on the cheeks and chin.
“My dear, what happened?”
Franz was sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. Ethel pulled him to her chest and rocked him. “Talk to me, please.”
He took her hand and led her into the bathroom. In the sink was the scouring pad that Ethel had used to clean her skillet. Ethel looked at Franz’s face and arms and then at the soapy steel pad in the sink. She was horrified, and her voice trembled. “Franz, did you use this on your skin?”
The boy looked down at his feet.
“Why, honey?”
“To get this off,” he said, pinching the flesh on his arm.
“What off?” She examined him.
“The color. I want it pale like the others. Maybe bleichen?” He looked up at her with hopeful eyes.
Ethel’s heart sank as she realized he wanted her to bleach his skin. She got low and looked him straight into the eyes. “Franz, God made you perfect. You were created in His image.”
“But I do not want this. I want to be like them.” He stomped his foot.
“But you look like Dad and me.” Ethel grabbed his arm and placed it next to hers, fighting back her own tears.
Franz pulled his arm away from her and doubled over, howling in pain.
“It’s okay,” she soothed, while rubbing his back.
He slowly released his arms by his sides. Ethel reached into the medicine cabinet for some Vaseline and gently pressed the petroleum jelly to his battered skin.
Franz trying to scrub the brown off his skin haunted Ethel as they went through their bedtime routine.
She read two books to the children, watched as they brushed their teeth, and led them down on their knees to pray the rosary.
Once she had tucked them into bed, she placed her black Continental typewriter on the kitchen table and punched out the heartbreaking story of Franz and the scouring pad in an article for the Afro-American newspaper.
In her write-up, she used Franz’s shame and confusion as further proof of why these children needed to be placed in loving Negro American homes, and quickly.
She heard Bert’s key rattle at the door, and then he was standing in the arched frame of the kitchen.
“Well, aren’t you a vision of beauty.” He clutched the mail. “Come here, gal. Give your man some sugar.” Bert dropped the envelopes on the counter and opened his arms to Ethel. He was her ease and comfort, and just the smell of him dissolved the tension from her day.
“How are you?” she asked, touching her cheek to his.
“Better now.” His hands slid from her waist to her buttocks, and Ethel patted his greedy fingers away.
“Let me feed you first.”
The plate she had kept warm for him rested under foil in the oven.
Bert unbuttoned his uniform shirt down to the waist, exposing a white T-shirt.
“I’m hungry as a horse. They worked me like the devil today.
We are planning our next maneuver. I’ll be away for at least two weeks, training a platoon in land navigation.
” He flopped in his seat and dug his fork into the pot roast. “I’m not looking forward to sleeping in tents in the woods. ”
Ethel reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a cold bottle of beer that she placed in front of him.
He took a swig. “How are the children?”
“Mostly good,” she said, and then sat across from Bert and told him the details of Franz and the steel wool pad.
“I can only imagine what that boy has been through.” Bert shook his head. “Well, I’ll teach him some Negro pride. I was thinking we can send for some of those Negro League baseball cards, let him get to know the players.”
“That’s a good idea. He loves baseball.”
“In the meantime, I’ll ask around the barracks and see if anyone has a set they wouldn’t mind parting with.”
Ethel fingered her rosary beads in her lap. “I’ve been looking into ways to get the children across the Atlantic once I get the adoptions approved. I’ve tried the air force, but the military furloughs are dragging along.”
“Have you tried the major airlines?”
Ethel reached across the table for her composition book and looked over her notes. “I’ve made inquiries with TWA and Pan American, and they both said that they could not transport such young children to America.”
“Try Scandinavian Airlines or Lufthansa. I’m sure they’d love the publicity of doing some charity work for brown orphan children.”
“Good idea.” Ethel scribbled. “When the American adoptions are approved, I don’t want transportation to add to the delay. I want these kids in loving homes with their new families quickly.”
Bert pushed his plate away. “I’m proud of you, darling.”
“It feels like I should be doing more.” Ethel lifted his empty dish, washed it, and placed it in the plastic drainer.
When she turned around, Bert had slid up behind her and put his mouth to her ear. “You are doing just fine. Now, put that pen down and that damn typewriter away and come on back in the room with me so we can enjoy some dessert.”
“I made cupcakes. We can have them right here,” Ethel whispered back, playing coy, but Bert didn’t miss a beat.
“We can have those too,” he said, pulling her close.