Chapter Six
Elsa knocked again on the farmhouse door.
No one answered. She looked around the deserted farmyard.
The mix of churned mud and snow showed it was still a working farm.
She caught a fleeting glimpse of a man entering one of the buildings, his shoulders hunched against the rising wind.
Without hesitating, she grabbed Klara’s hand and ran after him.
She found the farmer sitting on a stool, his hands working furiously as he milked a patient cow.
She paused in the shadows of the barn doorway, hypnotized by the comforting sight and sound of creamy milk hitting the bucket between his feet.
Her mouth began to water. Exhausted and hungry, she rested her head against the frame of the doorway to watch.
The farmer’s shoulders stiffened. He paused in his milking and looked over his shoulder, his searching gaze finally coming to rest in her direction.
He stood up abruptly and squinted into the shadows.
‘Who are you? Come out where I can see you!’ he demanded.
Elsa stepped into the light. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. We’re looking for shelter and something to eat.’ Her gaze fell away to the bucket at his feet.
‘We?’ he asked.
‘I have a five-year-old.’ She revealed Klara, who had been hiding behind her.
His tense shoulders lowered. He lifted his worn hat, raked a hand through his tousled grey hair, and replaced it on his head with a well-practised slide from front to back.
‘So many people coming through these days,’ he muttered as he turned back to his milking. ‘Old. Young. Families. People on their own. My wife’s tired of it.’
‘We won’t be any bother.’ She took a step closer, unable to look away from the milk. ‘We have been walking for days. I’m not even sure where we are.’
‘You are near Prenzlau.’
She looked up at him, surprised. ‘We’ve come that far?’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘I hoped.’
The farmer had readjusted his position, obscuring her view of the milk pulsing into the bucket. Unconsciously, she moved closer, her gaze finally settling on the creamy drink again. ‘I didn’t know for sure. May we have a little milk to drink?’
‘May we have a little milk to drink,’ he mimicked unkindly. ‘That’s what they all say.’ He glanced over his shoulder at her and saw how his imitation had stung. A fleeting shadow of shame crossed his features and his tone softened. ‘How much money do you have?’
Elsa’s heart sank as she thought of her purse in Frau Fellhaber’s withered hand.
Her silence caused him to return to his milking. ‘I can’t give it away for free. If I did that to every person who crept in here I’d have nothing to sell. If you were wounded or ill—’ he shrugged — ‘then I might be persuaded.’
‘We have no money. I was robbed.’ By an elderly and infirm woman.
The steady sound of milk hitting the bucket stopped. ‘Robbed?’ He shook his head in disgust and the methodical spurting began again. ‘Some people have no shame. I hope that is all they did to you.’ He turned on his stool to look up at her. ‘It’s not safe for a young woman to travel alone.’
‘I wasn’t alone at first. My grandfather died on the journey.’
The farmer studied her, tutted and reached for a small ladle. ‘Is the child yours?’
Elsa instinctively put her arm around Klara’s shoulders. ‘My niece.’
His eyes narrowed slightly as he filled a ladle with milk and offered it to her.
He studied Klara’s face as she drank. ‘The snow will get worse. There is a blizzard on the way.’ He slowly refilled it and passed the ladle to her.
Elsa nodded. ‘I thought as much.’ She took the ladle and drank deeply. ‘I was hoping to shelter here. We won’t be any trouble.’ She drained the ladle, savouring the warm creamy texture as it passed over her tongue into her empty stomach, before handing it back to him.
‘Where are you heading?’ he asked.
‘Bremen. My aunt lives there.’
‘You won’t find many trains that will take you all the way there.’
‘I know.’
‘The bombing raids have damaged the main lines.’
‘I know.’
‘They want to bring us to our knees.’
‘I know.’
‘They want to destroy Germany.’ He raked her slim frame with a cursory glance. ‘You should find someone else to travel with. It is not safe to be on your own. Desperate times make for desperate people.’
‘I know.’
His frown questioned if she really understood what he was telling her.
‘We are safer now that we’re west of the Oder.’ She didn’t know if she was trying to convince him or herself. She noticed Klara’s dark hair had come loose and tucked it back under her scarf.
‘You think the Russians will put down their rifles at the river?’
Elsa hadn’t thought about it — hadn’t wanted to think about it.
The farmer took her silence as her agreement. He returned to his milking. ‘The enemy has a foothold in France too,’ he continued. ‘I think they will advance and enter Germany from the west. It is the only way to remove Hitler.’ He looked up at her. ‘Don’t you think this?’ he pressed.
‘I have to get to Bremen,’ Elsa repeated stubbornly.
‘And you think you can get there without transport in this winter? And then what will you do if the Americans and British turn up, like the Russians? Will you turn around and run back here?’
‘I have to get there. My family is there. I would rather die with them than die alone.’
The farmer stared at her. ‘Death is not something to embrace,’ he said, not unkindly. He stood up. ‘Perhaps you should do as I am doing and prepare for the time when Germany surrenders.’
Elsa frowned. ‘Germany will never surrender.’
‘Germany may not have a choice.’
Elsa was shocked to hear him speak so openly. Inside the protection of her home, doubts could be raised within the family, but outside and in the presence of others — never!
The farmer ignored her silence. ‘You can stay here for one or two nights. I will bring you some food so you can build up your strength and then you must be off.’ He waved a finger at her. ‘See that the child doesn’t make any noise. I don’t want my wife finding out.’
Elsa nodded. ‘Klara won’t be any trouble. She is a quiet girl.’ That was an understatement. Klara had still yet to speak to her.
‘Follow me.’ The farmer paused at the doorway to check the yard was clear before leading the way.
Elsa obediently followed him out of the cowshed and into the falling snow and freezing temperatures. ‘What did you mean “prepare for when Germany surrenders”?’
He raised his eyebrows and tilted his forehead towards her as his cap turned white with flakes. ‘You’ll see.’ He lifted the latch, eased open the large wooden door of the adjacent thatch-roofed barn, a sturdy construction of timber and brick, and entered.
She silently followed with Klara. The interior felt instantly warmer, thanks to the straw-lined walls.
Two goats stood in the corner, chewing hay, and turned their narrow heads to watch her with interest. A scrawny cat ran across the floor and scrambled up the hay bales, disappearing into the dull yellow strands as if it had never existed at all.
Elsa was thankful to have found such a place until her gaze fell upon the young man sleeping on a pile of straw.
Despite his civilian clothes, she knew instinctively that he was a prisoner of war.
She had seen many such men digging useless defence trenches around Gollnow.
They worked hard, under the supervision of their guards, but they could not hide the hate and resentment in their eyes.
Only this man was sleeping and his hate-filled-eyes were hidden from her.
‘He’s not one of us!’ she whispered urgently. ‘He’s the enemy! I know what they look like. We had camps near us in Gollnow and I saw them working!’
To her surprise, the farmer nodded.
‘We should tell someone,’ she urged.
The farmer waved her concerns away. ‘I’m not telling anyone and nor are you.’
Elsa’s hands fell away from his sleeve in disbelief.
‘He’s much better than he was,’ said the farmer. ‘He will be gone soon.’
Did the farmer expect her to share a shelter with this man? Had he lost his mind?
He stepped away from her, leaving her to stand with Klara just inside the barn door, as if they were in no man’s land, between the snow shower and shelter.
‘He’s been here over a week. He was almost dead when I found him.
Now tell me, why should I turn him away and not you?
’ He indicated the snow-covered yard with a single sweep of his arm.
‘Look at the weather. It has been like this for weeks and it is only going to get worse. How could any decent man refuse another shelter?’
‘Because it is people like him who are killing our soldiers. My brother and grandfather are dead because . . . of him.’ She faltered, knowing in her heart it was not exactly true. The man lying on the straw had no more pulled the trigger than she had.
‘And it is people like us who are killing his friends and family. We all have blood on our hands. If you don’t want to stay then go.’
Elsa did not move, half angry, half intrigued.
Why would this isolated farmer help the enemy like this?
She moved further into the barn, holding Klara’s hand a little tighter.
‘What would your wife say if she knew you were helping the enemy?’ She glanced at the sleeping man. ‘Is he British? American?’
‘My wife doesn’t want anyone here. And that includes people like you.
’ It was a warning to stop asking questions, she realized, if she wanted to stay.
He shut the barn door, dragged an empty, torn-open cigarette packet from his pocket, and withdrew a small piece of paper from it.
He carefully unfolded it and showed it to her. ‘It’s in English.’
‘I can see.’
His face lit up. ‘Can you speak English?’
She nodded.
‘You will be able to tell me if he kept his promise. Read it to me.’
Elsa wanted to say it said nothing of importance, but the farmer looked as excited as a child. She could not lie and crush his hope.