Chapter Six #2
She took it and studied the shaky but well-crafted writing. ‘It says that Heinrich Meier—’
‘That’s me! I’m Heinrich Meier!’
‘—gave him shelter and food and saved his life.’ The man’s rank and signature were scrawled along the bottom and her stomach churned.
Her gaze lifted to the man in question: Lieutenant S Walker of the Queen’s Own Royal West Kent Regiment.
The scribbled letters had humanized him and she had not been prepared for that.
She did not want to think of him as a person.
He was the enemy and could not be trusted.
She returned the letter to the farmer, who folded it and returned it to its protective case.
‘It will prove that I have been looking after a British prisoner of war. If the British or Russian Army come through here I will show them this.’ He put it in his pocket and patted it protectively. ‘Hopefully they will show us mercy.’
Elsa didn’t know whether to respect his cunning or be disgusted by it. She thought of her dead brother and chose the latter. ‘You didn’t give him shelter out of the kindness of your heart. You did it to save your skin.’
She could see Heinrich’s patience was wearing thin. ‘I’ve saved his life.’ He pointed at her. ‘And you and your niece will have food and somewhere safe to sleep tonight. If that is not kindness, what is?’
Elsa blinked away the melting snow on her lashes. He had a point, but she didn’t feel generous enough to agree.
‘We have to do what we must to survive.’ He threw her a knowing glance. ‘I suggest you do too.’
The man rolled over in his sleep, silencing them both. They waited for his steady, deep breathing to return.
‘He needs to sleep,’ said the farmer in a fatherly tone.
Elsa rolled her eyes, but, although she hated the British man with every bone in her body, she found herself whispering so as not to wake him. ‘I don’t feel we will be safe sleeping in the same barn as him.’
The farmer waved his hand at her concern as if he was swatting a fly. ‘You don’t have a choice.’ He relented. ‘He will not harm you.’
‘How do you know? I have Klara to think of.’
‘I have seen how he has treated my animals. How a man treats animals says a lot about his character.’
Elsa thought of all the animal welfare legislation passed by the Nazi Party since they came to power. ‘How a man treats animals in front of others means nothing if he beats and kills his neighbours the next day.’
The farmer shook some straw onto the ground. ‘Here, sleep on this. I will be back shortly with some food for tonight. Stay quiet and do not arouse my wife’s suspicion or you will all be told to leave.’
Elsa’s heart began to thump as she watched the farmer leave.
She glanced nervously at the sleeping body opposite her and beckoned to Klara to stay close.
They were alone with an enemy soldier — a situation she’d never encountered before.
Should she report his presence to someone?
The Führer would expect it of her, but the farmer would be furious.
Securing a shelter for tonight, she told herself, was a good enough reason to not have to decide.
She cautiously made her way to the bed of straw the farmer had placed on the ground for them and, inch by inch, she lowered herself onto it so she made the least noise and silently instructed Klara to do the same.
It was a great relief to lie down and rest her feet.
Lieutenant Walker was sleeping in his boots, which had seen better days.
They were worn at the soles and the side stitching had started to give way, resulting in large gaps where snow and water could seep in.
His coat was thick, but he had no gloves or hat, and she wondered how he had survived outside at night without suffering from frostbite on his ears or nose.
His dark hair looked a little too long, he was painfully thin and he needed a shave, but deep sleep gave him an almost carefree appearance.
Despite the privations of war, his muscles were well defined.
Her gaze wandered back to his face. His rough clothing could not disguise his pleasing features.
His lips were . . . almost perfection, and she could not help wondering if they were as soft, even sensual, as they appeared to be.
She fancied she saw the slight curve of a smile.
How soundly he slept. How peaceful he seemed.
Perhaps some sleep would do that for her too.
The farmer returned with some bread and soup, the sight and aroma of which awoke a raging hunger within her.
She silently thanked him as she eagerly reached for it.
He passed her the bowls and smiled, glad that she now appeared to accept the situation.
She hadn’t, of course, she just needed food so she could begin to think straight and know what to do. She handed a bowl to Klara.
‘I’ll bring more in the morning,’ he replied gently. ‘Try to get some sleep. You look as if you need it.’
The farmer left, swallowed up by the falling snow that was beginning to swirl energetically with the rising crosswinds as he closed the door.
Once again, they were alone with the soldier, but the aroma from the soup, with its hints of butter, onions and herbs, was too much to ignore, playing a strange trick on her so that, for a short while, Elsa forgot he was there.
They supped greedily, draining the metal bowls, before turning their attention to the heavy, sweet rye bread the farmer had left on the hay.
She tore at it, gave some to Klara and immersed herself into its chocolatey, earthy taste, which evoked vivid memories of happier times.
She closed her eyes to be alone with the sensations, which felt, in that moment, like the finest banquet in Germany.
As her hunger gradually diminished, her eating slowed and her eyes opened to rest on the man opposite.
He was a little more blurred than before, but she could tell he had not moved.
She wiped away her tears, conflicted and confused.
On one hand she was angry with Lieutenant Walker sleeping so peacefully, when his side had brought her so low that she found immense pleasure in eating watery potato soup and old, near-stale bread.
On the other hand, she was glad he was asleep and had not seen how low she had fallen.
She encouraged Klara to lie down again and rested the back of her own head against the barn wall, inhaling deeply to compose herself.
Walker hadn’t moved since she’d entered the barn.
Perhaps he was already dead. For a brief moment, she hoped he was.
It would save her the guilt of not knowing what to do about having seen him.
Without warning, his chest rose and fell sharply, giving her a start and setting her heart racing.
His soft lips curved again, as if he had seen her reaction and was laughing at her.
Elsa tore at the remaining bread as if she was tearing off his head.
As she chewed the last morsel, her eyes wandered back to his face and she saw his smile had been replaced by a worried frown.
It was her turn to smile, pleased to know his dreams were not always happy.
The tension in her body drained away and she wondered what he was dreaming about.
What would bring a wistful smile to his lips and a worried frown to his brow in the space of a heartbeat?
As the minutes ticked by, she no longer felt angry he was there, only wary, with a deepening resentment that he could sleep soundly and she could not while they shared a barn.
She noticed a pitchfork leaning against one of the oak supports.
She left Klara sleeping, eased herself to standing and tiptoed across the barn to fetch it.
On her return, she sat down again, feeling more ready to protect herself should he wake in the night.
After several minutes of the man not stirring, she straightened out her legs and rested back on the straw.
Finally, her body gave up the facade that all was well.
Every joint ached, every muscle stiffened and both feet burned and throbbed.
Yet despite all this, she was still determined to stay awake all night.
If it had not been for the food or the shelter from the cold weather outside, she and Klara would have left long ago.
However, she found herself fighting a losing battle with the heaviness of her eyelids.
Even seeing a tear escape the corner of Lieutenant Walker’s eyes did not awaken her curiosity.
This war had caused a sea of tears to be shed over the years — the sight of one more, particularly from an enemy, no longer mattered to her.