The Watcher Page 4

  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?

  11

  Barret

  Watcher 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.

  12

  Volunteer Assignment

  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. Ern
st, 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.

  “Shouldn’t that be my decision?” I called out.

  Adrie whirled around. “No. It’s my decision,” she snapped. “And you’ll start next week.”

  13

  At the Lebensborn Nursery

  Adrie made an appointment for me at the Lebensborn nursery in Berlin for the following week. At first I was angry that I had no choice in the matter, but the more I thought about it, I decided it would be better to take care of babies and little children at the Lebensborn nurseries than to be miserable with a bunch of girls who didn’t want to know me anyway.

  “Where do the Lebensborn babies and children come from?” I asked Adrie.

  “Oh, many of the children are homeless or from other countries—Czechoslovakia and Poland; wherever SS officers find healthy, blond Aryan children without parents. Then they’re brought back here for a new life as German children.”

  “What happened to their real parents?”

  Adrie hesitated for a moment then said, “I don’t know. What does it matter? The children will have a better future here.”

  “So Lebensborn is like an orphanage?”

  “In a way. If a German family wants to, they can apply to adopt these homeless children. But that family must prove it is Aryan and German for several generations back. We are nurturing a new world, remember.”

  “I think it would be wrong to steal children from one country and bring them to another.” Then I asked, “What about the babies? Are they from other countries too?”

  “No, these babies were born of SS officers and beautiful Aryan German women.”

  “Are their parents married?”

  “Don’t ask so many questions.” Adrie shook her head, as if exasperated. “You’ll find out more about it after you’ve been here awhile.”

  Now the day had come when I would begin my work at the Lebensborn. As Adrie and I, in the new Opel, pulled in to a parking space in front of the Lebensborn, I peered out to see a cold-looking gray stone building. “This looks too dreary to be a children’s residence.”

  “It was a private residence before Herr Himmler felt we needed a Lebensborn home here in Berlin.”

  A large flag flew from the side of the building. It didn’t contain a swastika, but it had two strange letters that resembled the SS.

  “What is that?” I asked, pointing to the flag.

  “It’s an ancient runic letter that stands for the SS. They represent a flash of lightning. The children here are protected by the SS,” Adrie explained. “No one can ever harm Lebensborn children. Herr Himmler considers them special children because they belong to Germany.”

  As we headed for the front door, we passed a girl about my age who stood on the sidewalk with a money box. When she saw us, she approached and spoke to Adrie in German. Adrie stopped, pulled out money, and tucked it into the box.

  “What did she want?” I whispered to Adrie.

  “She’s begging for money so she can buy a uniform and join the BDM—the Bund Deutscher Mädel.”

  “Speak in English, please.”

  “It’s the Band of German Girls—the Nazi association for girls,” Adrie said. “You see, Wendy, the girls here are enthusiastic to join—but not you! You should be as eager.”

  “I may join, once I learn German.”

  I followed Adrie up the steps, where she pushed a doorbell. While we waited, I fidgeted anxiously. “I am so nervous. I don’t know what to expect or what they expect of me.”

  “You’ll be fine. It’s only three days a week, and I can bring you and pick you up, since I will be working in Berlin anyway. You’ll be coming on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I was told.”

  “Why did they ask me to start on a Friday?”

  “So you’ll have the weekend off to think about things, I suppose.”

  I shuffled my feet, getting more nervous by the minute. “Did you tell these people we’d be here today?”

  Adrie looked at her watch. “They know you’re coming at ten o’clock, and we’re right on time.”

  Just then, the heavy wooden door swung open. “Ah, guten Morgen!” A tall, stout woman filled the doorway and greeted us. She stepped back, beckoning us in. “Ich bin Frau Messner.”

  Frau Messner led us into a large playroom. Toy train tracks with a wooden train and engine big enough for a child to ride wound through the center of the room. Several children played quietly with blocks and playthings scattered about.

  One girl, who looked about three years old, was swinging back and forth on a white rocking horse, while a little blond boy stood by crying.

  “I think he wants a turn on the rocking horse,” I said.

  When Adrie translated, Frau Messner called out to the girl, scolding her.

  At Frau Messner’s tone of voice, the girl climbed off the rocking horse and ran into another room. Yet, instead of taking his turn, the toddler’s cries turned into screams and he ran behind a chair.

  Frau Messner spoke up quickly and Adrie translated. “That’s little Hunfrid. He’s been brought to us from Poland.”

  “So he’s an orphan?” I asked, then waited for Adrie to translate.

  “Ja.” Frau Messner nodded and explained something to Adrie.

  “His parents are dead,” Adrie told me. “He is such a perfect little Aryan child, the SS brought him here and named him Hunfrid.”

  Frau Messner said something else, and Adrie raised her eyebrows. For a moment she paused before telling me what was said. “Um, he is so unhappy and so difficult that they may send him . . . somewhere else. So don’t get too fond of him.”

  “Where is somewhere else?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Adrie answered with a frown. “There are other children here who need your help, Wendy. Don’t focus on one child.”

  I
picked up a little teddy bear and went over to Hunfrid, who crouched behind a chair.

  “Komm zu mir,” I said softly, hoping he understood the little German I knew. Instead he squatted down and hid his head.

  “Come on out and see me,” I said in English in a squeaky voice. But I noticed he was peeking at me from under his arms. I held the bear around the corner of the chair as if it were a puppet, peering at Hunfrid.

  “Nein!” He obviously knew the German word for no.

  I held the bear’s arm, throwing a kiss, and spoke in English. “Come give me a hug, Hunfrid.”

  “Nein!”

  “Ohhh, Hunfrid, komm zu mir,” I whined as if the bear were crying. “Hunfrid,” I cried.

  “Dobry,” Hunfrid said suddenly, pointing to himself. “Dobry.”

  Frau Messner came closer and whispered to Adrie, who then explained to me that Dobry was his Polish name. “You must use only his German name, Hunfrid.”

  That name would make anyone miserable, I wanted to say. Instead I held the teddy bear close and kissed it on the cheek. “Hunfrid want a kiss too?” I asked, holding the little bear out to him.

  The little boy took a step toward me but then looked fearfully at Frau Messner and hid himself again.

  Frau Messner spoke brusquely in German, and Adrie translated hesitantly, “Frau says the boy is an obstinate child. He doesn’t adapt well.” Adrie turned to the supervisor and conversed with her for a few minutes.

  That’s what they said about Watcher, and they were going to shoot him. I wonder what would happen to this little boy if they sent him to . . . somewhere else.

  Finally, Frau Messner nodded and smiled slightly. “Ja, das ist gut.”

  Adrie interpreted the conversation. “I pointed out how well you spoke to Hunfrid even though you primarily speak English. He doesn’t speak German either. Frau Messner agreed and said if you’d like to work with him and simply make him comfortable here, that would be fine. He needs to forget his family in Poland. That’s why you must teach him that his name is now Hunfrid—not Dobry—and that he’s a German boy.” Adrie smiled at me. “I think you can do that.”