The Ragged Edge of Night(78)

“Let’s pray they will not.” Smoothly, Emil changes the subject. “I was just thinking, ‘There never was a crowd so big at the Saturday market. When did our town grow?’ But it’s the Egerlanders, of course.”

“Thirty-six families in all,” Anton says. “And how many single men, like the fellows who sleep on your pews? Frau Hertz has taken in four young men; they’re a great help around the farm.”

“There are twenty young fellows, at least, and five old gentlemen that I know of. These Egerland folk fit right in. One would never know they haven’t been in Unterboihingen all along.”

As much a part of the landscape as the ancient houses and blue hills beyond.

Once more, a sharp sound rises above the din of the crowd, but this time, there is no glad music. It’s a coarse shout like the bark of a dog, hard-edged with anger. Anton and Emil glance at one another, and there is a sudden tightness in the eyes of the priest. Caution has eclipsed his happy mood. They jostle through the crowd toward the market’s eastern edge. There stands Bruno Franke—M?belbauer—confronting two of the newcomers, refugee men. A handful of Unterboihingen fellows stand behind Franke, lending their support. They watch the Egerlander men with narrowed eyes. Anton makes note of their hard, hateful faces. They are the same men who rose in opposition at Father Emil’s meeting, the day Unterboihingen voted to take in the refugees.

“Those are two of mine,” Emil says quietly. “They’re brothers—Gei?ler is their family name. They were the first to take shelter at the church.”

The Gei?ler brothers are no older than twenty-five. They’re standing side by side, arms folded over their chests, holding their ground against Franke and his friends. Brave, for men so young. But then, if they knew they confronted the town’s gauleiter, would they be so bold?

“These two wretches took too much flour,” M?belbauer shouts. He intends the whole town to hear, an impromptu tribunal. “I said two measures; they took three.”

The elder brother says, “You told me to take three.” The younger adds, “At least speak honestly, now that you’ve got the attention of the whole village.”

“Do they know?” Anton murmurs to Emil. Do they know they’re speaking to a gauleiter?

Emil shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I haven’t told them. I should have thought to tell all the men at the church—warn them to be careful. The blame lies with me.”

Anton lays a hand on his chest. “No time now for regret. We need to help those boys. If they fall too far on Franke’s bad side—”

M?belbauer has puffed himself up at the younger brother’s cheek. Like a toad roused from its burrow and jabbed with a stick, he has inflated himself. He takes a menacing step toward the Gei?lers. “Look at you, the both of you—young and hale, but here you are, hiding from your duty with the women and children. You should be fighting for our country, defending the German way. You should be on the Ostfront—better men than you have died there already, for the sake of our land.”

In the next moment, M?belbauer will accuse the brothers of disloyalty. It’s a short drop from there to the gauleiter’s letter desk, a message winging off to the NSDAP.

“All right,” Anton murmurs, stepping forward. “I’m going to speak to Herr Franke.”

Emil catches his arm. “Don’t. You know it’s too risky for either of us to draw Franke’s eye.”

“If we don’t intervene, those young men will—”

Before Anton can finish speaking, another figure has pushed her way out of the crowd. He recognizes the dark-blue dress, the stoic marching step of her walk, before the danger registers—before fear strikes him.

Elisabeth.

She stands beside the brothers. “Leave off, Bruno. It’s only a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” The gauleiter’s voice slinks low, low as a snake on its belly. “These disloyal dogs have invaded our land—”

“They are Germans!”

“—and you have let them in. Don’t think I’ve forgotten it was you, Frau Starzmann, who convinced the rest to open their homes and their larders to this trash. You’re the one to blame. Indiscriminate—that’s what you are. If these useless mouths to feed had left me with a single reichspfennig in my pocket, I’d wager my last coin that you would take in any foul creature, any impure thing that came your way.”

This talk is too dangerous. Anton can’t allow it to stand. He breaks away from Emil, shaking off the priest’s restraining grip. He strides across the cobblestones and steps between Elisabeth and the gauleiter. Then, heart pounding, he moves closer still, until M?belbauer is forced to look up at him. The man seems quite small now, shrinking in the shadow of Anton’s superior height.

“Say one more word to my wife, Franke,” Anton mutters. “Just one.”

M?belbauer squints at Anton. His gaze slides to the crowd—the tense, silent watchers. He doesn’t dare accuse Anton now. No one will believe that the man who brought us music, the man who gave us joy, is any sort of villain. Here before the eyes of the whole town, Franke can do nothing but back down.

He does, throwing up his hands and turning away. “Let the lot of you starve, then,” M?belbauer says as his friends fall in line behind him. “It won’t be on my head.”